Sunday, June 12, 2005

Thirty-three MPH

She plays the organ every Sunday morning. Wednesdays are devoted to line-dancing. Thursdays she brings the girls over for coffee and cakes. Saturday afternoons belong to the adorably audacious 4-year-old and her older brother. And evenings are peppered with a plethora of choices: knitting, quilting or crocheting.

She's 80 years old. And she's got more energy than many 30-somethings.

The first time we chatted she told me I had a bird's nest in the vent above my bedroom window. A couple of weeks later, we bonded over ants and the best way to repel them from our driveways. (She prefers soapy water; it's not as toxic.)

She jokes. She laughs. She inquires about Oskar's stick-filled dog walks. And she definitely doesn't complain. And why would she? Pies are in the oven and the she's running out the door to help her younger, 75-year-old gal-pal get comfy in the front seat.

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