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Monday, 6 March 2017


So far, the only downside I can see to being a Gramma is that my energy levels, flexibility, and back are not what they used to be! Having spent a terrific two hours-ish in the park with Flick, stopping on the way back at Tesco and Costco, I’ve just poured myself a cup of some sort of organic tea I found in the cupboard called Revitalise. Yup, that’s for me.
What a privilege it is to have time to goof around in the park with a 2-year-old whose imagination is exploding. We role-played shops and then doctors and hospitals without the aid of any toys. Just our imaginations. When she wanted me to lift her high to come down the tube slide, though, I had to say, no, my back is too sore. I hate that limitation, but as it’s true I know it’s the only intelligent thing to do.

So, frustrated but grateful. I’m so aware that around the world millions of women don’t live long enough to be a gramma. Others have stepped in as surrogate parents as the in-between generation has been wiped out by the Aids epidemic, or conflict or some other catastrophe. Those saintly grammas won’t have the time or energy to play shops in the park. They’ll be grafting at something to bring enough food into the house to feed the orphans.

Feeling pretty pathetic at voicing any kind of complaint then. Full of gratitude that the boundaries for me have fallen in pleasant places, not because I deserve what I have but for some reason it is what I’ve been blessed with. Responsibility to make the most of all that I have, relationship wise and materially. 

Responsibility to grasp Life firmly and use what I have to leave this world somehow a bit better for something I may have said or done.

And now, when is that Revitalise tea going to live up to its name?

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