DID I EARN MY PRETZELS?

It was 11:00 am on a Friday and I had parked the car and made a quick visit to the snack bar for free coffee and a .89 bag of pretzels.   My husband, who can no longer drive, was to see the eye doctor for his fading eyesight.  I was prepared to spend the better part of an hour sitting in the waiting room, reading outdated magazines.

I  found a vacant chair, alongside an elderly couple with matching walkers.  I smiled at the lady and she returned the smile.  The travel magazine in her lap was unopened.  I asked her if she had traveled much.  She paused ever so slightly and words tumbled out— about countries she and her husband had traveled to, a concise travelogue of Germany, Australia, London, Rome, Italy–US.  “Do you still travel”?  I asked.  “Oh no, not anymore” she said with a wistful smile.  I continued to question her on her travels and from her wonderful memory she pulled many experiences she willingly shared.

“Mrs.  X”— a lady called— as a face appeared above us, my seat companion struggled to her feet.  She nudged her husband and he struggled to his feet and both grasped their walkers.  “Oh no, Mr. X,  the doctor will see you later, we are only going to see Mrs. X right now”.  He nodded and shuffled over to the seat next to me and eased himself into the chair, giving a gentle nudge to the walker, as if to say “steady there, don’t go off on your own”.  I smiled at him and he said “Are you going to share your pretzels”?  I couldn’t help but laugh and said “sure” and tore into the bag and handed him the first handful.  “What wisdom are you going to give me for my pretzels”?  I asked.  He smiled a smile that lit up his face and said:  “People tell me I am lucky”.  I asked him the question that horrifies my granddaughter that I am so bold to ask:  “how old are you?”  He replied  with a nod of his head “87”.  “I ain’t lucky”  “They tell me because I am 87 I am lucky to be alive”.  He sho

ok his head as he nibbled on another pretzel.  “That is crap–my lovely wife and I can not walk anywhere, we eat only microwave stuff some else buys for us, and thinks because it’s healthy we should enjoy it. We can’t go anywhere without arranging for someone to drive and pick us up.  “We don’t do anything except go to doctors—-and the doctors all try to keep us alive”.  At this he chuckled and said: “Do I get another pretzel”?  I gladly handed him the last of the salty treat.   “Hardly anyone comes to see us, most of our friends are dead, our family is pretty much non-existent”.   “We both are in-continent and not able to enjoy our yard anymore and yet people who see us tell us we are lucky”. “That is crap–they are the lucky ones”.  “Did I earn my pretzels”?

            —Jan. 2009