Grandma

She sat there in her leather chair,

Watching the glowing television.

It was a soap opera of course, that had caught her attention, I wonder who was sleeping with who this week. I could never know as it was in Portuguese, so I had no hope.

As she sat and watched in her hunched position of comfort I began to notice her rhythm.

A cough here, a laugh there and every so often she would mutter something in Portuguese about these people. I don’t know the words but I can tell from the intonation that it was something along the lines of “Oh my god!” or “What a silly girl” or when she was feeling extra adventurous “That is absolutely ridiculous how insane for that to happen these silly people” but then again I’m only guessing.

It was simple for her, this was it. Cook for this long in a day, sort these things out and when I’m tired come here and catch up on the ridiculous plots of Portuguese soap opera.

And when she was done with it she would stand, painfully as her hips almost audibly creaked and body attempted motion. It was fascinating to watch her build her movement one step at a time.

First the aching stance of upright positioning.

Second the first step towards the TV, the most painful and laboured step.

By the Third step she was one her way, like a speeding bullet with no hope of slowing down other than being sunk back into the black reclining chair.

The Grandmother lived a simple life, a good life; the lady and her chair.