Do you ever feel like you want to be really good at something?
I do believe that for most of my life I have wished that I were just really good at something.
Like golf. Or playing the piano. Or even writing.
As destiny would have it, I was born into a family of super athletes.
My sister, bless her heart, has won so many medals in track and field and as a ball player no one can even keep track. She has told me, not once, but many times how she always had a chest full of red ribbons on track meet day.
I, on the other hand, can only remember one blue ribbon (third place) I received, by mistake, for doing the broad jump.
With a personal history of mediocracy, I was quite delighted to actually achieve the lofty status of receiving a gold medal the other day.
Of course, you could not really see it, but it did not matter.
In my mind, it felt like a gold medal.
And I felt like a star.
It was all because of the littlest grandson. He did that for me. Unknowingly, he gave me that status.
It turned out his older brothers were going to Cremona to play hockey and then because they were so close to the mountains, their dad said he would take them skiing for the day.
His mom told him he could do something special, too, and so, finally after giving her a long, penetrating look, no doubt, weighing all his options he said, “I want to go to grandma’s.”
Well, needless to say, my heart puffed up with pride.
And so, with one oversized hockey bag in tow and a backpack stuffed with a pair of pajamas that said, ‘eat, sleep, hockey, repeat’ and two pairs of mismatched socks and not much else, he arrived at my doorstep.
And so began our adventure made even longer by the unexpected storm that turned central Alberta roads into living nightmares of white outs and sheets of ice.
I tried to balance the time spent with the littlest grandson with productivity as well as play.
But somehow it all turned into play.
As the storm swirled and roared around us, we opened the door to the deck and stuck our tongues out to see if we could capture a snowflake or two.
We fed the birds, watching with delight as they all crowded around the birdfeeder.
We found a friend and went bowling. We were all pleased that we were given a lane that had that little bumper thing up so our balls never went in the gutter.
Mostly, thanks to Google home, we sang.
It turns out the littlest grandson and I both love all those old songs.
His favourite, which is now my favourite, too, is American Pie.
The littlest grandson is home now, and I am back to doing my usual stuff like writing this column.
But, once, not so very long ago, going to grandma’s house was the first choice for a little boy with eyes so blue you can swim in them and tousled hair the colour of a wheat field in summer.
Little did he know, his choice made his grandma feel like a star.
And a gold medal winner!
Treena Mielke is a Central Alberta writer. She lives in Sylvan Lake with her family.