Bunica Stares

For winter, Bunica Lyuba has holed up much like a small, furred creature in her two room hovel.

In early December the outside of the windows were plastic wrapped, and sealed with two inch wide beams. She hung up blankets, in addition to the customary carpets, on the inside over all the doors and windows. When you walk in, they fall down.

She get's pretty snippy about most things, like whether or not she's sat at the head of the table, or how bad beans taste always, but if you knock down one of the blankets -- you're in for it.

Up to November she was still ambling around, herding turkeys, picking up sticks, feeding the birds. Now she yells at Maria when Maria goes over to bring her beans, or watches me do these things. I'm exempt, like all grandchildren, from being yelled at. However, whenever I haul wood, or chase birds, she's there, in the window, with her cane and scowl, usually pretty amused by my doing things.

In October, when we were chopping the last of the summer wood, she sat and watched me hatchet away for an hour or so. In the bird yard. Now we bring her corn sacks full of that wood. Now it's just from the window. Knowing how freaking cold it is.