A woman in a wheelchair had an accident that injured the soles of her feet, so she has trouble walking. She puts on a brown leotard swimsuit and goes out to the pool to swim. It's 10 p.m. and I think, "I'll bet that water's cold. Glad I'm not out there." I feel tired. I go into the kitchen and wash a bowl or two. My grandma Mildred is there. The soap is very good and even takes off dried-on oatmeal. Some voice explains there are more dishes and I don't want to do them all. I look at my Grandma Mildred and confront her, "You think I'm being lazy! You don't think my arthritis is a good enough reason, do you, do you?" She hems and ha's, is passive-aggressive and indirect. I don't let her get away with it. "Look me right in the eyes and tell me," I command. I keep at it. She's now crouched behind the sink cowering from me. She finally admits that's what she thinks. She leaves the room quickly to go sit on the roof of the chicken house with the kids. I smile and say, "She'll get over it." I feel a little guilty for being so rough and scaring her.