I'M NO EXPERT. I'VE had only one, but the daughter I've been blessed with has been an inspiration. She and I enjoy a relationship so much different than my mother and I had. My mother and I were good friends, and even though she's been gone for many years, I still miss her. However, the friendship I enjoy with my daughter seems so very gratifying. Whether it is more recent so the memories are more clear, or whether it is a more relaxed and more understanding relationship I don't really know. I just feel grateful that she understands me even in these "old" years. She does not pass judgment, try to control, or patronize me. If I need her, she's there for me.

When she was growing up, the time went all too rapidly; it was sleep-overs, school programs, birthdays, symphony concerts, school plays, vacations, proms, and she was off to college. Then she was on her own, making her own decisions. When she left to go to college, my husband and I really felt the void; the empty room, not so much activity, and one less person to chuckle with and to discuss the day's activities. It was just the two of us. The house seemed to have grown in just that short hour or two it took her to pack and head out for college life. Each of us caught ourselves glancing into her room, but it remained empty. The sweetest sound we could hear was the phone ringing, and a "Hi, Mom" or "Hi, Dad" at the other end of the line. It's funny, it had never dawned on me that maybe my mother felt the same way once about me leaving the nest. Mother had another daughter at home when I went to college, and my brother was still at home. However, my mother had instilled in me the pride of being independent, and my daughter had gained that same characteristic. Sometimes I almost wished she hadn't learned that independence so well; I wanted to be needed more.

After four years at Nebraska University, it was time for Nancy to choose in which direction she would go, and the course was music and drama. These were aspirations about which I knew nothing. I didn't know one thing about helping. I could only offer moral support. I feel very badly that we didn't offer more financial support, but as I said she was independent, and we were unknowing on how to help, and there wasn't an over abundance of dollars in the account, but as I look back on it, there was much we could have done that we didn't. Considering our lack of help, she did miraculously in "show biz". She forged her way on the stage with some big names. We were proud of her, not just because of her successes, but because she was our daughter. We attended many of her performances no matter how far away. My husband would be so proud of her he would get goose bumps. She was the light of his life.

Her stage performances finally took her to Atlanta, from where she called me and told me she had a new boyfriend. She told me he was a college teacher. Of course, that sounded good to me since my life's work had been teaching. She told me his faiths were different than ours. "So, what", I said. This great gentleman became our son-in-law, and the father of our grandchildren.

So, now that daughter who had packed up her suitcases in 1967 and headed for Lincoln, Nebraska, with her stuffed animal under her arm, came to live in Tallahassee, Florida, where her husband was a professor at Florida State. The next pearls on our string of memories were our grandchildren.

Being a grandparent is one of the greatest privileges offered in this world, second only to having your own little lap warmer. Before we had grandchildren, we thought our life was fairly complete, but what did we know? There is nothing like those little bodies sitting on your lap having every faith in you, loving you, admiring you, and cuddling so lovingly. It is instant love. Positively nothing on this planet compares. Arne and I spent a lot of time with the children after we moved to Tallahassee in 1989, and we really came to know them, and they knew and understood us. We went to McDonald's, we went to the park, we watched little ducks and geese, we played games, we imagined games, and we cuddled. My husband had two good years of health to get to know the children, and then he had two really bad years, before passing away. It is amazing to me how much of the illnesses and of the death those little folks understood. What a therapy they were for me!

Our daughter assumed her starring role of raising our grandchildren. I had been very proud of her before, but I was doubly proud of the way she nurtured the minds, bodies, and souls of her children. When I watched my daughter in action as a parent, many of the mistakes in parenting I had made came onto my memory disc and etched themselves up on the screen in 36 point font.

Was there ever a mother who could say she had done a perfect job of mothering? I saw my flaws. I was just hoping that my daughter, my son-in-law, and my grandchildren wouldn't hold them all against me. It's too late to delete those mistakes. I have consoled myself with the thought that the errors in judgement must have not been earth-shattering as the finished product, our daughter, was pretty close to perfect.

My mother had always told my sisters and I that when we marry, our mates' families were our families now, and their beliefs our beliefs. We were not advised to accept these faiths blindly as a matter of duty, necessarily, but that "a house divided against itself cannot stand". So, one of the things my daughter has done that makes me really proud and happy is to work with her husband and with the children in their religion. She saw to it that the children learned, and she learned, and as far as I'm concerned, she should receive the Congressional Medal of Honor. She, however, got better than that; she got the respect of her children, her husband and his family, of me, and of others. When I attended the Bar Mitzvah and the Bat Mitzvah of my grandchildren I was elated to be a part of the celebration. That "undivided" house is intact and I'm lucky enough to be a part of the extended family.

My "string of pearls", my memory jewels, shows our daughter as being the most opalescent of all. Her caring goes on. She has an uncanny talent for knowing me, my thoughts, my worries, and my aches and pains. She reads me like a book, it seems. There was the old photo in black and white of my husband and I taken in San Diego on October 11, 1945, the day before we were married. which she had tinted and framed. There were gifts of family pictures that I treasured. There were pieces of jewelry that the whole family had been a part of choosing, which were presented to me. Her compassion went beyond things to be wrapped and given, she accompanied me to the doctor when I needed her support; she arranged for me to see her and her childrens' performances on the stage, in recitals, and in school functions. What a pearl!

When my husband was seriously ill in 1980 and spent three weeks in intensive care, she was performing in Atlanta. I called her from Omaha. My words were, "Nancy, I think we're going to lose him". Her reply not only sufficed at the moment but buoyed me with strength to keep hoping. She said, "Mom, I just have a feeling that he is going to make it. Please try to stop worrying, and I'll come as soon as I can get away from this show". It's amazing how much that helped. My husband did recover, after another couple of weeks at the hospital. Nancy got home, insisted that I go home and get some rest, and prepared for me the first real meal I had allowed myself for three weeks. The meal was wonderful, but the act of doing it for me was even more appreciated.

Maybe one of the greatest gifts she has given me is that she and her husband have reared the children to respect and understand the aging process as it pertains to grandparents. The children seem to take into account all my inadequacies as they accept my continuing years. It is apparent that the whole family cares, and that in itself is the greatest motivation for aging gracefully to be found on Planet Earth. No Mothers' Day or birthday is ever forgotten. Christmas is still one of my holidays, and Hanukkah is theirs. Perhaps the only lop-sided thing about our togetherness is that they do so much for me, and the number of things I can do for them is very limited. If I were to express that view to my daughter she would answer with, "Yeh, yeh, yeh!" This getting older than "anything, including dirt" is wonderful; all the attention I get, all the hugs, all the great cards, and all the love the whole family shows. Not to mention all the smiles and greetings I get from everyone, especially the children, who know I look like a grandma.

Recently, I was privileged to have reached that big 8-0 birthday, or as I prefer calling it, the second anniversary of my fortieth birthday. Of course, if each year had twenty four months, I would be only forty years old. However it is expressed, July 29, 1921 is a long time ago. I received some unique gifts from my family. Nancy had sent some old 8mm movies of our family when she was young, and when my husband was still on deck, to a lab to be converted into videos. It was fun to watch them. My son-in-law who likes to tease me about watching Lawrence Welk, made me a CD with, guess who, Lawrence Welk, plus many of the Big Band numbers. Several of the songs were ones that Arne and I had enjoyed in the early forties. Recent pictures of my two grandchildren, beautifully framed, were presented also, and are displayed in my little home. But before I left to go home, my daughter handed me an envelope and the instructions to open it at home and to give it some thought. It was a beautiful card, and written at the bottom was "Mom, let's go on a trip, just the two of us, anywhere and any time. You choose". So much for keeping my cool (where is my Kleenex?). Just thinking about a trip, having my daughter all to myself, and looking at travel folders was actually enough. But we will go; we will "run away from home" one of these days, maybe to San Diego where Arne and I were married. We won't be gone too long, because the old recliner calls to me. But just thinking about it makes me smile.

So, what is it that keeps us going at the octogenarian level? Sometimes canes, pills, easy shoes, bi-focals, night lights, glasses, hearing aids, non-skid floors, patience, a great sense of humor, and love, love, love.