Often, as the mama to two young boys, I don’t think as much about the other spectrum of life. The point when (hopefully) I will become an old woman. Tonight I had two moments with older women that made me pause.

My first experience was at the salon where I get my hair cut. It’s an upscale salon at a local mall. I feel frumpy and so very un-stylish when I go there, but I like the young man, Eligio, who cuts my hair and it’s nice to have the receptionist offer me water or tea or coffee. This evening as Eligio cut my hair, I noticed an attractive woman, probably nearing 70 years old, getting her hair cut. I admired her cut from afar in the mirrors. I watched as she and her stylist chatted, noting how the stylist carefully moved the blow dryer and brush to create soft curls at the nape of this woman’s neck.

Both of us arrived at the checkout counter around the same time. The older woman was first and when a space opened, I moved to the other register. Waiting for my total, I noticed that this woman was digging in her purse, searching through the credit cards in her wallet. Then she took out a mobile phone.

“David, David, can you hear me?” she said. “I have the purple card. It says VISA, is this the one I should use?”

In the interest of full disclosure, I need to say that at this point I was having a not-so-nice monologue in my head about this woman’s behavior. (Really? Holding up the line to make a phone call? And then, to think she didn’t know enough about her finances to be able to pick which card she should use!)

She hung up.

“I am so sorry. Really.” she said to the receptionist. She fiddled with the wallet that was still in her hands.

“I have brain tumors. Literally. I can’t remember things. I’m not trying to hold up this line.”

Bam. I was completely humbled.

“Not to worry, can I help you look for a card that is a specific color?” the young receptionist asked with complete grace.

“No, thank you. I’ve found it,” she handed a different card over the counter.

After I left the salon, I purchased a cookie for my sons at the Starbucks. I hoped that I would see the older woman, who had left before me, on my way to the cafe, or at the fountain nearby.

I wanted to tell her that her hair looked lovely. I never found her.

Upon arriving at home, I found another elderly woman. That story in my next post.

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

This entry was posted in Modern Life, Motherhood. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Aging

  1. Sarah says:

    Well observed and written, Liz. I look forward to the next installment.

  2. Pingback: Aging Part Two | Motherlogue

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