PROMPTuesday #47 - The Triumvirate

I'm going to be participating in this week's PROMPTuesday from my hotel room in Carlsbad, CA. I had client meetings all day, and then worked from 9 - 11pm on data analysis and thought I would collapse into bed, but all of that brain work makes it really hard to just switch to sleepy mode. So I'm going to give my best shot to today's topic:

Use in a story/poem: a skein of red yarn, a comb and a bottle of water.

I'm not sure why she kept red yarn in the basket with her others. I've never seen her actually use red yarn in any of her pieces. She tends towards pastels, light pinks, greens, yellows...I call them her "Easter" colors. She grins at me, and reminds me that Easter is not about pastels and has nothing to do with a bunny. I nod solemnly...but the red still makes me wonder. I tell her to come sit in the wicker chair so that I can comb her hair for her. I don't think 80 year old hands are very good at fixing hair. I'm probably not much better, and she says she can do it herself, but I truly love this time I have with her. I sweep her salt and pepper back with the comb, watching it as it falls to the right in its natural part. She tells me she wants it pinned up today. I'm no good at this, she knows that. But I think she uses it as an excuse to tell me stories of how she used to twirl her hair in pin curls every night when she was a girl. I remember watching her do this as I grew up, making perfect little circles of hair and then fastening them with a bobby pin. I make a feeble attempt to just bring her hair back in a clip, and know that I will never be able to do pin curls. Please Lord, don't let her ask me to do that someday. I would royally mess it up, but we would both laugh about it I'm sure. I tell her that it's time for her pills, and go grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. She hates water, she says it tastes funny. I always chuckle inside...how can water taste funny when it doesn't really have a taste? So I pour the water into a glass of ice, and squeeze some lemon juice into it so that it won't taste funny. She takes her pills and tells me that's what happens when you get old. She is getting old...I don't really want to acknowledge that. Note to self, remember to ask her about the red yarn.