Some of them are personal which can’t be shared, ie those in the name of God, and you want the rewards in the Hereafter to be saved from hell fire. Whenever I would say that I’m doing this (a good deed) so I’m not thrown into Jahannum (hell fire), my late husband would eye me, and remark that I must have done something really evil that I feel so afraid. I would be irked beyond words at his assumption, and would be mad at him for thinking badly of me.
I can mention the recent sacrifice I’m making of my time. My granddaughter Maryam wants me to play all the time with her. It does become irksome, cause I can’t do anything when she is awake. She dodges my footsteps, climbing my bed covered with food (she hates to wear a bib), running her dirty hands over my face. I can’t talk to anyone except her. If I talk to her mother, she cries to make me stop. If my daughter phones, I can’t talk. I can only pay attention to her royal highness.
Of course there is an instant reward instead of waiting for the hereafter. Her love for me, which is most gratifying. Her father bought a stool in the form of a lion for her. No one was allowed to sit on it by Maryam. Her Mom couldn’t use it as a foot stool. She would start crying the minute anyone touched it. It was hers’ alone. I sat on it, and she was dancing around me to the amazement of her parents.
My second grandson Sn when he was a year, and a half old.
This time when I went to Peshawar, I retrieved some of my photos to bring back with me. As a grandmother I love my grandsons. Although they are far away in Houston, Texas, I daily remember them in my prayers. The eldest one is not paying attention to his studies, and that is a worry gnawing at my heart. Since I have no say in his life style, I can’t do anything about it, nor can his father — my son.
The only person he listens to his mother. Time is precious, once gone, can’t have it back again. It is slipping fast beyond reach.
Son phoned me after finishing his case to tell me to get IB (grandson) ready for going to the mosque for Friday Zuhr Prayers. Today is Friday, and IB is on the last leg of his time with us. We only have one other day left. His older brothers hardly goes to the mosque, except for Eid days, so maybe this is the last Friday he goes to the mosque.
I wish his mother let him come to us for a longer period next year. That will be a dream come true.
We will be missing him like crazy once he goes back to Houston. Our home will feel empty without his dear presence. Who is going to raid the freezer for ice cream, ask me to make waffles first thing in the mornings, and tempt me too into eating?
There are two —no make that three lemon trees in the village home. One sprouts huge lemons every year, but they are few in number. Probably their large size exhausts the poor tree. It gives birth to a lesser number. The other two are laden with lemons. When they are still green, they are partly hidden with green leaves. When they ripen, and get yellow in color, the two trees are a lovely sight to behold.
I first have a look when I open the bedroom windows, and see them laden with lemons. I think of lemon preserves, and drinks. I mentally remind myself to find time to pluck them, but time is the one thing I never have.
I am busy with cleaning the house which remains close due to my absence from home country. Believe me when I say there is ton of dust covering each, and everything, and it saps my energy to zero while I am busy cleaning. At the end of the day dust clings to my hair, face and clothes. I can even taste it in my mouth despite swishing water into it before drinking. I’m bone weary as evening approaches.
When I’m about to step into the car for departure, I remember the lemons. I ask the watchman to get them. In a span of fifteen minutes he plucks some for me to take along. I tell myself maybe I will have more time.
By the time I manage another visit — the lemons are gone, and the trees are bare. The watchman has harvested the trees for himself.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
The daily prompt has gone missing for good. After a daily diet of prompts, there is nothing to look forward anymore. 😣
I looked up the e-book of prompts for inspiration.
The prompt was, “what’s the 11th item on your bucket list?”
There isn’t one on my bucket list. Back home, I hanged a white board in my dressing room, near a long mirror. I wrote necessary chores I had to do. During this period my daughter came for a visit. At the time her youngest one was M3.
M3 after espying the board made a face on it, and added, “love you Nano”.
I never did the chores I had written as a reminder to myself. I didn’t look at it anymore, so I missed M3’s message. A year later on I glanced at it. Actually I avoided looking at it, because I never had time on my side, to do what I intended in the first place.
I rubbed off the list leaving M3’s message. I never write lists anymore.