growing old, part 2

I had lunch at Sbarro today. In the next table sat two old ladies, obviously old friends, and they had been shopping. Seated a little farther away was a woman who wore something that looked like a maid's uniform. She carried various paper bags and shopping bags for the two old women.


The two old women were sharing a slice of pizza, a salad, and a carrot cake. Sbarro's servings are large by my standards. They ordered their assistant the same thing I was eating: baked ziti. One of them was instructing the woman to sprinkle some granulated garlic in her baked ziti; the other inquired if she found the food delicious. The woman politely said yes, but her face carried an expression of slight distaste.


The old women were dressed simply. They were wearing blouse and pants and flat sandals. They had also dyed their hair light brown. But their manner was very refined, and I noted that one of them wore a Rolex watch. The other had earrings with stones that sparkled too much to be anything but real. They discussed old friends and what to do in the evening.

Okay, maybe I watched them too much, but they were very interesting. It seems I am preoccupied with old women these days.

I often associate old age with being alone. I did not grow up in a household that takes care of old people. My grandmother never made us feel like it's an obligation. She lived in her big house all by herself with a caregiver for company.

I learned from her that alone doesn't necessarily mean lonely. When I get to be an old woman, I hope I still have a girlfriend or two who can go shopping with me. Said girlfriend had better be addicted to books as well, for the sake of intelligent conversation. I cannot see myself discussing the merits of a particular well-muscled DI over lunch.

I hope I will be a gracious old lady, maybe not with a Rolex, but with a few sparkly things to wear when I attend my granddaughter's debut. And I do hope I discover soon what it is with old women, light brown hair, and blouse-and-pants ensembles, so I can plan my wardrobe accordingly.

And I hope one of my daughters will marry an Italian, so I can have someone who will cook me good pasta and make a mean pizza. I cannot afford a lifestyle of eating at Sbarro every day!