I want to add more about my friend Muret, age 93, who I saw at the Pioneer Home for the first time in several years today. His wife Dotty was our elementary school librarian, and she was a gem. Only after she died did I find out, from Muret, that she was a personal aide to Eleanor Roosevelt during the war. "I walked in and out of the White House like it was my own place!" Muret said today. 


Muret's memory is fading a bit. But his eyes sparkle. Eventually, he said, "I don't know how long this all is going to last." Then he paused and looked me in the eye. "That feeling is new," he said. 


We talked about regrets. He came home from World War II, which he spent in Washington D. C. making waves on Chesapeake Bay with boat so it would be easier for the float planes to break the surface tension and get off the water--and he farmed. "Do you ever wonder about other choices?" he said, looking at me over his glasses. "What do you wish you did?"


He misses Dottie. "She was sharp," he said, with admiration. She must have passed away at least thirty years ago. Pictures of her surrounded his bed and living area. An oil painting of Muret himself, done by a grandson, dominated the wall. 


"I just don't know how long this will all last," he said again. 


We talked about a mutual acquaintance who got divorced because the husband expected to be served hand and foot. 


"Funny how that stuff hangs on!" Muret said, speaking of male entitlement. "It should be even steven." 


Any wonder why I love old people? 




I want to add more about my friend Muret, age 93, who I saw at the Pioneer Home for the first time in several years today. His wife Dotty was our elementary school librarian, and she was a gem. Only after she died did I find out, from Muret, that she was a personal aide to Eleanor Roosevelt during the war. "I walked in and out of the White House like it was my own place!" Muret said today. 

Muret's memory is fading a bit. But his eyes sparkle. Eventually, he said, "I don't know how long this all is going to last." Then he paused and looked me in the eye. "That feeling is new," he said. 

We talked about regrets. He came home from World War II, which he spent in Washington D. C. making waves on Chesapeake Bay with boat so it would be easier for the float planes to break the surface tension and get off the water--and he farmed. "Do you ever wonder about other choices?" he said, looking at me over his glasses. "What do you wish you did?"

He misses Dottie. "She was sharp," he said, with admiration. She must have passed away at least thirty years ago. Pictures of her surrounded his bed and living area. An oil painting of Muret himself, done by a grandson, dominated the wall. 

"I just don't know how long this will all last," he said again. 

We talked about a mutual acquaintance who got divorced because the husband expected to be served hand and foot. 

"Funny how that stuff hangs on!" Muret said, speaking of male entitlement. "It should be even steven." 

Any wonder why I love old people?