Here are some of the joys of being a grandmother. The first time my tiny, baby granddaughter opened her eyes and fixed a penetrating gaze on me, I thought, “She knows who I am.” My older granddaughter, now six, who recently, when admiring an adult friend’s ornamental pool, commented, “Isn’t that papyrus growing in your pool?” And then added, to the woman’s further astonishment, “I’m obsessed with ancient Egypt.” I am to blame, having introduced her to the Metropolitan Museum and its Egyptian collection. My two-year old grandson grew frustrated with me when I didn’t understand what “horse music” referred to, and finally cried out, “Grandma, Beethoven, Beethoven!” Ah, yes, the “Pastoral Symphony” courtesy of Disney’s “Fantasia.” Being a grandmother means having time for such treasured moments, unconditional love given and received, the spirit to have fun, be indulgent, and the luxury of going home at the end of an exhilarating day.