Ms. Olga

A few days ago, as we sat at the Pig Stand on Broadway having a fruitful conversation on food, life, and happenings, a sweet woman whom sat behind my fiancé slid out of her booth and turned slowly to tell me, “Never get old, mija.”

She was a sweet older woman.  She shared her Senior Times and advised me about bad knees.  She was so inviting, tired, curious and spoke in a low tone.  Stories developed on her tongue; however, she tamed them and we never heard them.  Her eyes searched us as she asked, “Are you all a couple?  A married couple or just boyfriend and girlfriend?  You two are such a beautiful couple.”  She offered a smile and a dim shine in her eyes.  I lifted my hand to show her, “We just got engaged!”  Her body melted and she motioned to hug the both of us, slowly and carefully.  “Love each other the way you do now and you will last forever.”  Kind advice from, “My name is Olga.”  We introduced ourselves in return and listened as she gently spoke about having dinner and having had three glasses of wine prior to her meal.  “I had to get a bite in me.” She neither struck me as a drunk nor a woman out to have a good time.  I wondered where she’d been.  It may not have been home.  Wherever she was headed, she didn’t seem to want to go there.  Alone. 

Photo from squar3one.blogspot.com 

We offered to pay for her dinner and her eyes welled with tears.  The gesture took her breath away.  I had to pry the ticket from her hands careful not to give her a paper cut.  She didn’t know what to say to us, but she brought her hand to her heart and managed, “Thank you.  Oh, God bless you.”  My heart momentarily sank as I realized that perhaps no one had ever done this for her or it wasn’t something she expected from the world. 

We weren’t supposed to be at the Pig Stand.  We had already had dinner elsewhere and were satisfied.  I suggested coffee because I know it leads to long conversations with my love.  We sat behind a woman that we never saw enter the restaurant or did we notice her as we sat in our booth.   I don’t know Ms. Olga’s story only that she lives in the Palo Alto neighborhood and that she was far from home at the Pig Stand on Broadway.  Daily, we encounter people with stories that are not ours and somehow manage to connect.  It is representative of who we are as a people.  There we are en las caras de los ancianos. 

Be blessed, Ms. Olga, wherever you go.