The Wisdom in Water

Margie sat on the edge of the swimming pool, her legs dangling in the cool water while seven-year-old Lily practiced her backstroke. The afternoon sun caught the silver strands of Margie's hair—once auburn, now the color of moonlight on the ocean.

"Grandma, why is your hair so shiny?" Lily asked, paddling over.

Margie laughed softly. "Because I've had seventy-six years of sunlight shine on it, my little fish. Each gray hair is like a silver medal for a battle I've won."

Lily climbed out and curled up beside her, taking Margie's hand in her own small palm. "Your hands are wrinkly like tissue paper."

"These aren't just wrinkles, sweet pea. They're rivers." Margie traced the lines on her palm. "See this one? This is where I held your daddy's hand when he learned to swim in this very pool. This deep line—that's from carrying my mother's shopping bags. And this tiny one right here? That's from forty years of planting marigongs every spring."

Lily studied her own smooth palm. "My hands don't have stories yet."

"Oh, but they will." Margie squeezed her granddaughter's hand. "The best stories are the ones you haven't written yet. When I was your age, I didn't know I'd grow palm trees in this backyard, or that my grandson would ask me to teach him to swim, or that I'd still have your grandfather's letters tucked in my jewelry box."

She gestured to the two palm trees swaying gently beyond the pool fence. "Your grandfather planted those the year we bought this house. He said, 'Margie, these trees will be here when we're gone.' They're forty years old now. They've weathered hurricanes and droughts, and still they stand. That's what I want for you—to put down roots, to weather storms, to keep growing."

Lily rested her head on Margie's shoulder. "Will you teach me to swim backward like you do?"

"Next summer. When the water's warm, and we have all the time in the world. Because the thing about getting older, my darling, is you learn that some things can't be rushed." Margie kissed the top of Lily's head. "Now, let's go see if your grandmother's cookies are done. Some wisdom comes with age, but some—the important kind—comes in chocolate chip form."