Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

“Oh, Grandma, it still needs to be cooked.” I grabbed the spoon away from her lips.

“I used to know everything, and now absolutely nothing,” she said in a tone of resignation.

“Grandma, am I your daughter or your granddaughter?” I asked her.

She looked at me with a smile of sympathy. “If I’m Grandma, then you are Granddaughter. It could not be more logical.”

“You see, Grandma, you remember. You remember a lot of things.”

“You are clowning around,” she was amused. “And the second injustice,” she went on, “which your mother suffered was that year after year, during Christmas time, she was sitting with her nose pressed against the window and wept when a priest going from door to door to bless every home, passed by our house, because there were two religions under our roof. I a Catholic and Grandpa a Russian Orthodox. I still do not know if then I explained it all well to her,” she got lost in her thoughts for a moment.

“I cannot imagine, Grandma, not having two Christmases and two Easters every year.”

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