I'm sitting at the local mom's and pop's deli/bagel shop on the way to the library, working through my egg and cheese on a toasted everything bagel breakfast sandwich and a hefty bucket of caffeine. The salt on the bagel and sugar in my coffee have both been added a bit too generously, but i'm still enjoying this space and time so very grounded in the heart of the Village of Ardsley. It's a Tuesday late morning, and most of the occupants of the joint are old rich white people. (Well, i'm certain of two of those things, and assuming about the other considering it's midday midweek and they're sitting in casual clothes in no apparent rush to go anywhere.) This of course excludes myself, and the Latina girl sitting next to me poring over J. Lo tabloids, and the middle-aged Asian couple that assembled my breakfast for me. Seated at the table immediately to my right are two quintessential Westchester Old Ladies. Even this quintessence of theirs makes them endearing to me - there's something strangely heartwarming and uplifting about the ability to live over 80 years without once losing hold of that rigid snobbish hautiness, that seeming bitterness only deepening with age. This variety of WCOL isn't quite as irritating as the pair i've seen at Panera: the identical real-life versions of Patty and Selma who glare and point at you all through their stay, commenting on everything from your race to your jewelry. This morning's duo isn't as menacing - though they seem to share this tradition of social observation and accompanying audible comments of everything and everyone they see in the restaurant. I sat down and they started talking about my bag. The girl to my left got up with her phone and they talked about her techniques of texting and which fingers are to be used. I didn't even notice how i had adjusted my seating position, until they started talking about how they used to be able to sit in their younger years the way i'm sitting with my legs crossed, and who of their neighbors and relatives can sit like me. Then for a while they talked about who in their neighbors and relatives are left-handed. I think now they're talking about the woman that just came in carrying her terrier, and who in their neighbors and relatives have a dog like that. I wonder if in my old age: 1) i'd still have teeth strong enough to keep eating NY bagels, 2) i will be able to reach a state of peace and contentment and satisfaction in every part of my life that all i have to talk about are mundane details of others' affairs, 3) lose my hearing to the point where i am no longer aware of the fact that i'm talking about surrounding strangers while seated 12 inches from them.
Anyway, these are the musings from this morning. I just realized it's well past noon - i'm going to drop you a text and head over to the library!