A Certain Age
A moment out of time happened to me yesterday in the main aisle at Walmart.
A lady smiled at me from the past and the present. She stood there in all of her five feet, nearing 90 years old. She had stopped her cart to take off her red soft leather gloves, tugging at them finger by finger until they were folded and ready for her pocketbook. Had it been 1960 they would have been white gloves, and she would have worn them in summer, not just winter.
This lady—her name is Judy or Sylvia I’m sure—was a “well-put-together woman.” They used to be common and you may remember them. Mid-calf-length trench coat, cinched at the waist, over a conservative dress of similar length. Nude hose on her legs, and sensible but feminine pumps.
She looked up at me from under the brim of the kind of hat worn by both men and women in the late 40s. A dame of a certain age, the only makeup she wore was the perfect shade of lipstick and a bit of powder. When she looked at me she smiled with her whole face, especially her eyes.
It made me beam. I meant my smile, too. My first urge was to walk over to her and hug her, then shepherd her to lunch where we would talk about grandmotherly things, and what her husband would think of 2024 if he were still alive.
But one can’t do that, so I kept walking with a smile on my face and wet eyes.
So sweet. And I bet she would have loved to lunch with you. Calling you a “nice young man” and all. ❤️
Thanks for sharing that lovely moment. I cherish the few people who are left who connect me to the pre-me past.
I remember my mom taking me downtown with her to do some clothes shopping, when I was a small boy in 1962. We were just riding the bus a few miles to go to Macy's, but she put on a nice dress and gloves, and had me wear slacks, my leather dress shoes, and a white button-up shirt.
It was a different world.