13 June 2013
My silver-haired companion in the back seat discusses art with me. She describes her leaf press and the hundreds of small flowers in her collection, the kind of paper she uses, the fact that violas don't lose their color but asters do. She scolds the driver for making a self-deprecating remark concerning his age and memory. "Don't think that way, or it'll happen!" she tells him.
As we wind our way through the coast range, she gazes out the car window at the huge fir trees dripping with rain water. She turns to me and says, "This month three people I knew all passed away. This morning I got a phone call letting me know that my boss from the mortgage firm I used to work for in California had died. He was 99."
"That's really tough. I can't believe you're 80," I say.
She laughs at me: "I'm 93." She takes my hand. "At my age I must cultivate younger friends." And then she asks me if I ever noticed that almost all leaves have a tiny bit of red at their edges.
I don't make friends lightly or easily, but I think maybe I have a new one.
Posted by Kerry at 4:26 PM