The strawberry and peach preserves, and the applesauce I made earlier in the year didn’t taste quite so good until I shared it with my grandsons, and watched them lick their fingers and hear the “mmmm’s.”
The homemade cinnamon rolls I made for the eighteen year old when he visited Georgia weren’t near as yummy as when son, daughter, and four other grandsons delighted in icing smeared faces.
The large fire pit dug in the backyard beside a towering stack of firewood remained when I left because a backyard fire isn’t near as much fun as when you share it with four boys who have smores dripping from their fingertips.
A gun-toting, gun-teaching Nana can do the same in Wisconsin as in Georgia. It's better to have the students close, though.
And, hearing football stats relayed over telephone wire cannot compare to the heart-flipping joy of seeing the touchdown, the tackle, or the hugs after the game.
I do many things, and I’ve realized I still have the ability to do much more. But, what I do best is be Nana. I’ve also learned that it’s what I love to do most.
Even the animals are happier, it seems.
