Grass in my Neighbor's Toes

Last evening was stormy and neighbors around the harbor tucked themselves away. Sunday was glorious, though, and I sat by the water with a book.

My elderly neighbor joined me, pulling a hat down to the top of her sunglasses, and drawing up a lounger. She smiled, commented on the evening and the water and opened her book.

I don't know my neighbor's name, although I'm sure I've heard it. In saying that I'm aware of the differences between writing a newspaper and a blog. Here, I don't need to know her name - she is very warm, has a Swiss accent and lived in Tanzania for her husband's work in the 1970's.

Like this we sat together and read.

It has been a very long time since I've sat in a back yard and read with a neighbor. In New York City, there are too many people going too many directions, so if you manage to sit still for a moment in some quiet beautiful place, chances are the person nearest is not sitting still at all, but has just flown by on some errand.

Or maybe it's a park bench and you sit next to someone, but never speak to them. Or if you speak to them, or even chat for a moment, chances are you'll never see them again. Cities have their downsides.

But there's my neighbor with her blue crush hat and big glasses. She is reading a library book about bipolar children. I think this could have something to do with a grandchild, or maybe another neighbor's child, since she does not have young children that I know of. But I do not ask. I am reading a dialogue between the Dalai Lama and western scientists about the nature of emotions.

Mostly I'm not reading, though. Mostly I'm watching some swallows dive over the juniper tree above me and I'm watching the piece of flowery grass stuck in my neighbor's toes. She has walked barefoot through the yard to the lounger on the water's edge.

By the time my grandmother was this woman's age, her mind had been emptied by Alzheimer's. It was a very scary place for her. But I remember that it brought her no end of happiness to receive a bouquet of flowers since every time she saw the flowers, they were new to her and she would ask who had sent them. If you made sure not tell her how many times she had already asked, she was delighted and really grateful all over again.

Unlike my grandmother, this woman is enjoying her advanced years fully aware, but hasn't noticed the grass in her toes. And I sit wondering if there is grass in my toes, and glance down, hoping there is. I am looking forward to the summer.