So I'm sitting here in Ephrata, WA (yes, the Palm Desert of the Inland
Northwest) with my 87, nearly 88, year old Grandma (who would be most chagrined that
I shared that with the world, though she doesn't look a day over 70).
We're drinking coffee and having strawberry shortcake for breakfast
(which my Aunt Karen artfully defended, explaining that it's fruit,
grains, and dairy...a square meal if ever there was one).
This happened
shortly after gram scaled a ladder in the kitchen to reach an antique
saki set out of a very deep cupboard so she could gift it to me (since
my grandfather had brought it back from Japan when he was stationed
there during the war and she wants it to stay in the family).
Now, gram
isn't the kind of woman that you really boss around much (at
87, healthier, stronger, and more "with it" than I am, would you take
her on?). BUT I think her acrobatics will greatly concern my family
since I'm only staying here this weekend because she was hospitalized
for vertigo only 2 days ago and my sole task is to make sure she's safe and healthy (um, thank goodness her descent was
uneventful because I think I'd have a hard time explaining gram's "flying squirrel" impression to a family who had entrusted me with her well-being).
We're now lazily re-positioned in the living room (well, I
am lazily re-positioned, and she is actively strategizing about how to get her hair foofed today since she
missed her beauty parlor appointment during the ambulance trek to the
hospital on Thursday).
I'm thinking I can learn a thing or two from
such a resilient lady. That is, if I can bounce back from my strawberry-shortcake-induced coma as quickly as she bounced back from her emergency room tour. My money, though, is on her.
