Taking note of my intrigued eyes fixated on her, mother Margarets casts me a weak smile. She moves her buttocks to the edge of the chair, places both hands on the armrests of the chair and firmly presses down as she unloads her weight off the chair.
As I watch her struggle to stand up from her seat, I acknowledge the challenges of being old, fragile and weak. I agree that it is a gift to grow old but it is definetly an impairing gift.
"Where are you going?" I ask with concern. I do not understand why she would stand up before finishing her story.
"Are you tired of sitting down?" I add, after she delays responding.
"My mouth has dried up from talking for too long, I need to heat water for tea and cookies," she answers.
"Mother Margaret, why didn't you just tell me? I would have hap
