Surgical Chores

While compiling a to-do list for the day, I ran across a story coming from the radio. A woman spoke in cautionary tones of her childhood relationship with her grandmother, who was now deceased. By her description, theirs was a love unmatched by the ages, rarer than pickled velvet. During an afternoon muscle soaking in the little room off of the parlor, the grandmother passed a tale down to her cherished companion of which the moral was lost forever. When the program ended, I began working through my list by squatting on the floor and picking pebbles from a bowl of rinsed lentils.