March 26, 2007

Greetings from the ladies man,

She leaned on a cane, a practical wooden model with a large rubber tip on the end.  She stood in the middle of the hall as people pushed by on either side.  She made a few tentative steps, and then stopped.  She looked out the large window of looking out to the parking lot, trying to see something.  I walked up next to her and said hello, asked if she needed help. 

Her white hair was curled in flat rings close to her head beneath a hat with a veil pulled up on top. On another day I would have guessed she was dressed for church.  She wore heavy glasses, with a large bifocal square on each lens. 

She looked up at me and said, "I'd like to go out that other door and use the ramp.  My friends are going to get the car."

I offered to walk her out and she smiled, a big denture smile.  She grabbed my arm, my sleeve really, and clung to it as she swung the cane forward.

"I'm eighty six years old and I'd like to use that ramp." She said, perhaps thinking I needed something clarified. 

"Thirty six?"  I said,

"Oh my God, you heard that right."  She said, laughing. "Thirty six, Lord I wouldn't know what to do if I had that to go over again."  She laughed some more.

We went out into the brisk March air and stood at the top of the handicap ramp built over a section of stairs.  It looked pretty daunting.

"Would you rather hold onto the railing, or hang on to my arm?" I asked.

"I'm very happy to hold on to your arm." She said, and she clutched a little tighter for emphasis.  I felt suddenly strong and important.

We slid-stepped carefully down the ramp; her chatting about the lunch she'd just had with her friends, me adding the requisite polite comment at the end of each sentence.  I asked her if she was warm enough.  Her coat was mostly for show I think.

"I lived in Chicago for forty years so you know this little bit of wind doesn't bother me."

We stood in the sun, just out of the wind, and waited for the car to come around.  Across the parking lot we could see her friends at the car.  After about five minutes I began to worry they had forgotten what they were doing. 

"You know when we went to Lansing she left her keys in the car and locked it up."  she offered, nodding her head toward her friends.  "Had to call her husband to find out what to do.  She's lucky she's got a good man like that."

"What did you do?" I asked.  I was afraid I was about to find out first hand.

"Her husband called a.. a.. whaddaya call it?"

"Locksmith."

"That's right, a locksmith and he took care of it.  Otherwise we'd still be standing in that parking lot.  And now it looks like she went and did it again."

Right at that moment the trunk of the car went up, and the sound of the two women's laughter echoed across the parking lot.  A moment later the doors were open and they were working themselves into their seats. 

"You think she'd know." my companion said. "Seniors know to have the keys ready.  She should have the key in her pocket, ready."  She reached into her own pocket, jangling keys there. 

I could not defend her friend against the Senior Code so I said nothing. 

"She's going to hear about that but not 'til she gets me to my front door."  My new friend used her free hand to reach into her pocket and pull out a tissue, dab at her eyes, which were watering, maybe from the cold.

"Seniors know to have the keys ready.  You get to your apartment you have those keys in your pocket, not down in your purse." she said, making sure I'm listening by tugging at my arm at important punctuation points.

As she spoke I glanced down and noticed she was wearing tennis shoes, a contrast with her floral go-to-lunch dress, and her legs were encased in heavy support hose. 

A moment later the car came up to the sidewalk.  We shuffled to curb, swung open the passenger door, and began the dance maneuver to get my friend in the car.

She lowered herself backward into the seat, and tried to get the cane in, managing to knock herself in the nose in the process.  Turning in the seat, she swung one leg in and stopped, a little breathless. 

"Help me out here." she said, pointing at her leg.

I hesitated, unsure of what she was asking, and once I realized, even less sure of the decorum.  "Just lift it in for me." She said after a moment.

I carefully held her ankle and raised her leg up into the car and pushed her coat in so it would not catch in the door. 

One of the ladies spoke up from the back seat: "You just wanted that man to touch your leg"

"You be quiet 'cause if you were up here you'd do the same" said the driver, laughing.

My friend looked up at me smiling: "Where I grew up we'd have to get married now".

"I'm sure it we'd have had a wonderful life."  I offered, said goodbye and closed the car door.

The car drove away and I could hear them all laughing from inside.

And then, about eighty-four years away....

I sat on the floor in my blue suit, legs awkwardly crossed, attempting to save the crease in the pant legs.  There was a little girl in front of me who was asking my name for the tenth time.

I asked her what her name was and she told me.  I said, "I have a little girl with that name."  She blinked but did not reply.  She looked around as if she might see another little girl appear at that moment.

"How old are you?" I asked and she held up five fingers, at least three more than needed, but the required coordination for that kind of math won't be available for another finger or so.

We chatted about the toys on the floor in front of us, or more specifically she held up each one and said: "What's that?"  Block.  "What's that?"  Block.  "What's that?" Another block. "What's that?" Cowboy.  "What's that?" Block.

After about ten minutes I stood up and cracked the kinks out of my back.  Any day where you can be on the floor with children is a good day.  Even with a little lumbar pain.   

I went through the "Head shoulders knees and toes" dance with my new friend.  She was a quick study, much more interested than her twin brother who sat on the floor nearby.  He was attempting to identify the toys by taste.

I did tricks with my thumbs, made cow and chicken sounds, did all the things I do best with an audience.  She was impressed with my repertoire, smiling and laughing at the appropriate moments.   I was so proud that I have held on to the skills all these years.

She held my finger as we walked to get a drink of water, chatting about something I could not make out.  As I held the cup for her she looked into my eyes and asked the question, formed the words that told me I was her friend; "What's your name?"

I suppose there is a point when everyone begins to feel like part of the background, like some extra in a major motion picture being shot all around us.  You become someone's Dad, or 'Occupant' or the anonymous neighbor, or the guy at the grocery store who wants paper not plastic.  You're taken for granted, your life is mundane, repetition and routine is what you can count on.  You might feel as though the polite wave you get from someone in traffic is the best interaction you'll get today. 

Let me suggest some preventative maintenance.  Out there, in every one of our lives today, are moments with others just waiting to happen.  Moments that will lift you up, remind you of why your friends cherish you, why your family loves you, remind you of the intrinsic value God placed in you.  These moments, brought to you by people with no other motivation than to share it with you, will tell you how important you are.  Your only responsibility is to extend your hand.  What's amazing is that the gift flows both ways.

Hope this finds you reaching out,

David

Copyright (c) 2007 David Smith