My grandmother was a small, dark-complexioned woman, with an exceedingly haughty, and very repulsive expression. She received all her daughter-in-law's endeavors to make her feel at home as a natural right; and appeared to consider other people intended only for her sole use and benefit. As I glanced from her to my mother's fair, soft beauty, and strikingly sweet expression.My grandmother sits in her chair at the window. It is not the most comfortable chair in the house, it is wicker with a floral cushion that is none too thick. Perched there she observes the passers by and makes comments about whatever exciting thing she thinks they are off to do. She lives vicariously through these random strangers who will never know this sweet old girl. I watch her, face entranced, the morning light reflected off her tanned and wrinkled skin and the eyes that belie her eighty years. She has laughter lines from her gift for smiling easily, her personality is all there to read in those creases; she's no longer the blank page she was in her wedding pictures. Then her face takes on a look of delight, "A cup of tea m'dear, let's have tea." So we do, always made in a china pot, milk in a little jug, proper little cups like on an old movie. Then she shuffles over to the refrigerator and after some rummaging she brings out two chocolate eclairs.
My grandmother was a small, dark-complexioned woman, with an exceedingly haughty, and very repulsive expression. She received all her daughter-in-law's endeavors to make her feel at home as a natural right; and appeared to consider other people intended only for her sole use and benefit. As I glanced from her to my mother's fair, soft beauty, and strikingly sweet expression.My grandmother sits in her chair at the window. It is not the most comfortable chair in the house, it is wicker with a floral cushion that is none too thick. Perched there she observes the passers by and makes comments about whatever exciting thing she thinks they are off to do. She lives vicariously through these random strangers who will never know this sweet old girl. I watch her, face entranced, the morning light reflected off her tanned and wrinkled skin and the eyes that belie her eighty years. She has laughter lines from her gift for smiling easily, her personality is all there to read in those creases; she's no longer the blank page she was in her wedding pictures. Then her face takes on a look of delight, "A cup of tea m'dear, let's have tea." So we do, always made in a china pot, milk in a little jug, proper little cups like on an old movie. Then she shuffles over to the refrigerator and after some rummaging she brings out two chocolate eclairs.