In all of his 89 years on this planet, he’d risen with the sun. Today was no different, except that his eyes were covered with soft bandages and dark glasses to aid the healing from his cataract surgery the day before. I got him settled in his chair, facing east, holding his ProSeed mug so that the hot coffee fogged up the lenses. 

“You gonna be OK for the next couple of hours while I get some writing done Gramps?” 


“Let me know if you have to go to the bathroom, or if you need something, OK?”


I turned on the radio next to him, and as the amiable Midwestern young man started to talk about winter wheat production, and recommended vaccination times for horses, I plugged in one of my earbuds while my phone played a Yo-Yo Ma Pandora station.

The eye doctor was going to take Gramps’ bandages off at 10:30, so I had a couple of hours before I’d have to start getting him to the car. Plenty of time to get in another 500 or so words on my book. 

I went back to the kitchen table where I’d set up my laptop and dove in. After what seemed like only 10 or 15 minutes, I felt, rather than heard some movement.

“We’ve still got a while before we have to go to the eye doctor’s, can I get you anything?”

“No need.” 

I looked up at my grandpa’s beaming, unbandaged face as he stood gazing out the window, probably seeing his land clearly for the first time in many years. 

“What’cha looking at?”


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