(good) friday

This morning I walked the several blocks to a friend's house for breakfast. She was making crumpets, mimosas and other fine things to celebrate a day away from work. I walked quickly, enjoying my new ability to get from here to there more easily.

As I was about to pass an elderly woman on the sidewalk, she turned to me and asked, "Do you mind if I borrow your arm?" I walked with her to her hair salon and she told me about the neighborhood (she's lived in the same apartment for forty years), her grandchildren (25 and 27) and her hair (she gets it done once every two weeks).

She was almost 90 and said she couldn't complain about anything, including the break-your-heart coldsnap we were walking in. "Sometimes I lay in bed and cry and cuss my husband for dying, for leaving me here alone. But where does that get me? How does it help? It's better not to complain."

I sometimes think about aging and how, in order to someday be an optimistic, wise, good, kind, or generous old biddy, I would first have to be an optimistic, wise, good, kind, or generous person. Not so easy that.