a kind soul . . .

Yesterday was so crowded at Panera's that I had to finagle to get us seats . . . stealing the second table of what had been a set-up for eight. As we waited for our name to be called, I slipped into my favorite mode . . . people watching. They fascinate me. The 9TS and I were trying to decide if the couple next to us were from NY or NJ. I was betting NJ.

Another gaze around and I zeroed in on a very elderly gentleman, thin, slightly bent, hearing aid in place, 1980's over sized glasses, faded but nicely pressed jeans, a checked cotton shirt and cardigan sweater. But what really caught my attention was his hat. He was a survivor of World War II, the Korean War, and Viet Nam. Amazing. I was brought back to earth by the 9TS telling me he wanted to go shake the man's hand. Yes, the sloth and I often get in each other's brains like that. And so he did. He walked up, thanked him, and shook his hand. The man smiled and thanked him. Not another word was said.

But it was what happened next that brought me to tears. When the man and his tiny wife, whose back was to me, were finished their meal, he stood up and came to her side. He proceeded to gently button each button of her cardigan and then helped her into her jacket, again tenderly buttoning one button after another and turning up her collar against the chilly day. Then he supported her as he pulled away the chair and she shakily stood. He waited, oh so patiently, until she had collected her balance and then grabbed their bag of leftovers and lead her carefully and slowly out of the restaurant. He was so absorbed in her well being. He took such care of her. What a wondrous soul.

I turned to the sloth and told him that's how I wanted to be treated when we were thirty years older. He grinned and said he knew I was going to say that. But the truth is, in his own way, he already does.