This past Saturday, Melanie and I went to my grandmother’s house to paint her kitchen and bathroom. She has a small apartment, so, while it may have been rough simply because painting always is, it wasn’t as bad as could possibly be. There’s really no story there. The real story lies with my grandmother.

My grandma isn’t exactly young. To be precise, she’s 84 years old. Somehow, though, in all defiance of age, she’s more active than many people I know, including a lot of people my age. Before Melanie and I even got there, she had already painted parts of the kitchen which included climbing up on a step ladder and all. When she told me this, I was a bit concerned, but she wasn’t. She refuses to let age stop her. I want to be like my grandma as I get older. I want to be able to hold on to that youthful energy and zeal for life. I only hope I can be so fortunate.