One of my favorite memories, strangely enough, is from a totally mundane morning back in my days of bachelorhood. At the time, I lived with a buddy in a house he’d purchased on the prairie edge of my hometown. I had actually been at a house party until the sun crept over the morning horizon and was driving home past my grandmother’s house. It was a time when she would be awake and sitting at her kitchen table, drinking cold coffee.
I hadn’t been drinking much, and I
decided to drop in and see her before continuing home to crash.
Granny was elated to see me so early
on a Saturday morning. We chatted a little before I noticed there were dishes
in her sink.
“Let me do your dishes while we’re
talking,” I said.
“I can do them,” she replied.
“I actually want to do them. And when
have you ever heard that from me?”
Grandmother smiled. “Okay.”
I clinked and swished through her
dishes as we talked about nothing that lifted any weight or brought daylight to
shadows. Just the small things. And the kitchen was warm and brightening with a
new day.
All of us alive then.
—Mitchell Hegman
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