writing doodle - day 15 - word count 691

The most uncomfortable furniture in the world goes to die in hospital rooms, especially recliners.  How anyone who is well can sit in them is a minor miracle, God forbid a patient should be in one, there would be a need for massive physical therapy after the fact.

I shifted forward on the seat cushion because my shirt had plastered itself to the seat back.  The next time I come to visit, I'm bringing a change of shirt and a towel to absorb the sweat caused by the pleather chair.  

Each time I attempted to leave, Grandpa would wake.  In order for him to get more than a few minutes of sleep at a time, I needed to keep my ass in the chair as long as I could tolerate it.  Wonder if they'd let me bring in a camping chair that would at least get a little circulation? Probably not, they'd already given me leeway about bringing in my iPod and docking station, playing piano jazz all hours of the night, and using Grandpa's favorite pillows from the RV.  

It wasn't like Grandpa's hearing was all that good, it was more a matter of masking the sounds of the machines.  The longer he heard the clicks, buzzes, and whirls of the machines, the sicker he got.  I had a limited selection of jazz on my iPod, but there was enough that the same song didn't play every thirty minutes.  The more it played, the smoother his breathing and the lower his blood pressure.

I attempted to rest my chin on my chest, but the muscles seemed permanently frozen.  Too much looking down and too little stretching tend to do that to me.  My eyes couldn't focus and I really needed a break.  If one of the nurses would take him on a walk around the floor, I could get to the drugstore and buy a pair of cheaters.  More than an hour of close reading made my eyes blur, cross, and get dry.  For a couple of bucks I could bypass the problems and embrace the purple half-moon frames that were on clearance.  

I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my index fingers. Still fuzzy and still dry.

"Gabe, we've got plans for him for a couple of hours, why don't you take off for a bit," Sharon said.

Sharon was my favorite of Grandpa's nurses.  She didn't suffer fools, neither Grandpa nor me, explained things in basic English, and liked order.  In my personal life, I like to do the organizing on a limited basis, I could never marry Sharon based on her compunction to set everything into order all of the time.  Then again, she is over sixty and married, so she's not really my type anyway.

I rose and stretched.  "Any craft or hobby stores in the area?" I was tired of attempting to read only to lose my place in whatever book or magazine was before me.

"Sure."  She gave me the names and addresses of two chain hobby stores.  "I like XXX better than YYY."

"Thanks," I said.  I scrubbed my face and thought about taking a nap before I did anything else. "What time will he be ready for company again?"

"About three h ours," she said.

A shower.  A real shower, one that lasted more than ten minutes sounded good.  A bowl of chili with a side of cheese and crackers would be lovely.  A couple of skeins of yarn, browns or beiges, and a pair of knitting needles or a crochet hook would give me a project that could potentially be mindless.

I don't remember the last time I attempted to knit something.  What I do remember is my fingers finding their own rhythm after a spell, and the calm that came down over me. I also remember who taught me to knit, Grandpa.  When my parents split when I was about eight, I needed something calming to do at night.  The XXX of us went to stay with Grandpa, and that is what we did when we were together.

Funny the memories you hold near and dear.

Scarf or potholders?
  



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word count 691