Cranky Old Codgers

We more or less collapsed, afterward. From mental exhaustion more than physical, actually. The house was so still, so tranquil without the inescapable shrieks that had so currently surrounded us in the presence of two young girls. Is there anything quite like the self-absorption of the young? All the more so when they're girls, tweens and teens, and they have the freedom to bounce off one another - or so they feel.

Ours is a large house. We've three floors of living space. For relaxing, or fooling about; on the second floor there's the library where two girls can get comfortable on a loveseat, watch television, read books, play computer games, and/or chat happily together about everything that assails their interests. On the ground floor they have the choice of the living room or the family room to settle down together, tussle and tease and comment to their hearts' delight.

And on the basement level there's a study and there's also another, larger room fitted out for quiet recreation or any other reasonable pursuits; each of those rooms have comfortable plush chairs or loveseats. And plenty of bookshelves, well stocked with magazines, books, and board games. And oh yes, since it's summer, there's our lovely gardens, front and back, where stone benches and wrought-iron armchairs invite one's posterior to sit and reflect.

Not to mention the glider on the deck in the backyard, especially appreciated by young girls for its gliding motion, where they can sit on cushy supports and tattle all they wish - not in our immediate hearing. Fact is, we'd rather not hear their incessant, catty comments about mutual friends for whom they evidently share some contempt. Bad enough we're virtual prisoners in the car, when their back-seat commentary critical of all and sundry gives us massive headaches.

So with all that room in a generous-sized house, why wouldn't they choose to discreetly sequester themselves, have their fun-and-raucous-gossip cloches in rooms other than where we're relaxing, trying to read, or to conduct an adult conversation? What's the allure of having it all hang out in the presence of two grey-haired old codgers? When those two weary oldsters, having devoted the better part of the day to ferrying them about for their entertainment, really need some down-time.

What's the problem, you might query, it was only for a three-day period. True, but three days of intensive exposure to a twelve- and a thirteen-year old is enough to try the patience of any brace of 71-year-olds, however well intentioned they may be. The idea being to give the girls a bit of a summer break, away from home for a few days in a completely other atmosphere than that they're familiar with. Our idea, not theirs, mea culpa.

In which pursuit we took them hither and yon, but obviously insufficiently yon and hither. They weren't interested in going along to the local wave pool, nor were they interested in taking in a film at a local theatre. We thought for certain they'd be eager to see a film say, like WALL-e. We would. They thought otherwise. So we decided to just proceed as we normally would, and after a rip-roaring breakfast, would haul them off with us for a ravine walk.

Then take them to some place like Chapters, because both girls are avid readers. Alternately take them to Winners so they could look about and select something they'd like to add to their wardrobes. Also up to Gatineau Park one afternoon for a hike in the woods up there, just off the McKenzie King Estates; an old experience for our granddaughter, an entirely new one for her friend. Pointing out all the places of rubber-necking interest on the way, as well.

We were enchanted at first with our granddaughter's girlfriend, a fresh-faced thirteen-year-old who had been a classmate of hers, in a mixed grades 6-7 class. She has blue-green eyes, silky long hair, a lovely mouth that's capable of a truly cherubic smile. She's taller by a half-head than our twelve-year-old granddaughter, which would take her height to exactly my husband's, so she towers over me.

A sensible, sensitive young lady. Except that the saccharine brightness that we found so engaging at first became more than a trifle cloying over the space of the three days we were in constant exposure to one another. The iteration and then reiterations of "ewww, he's soo keoote!" referring to our toy poodle. And that liltingly coy "owww, then queu!" that was so initially attractive, then deteriorated to gratingly insincere.

But it was the constant allusions to the perceived faults of other people, whether they represented school chums or distant relatives, or even people they'd see walking about their business in the downtown areas, as we drove past toward our destination, their loud exclamations of "cool" or dismal rejections of "losers" resounding in our ears that deadened us to their coupled charm.

So what's the matter with us, anyway, two cranky old codgers, incapable of admiring and delighting in the presence of two alert, alive and very normal girls...?