In Praise of Older Women

I’ve always quite liked older people and I must say that usually, they quite like me as well; maybe it’s because I am an old soul myself or simply because when I address them I don’t use a slower, LOUDER, special voice and I also like to avoid cyclical conversations about weather, Sudoku,  or their bowels.

(Or anyone’s bowels for that matter …)

I enjoy many of the older patrons at the library where I work but my all-time favourite is a sort of Katharine Hepburn type: slim, fiercely intellectual and still very beautiful; she wears dresses that would not be out of place on the set of a Midsummer Night’s Dream, all filmy sea-spray greens and swirls of pale pinks which she dismissively calls her “gardening dresses” and they flutter nearly to her ankles as she walks, which she does very quickly. I have seen her a few times sporting a bright, papery parasol as well. This woman is still curious about any number of interesting topics and is constantly researching everything from opera to Paul Robeson to astronomy and everything in between. She routinely leaves the library with six or seven books slung over her shoulder in a carpet-bag kind of tote and all that, after an extensive internet searching session.

As I said to her lately, “I want to be you – but NOW!”

She is cheerful, kind but somewhat private (also like myself) and although I know little of her life, she has hinted a few times at a past sadness.

She may not be aware though that she spreads a little gust of happiness wherever she goes.