Life doesn't get any better than this

I'm a grandfather. I'm retired. I'm ill. My heart is slowly converting from muscle to a mix of fat and scar tissue. I have a somewhat rare genetic disease of the heart. But most of all, I'm joyful. And for that I can thank my three granddaughters.

Little Isla is not twenty-months-old but she has a well-laid out life. She has stuff she like to do and she lays out her day to accommodate all these interests. Painting is one of her must-do activities. She will call out, "Gugga! Paint!"

When I appear she takes my hand and leads me to the door to the basement. "Downstairs," she both announces and orders. I open the door, turn on the lights and Isla takes my hand seeking help to get down the stairs safely.

She picks out her brushes carefully and trembles with excitement when the little pots of paint appear. She dips her brush in some purple paint and begins making big swirls of wet colour. Life doesn't get any better than this, at least not for Isla. She loves painting with Gugga and she also loves Gugga.

And, for me, life doesn't get any better than this. There is not a thing I would change.