Necessary New Normal

The chill of the evening air whipped around the length of Teresa’s knee-length skirt. The damp fabric clung to her plump thighs with the weight of the soapy laundry water. The sunset cast a splendid array of orange and yellow hues across the almost cloudless sky. Teresa yanked the last piece of clothing; a heavy set cotton sweater from the plastic basin that was filled to the brim with rinsing water wringing it dry before clipping it next to a pink silk pajama pants to the clothesline that was now hanging low under the weight of numerous freshly washed garments. She stood, hands rested on her delicate hips and admired her handiwork, then reached to overturn the basin of water. 

Her delicate wrists gripped the rim of the red marble swirled basin and in one quick and deliberate motion she flipped it over. Almost instantaneously a  sharp, bone-chilling pain shot through her wrists.

“Oh man!” the words escaped her lips immediately in a cry that gradually grew into a shriek.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” Annie, Teresa’s daughter rushed through the backdoor, her glossy pink polished toes, squished into the now soaked grass that was swollen with the spilled laundry water.

“Mom?” she repeated while bending to Teresa’s side to inspect the wrist that Teresa was holding close to her chest as if her life depended on it.

Teresa looked up into her daughter’s perturbed face, knowing the rebuke that would follow after the inspection. 

Ever since she migrated from the Cayman Islands eight months ago, to live permanently with her daughter, son in law and granddaughter Mira, Teresa remained adamant that she would be sticking to her customary manner of carrying out her daily chores. Despite having the luxury of a washing machine and dryer at her disposal, every Thursday as if automated, she whipped out her washbasin, scrubbing brush and clothespins, and crouched under the shade of the American Beech tree that cascaded its branches in the Johnson’s backyard, and scrubbed every piece of clothing by hand. Their yard was the only yard in the exclusive gated community of Rosemount to have a laundry line in the backyard. Instead of taking advantage of the vacuum cleaner, she'd opted for the broom. Annie even saw her once, choosing to stovetop microwavable popcorn. If there was a relatively easier choice, Teresa would almost always settle for the most arduous option available. Today was no exception.

“We talked about this mom, your arthritic wrists need to rest.”

There was an edge of annoyance that carried through Annie’s voice. “Dr. Seymour recommended minimal activity with your hands, after your last flare-up, or did you choose to forget?”

“I simply flipped the basin over, like I’ve done plenty o' times before today,” said Teresa in her rich Caymanian drawl.

If she had sensed any irritation in her daughter’s voice, she simply did not care to acknowledge it.

“Washing clothes in that spinning thing might give you a sense of comfort…” she outstretched her arm summoning assistance from Annie to get on her feet. “...but I’ve seen the color faded from you, Eric, and Mira’s clothing, hell will freeze over twice before that happens to my precious pieces.” she declared. "Not to mention the shrinkage. Good lord" 

Annie, knowing it was a losing battle to debate logic with her mother, especially when it relates to her ancient means of doing tasks,  managed a helpless sigh as she gently eased her to her feet and led her indoors. 

“Mira, please bring me the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet!” Annie called while seating her mother on the white leather living room sofa.

Teresa was still clutching her hurt wrist close to her chest. Her eyes were clenched shut because the initial shock had now worn off and was replaced with a more steady, throbbing, ache, that seemed to numb all her senses from focusing on anything except the now swollen wrist. She almost regretted choosing the unnecessary taxing means of getting her clothes washed. Almost. She heard the frantic patter of tiny feet against the marble tiled floor approach. It was Mira.

“What’s wrong Nana?” she asked in a gentle voice laced with concern, as she placed the kit in Annie’s arms.

 “Nana was being stubborn honey,” Annie said teasingly, an easy smile etched across her dark red glossy lips, as she placed a soft hand on her mother’s shoulder.

She was still cladded in her work clothes. A snugly fit, grey pantsuit. Her burgundy-dyed hair pinned in a messy bun completely worn out from a busy day at the courthouse. She meticulously massaged an icy balm over Teresa’s now swollen wrist and tenderly wrapped a compression bandage over the irritated area. Mira looked on while sitting with her legs crossed on the floor. 

The front door swung open.

Mira promptly rushed off her feet to greet the tall, athletic-built man who stood in the doorway. With one swoop he picked her up and kissed her soft cheeks while walking towards the couch. Teresa threw her head back out of mock exasperation. She was dreading another lecture from her son-in-law. 

 “What happened?” the lines in his forehead hinted of concern as he leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss on Annie’s lips.

Mira squirmed out his arms, then crawled onto Teresa’s lap.

“Nana hurt her hand by being stubborn,” she repeated almost verbatim to what Annie had told her.

The three adults burst into a fit of laughter.

“Don’t worry about me.” Teresa waved them off with her good hand. “I’ll be just fine.” If there was one thing she despised more than laziness, it would be sympathy. She loathed the notion of being coddled or eliciting any form of pity out of another. She rose to her feet, in an attempt to prove she was not to be worried about. “Let’s get ready for dinner, I made steam fish, veggies, and white rice, before all this fiasco.” She turned to Eric and Annie. “You two go and freshen up, Mira and I will set the table.” 

Moments later, they were all seated at the glossy dark brown wood dining table. The warm light illuminated the cozy room and created an aura of warmth and belonging, in disparity to the sound of the roaring high winds that banged against the exterior of the house. The satisfying pungent whiff of Teresa’s well-cooked dinner filed the room as they ate and talked in great detail about the highlights of their day.

Eric was engrossed in a recount of a chase that ended with the arrest of a perpetrator that was allegedly caught selling dope to high school minors. He was right towards the end of his story when Mira’s small voice dancing with enthusiasm cut through his.

“Nana, what type of pizza are we having on Saturday? Gwyneth Stewart is obsessed with your pork sausage, but I  would love your BBQ chicken pizza this week.”

Her head bobbed with a childlike zeal as she popped a small forkful of rice and fish into her little mouth. Teresa blinked a few times to try to put what Mira said into context.

“Nana’s wrist hurt baby, I think we can skip on her famous pizza and cookies for one week,” Annie commented as she chewed on a piece of broccoli smothered in gravy.

 “But mommy, all the girls love nana’s pizza and chocolate chip cookies,”  Mira whined, her big darling brown eyes reflected her disappointment. 

Every Saturday for the past five months, it was customary for Teresa to provide the group of Rosemount Elementary school Art club, her family famous homemade pizza, and chocolate chip cookies for their after club refreshments. Occasionally, she would also whip up a batch of soft, scrumptious peanut butter cookies if she had enough time to spare. The kids loved her baking, and it was a task that Teresa took to great pride in performing, especially to make her beloved granddaughter happy. She looked at the despondency that washed over Mira’s small round face, then at her swollen wrapped wrist, and a deep heavy sigh heaved its way through her chest. She felt disheartened knowing she was letting Mira and her club down. 

“Come on Mira, you know nana is not intentionally letting you down.” Eric chimed in defense for Teresa.  

Mira sighed after a short consideration. “I know.”

“Besides, nana Edith would be more than happy to fill in for nana Teresa,” he added while gently rubbing his daughter’s back. 

Annie gave a short laugh, knowing what would come next.

“Eric, your mother is cool and all, but the spoiled-the-grandkid with homemade food role has already been reserved for me,” Teresa said while waving her fork in the air. 

“She has already filled the role of taking Mira to every shopping trip there is known to man, I cannot have her barking up my territory. Besides, the last time your mother probably hand-cooked a decent meal was when dial-up internet was considered cool and boys had Daisy Dukes posters lining their walls,” she added teasingly. 

A small laugh escaped Annie’s throat. Eric waved his arms in surrender. There was a silent, subtle feud between his mother and Teresa, everyone was aware of it except for Mira, who only knew that she was immensely adored by both her nana’s. Teresa turned to Mira. “I don't know how I’ll do it, but I will come through for you,” she assured. 

“Mom please don't make promises, you cannot fulfill, accept the help and quit being stubborn. This is more about Mira and her club than it is about useless pride.” Annie said, in a tone that indicated she was exasperated, but still wanted to be kind to her mom. Teresa lowered her head in defeat but remained resolute in the thought that she would come through for her granddaughter.

It was not her who found the solution to the problem though. The next evening as the family relaxed while watching a rerun of Ridiculousness on MTV, Eric and Annie handed Teresa a large box wrapped with gift paper and a small bow. She raised a quizzical brow as she studied their faces. Her birthday was months ago and she could not think of an occasion that warranted her a gift of any sort.

“Open it nana,” Mira jabbered while throwing her little body on the tile to sit next to the box.

Teresa gestured towards Eric to open it while motioning to her wrapped wrist. “I can barely lift air,” she chuckled. 

He carefully unwrapped the paper and placed the bow to the side on the tile.

”What is it?” Teresa inquired while turning the front of a large Hamilton branded box to face her. 

“Something that’ll make pizza and cookie dough a lot less strenuous on your hands,” Annie promised. “If you can just put your aversion towards new technology aside for once,” she added.

 Teresa swept aside some stray strands of her ashen gray hair from her eyes to read the large print on the box.

 “Hamilton Beach Electric Stand Mixer,” Mira read aloud, with a touch of animation in her voice.

“Um, what’s this?” Teresa turned to both Annie and Eric who both were beaming from ear to ear. 

A few minutes later, Mira was using Annie’s phone to browse Youtube, showcasing a variety of tutorials that exemplified the easy use of the mixer to put together the easiest pizza and cookie dough recipe. Teresa’s eyes widened with awe as she watched from the screen to her now owned stand mixer sitting on the floor beside her. 

“I know you like to…” Eric threw up his fingers in an air quote “...do everything the hard way. But we think this may help you a bit.” 

Teresa’s eyes welled up with the slightest hint of tears which she hastily blinked away.

“Thank you guys,” she said while ushering him in for a deep hug. She turned to a delighted Mira. “Now let's get to the baking princess.”

The two spent the latter half of the night assembling their pizzas with little disturbance to Teresa’s hurt wrist. The pain had subsided a bit from the agonizing upset it caused the day before, but she was very grateful for the help of her new appliance. With her directions, Mira helped her in measuring, pouring, and forming the doughs. The air was infused with the sweet smell of baked BBQ pizza and delectable chocolate chip cookies. Close to midnight, Teresa escorted Mira to bed, to get some rest for her club meeting the next day. She finished off the night, managing with little effort to whip up two extra batches of peanut butter cookies.

She smiled to herself after finishing then; wearily turned the lights off casting a shadow over the kitchen as she took herself to her room and turned in for the night. 

***

“Is that the last tray?” Ms. Whitley, Mira’s art club director asked Teresa.

She peered through her wide-rimmed glasses around the room at the line that snaked all the way through the doors of the art room, leading into the school hallway.

“There’s two more here,” Teresa replied while lifting the floral printed tea towel exposing two trays of peanut butter cookies. “We’re all out of pizza for sure though,” she confirmed. 

“I swear if I should place a bet, these kids only make an appearance to club these days for the snacking and opportunity to dress pretty out of their tunics,” Mrs. Whitley said while handing a peanut butter cookie into the small hands of a short red haired boy who had a tiny speckle of purple acrylic paint on his nose. 

“Oh, you're being too kind, but I’m sure food is not the only factor, Mira is totally obsessed with all the different projects she gets to explore,” said Teresa with a warm smile, as she fought to contain the sense of pride she felt that fluttered like butterflies within her stomach. 

Teresa and Mrs.Whitley spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the refreshment area while the kids dwindled in numbers as each parent came to retrieve their child. When the room significantly reduced in the number of kids present, Mrs. Whitley assured Teresa she was ok in staying back alone with the others. “You’ve done so much, I cannot thank you enough. Thanks for volunteering, as usual, your food knocked it out of the park.”

Mira bounced through the open doorway which led into the spacious kitchen, modeling a toothy little grin on her pretty face. Her hands clutched the clay pot she created and painted just a few hours earlier. Annie was busy packing out groceries into the cabinet when Mira and Teresa entered the room. 

“Look what I made mommy!” She eagerly held her art project out for her mom to see.

Annie hastily rested a few packs of kidney beans into the cabinet before closing the door and giving her attention to Mira.

“Oooh you are such a talented little girl.” she gushed while lifting Mira and propping her on her hips.

 “How was today?” she turned her attention to Teresa. 

“I made twice the amount I normally make and I still ran short. Those kids are little engines,” she replied with a throaty chuckle. “Are you making dinner?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Me?” Annie tapped her chest. “Ma you know I can only cook Ramen noodles and sometimes even that I burn that,” she shrugged and released a tight laugh.  

Teresa slowly stepped around her to reach the fridge. “Let me see what an old lady can whip up,” her steel grey eyes surveyed the contents of the freezer. “How does pulled pork sandwiches sound to you guys?” her voice muffled under the humming of the freezer.

“Can your hands handle that work?” Annie asked with concern. 

Teresa yanked the hard meat out of its spot and carefully plopped it in the sink. She turned to Annie with her good hand resting on her hips, “honey, I've got a flat beater attachment on my mixer to help nana out with that,” she said gave a hearty laugh.   

“You're all tech-savvy now," Mira giggled allowing her shoulder-length pigtails to bounce from side to side. 

“Is Eric pulling a double shift tonight?” Teresa asked while pouring water over the icy meat.

Annie shook her head. “Nah, he’s expected home any minute now, ‘been out since around six this morning, he needs some rest,” she sighed while placing Mira down on her feet. 

“Yea he’ll also need a full meal,” Teresa said while poking the hard cold pork with a finger. “I better get started on this.”