Sparkly Gowns

Margie’s short-term memory is gone, but her flair for improvisation persists.

“Which one do you think, for me?” she teased. The orange or the blue? The blue is more Me, don’t you think? I never have anything to wear to formal Balls. It won’t need many—what do you call it, where they fix it for you?”

Alterations? “Yes, yes, that’s it. Just a few minor alterations. Tell them to wrap it up.” 

By text this morning, she proposed we go out for lunch. When I arrived, she had forgotten that proposal, so we went for a walk around the block, got coffee to go at our usual place, and I got  a slice of Sfouf (almond-semolina cake with turmeric, which we’ve shared many times before). 

We took our treats up to her place, by which time she had forgotten I got the Sfouf and was thrilled to see it. “What a surprise! Where did you hide it? I’ve never eaten anything like this before.” 

She showed me the blossom on her white amaryllis, showed me the window where the hummingbird comes to visit, and said she thinks her son Andy is coming to visit, “Maybe this weekend, maybe next month, whenever it is, it’ll be great. I have such wonderful children.”