The old spin-wheel has always been this grotesque thing on display in my grandmother’s bedroom. I’ve never seen her use it nor have I seen her give it a glance. It’s just there, occupying the corner, piquing my curiosity while driving me to the brink of insanity.
I have to know. Why is it there? I need to found out, to satisfy my curiosity, satiate my investigative journalistic mind. “Grandma, why do you have that thing?” I ask one day.
Without glancing up from her knitting, Grandma sighs, “It’s a coping mechanism.” She shakes her head. “It’s a long story.”
(100 words)
This is Another Story 
It’s a sweet thing to cherish! 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
A reminder of the past, we wonder what. Your story raises more questions than answers.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A story I sense will remain untold. Nice one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, I do, too, or until grandma is ready.
LikeLike
Grandma has now learned new ways to lessen stress. She now finds drinking coffee easier than spinning the wheel.
LikeLiked by 1 person
😆😆😆
LikeLike
i guess it’s better left unsaid than trying to spin it. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
😆😆😆
LikeLiked by 1 person