Here is my Lascaux 250 entry. Wish me luck!
by Michaelle Wilde
Nonna Orsini cleaned the stone tiles in our home every night before going to bed. Creeping down the stairs, I would watch her. I never understood why she never seemed to be in a hurry to complete the chore, humming as the mop swayed.
When Nonna’s hands became too arthritic to squeeze the excess water from the cloth mop, she asked me to help her. On the sixth night of our cleaning ritual, I asked Nonna why she cleaned the floor every night and why she didn’t have one of us children do it. Nonna told me she enjoyed the quiet time that allowed her to appreciate the day that had been given to her. I still didn’t understand.
“What about the stains that won’t come up, Nonna?” I asked.
“Ah bambina,” she beamed down at me. “Those are memories. Do you see in front della stufa?” I nodded. “That is when your mother announced she was pregnant with you, our primo nipote!”
I bent down, felt the stain, and then looked at Nonna imploringly, “What made it?”
“Salsa di spaghetti,” she laughed, recalling how far the sauce had splattered. “A pot full!”
“Is that why the big pot has a dent?” Nonna smiled and nodded.
As the weeks went by, Nonna told me amusing stories of other stains that were unwilling to be washed away. I hummed along with her, enjoying the quiet and wondered what memories were yet to come.