Sometimes we write, sometimes we live until inspiration strikes us.
Yesterday my grandmother came to visit me.
This is something quite special.
For the last seven years she’s been taking care of my ageing grandfather and couldn’t get out much. Grandpa died in June and now, she’s slowly rediscovering her mobility and desire to explore. So at age eighty-five, she got on a seven hour train ride to come visit her family in the South.
We went on a bus tour through the city, let the sun and a warm breeze to kiss our faces and treated ourselves to delicious ice cream. In between there was a lot of laughter and a lot of stories.
My grandmother is a wise lady and in between our conversations, she drops some knowledge that sits with you, long after the talk is over.
Roll with the punches.
Sleep on the floor.
Try new food.
Open the champagne.
Travel the world.
Get to know people and their opinions.
Accept the course of life and practice gratitude.
Get to know the Giver of all things.
You cannot always change what happens, but it depends how you choose to feel about it.
When we arrive at my apartment, she gets very still.
“I’m just braving myself to walk up these 70 steps to your apartment.
Let’s go.”
(She made it up there in no time. Impressive.)
Writing for Five Minute Friday today.
thisiskatha.com 
She is strong for her age.
Oh yes! Will tell her that. 🙂
It sounds like you have one special grandma. Of course aren’t they all. Thanks for sharing your time with your’s. I miss mine. Have a wonderful week. Visiting from FMF #60.
She is pretty special…Have a good week, too!
Sounds like a great day! I treasure the time with my grandma and grandpa. They aren’t as mobile and healthy as they once were.
Yes, time is rare and we have to treasure what we have. Thanks for coming by!
You have refreshed the memories of my own grandmother in your words, thank you for reminding me of her legacy of love. I saw the word seven repeating in the post…seven hour train ride and those 70 steps. The number of completion. I do feel my grandmother completes my life story- her love language was “acts of service” and she always began with a mixing bowl of chocolate in her hands. We depend on these memories to carry us from generation to generation.
Oh, what a nice memory of your grandmother!