Arm & Hammer

I'm tired and don't feel like writing anything today, so here's a little something I wrote when I got home from the hospital last Sunday night after my gramma was admitted. Five days later, it's amazing how fast she has declined. It's also amazing how in Christ, that is a blessing. Love you guys.

My gramma has always been, ahem, proud of her looks. She is very discriminant in her choice of clothing. The list of acceptable colors and fashions is relatively short and always classic.
Likewise, she has always been very aware of her figure. Never an extra inch on the woman. Continually on the look-out for those who might be wearing a hair piece.
So we're in the hospital and I'm trying to comfort, calm and soothe her. I am holding her hand and talking in low and peaceful tones. I am being quite the Nancy Nurse.
She reaches up a frail hand to touch my arm.
"Is this muscular?"
She touches my arms.
"No, it's soft. It's big and soft."
Me, "It sure is, it's just fat!"
Gramma, "That's not funny. Good bye!"
And that was that.