The spice of life

Love is in the air. It’s possible I might be getting a new grandpa for Easter. My grandmother’s got her eye on a wheel-chair bound resident down the hall. In fact, she’s got more than an eye on him. Apparently, she groped the gentleman during a sing-along of favorite church hymns.

Nearer my God to thee, indeed.

Sexual harassment or senior moment? Both families pledged to keep the elderly Juliet away from the aged Romeo, but I didn’t have the courage to ask her about it Sunday when I picked her up for lunch. The image of my granny playing fast and loose with forbidden fruit was too much for me. Always elegant, proper, and reticent, it was impossible to imagine her doing such a thing. She probably wouldn’t even remember doing it, to be honest.

Grandma wanted to go out for a hamburger, but her favorite place had closed down. We ended up at a Mexican food restaurant, eating fajitas and soft tacos. She put away an entire bowl of salsa and queso, smacking her lips with satisfaction. “I love that spicy food!”

That's one thing we've got in common.

Spring is also in the air, and I spent Saturday afternoon in the yard, preparing my flower beds, pulling weeds, and watering. “You wasted all that water,” Sport said when he saw it was raining the next morning. True enough. I was also sore from all that squatting. I still need to spend many more hours out there, but I’m not sure how I’ll fit it in – Sport’s got soccer games and piano contests every Saturday until the end of May, and LegoGuy has his church youth activities and orchestra competitions. I’m getting too old for this. I’d love to hire someone to help me – preferably a young latino man who looks a lot like Antonio Banderas.

With Grandma as my role model, I think I'm going to refuse to let the aging process kill my spirit. I’ll refuse to wear a hat in the sun, embrace my gray hair, and look at each wrinkle as a badge of honor. I’ll squat in the mud, eat spicy foods, and occasionally grope my gardening assistant.

"Mmmm, spicy!"