Being open

It was tight quarters at the little Cafe Myriade yesterday and my small table was nestled between a young woman on her laptop and an older lady sipping tea and reading her book. After a while another woman comes in asking if anyone has seen a little purse. The three of us look at each other and confirm that we haven't. 

The older lady on my right makes a comment about having done that before and suddenly we are immersed in conversation. She sees my purse on the floor by my feet and notes how wrapped up in conversation we can get up and leave it behind. 

This lady told me she was 89 (my mother's age) and I was aghast as she looked easily 10 years younger. She was Jewish and tells me her husband has been gone three years now. Of her four children only two are still living as her eldest were lost to cancer. She is part of that stiff upper lip generation that put up with so much and built up their resilience. She tells me what a horrible man Trump is and I concur with gusto. 

Of course she has little filter left like my mother and her tone is frank and open. Eventually we tell each other it's time to go but we promise to chat if we meet again. 

People can tell when you are open.