Life's a Stitch

Twice in my life I’ve had the opportunity to meet, by chance, particularly interesting 80 some-year-old strangers. The first was when I was about eleven and met a woman while walking home from the bank. Despite my parent’s advice, I talked to strangers. Always the bargain hunter I had walked two miles to open a new account in order to get a free gift. I think it was an electric warming tray – just what an 11-year-old needs. The woman was 82 and told me about her visit to her son in Alaska. She was quite adventurous and I remember telling my incredulous parents that even though she was 82, I thought she was going to live a long time.

On my recent trip to Seattle, 40 years later, I met another one as we exited the Amtrak train at Edmonds, 40 minutes from the Seattle station. We were approached by a woman of advanced age, a New Yorker by voice, wearing an exquisite red leather coat.

She says, in her gravelly New York voice "How do I get to Pike St. Market?"

"That’s in Seattle," we say en chorus.

"Ohhh, I’m so stupid, I got off at the wrong stop. How do I get there from here?"

"We can take you there," the chorus replied.

"You’re accent sounds just like my mother’s," says I en solo.

"Oh honey, I’m much oldah than your muthah."

Is that the truth or a compliment I wondah.

The social worker in me comes out, "Don’t worry you’re safe with us."

"Honey, at my age I don’t worry about THAT anymore."

We pile into the car. She explains that she travels alone when not living on the beach at Far Rockaway. She stays in hostels and finds the young people very nice. Her hostel tonight is called the Green Taw-tis (that would be Tortoise), and not in a very nice part of town, might I add. Riding along in the car I get up the courage, "Would it be too nervy of me to ask how old you are?"

"What?" Either she didn’t hear me or she was shocked by my chutzpah. 

I took a deep breath, upped the volume, and asked again "HOW OLD ARE YOU?"

"I’m 83. Of course I don’t tell that to men. I knock off 20 years."

All four of us are laughing when she adds this, "I told this to my gynecologist and had her in hysterics."

Make that three more in hysterics. She goes on to tell us about her recent ferry trip to Victoria BC. I asked her if she saw whales.

"Oh honey, I only paint whales, I’ve nevah met one face-to-face in person."

I paint, and if I were to paint a whale I’d be at the aquarium studying their every move and muscle before putting brush to paper. No spontaneous whale painting for me. It clarified what a free spirit this woman was. As if I needed clarification from an 83-year-old who knocks 20 years off her age for the men, and still sees a gynecologist! It was late, my brain was obviously asleep.

At Pike Street Market she insisted on getting out, although there was no sign of the Green Tortoise. She wouldn’t be held back. "Don’t worry" she said, I’ll ask a vagrant." There was no getting her back into the car.

I listened for sirens all night.

I can’t think of an appropriate picture to illustrate this post – I should have taken her photo. So, I’ll leave you with my stash enhancements from the trip:

A Happy Canadian Thanksgiving weekend to all. I have a houseful of early 20 somethings, six of them, all here for turkey! OK, Megan the vegan will have to settle for lentils.

Update for Jane’s "Show Me Your Socks" contest. This is the current state of my sock projects: