I’ll Worry About That Tomorrow

There’s an 80 year old woman, Pete, who lives in the brownstone (originally bought by her father in 1923) that’s next to my boyfriend’s apartment. Pete spends all day sitting on her stoop, saying hello to the neighborhood, and chatting with anyone who cares to stop. As she recovers from a bad fall this winter, she’s had neighborhood kids read to her on the steps and continues to spend every sunny day outside, now accompanied by a caregiver. She’s full of stories about New York, the neighborhood, and her life, and it will leave a void for many, many people when she’s gone.

Today, as I came home from work, I stopped to say hello and asked Pete how she was. “Enjoying the wonderful sunshine and the breeze,” she told me. I laughed and told her we were allegedly headed for 97 degrees the next day. To which Pete said, “Well, I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”

And I just went indoors and thought, “That’s the wisdom age brings.”