My grandmother has suddenly begun to look very old. She's 83.
Its frequently made joke in the family that she was 25 when she had my father, my father was 25 when I put in an appearance and I was 25 when First-Born turned up a week early. Possibly the only time the young lady has ever been early for anything. And I'm aware of the fact that if my family find this amusing, then it really needs to start looking for a list.
Anyhow. I paid a conscience visit (because I was a total bastard in my teenage years and still feel guilty now) with First-Born this weekend. Incidentally, she lives in a town called Newark, which is an anagram of the word I mentioned in the last post. Somewhat appropriate, considering the locals.
But I digress. She's always had this aura of industructability, but today she looked... old. Fiercely independant, she cooked lunch (the cooking process actually commenced during the previous month, judging by the consistancy of the vegetables) but let me clear up. A first.
On one hand, I'm worried about her. On the other hand, I may be able to offer to cook next time rather than endure another round of mystery meat and mush. My brother, of course, has no such qualms. "Of course I bring my own food. She's a crap cook."
Oh, and I'm really missing my DSL. 56k is so last century dahlings...
