Those Who Have Ears To Hear

Fascinating fridge.

Fascinating fridge.

“She doesn’t listen does she?” Asked my 6’3″ cousin in his stately British accent as he stood, arms crossed in my postage stamp of a kitchen. He was just about a foot away from me as we watched my mom rustling around in the refrigerator just about 5 ¬†feet away from both of us – yes, my kitchen is that small.

“No,” I answered, my own arms crossed as I wondered exactly what she was looking for in the cool recesses of the fridge.

A few seconds passed in silence as he and I continued to watch.

“Mom,” I said. “You should sit down, and I’ll bring you your tea.”

“Yes,” she replied, moving things around a bit more without moving herself.

Silence again.

“She really, really doesn’t listen does she,” my cousin dryly stated.

“No,” I replied.

There are times when my mom really does just need to sit down. She gets a little peaked looking like she’s in a bit of pain, and I can tell she needs to rest for a bit before she goes about doing whatever she’s going to go about doing. That’s usually when I tell her she should probably sit down for a bit, and I’ll bring her a cup of tea – because you know tea takes care of everything if your English.

This was one of those times. She had readily agreed. So, I had turned on the electric kettle in preparation for her sitting down, having lofty expectations that she would, for once, do what she had agreed to. That was until I turned around to see she hadn’t made it very far towards the living room. In fact, she hadn’t made it 2 feet before stopping at the fridge to do something, but I wasn’t quite sure what.

As the kettle boiled behind me, I leaned on the kitchen counter while my cousin did the same a look of incredulousness – yes, maybe it’s not a word, but I like it – on his face because he had seen the entire proceedings, maybe even more than once since he had arrived. But, this was the first time he made any comment on it. Even then, we stood for a few minutes watching her before he asked anything about my mom’s interesting ability to listen, or not, depending on how you look at it.

“She really, really, really doesn’t listen does she,” he stated for the third time.

“No,” I replied.

We glanced at each-other as my mom stood up, nothing in her hand from what appeared to be a fruitless search.

“What?” She asked looking over at us as she straightened up before making her way towards her chair in the living room pushing her ruby red walker in front of her.





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