Yes, I have a Roomba. Yes, I am embarrassed to admit this. And yes, I get that being forced to face one’s own incompetencies in order to restore a non-operational Roomba to working order is a First-World Problem.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
My grandmother was courageous.
I lost sight of that fact too often.
It was easy to do, especially when she was pushing more food in front of me (despite my protests) or sneakily shoving a $20 bill into my pocket (despite my protests) or telling me about her latest malady (I wish I could have protested).
She was a tiny woman, barely up to my shoulder by the time I was 12. She was a little crazy, prone to hypochondria, and a hoarder before there was a show about it.
The first time she met my ex-husband, she gripped his hand in her gnarled, arthritic fingers and stage-whispered to him, “My urine was dark as coffee today.” He married me anyway.