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My Grandma is eighty-four years old; I am twenty-four.  We have a sixty year generation gap that appears very wide when she asks me if I have so and so on cassette tape.  I remind her that the last tune I enjoyed on tape was sung by Bert and Ernie.  When I was old enough to start buying music, everything was already on CD.  (Please excuse the fact that my first CD was Tubthumper by Chumbawamba.)

Yet, as we sit and watch Jeopardy together, I notice we may have more in common than I think.  This summer we both find ourselves living at my parents’ house.  I am in between jobs and cities, and Grandma is recovering from a hip replacement.  While G’ma has a much better excuse, we both reap the benefits of home-cooked meals and a fully stocked refrigerator.  It’s odd that we are supposedly at such different “places” in life when we’re in the same place.

My grandma and I both think Zac Efron is quite cute, but admittedly a bit too young for us.  We both hope to see me write a book before we die, and we both really love ice cream.  What strikes me though is that we’re both unsure of what comes next.

At twenty-four, my life path seems remarkably less clear than it once was.  (I’d give anything for a course catalogue).  At eighty-four, my grandma has already paved most of her path and done a beautiful job.

So as we sit biding the time and cringing as Alex Trebek gets to know the contestants we’re both inevitably wondering “what now?”

(Photo courtesy of edanley via Flickr)

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