Sandy Supposes....

NOTHING VENTURED,NOTHING GAINED

         PROMPT: How do you escape age's effect on you? How do others expect you to act because of your age? Can the fun-loving kid in you still get out or can you control your inner child?

         First I will state for some sort of reference that I have been married for thirty-seven years to a wonderfully supportive man who is, at times, 'humour-impaired'. He and I do not always agree on what is funny. Despite his British heritage, he fails to laugh at Monty Python or Mister Bean. I will admit though that he's enjoying the last laugh because he humours/indulges me. Together we've managed to keep three offspring alive and relatively unscathed. For our unwavering efforts we were blessed with two grandchildren. All of these immediate family members refer to me as "special". My eyes should be misting at this show of support, but they roll their eyes and shrug their shoulders when they say this.

         They know me to wear novelty t-shirts such as my Muppet one featuring the two old hecklers, Statler and Waldorf, and the declaration, 'Old---It sure beats dead'. This is a philosophy I wholeheartedly endorse. Years ago, my talented seamstress of a daughter gifted me with a jacket she'd sewn just for me. It's a very brightly coloured, green and yellow, fleece garment imprinted with the widely-grinning figure of SpongeBob Squarepants. That piece of clothing has accompanied me on many a trip and I'm certain it serves as a means for my family to locate me in a crowd. Not once has one of my children had to file a missing person's report and describe that particular jacket. Just recently, my daughter admitted that she never intended for me to wear that fleece in public. What she meant to say was that she never dreamed I'd be caught dead in it. Where was I supposed to wear a coat, in my bedroom?

         So yes, I admit I really like cartoons and animated movies. I appreciate the humour and the artwork. Accompanying my granddaughters to the movies is not a sacrifice at all. The three of us are unabashed fans. Sometimes, the girls seem a tad awed by my enthusiasm and then they'll remark, "You really do like this, don't you?" We have embraced the Minion Mania currently popular amid animation aficionados, and my grands tease me. "Who do you like better, SpongeBob or the Minions?" I'm a mother, I do not have a favourite. We eagerly anticipate new releases.

          I do not need to be in the company of my grandkids to browse the children's book sections of libraries and book stores. The vast selection of quality illustrations and entertaining stories is mind-boggling; the kid in me becomes enthralled. My fascination with the written word is still a constant companion.

          It's been said that youth is wasted on the young and you're only as old as you feel. Travelling with the grandest of girls rejuvenates me. Sure, I was the accompanying adult as we enjoyed A Cirque de Soleil performance, but I was every bit as wide-eyed with wonder as the grands. I, too, gasped, oohed and aahed. We shared incredulity at the feats of agility and strength. We marvelled at the man costumed as a vintage airplane that housed the tiniest woman we'd ever seen. We asked each other, over and over, "How'd they do that?" The spectacular extravaganza was breathtaking and we were delighted to notice the "twin" shadows performing mirror moves on the tent's ceiling.

         My inner child aspires to be as fearless as my youngest granddaughter, Emily. She is a "seize the moment" child. Her diminutive stature has never been a handicap. Emily, who resides in a tiny village with a limited population, only one school, and no public transportation, thrives in a big city. Without a second thought, she cuts a swath through teeming throngs. She initiates conversations with her fellow passengers on a screeching, vibrating, subway car. In a bustling mall, she'll choose to sit with strangers at the food court.

         Once, when Emily was five years old, we were dining at a very busy restaurant, many miles from home, and she seemed fascinated by noise from an out-of-view back corner. Several times she queried me as to what the loud voices could mean, and I could only speculate that it was a party of some sort. At one point, Emily asked if she could be excused to visit the bathroom, and off she went, alone. After some time had passed, my youngest daughter, and Emily's aunt, went in search of her. Eventually, they returned. Emily was holding a piece of cake on a plate and just beaming. I swear she grinned even more when her older sister complained, "That's not fair. Where'd she get cake?" My daughter explained.

         Emily was found in that enticing back corner. Obviously, the need for a bathroom break had been a ruse. Without a second thought, Emily had approached the partying people, a group of about twelve, and she'd struck up a conversation. She soon learned that it was a birthday party and without hesitation Emily sang 'Happy Birthday' to the delighted birthday 'boy', an elderly gentleman. She was rewarded with the cake. She'd literally sung for her prize. She'd seized the day. If Emily even understood what a mantra or a motto was, hers would have to be " nothing ventured, nothing gained".

         So this is a mantra I admire and try to emulate. Sure, I'll admit I'm not as young as I used to be, but why would I want to be? Obviously, I would not be a Nanny if I was still a spring chicken, and that would be a great shame. I believe growing up is optional in the sense that my inner child is still very much alive and kicking. Why should actual kids have all the fun? The best compliment my eldest grandgirl, Sydney, ever bestowed upon me was, "I love your laugh, Nanna!" I intend to share it with her and her sister for many, many more years.