Today I had the privilege of having lunch with a woman who used to work with me. Well, us. She worked in the sales department. A bunch of us went to The Park Cafe (which was fabulous by the way) to meet her for lunch.
This lady is awesome. She's 70-something years old and swears like a sailor. I am absolutely certain that she could make grown men, let's say hardened prison inmates or a pack of drill sergeants, cry like little girls and cower in the corner. When she talks about an event in her life, she always remembers exactly what she was wearing. Believe me, she's exponentially better dressed than I am, and I'm half her age. She's grouchy, she's funny and she takes crap from no one. Oh, and she loves her little dog. I should use her as a character in a story.
Earlier this year she retired and moved to Florida. She was only partially happy about this, because she loves to be in the thick of things, and retiring made her sound old and decrepit. At lunch today she was telling us that she plays shuffle board (she had to try out for the team, but since she can walk she made it!), paints and bikes through her neighborhood. Lunch was enjoyable. Sadly there were no “F” bombs launched from the old lady (never tell her I called her that, I'm half her age but she's well over a foot taller than I am).
When we got back to the office she'd sent an e-mail. She said (am I'm paraphrasing because I don't get my work e-mail from home) that she loves where she's at, but she misses working with younger people who have so much to look forward to and so many things to work towards. I wish I could remember how she said it, because it was quite poignant.
After I read it, I asked myself—why do I do what I do? I'm not sure I have a good answer right now . . .