I was just getting around to icing my big toe on my left foot that I had badly stubbed in our laundry room after slipping and catching myself in water that leaks into the outdoor room circa 1959 (this is gonna be a run-on, just warning you) and the baby was crying because he didn't want his nose wiped for the millionth time and he didn't get to chew on the shoe that he had so proudly crawled to when I heard a knock at the door. My carport door. It was Betty or "NaNa" from next door. She is my Grandparents' age. The same person who brought that famous pie to us when we moved in a year ago. The same person who brought my newborn son a card with $20 inside for us to buy Clemson jacket because she couldn't find one here in Alabama. The same person who had a pacemaker put in a couple of weeks ago. The same person we had shared veggies from our garden earlier this week.
Betty and Elton, who told us if we forget his name to remember "Elton John", have a dog named Fergie (up on the times I'd say) and they don't get around much anymore except to the Doctor, but what a blessing they are. What a blessing to live next door to some of the greatest generation. I sent her home with some homemade chicken salad that I had just made the night before, thinking I could never repay her for the loving spirit she possesses and has now passed on to me.
I've got a lot to learn from the greatest generation.