Tonight is my night to feed Grandma at the care facility. I decided to read to her after dinner instead of setting her in front of the TV before I leave. I took Moby Dick. I had low expectations that she would enjoy the book at all. I thought just being read to might be soothing.
The chapter where Ishmael and Queequeg meet is pretty funny. Grandma interrupted to tell me she thinks Ishmael is goofy. I agree his behavior is a little frenetic.
A couple of chapters in she raised her hand. She said, "I want to know what this story is about."
I said, "Well, it's about..."
"No," she interrupted, "I don't want you to tell me what it's about."
"Oh. Okay, I'll keep reading then." And we went on.
For a woman who can sometimes seem a little lost, she seemed pretty lucid to me tonight. For me there is a strange parallel. I find Moby Dick as strange and mysterious and ominous as what is happening to Grandma.
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