Oh look it's a bird it's a plane
It's supergramma.
My grandmother and grandfather share one passion - keeping track of what cars and people pass their house. I never quite saw the charm in or point of this until today, while we were eating lunch at the window table.
"Look pa", grandma tells her husband. "It's old one-eyed Edna on her way to the store."
Grandpa, as is custom, spins around to take a quick look. Grandma is quicker, as she forks a particularly tough piece of meat and, with a flick of the wrist, sends it flying to grandpa's plate.
She winks at me, mouthing : "He NEVER notices!" and sticks her last piece of potato into her mouth, munching contentedly.
You're never too old to become a feeder, this the internets has told me. I doubt that my grandma is one of those female fat admirers though, at least not as much as she might be at that age where you use your significant other for comic relief. And you're never too young for that, and my lovely brother pointed out yesterday.
Magda is an ancient lady who will often feign choking at dinner to prove how poorly she is. When asked if she is choking, she will pause and reply very coherently that "This is it. This is it for me!" - (that is, until next day). I finally took the time to sit down with her since I didn't have the time to run away and join the rest of my family outside in the garden. My brother was also trapped inside the house with her, but chose to make the best of the situation, playing charades and dancing a mighty fine belly dance behind her back as she spoke to me about various friends that had died recently. He tried to mute her with the remote control and bop the space behind her head with a pillow. He swam through oceans judging by his arm movements and was at one time, even chased by a shark judging by his suddenly more frantic arm-movements.
After a while I felt the tears of laughter prickling the corners of my eyes and had to excuse myself, running into the kitchen. Mom was making coffee. I begged her to call Magda to come outside with her. Mom fell quiet, very quiet. Then she mumbled:
"You know, you're doing a very good deed here."
I kept hissing my request to her retreating back even as she, avoiding my eyes and unseen to Magda, snuck through the back door. My brother's face lit up when I returned to the couch, scooping up more ammunition to float behind Magda's head.
My grandmother and grandfather share one passion - keeping track of what cars and people pass their house. I never quite saw the charm in or point of this until today, while we were eating lunch at the window table.
"Look pa", grandma tells her husband. "It's old one-eyed Edna on her way to the store."
Grandpa, as is custom, spins around to take a quick look. Grandma is quicker, as she forks a particularly tough piece of meat and, with a flick of the wrist, sends it flying to grandpa's plate.
She winks at me, mouthing : "He NEVER notices!" and sticks her last piece of potato into her mouth, munching contentedly.
You're never too old to become a feeder, this the internets has told me. I doubt that my grandma is one of those female fat admirers though, at least not as much as she might be at that age where you use your significant other for comic relief. And you're never too young for that, and my lovely brother pointed out yesterday.
Magda is an ancient lady who will often feign choking at dinner to prove how poorly she is. When asked if she is choking, she will pause and reply very coherently that "This is it. This is it for me!" - (that is, until next day). I finally took the time to sit down with her since I didn't have the time to run away and join the rest of my family outside in the garden. My brother was also trapped inside the house with her, but chose to make the best of the situation, playing charades and dancing a mighty fine belly dance behind her back as she spoke to me about various friends that had died recently. He tried to mute her with the remote control and bop the space behind her head with a pillow. He swam through oceans judging by his arm movements and was at one time, even chased by a shark judging by his suddenly more frantic arm-movements.
After a while I felt the tears of laughter prickling the corners of my eyes and had to excuse myself, running into the kitchen. Mom was making coffee. I begged her to call Magda to come outside with her. Mom fell quiet, very quiet. Then she mumbled:
"You know, you're doing a very good deed here."
I kept hissing my request to her retreating back even as she, avoiding my eyes and unseen to Magda, snuck through the back door. My brother's face lit up when I returned to the couch, scooping up more ammunition to float behind Magda's head.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home