I wrote this on March 19, 2012, but the lovely inter workings of the world wide web would not let me post it. This is yet another attempt to post. 

As I was brushing my hair today, I realized that I really do have the “old lady ball haircut” that my daughter told me I was gonna have to get because I’m getting older. At least now it’s more stylish, and not permed, and I still have more dark brown than white hairs. As I was curling it, I thought of my 78 year old grandma and wondered if she was going to be at home today, then remembered that she goes to old lady yoga in the mornings, where they sit on a chair reaching their arms as high as they can and lifting their legs six inches off the floor. It’s a tough job, I’m so proud of her.

I spent the day at my mother’s house. 

I came here because my internet at home isn’t working. How dare it not work when it knows that it is my lifeline in all I do. I needed my mom’s wi-fi and she has a huge dining room table. What better place to pull out all my work, my laptop, my cup of coffee, and a mountain Dew and make myself at home.  

Once you open the living room door at my mother's house where my grandmother lives, or maybe it’s my grandmother's home where my mother lives, you have a direct view into my grandmothers bedroom when her door is open. I had just called and there was no answer, so I did not expect to see my grams laying on her bed. I always try to be kind of loud when I come in because she scares easily, and unfortunately I’m always the one who scares her. I usually yell out, “hola abuela” since, as a native Spanish speaker, she helped me with my Spanish classes and she’s the only person in the whole world that I’m not afraid to speak Spanish to. Today I walked in and she did not budge. I slammed the door and there was no movement, her beautiful bare brown feet were sticking out of the bottom of her blue blanket. They were swollen but that could be normal. Please, grams, move. Was it because the Mexican television show she was watching was blaring loudly and she did not hear me? Maybe she was sleeping soundly after a hard, early morning yoga workout. Please abuela, move. I don't care how good you're sleeping, wake up from your wonderful nap so that I do not have to walk into your room and find you without life. Fear gripped my heart. I stood in terror as I tried to tell myself what steps to take. I cleared my throat, I opened and shut the door again, I stomped really hard, and finally she sat up.

Relief.

She looked at me, not being able to see who it was, and then I yelled, “hola abuela, como esta?” She said, “Hi Manda! How are you?” That voice has never sounded so smooth and comforting. I walked into her room and covered her cold feet, hugged her, and told her my plans to work. She kept the show blaring and went back to sleep. I’ve never been so relieved. 

My mother has a huge round dining room table. It belonged to my grandparents and I remember as a kid digging my fork into the top of it. Even now, the wood seems soft to me and I often fight the urge to make four fork holes where I sit. There have been many plans to get it refinished, but as beautiful as it would look, I think I’d miss all the scratches and marks from 30 plus years of use. My grandmother sits a few chairs over and I watch as her beautiful old, wrinkled, brown fingers nimbly maneuver thread and cloth, sewing an extension onto her bed sheets. She calls them “shits” because of her accent. She’s using a sewing machine that I’m sure was from my mom’s hippy days, and she tells me, “this is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” concerning the sewing machine and its’ brown woodgrain contact paper covered cover. 

I have no point, other than I love watching the sharpness of my grandmother, the skills she possesses even through her aches and pains of old age, her perseverance despite the loneliness of having her husband long passed on, and her sharp wit. Just the other day I was explaining the concept of music piracy, bit torrents, and file sharing, when my mother said to my grandmother, “So mom, if someone gets music for you, does that make you a pirate?” My grandmother, sharp as a needle, immediately replied with, “no, no, we’re sharing, not stealing. I’m no pirate” 

She’s awesome.