Gran Wakes Up

Gran Doing Her Thing

It’s half past five, give or take, and Gran has been up for well over an hour. She has polished and shined herself, she has brewed the coffee and lit her morning candle. Woodsy incense curls and swirls through the living room., new age music tickles her soul, arousing her mind, easing her into a cold December morning on the mountain.

 Gran’s little mountain is hard, black and cold at this time of the day, at this time of the year. The candle she lit offers Gran a brassy reflection, which rises and falls in the dark window pane above her desk. It is very quiet in her house now. The large dogs are all inside, downstairs, snoozing and snoring, with the exception of “Tweet” who refuses to come inside unless there is ice and snow, she is curled in her hay filled house under the pines, sleeping like a puppy.  Miles, Gran’s “tittie baby” fur kid is on the sofa watching her every move with bright, round black eyes.  Miles is the “watcher” of Gran, heaven knows, someone has to be. Gran suspects that this little dog reports her every move to “officials” somewhere, just in case Gran becomes dangerous.

Here at her desk, Gran considers her life, every morning, there are these same questions. “What matters today, what will matter tomorrow, what will matter in a hundred years?” She considers, for the millionth time…. if anything will matter in a hundred years? 

Given the few true options for todays menu of carnal delicacies, Gran decides to have fun today, to smile through her sorrow, to dance when the going gets rough, to sing, even though she cannot carry a tune in a bucket.  Why not?

While she is at it, perhaps she will do something bold, like go into the bedroom and throw everything that she hasn’t worn in one year, out of the closet, and into a donation bag for someone who might wear it this next year. Only good could come from that move.  She will do it.

Now, it is time for Gran to refill her coffee and get ready to knock down a sleepy Poppa with her big, fat “good morning hugs” for he must pretend to be an accountant today, and that is not easy for a clown like Poppa.


Published by sheilarosskuhn

I write, I am an earth mother goddess...

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