I drove up to Buffalo New York today to visit my grandparents who are both in their nineties. And when I arrived and was talking to my grandfather face to face I just could not help but realize how incredibly whimsical it is to be talking to someone  who is quite literally 65 years older than myself. Think about that for a second and what wisdom there is in watching someone at the end of their life when you yourself feel as if you are just beginning your life. There is wisdom in the hands that have held that morning paper for hours upon hours, whimsy in the hair that has been cut with too many haircuts to count, whimsy in those feet that have walked millions of miles to football games and Notre Dame, family parties, anniversaries, birthdays, sports games of his own children and grandchildren, eyes that have seen many wonders of the world and a mind that remembers perhaps not so much day to day but all the memories of childhood and days at college and playing football old buddies who have come and gone, past trumphs and of course failures. I think we sometimes focus on how much has been lost that we forget just how much has been gained from that one life and the family and our time together and laughs and tears and quite literally the whimsy gained from experience. Experience in hurt. Experience in loving. Experience in living. Whimsy is experience and the ability to pass that experience and life widsom onto others. And sometimes wisdom is gleaned just from careful understanding and time spent together.