Her house- the big beautiful one- is more than she can manage, no matter what she says or how much she loves it.
When I arrived on Sunday, I entered through the seldom used front door, navigating the loose step and soft wood threshold.
“Oh dear,” she remarked as she stepped forward to hug me, “the painters tried to fix that last summer but I guess I need to call someone.”
“Maybe we can do that this week while I’m here,” I replied, leaning down to pet her old dog who’d wandered into the hall to join us.
The late afternoon sun streams through the open door, and the cobwebs and layer of dust are on full display. Tomorrow, I think to myself, I’ll tell her I need some exercise and that is why I’m going to pull out the vacuum cleaner, furniture polish, and rags.