I.O.S.T.K.U.Y

   It’s Our Stories That Keep Us Young…

The other day, Kiki told me it was just fine if  I pulled up a chair at her table and ate my sandwich with her.  We smiled — that instant dialect that even babies know — and that’s when she told me what she does. And how old she was.

“I’m a people watcher,” she informed me with delight. I felt at home right away.  My mother taught me this art at an early age, while my father parked the car and we waited out front.

“Are you noticing your favorite spring colors?” I asked, wishing immediately that I’d come up with something better.  “Colors? I don’t watch colors… I watch people and listen to what they say.  I don’t know a thing about colors and I’m 93.”

“”93!” I could tell that it wasn’t the first time she shocked someone and then made a new friend.  She nodded kindly and told me this was what kept her going: surrounding herself with people. This is  why Kiki makes herself at home in my favorite place to eat and shop, where everyone I quickly discovered adores her.  In seconds, my favorite staffers dropped by to chat and to introduce us. I was eating with the queen — or ambassador,  as they called her.

“My parents named me Angelica. Everyone calls me Kiki. We’re Greek.” I started telling her about my ancient Greek college beau and she wisely interrupted  — “but you weren’t Greek, so he couldn’t marry you.”

I leaned closer to hear more — her stories.   She looked a good decade younger, still drives a car, eats only healthy food, and she admitted that she no longer walks or reads much anymore.  “I just watch people.”