On our walk Grandma tells me a little of the tribulations of caring for Frieda – her miserliness, infinite pickiness, and loss of will to live. She says Frieda has perked up considerably for my visit.
We all head off to church together. Amazingly, Grandpa lets me sit in the back of the car for once. The chruch is a big brown building, quite institutional. The service is as I expect, doxologies, liturgies, prayers, and hymns. Grandpa sneaks an extra contribution into the collection basket. I refrain from singing and saying things I don’t currently believe, but otherwise take part. It feels like a recitation, going through the motions, similar to my prior Presbyterian experience. Grandpa is in great spirits when we leave, exalting the joys of an indulgent Sunday.
At lunch Grandpa carefully asks if he has told a story before, and if the answer is yes he refrains. He even admits for the first time I’ve heard in public that his short-term memory is not so good. I’m proud of him, and try to respond with love and acceptance. In the afternoon he is aglow, showering me and especially Grandma with affection. He urges me to find a woman I’m absolutely crazy about, marry her, and make love to her every day after! Sadly, he also complains about his knee for the first time, and thinks he may even need his cane.
In the evening we recline before the tube. We watch Raisin in the Sun, a powerful Sydney Poitier movie about a family in Chicago during the depression. Grandpa remarks that it’s a little intense for him, but praises it with us at the end.