We were standing in the same aisle in the gift shop at the Natural Science Museum in Raleigh. She was about my age with two preteen girls pulling at her arms begging her to buy trinkets that were overflowing in their hands. She looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“They grow up too quickly,” I said.
She shooed the girls off. They wandered away, probably to look for more novelties for their grandmother to buy.
“I live in California and don’t get to see them often, “she said.
“Well, enjoy them now. There’s my youngest,” I nodded my head toward my grandson, long, lanky, a head taller than I, checking out the snow globes, which he collects.
“I had to persuade him to come to the museum with me today. We used to come here often when he was younger.” I didn’t need to say more.
In the next few minutes, we shared our ages, where we live, physical limitations, that our grandchildren are most important to us, and we acknowledged that time marches on and us old folks just fade away.
Too soon, my grandson stood next to me holding two snow globes. My new friend’s granddaughters, exuberant and boisterous, again pulled on her arms as they waved more souvenirs under her nose.
We needed to move on although there was much more to say. She turned her attention to her granddaughters. With a lighter gait, I headed to the cashier.
Getting Older: Charting the Uncharted 