mrs loveland
Last night was a gathering my family was invited too, I attended and met a woman, old in soul and years, by my standards, youthful in spirit and wise, very wise. I saw her at a short distance and while I glanced, she glanced and invited 'this character to tell her my interesting story'.
We spoke of my youth, her grape ice cream, her eighty-seven years of living and her secret to longevity, laughter and humor, 'oh and don't forget to move honey, always moving'. We spoke of her tenure at Baylor, seventy years ago this fall and her studies and degree in English Literature. We spoke of Tennessee Williams and William Faulkner, her days as a child in Rockwall, her daily trips to yoga, her fascination with the verbal word and her donations, countless hours of money and time to libraries, how she loves libraries.
Her eyes have weakened slight and thus she only reads thirty minutes a day, no glasses or contacts, no cain or limp to visual. She was proper and she was Southern and she was a Texan, born and raised in Rockwall County, the daughter of one father and one mother who both lived into their nineties, the sister of two brothers, the husband to one deceased seven years ago and the mother to two boys.
She is a church going woman, Baptist and she is learned. What she knows, she knows and is willing to share with a character like me as she sips the glass of sangria I got her, her first glass in a lifetime, as she told the tale of her fantasy of sipping sangria on a hammock one day, not this day, but a day she had seen in her mind and we laughed as did others who congregated around us and wondered how we had met and conversed so flawlessly.
An inference was made after we said our initial goodbyes, by another attendee, of her family stature in the community and the wealth, sick with old Texas money, oodles of money and she sat at a distance, watching others, remaining alone, until my next approach, me promising to visit her at her home, maybe even take a ride with her around town and possibly, if she would like, read her favorite book for us both to enjoy.
She saw me a character, I told her I was Eric and her soul spoke and my soul spoke and we conversed without barriers about world traveler and destinations none to foreign, disease and cultural events from Helen Hayes, to city elections, to the price of an electric ice cream maker, to last years party ,to a time when she too was an athletic fanatic and we laughed, real laughter and spoke real words from the heart and from the soul. None to challenging and none to obscure as we simply connected for many minutes and made the gathering more enjoyable for the both of us and possibly those around us.
We spoke of my youth, her grape ice cream, her eighty-seven years of living and her secret to longevity, laughter and humor, 'oh and don't forget to move honey, always moving'. We spoke of her tenure at Baylor, seventy years ago this fall and her studies and degree in English Literature. We spoke of Tennessee Williams and William Faulkner, her days as a child in Rockwall, her daily trips to yoga, her fascination with the verbal word and her donations, countless hours of money and time to libraries, how she loves libraries.
Her eyes have weakened slight and thus she only reads thirty minutes a day, no glasses or contacts, no cain or limp to visual. She was proper and she was Southern and she was a Texan, born and raised in Rockwall County, the daughter of one father and one mother who both lived into their nineties, the sister of two brothers, the husband to one deceased seven years ago and the mother to two boys.
She is a church going woman, Baptist and she is learned. What she knows, she knows and is willing to share with a character like me as she sips the glass of sangria I got her, her first glass in a lifetime, as she told the tale of her fantasy of sipping sangria on a hammock one day, not this day, but a day she had seen in her mind and we laughed as did others who congregated around us and wondered how we had met and conversed so flawlessly.
An inference was made after we said our initial goodbyes, by another attendee, of her family stature in the community and the wealth, sick with old Texas money, oodles of money and she sat at a distance, watching others, remaining alone, until my next approach, me promising to visit her at her home, maybe even take a ride with her around town and possibly, if she would like, read her favorite book for us both to enjoy.
She saw me a character, I told her I was Eric and her soul spoke and my soul spoke and we conversed without barriers about world traveler and destinations none to foreign, disease and cultural events from Helen Hayes, to city elections, to the price of an electric ice cream maker, to last years party ,to a time when she too was an athletic fanatic and we laughed, real laughter and spoke real words from the heart and from the soul. None to challenging and none to obscure as we simply connected for many minutes and made the gathering more enjoyable for the both of us and possibly those around us.
posted by the warrior at 6:38 AM
1 Comments:
Do you believe in reincarnation? For two strangers to click so well sometimes means they met in another lifetime.
On the way home from work today I was listening to Johnny Cash's The Man Comes Around; the last song on the album is "We'll Meet Again-Don't Know Where, Don't Know When."
I came in the house, gave the dog his treat, and booted up Boris, who brought me to your blog.
Nice, no? Now, that's serendipity:)
Post a Comment
<< Home