Yesterday morning, I woke up a bit too early. About 9am or so.
Did some laundries. Two loads. Hung them outside to dry.
Came back in, did some dishes.
Truth be told, I enjoy simple domestic chores when I’m on my own, so as long as I can do them on my own time. When I can do them when I want to do them, it says to me– you have time to slow down and enjoy the simple, normal life. I don’t have to deal with work drama, or family drama, or friend drama, or world drama. Just, you know. Add soap. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
I went over to my grandparents’ place this morning after taking care of all that. It’s the first time I visit their place since my grandfather was released from the hospital the other week.
I was surprised because they were both in pretty good moods. I mean, usually, it’s one or the either of them who’s in a bad mood (they’re just kinda grouchy people). It’s not necessarily that they’re pissed at me, just that they get quite vocal about whatever it is in the world that’s not right for the day. But today, they were well behaved.
My grandmother cooked me up some lunch, and in that way that all grandmothers probably do, insisted that I also eat this, this and this out of the fridge.
When I was in elementary school, I used to go to my grandparents house at lunchtime. The schoolbus would drive me to the alley at the back of their street, where my grandfather would be waiting, sitting on a little wooden stool that he’d made himself, just for this once-daily routine. Woodworking was one of his hobbies, and though none of his creations looked that great, it was something he enjoyed doing after his retirement, which around when I was born. He’d pick up the stool, take me by the hand, throw out the cigarette, and we’d walk to his place.
I no longer have the red and blue spring jacket that once got a little hole burned in it because of a cigarette ember. The stool has long ago been scrapped, since my grandfather no longer sits that low because he can’t bend his knees that much. And he no longer smokes.
But, the noodle soups they make me for lunch, those haven’t changed. It doesn’t matter that I’m twice as tall now, three times older– some things endure the test of time.
My grandmother hasn’t seen me in about two weeks.
“When are you going to cut your hair? You look like a lion again.”
“Actually, I was planning to go cut it this afternoon.”
“Do you need money? Is that why you’re not cutting your hair?”
“I said, I’M GOING TO CUT IT THIS AFTERNOON.”
“Oh, that’s good.”