I meet her every morning at the gym. Just as the sun is beginning the day, Connie arrives with her husband of many years. I used to see her on the weight machines, and we would stop and greet each other with a smile and a bit of gossip. Who was at the gym, and who was sleeping in? Her husband Kenny, a former boxer, is keeping his youthful physique by lifting weights and riding the bikes. His eyes are always twinkling.
She hasn't been on the exercise floor lately. A bit of trouble with her hips. So she sits with her paper, at a table reserved for the early birds. Her stories are endless, her face lined with years of living, are beautiful. I learned so much about her, in between searching for the letters to fill the crossword puzzle. The pain of great loss in the early years of their marriage. Her willingness to help others. A cook beyond compare.
This morning, our laughter shook the rafters. Her story of cooking for an elderly neighbor almost knocked me off my chair. "Connie," I roared. "Your elderly neighbor? How old is she?" Connie got the joke and joined in the fun. "
Connie is one of the youngest 88 years old friends I have.
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