Happiness. It's relative.

Of course, we had dinner where an Elvis impersonator sang long and hard. And, of course, we sang along with Sweet Caroline even though it wasn’t an Elvis song. It was fun. And, of course, we’re going to our grandson’s fifth tournament baseball game this morning which some of us sort of, kind of hope they lose so there isn’t a Game 6 or, heaven forbid, a Game 7.
The baseball playing grandson is, however, the most delightful young man on the planet which means we can’t beg off and go to grown-up major league spring training baseball on the lovely sunny day in Phoenix (unless they lose early and who would wish for that?).
I’m not a storybook grandmother. When I commented to a friend that I wasn’t the greatest grandma, she said, “That’s okay. You’re good at other things,” a remark which took me aback for its scalpel like quality, but which I’ve since recognized to be true.
Oh well. There are minutes and there are hours, days and years. I’m good for the minute. Game 5!

Well, Grandma … Who Won? Storybook grandmothers? I’m not one either… but then there was the Red Riding Hood one. Look what happened to her? THANK YOU!