? years young

It takes a long time to become young.   ~Pablo Picasso

This past month, I, along with my husband, daughter, 5.5 month old grandson, and a big appetite, headed on down the highway to have a birthday lunch at a fifties-inspired diner.  We were enjoying the scenery on an unusually warm autumn day.  Our little grandbaby, smiling and laughing, was having a good time blowing raspberries for gramps.  No one could have orchestrated a better birthday celebration.  Throw a baby into the mix and suddenly, there is whole new meaning to this journey in life. Instead of downing a glass or two of wine in an over-priced restaurant, I stood in the crowded aisle of a small town truck stop among other diner patrons and bustling staff while holding a restless baby boy, as he fixedly stared at a fuzzy Halloween tarantula, dangling at the end of a taped string.  I don’t feel old, because I’m keeping company with a little man who will reach over, place his tiny hand on my arm, and direct a gaze as if to say, I like you, lady.

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