My maternal grandmother was partially blind and very, very, very deaf. During the winter we’d take care of her at our place as we lived in town. This was so as to prevent her from getting any form of cold in the village.
My mother is a sour puss – literaaly. She drinks her coffee black and bitter, rarely eats cakes and if she does sweeten her chamomille drink it’s only with a few drops of honey. Dear old Grannie was the exact opposite.
Every afternoon Grannie would ask for her Greek coffee and mum would obligingly make it. I was always downstairs working so I never realized that it was bitter. It occurred to me after a few days of coming up for a break and seeing poor old Grannie sitting there with a half empty cup. She was so sweet that she never, ever complained for fear of burdening you.
I didn’t say anything but the next day I came up promptly at 5pm knowing that her coffee was brewing. I offered to prepare it for her under mum’s strict orders.
I placed the coffee next to Grannie guiding her hand to it. She felt for my hand and whispered: “A little more sugar, please.”
“Three teaspoon fulls ready for you Grannie.”
We spent the whole afternoon laughing till our sides ached to the confusion of my mum.
Catherine Zgouras, Greece