Going to Gran’s and Granddaddy’s house was both an outing ripe for exploration and cause for an eight-year-old to yawn and fidget. My time see-sawed between my clandestine attic and basement explorations looking for treasures and mind-numbing, endless adult conversations. But Gran and Granddaddy adored me, chuckling often at my antics and grabbing me for a squeeze. As I cartwheeled through the living room, Gran was always reminding me to be a little lady. “Ugh. Little Lady? How boring,” I protested.
Jubilation By Holly Webster
Me, retired? The word ‘retirement’ seems repugnant— dismissive and a relic of old social norms. It conjures up images of shuffling around in slippers, padding quietly through the days, waiting for the end. I'm not quiet. Nor do I shuffle. That’s not who I am. And, I am certainly not waiting for the end!