Oksana Robski. The day of happiness - tomorrow (№ 287862)

My mom's whole life was like weird things. She never loved, but was all the time interested in something. Not long and not hard. Cooking, travelling, people, Tibetan medicine. She easily threw one for the other, and did not leave a trace in her soul. Or maybe she specifically chose only that will not leave a trace. Her life was similar to bedspread patchwork. She sewed everything that came under her arm, without thinking, neither of form nor of color. About anything.
In the end, oddly enough, have something comfortable and functional. She put on his glasses and asked to be called "grandma"... I cared about what happened with her change and didn't think about the fact that patchwork is the wrong side.