Just a Tiny Bit Pessimistic

As you might have gathered, my dear babushka tends to be just slightly pessimistic. Actually, if there is even a shadow in the bright sunshine of a lovely day, she will fret and brood over it until she’s forgotten that the sun shone at all. Last week one of the first things she said to me was, “Soon I will be eighty-six years old. And what if then all I can do is lie in my bed with my mouth half–open like some of the old people who live here? What if you never come to see me anymore?”

            “Why wouldn’t I come to see you?” I asked.

            “Well,” she wasn’t quite sure. “You might not.”

            “I would come to see you,” I declared firmly.

            “You would?” Nellie was like a little child grasping at a fragile hope. “Those are sad thoughts, aren’t they? I shouldn’t think like that, should I?”

            “Nope. You should think happy thoughts, silly.” It was worth a try, but even I (incorrigible optimist that I am) was not convinced that she would be able to change a whole lifetime of negative thinking overnight.