Celery Sticks from Mrs. G

My wife, Esther, and I received a phone call about Mrs. G one sunny day in Truro, Nova Scotia. "Hello," our church secretary said. "We have a request from an older lady to take her shopping. Her daughter, who usually takes her, is ill."

When we arrived at Mrs. G's apartment, three flights of stairs and no elevator greeted us. In slow motion, I pulled hard on the railing to overcome the steep incline.

Mrs. G invited us in. She's 82, with a bent back. Her eyes swallowed me up. A glowing smile turned out to be an echo of her personality. After showing us around her one-bedroom castle, she grabbed her coat, and we headed out.

She determinedly found her way down the stairs, one careful step at a time. I followed slowly. Her monologue engaged us all the way to the bottom step. She rationalized why her daughter could not take her shopping that day.

During later visits, we heard about her daughter's continuing sore leg, unreliable car, lack of money for gas, and being snowed in (especially on days when even a flake of snow remained hidden from view).

She looks frail, wrinkled; at times her responses are "Eh?" This is sometimes due to a malfunctioning hearing aid, but we have learned it is more often slyness, not wishing to respond to questions about her daughter.

"Where does she live?" we'd ask.

"Eh?"

"How come she picked out this apartment for you?"

"Eh?"

"It's so far from downtown. There's no shopping nearby."

"Rent's lot cheaper here," she'd answer. With only old age security for income, her rent was low compared to apartments in the downtown area.

Tales of independence lost, such as signing herself out of a nursing home in a town about 30 miles away, are often told by this determined lady. "Besides, too expensive there," she'd say.

*   *   *   *   *

Being with Mrs. G takes much patience. She is so happy to be out of her apartment. We became her backup driving service, which we did with mixed feelings. She never had a need to hurry and complete any tasks, whether waiting for an eye examination, doing some banking, or shopping for essentials.

We have had many adventures with Mrs. G, such as the time she insisted we take her to return four bottles of pop to one store due to a sale at another store. That trip was to save ten cents a bottle. At the bank, she insisted we not linger near the teller in case we heard about her finances. We are certain she has much less than what she dreams.

On several occasions, we have lost our patience when she wandered onto the street during shopping times or banking visits. "We said we'd meet you at the front door when you were finished your business. You told us you don't like anyone hovering over you."

"Eh?" she'd answer, with a smile.

Yet we marvel at how this frail, gray-haired lady has the moxie to call taxis when needed, get to the bus station, and arrive 35 miles away for her specialist appointment, then visit old friends. "Had him for years," she said. "Too late to change now."

For our transportation efforts, she often gives us substitutes for gas money. Once she offered up $5 for gas, but she prefers to give cookies, or a piece of cake. Today we received two stalks of celery. "For your kindness," she said.

And we are content knowing this lady is our friend.

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