Grandma’s Feeling Blue

Margaret, what on earth have you cooked? Its impossible to eat! Too sweet, too runny, too Ugh, nasty.
Without a second thought she tipped the whole pot into the toilet.

Molly, driven to the brink, snapped:
Enough! Ive had it! This is my home, my kitchen, my family! Get out!

***

Margaret Ellis, whose name was muttered in hushed, reverent tones in the corridors of Riverside Secondary School, was a phenomenonstill a phenomenon. A veteran headteacher with twenty years at the helm, she embodied everything the education system could hope for. Did the school love her? That was a rhetorical question; more likely the school was merely trying to survive her.

Her devotion to teaching showed up in a relentless, sleepless audit of everything. Lessons had to be flawless, discipline ironclad, blazers crisp, ties knotted to the exact specification. She might burst into a maths class to check the register, flip through pupils notebooks, or halt the PE teacher to ask why half the class wore sneakers while the rest wore trainers.

Margarets coming! became the whispered alarm that made teachers straighten their backs, students hastily stash phones in bags, and cleaners polish the floors at double speed. Everyone suddenly appeared diligent and industrious. Teachers obeyed; parents arrived at meetings with a packet of calming tea prepacked.

Margaret genuinely believed she held the school in a vice of order, while in reality she was exhausting everyone with an unquenchable need to control every aspect of school life.

Margaret, you seem especially lively today, noted deputy headteacher Irene Clarke when the head stormed into the staff room waving the latest issue of the school magazine.

Lively? Margaret snapped, eyes glued to the offending copy. Irene, have you even read it? School Life in Focuswhat a disgrace! Where are the photos from the graduation ceremony? Wheres the report on the teachers conference? Instead we have pictures of a disco and articles about romance? Is this what we want to be known for? This is tabloid nonsense, and youre the one publishing it!

Irene sighed. The ceremony had been dull, the conference drier still, and the disco was the only thing the pupils actually wanted. Arguing with Margaret was pointless.

Ill fix it, Margaret, she murmured. Ill order the students to rewrite the pages

Immediately! Margaret cut in. And make sure the next issue has an article on how music benefits mental development! Did I waste a lecture with the Year11s? No! Include photos from the poetry competition! And

The list of demands could have continued forever.

Margarets energy seemed limitlessuntil the moons phases changed. Years took their toll. She began to find the restless teenagers harder to manage, headaches became frequent, and the stamina needed for yet another parents evening with underperforming pupils dwindled. After a heated argument with a parent who insisted his brilliant son simply couldnt solve quadratic equations, Margaret made a decision. She would retire. Shed done enough for the system; it was time to do something for herself.

The sendoff was lavishtearful speeches, lavish bouquetsbut beneath the pomp lay a subtle, almost imperceptible relief. The school exhaled.

The first days of retirement were bliss. Margaret slept until ten a.m., something she hadnt done since university, strolled through the park, binged on television dramas, and even tried crocheting. She finally had time for herself! But it didnt last long. Within a week her energy began to churn for a new purpose.

Im just drifting, she complained to her longtime friend Valerie Clarke, a former maths teacher and the only colleague Margaret ever truly befriended. I do nothing but eat and nap. Ill turn into a old lady at this rate!

Valerie suggested she find a pastime.

Take a knitting class, youve always liked it, she said, eyeing the halffinished scarf on Margarets windowsill. Or volunteer at the library.

But Margaret didnt need knitting lessons or libraries. The halffinished scarf, bought with yarn and needles, had already driven her mad the moment she tried to finish it. She needed to command, to teach, to wield authority.

Then a family appeared on the horizon. Her son, Arthur, a polite man raised on his mothers strictness, his wife Clare, a fieryhaired artist with a sharp tongue, and three teenage grandchildrenDavid, sixteen, a perpetual romantic rebel; Sophie, fourteen, dreaming of becoming a blogger; and Tom, twelve, a budding mathematician. Margaret decided to channel her pedagogic talents toward them.

She didnt move in with Arthur, but she began visiting daily, staying for at least half a day, and not merely sipping tea.

Clare, what on earth is this mess on the walls? Where are the framed pictures? Where are the family photographs?

Arthur tried to smooth things over.
Mum, Clare likes this. Its her style and we like it too.

Style? Son, youll have to visit more often if you want to remember what style is. This has to go, now.

Clare protested, but the thought of Arthurs pleas kept her quiet. Arthur whispered, Clare, bear with her, shes just struggling without work.

When the colour of the livingroom walls drew Margarets ire, she declared:

Whats this dreary grey? Wheres the joy, the optimism? Paint it a gentle butteryellowsoft, not garishso the furniture will shine.

Mom, we like the colour, Arthur replied. Clare chose it.

Clare Margaret snarled, What does she know about design? In my day

She took over the grandchildrens diet.

No chips or fizzy drinks! Only wholesome food! she announced, then served her signature disheslumpy semolina porridge and boiled beetroot with garlic. The youngsters gagged, but kept quiet because Arthur demanded it. Margarets cooking was certainly not what nutritionists would call healthy, but it was homecooked.

She also seized control of their studies.

David, whats with these scribbles? Show me your diary! A two in algebra? Shameful! Sophie, why are there so many errors in your essay? Read more classics! I have a list of books you must finish, and Ill check each one myself.

Tom, trying to slip past his grandmother, was not spared.

What games are these? Running around? Catching people? Thats harmful! Youd better stick to maths. Ive prepared a list for you too.

The climax came when David arranged a date with his classmate Anna at the cinema. Upon hearing it, Margaret decided to intervene.

Who is this girl my grandson is seeing? Could she be from a bad family?

At the dark end of the theatre, David spotted his grandmother in the seat. He could no longer focus on the film, glancing repeatedly at Margaret, hoping she wouldnt intrude.

After the movie, Margaret strolled over as if nothing had happened.

Hello, Anna! Youre Anna, arent you? Im Margaret, Davids grandmother. Lovely to meet you.

Annas eyes widened; she stared at David, then at Margaret, and managed a startled, Um hello.

And how are your studies? What subjects do you like? What do you want to be when you grow up? Who are your parents? Margaret bombarded her with questions.

Anna, bewildered by the stern tone, answered in monosyllables. David stood nearby, mortified.

Finally Anna apologized hurriedly and fled, her heels clicking away. It was clearly their first and last date.

David turned to his grandmother, voice trembling.

Gran, what have you done? Youve ruined everything! What will people say about me now? How am I supposed to look Anna in the eye tomorrow?

You think I ruined it? You went to the cinema, you watched a film. I only approached after you left, to talk to the girl. I have a right to know who my grandson is seeing.

Margarets habit of questioning everything extended even to why her grandchildren attended a different school than the one she once ranbecause her son knew his mothers reputation all too well.

She rearranged furniture, rehung wallpaper, tossed out food she deemed harmful, and offered advice left and right, even on matters she didnt understand.

One evening, Clare, following Margarets suggestion, prepared a pumpkin puree soup. It turned out mediocre. Margaret tasted it and grimaced.

What on earth have you made? Its impossible to eat! Too sweet, too thick Oh, gross.

Without hesitation she poured the soup down the sink.

Clare, at her limit, exploded:

Thats it! Ive had enough! This is my house, my kitchen, my family! Get out!

Margaret, who never forgave such insubordination, left the flat in silence. That night Arthur received a furious message from his mother: I expect an apologypersonal. Have Clare come and apologise to me, and explain exactly what shes done.

No apology came. Arthur tried to mediate, but Margaret would not listen. The family atmosphere grew tense; Arthur still called his mother occasionally, but Clare and the grandchildren, now celebrating the fact that the grandmother no longer visited, stayed out of sight.

When the situation reached a breaking point, a call came from the school.

Good morning, Margaret. This is Anna Clarke, the new headteacher. Our current head is struggling and has been asked to step down. The school is in chaosteachers are complaining, parents are panicking Could you possibly help, even temporarily, while we find a replacement?

Margaret froze; the words sounded like music.

Anna, you have no idea how perfectly timed that is! Im in. When shall I start?

The next day, a tenyearyounger Margaret crossed the schools threshold once more, returning to her beloved duties. She no longer harboured resentment toward Clare, spoke calmly with Arthur, and reclaimed her place as head of Riverside Secondary School.

On her first day back, she summoned every teacher to an emergency meeting.

Discipline! Order! High standards! her voice boomed.

She patrolled the corridors, scolding pupils for muddy shoes.

Straighten up, now! she commanded.

In the canteen she inspected the lunch trays.

What are these meatless patties? Wheres the real meat? Just bread!

She was back in her element, thriving in the only world she ever truly fit.

She marched through the hallway, halting students who ran during breaks.

Stop at once! Youre disturbing others!

She admonished a teacher for being too lenient.

You must be stricter! Otherwise theyll sit on your neck!

She called parents in to discuss poor grades.

You need to work more with your child, or he wont get into university!

Yes, Margaret was a difficult woman, but without her the school would have been worse. Even the most vocal critics eventually admitted that a measure of order, however stern, was better than chaos.

In the end, Margaret learned that the urge to control everything can keep you busy, but it also keeps you from enjoying the very life you try to shape. Letting go a little, trusting others, and accepting imperfection brings peacenot only to those around you, but also to the one who has spent a lifetime demanding perfection.