This is the Life

You are two.

She is 85.

"Why am I always just the 85-year-old?" she always asks.

"Because that's really old," I reply. And we laugh.

We are on a road trip, the three of us. You. Me. Gram. We're staying at the beach for 3 uninterrupted days. It is foggy so we hop in the car and drive to find the nearest diner for breakfast. Nothing excites me like driving in a new town without a destination. It's better than pushing "accept" on hotwire.com. We drive along the beautiful mediterranean style beachfront mansions.

"Superman lives there," you scream.

We decide to go to Venice. I notice several booths lining the main strip. It's an arts far.  We spend the next couple hours browsing the art, stopping at small shops, waiting for the fog to lift. I watch the connection grow between the two of you. You don't see her age, you see her kind spirit and wit. You treat her exactly as you treat me...tugging her arm, squeezing her cheeks, smiling at her with your big cheeks and squinty eyes. I watch her light up with complete joy which makes me light up with complete joy...watching this bond that bridges 83 years of life experience.

We return to the beach for more wasted hours in the sun. That night we take a long walk and find a party at the beach during sunset. A collection of people beating on drums.

"This is the life," I tell Jack. It's a phrase we are using constantly these days.

He smiles and dances on the beach and the sun drops into the ocean.

This is the life.