Slow

"Trudy, this is my mother," Selah said softly (by way of introduction), and Trudy greeted the lovely elder woman at the spinning wheel with a little bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you!" she offered warmly (to a reply bow and smile that was equally as welcoming and pleasant). "And this is my grandmother," Selah continued, moving to the other women in the room. "My great-grandmother, her mother, and hers (of course)." "Uh ...," Trudy hesitated (and the ladies snickered). "Yes, we really are six generations in a room," Selah's mother spoke aloud, reading Trudy's thoughts easily. "We really are that old." The Thrice Great leaned every-so-slightly forward and spoke tenderly in a language Trudy did not understand." "Mama asks you to understand that we are all artisans, so we are long-lived in the slow ways." "The ... the old ways?" Trudy clarified, confused (and they all laughed). "No, dear," the grandmother answered, putting down her tatting for a moment, "the S L O W ways. All of our crafts are painstaking - projects take forever, and we cannot die until they are all complete." Looking more carefully at each of them, their work was exquisite ... and only about half done.