Thursday, August 16, 2012
Away with the Fairies
I was returning a borrowed book to her.
I found her on her couch, the large screen teevee bellowing mightily into the oblivious air from its forbidding presence beside by the fireplace.
She shot up guiltily as soon as she saw me.
"How are you?" I asked, a little concerned. This woman is a mighty presence in the area, a recipient of the coveted Queen's recent Jubilee Medal. A spearhead of the Fisherman's Museum, a poet, a painter, a quilter, a historian, a published author. Prone on a couch in the middle of the afternoon? I would have said never.
"Can't go anywhere," she said plaintively, "My son is supposed to be fixing my car and took it to his place until he gets back from offshore, it's been weeks now."
"And nobody ever visits anymore."
I found that surprising. Another son and daughter-in-law and various nephews and nieces are scattered all around her.
She went to her fridge and hauled out a plate of fishcakes.
"Would you like one?" she proffered the plate. I demurred. Cold fishcake? Seriously? What's going on?
"I don't cook much, the family keep taking me over to their places and feeding me and then giving me all sorts of stuff, look!" The fridge was packed.
She had just said nobody visited. Alright.
I mentioned a mutual friend had her first grandchild. A girl. I told her the pictures were on Facebook.
"I've forgotten how to use my computer," she laughed.
"Was the grandchild a boy or a girl?" she asked me. I said girl.
We inspected some of her crochet which she hauled from her linen closet.
"What did they call the boy?" she asked me.
"It was a girl"
"You said it was a boy."
"My mistake, a girl."
She took me over to the piano and all the pictures of her grandchildren.
"And this new grandchild you were talking about? Was it a boy or a girl?"
And I thought my heart would break.