Grandpa's Mind

Grandpa 's heart When I pulled my parents' lane, I noticed how noisy the radio was. I turned it over, peeled off the blue plastic sheet, and dragged my mountain clothes to the front door. Door handles do not turn, I have not yet turned myself into a key. I washed the watch and waited. No I left the basket of dirty clothes on the stairs and I walked through the bushes in front of the living room window. Pep sat across his room and sat on his usual chair to read the newspaper.

My aunt's grandfather caught me! After cruel spiritual deterioration, Grandpa's idea seems to be in the rally! I am multitasking - let's crash Apple, play Scrabble with my grandfather, and reply to e-mail. I streamed my word quickly, but I did not pay much attention. The bottom half is mainly watching our game while scanning YouTube. About three quarters of the past, Youngest added my grandfather's point and calculated that grandpa won! As I had not really noticed, Grandpa played a strategic "structure" with double word score and bingo games to connect the cement and join and then join the zebra with him. S ". Grandpa used his engineering theme very well, in contrast, my words do not seem to have inspiration and color direction - green, yellow, red - (on grandpa's train Multitasking scrabble made me irritate.

In the summer afternoon 35 years ago, I saw the imagination of my grandfather and grandchild at Central Park. They are making bubbles. The boy's bubble is beautiful and shining. They continued for a while, then they were in danger of extinction. However, my grandfather drank a cigar. He takes a breath and smokes in the foam. They landed some smog when they landed on the sidewalk or the lawn. In the outer eye, my life seems to contain silence (and poetry), but in reality silence is rare, and poetry is rarely read or written. In fact, when I read the explanation of the lives of Facebook friends, I felt like an absolute Martian person, and these explanations seemed to be devoted to reading and writing poetry. They say that poetry is like sacred poetry. Maybe I can rediscover this feeling I felt 40 years ago. However, many of the poems I have read do not prompt silence for me, but seem to help you.