I guess you've never seen an old lady cry before

The gym where I work is full of old ladies.  I've worked there for almost 4 years, so not only do I personally know each and every one of them, but I have seen them actually grow older.  Its a weird thing...watching people you don't really give much of a shit about grow older.  I mean, I am not a callous, horrible person who crosses my fingers hoping one of the old bags will land her low impact jumping jack on the side of her orthopedic shoe and break her ankle.  Not that.  But my point is, you watch the 4 year development of a boy or girl from age 6-10 or 21-25 and you see so many noticeable changes that you are forced to say hmm... those four years are really something. You say this whether you know the kid or not.  You don't have to be a relative or friend to be inevitably forced to genuinely appreciate the concepts of time and patience.  You are forced to appreciate nature's gradual pace.  But these old ladies and their aging...it is hard to watch.  Most days I don't notice anything, but some days I find myself thinking geez, after 4 years Cecilia is still bragging about her visits to MOMA, Betty is still on her "Grannies for Peace" political kick, Dot is still doing the same damn half-ass sit ups that don't work, Marge is still grumbling and complaining from inside of her pashmina and fur coat...etc.  Their aging seems terribly stagnant, terribly clingy to the past and what was.  I'm not sure what I want to happen...I'm not sure what I want them to do...radically change, become new women, jump ship at age 75, take up motorcycling, divorce their husbands, quit the gym...I don't know.  I guess it is beautiful that time has molded them into the quirky, unbudging, often-crochety old ladies that I have know for 4 years, but it just seems odd.

     I have a favorite though; there is only one, and I have secretly wanted her to be my pretend grandma since I met her: Rhoda.  She is wicked cute, brilliant, and honest.  She is just a class act.  I love that she always brags about her purple Walmart gloves and her daughter who is an artist in New York.  I love how she thinks the world of her children without ever being pretentious, or sentimental, or gushy.  I love how you can tell that she has been through a lot of shit, but knows that although it probably made her stronger, that life is still very uncertain and she is not even close to having all the answers.  I love how she loves Obama and is so excited for our country, but hates how the other ladies squeak and squalk and chirp their political opinions just to hear the echo.  Basically, she is the coolest lady I know.  Every day she rides the stationary bike for 10 minutes, grabs half a styrofoam cup of coffee, and leaves.  We often talk, not for too long, for just long enough.

     Today Rhoda came into the office asking if I could get her coat zipper un-stuck.  It was a bitch of a zipper, as the teeth of it were pretty much shot.  She said she was having trouble with her thumbs, arthritis I guess.  I got it un-stuck, but then when she tried to zip it again, it became re-stuck.  She tried to get it un-stuck a second time, and I was looking at the zipper not at her face when she said, "I guess you've never seen a grown woman cry."  I thought, "sure I have" and remembered when I used to make my great grandmom (Butch) cry when I was a kid and she was baby sitting me.  I would get her all riled up until actual tears would drip down her cheeks, and in retrospect, I can't believe I used to do that!  I think maybe I did it because I actually got some absurd fascination out of seeing a lady of her age, who I was sure had been through soooo much, be brought to tears like an ity bity baby.  But back to Rhoda, I looked up and she was in fact almost crying (I guess because her thumbs were in that much pain and she was also just plain frustrated with the zipper).  I don't know what is profound or special about this, but the whole event has been spinning around my head all day.