In regards to this video:
I see the owner as a withered, apple-carved woman sitting in a faded and tattered muumuu. She's trying to balance a cup of off-brand, dollar store coffee on a tilted, off-balanced kitchen table. This is day three with these coffee grounds.
She is faced towards the window but not focusing on anything in particular. And couldn't if she tried. The cataracts give the world a frosted, vaseline lensed quality. Sort of a nostalgic whitewash for the harsh world around her.
There's a glow from a cigarette butt expertly held between yellowed fingers. She smells gamey. She's forgotten to eat.
Resting on the table near her knobby elbow sits a plastic day-of-the-week pill container loaded with the brightly colored, candy-looking drugs that keep her alive because the Christians say she doesn't have a right to choose. And she's a Christian. The pills are the most vibrant and alive rainbow in the room. In the whole house. They are her Sophie's Choice because she can't afford acceptable sustenance on a regular basis.
Before her son (and only child) passed away, they added the cross bars to the doors and the chain grates to the windows to keep her crack smoking, meth-head grand kids out.
Finally one day in the repeating loop, perched just so on that kitchen chair, the key in her back quit turning. The oil gummed up and the inner workings of her body rusted beyond repair.
Sweet relief! She found her way home to the bosom of her Lord.
It was days before the mailman noticed she wasn't picking up her Piggly Wiggly flyers, Target sale ads and Last Notice billings from the power company.
The crackheads took over the homestead and lost it in 6 months to the county for failure to pay back taxes. They fled in the night, taking only the things that could be sold for more drugs, not realizing in the throes of their madness that years ago, they neglected and left something behind too precious and valuable to sell:
Granny.
