Lu Lu

When I was little, between the ages of 5 and 8, I had a neighbor named Lucille. We called her Lu Lu. Of all my childhood memories during those years, the time I spent playing with Lu Lu had the greatest impact on my life. Lu Lu always wore one of those "old lady" turbans on her head and she smoked cigarettes. She taught me to play solitaire and to shuffle cards. When I struggled to shuffle the cards right, she said, "when all else fails, take a stick and stir them". I made mud pies in her back yard and we made cookie people using tootsie rolls for arms and legs. I eventually lost track of Lu Lu after we moved away and she finally quit writing letters.

In the past 24 hrs., I have had lengthy conversations with two women who find themselves old, limited and feeling very alone too often. Both shared their fears, their hopes, their anxieties, their reasons for not changing their circumstances and their gratitude for the opportunity to tell someone. While I listened to the second, Lu Lu came to mind. It occurred to me, for the first time, that my sister, myself, and other neighborhood children who stopped to play with Lu Lu probably meant the whole world to her. I don't remember if she had family. She had a husband, but he seemed pretty sick and she seemed to be taking care of him. Lu Lu would buy us an ice cream or candy. She reached out and made a difference in our lives, but it had never occurred to me that we had made a difference in hers. Until today, I had felt a little selfish for being such a "love sponge" when it came to Lu Lu. But there was a bit of a sponge in Lu Lu too.

I'm glad.