Recently, I engaged in a lengthy conversation with a young tike, a lad of four and one half years. We sat waiting together on the voluminously awkward leather couch in the lounge at the Hochstein music school. He told me all about himself and his family and that he ate a lot of ‘stinky’ cheese and he didn’t like it. I said I wouldn’t like it either, most assuredly.
He inquired as to whether or not I needed a picture drawn of myself and it turns out that I did. This happened four times during our interaction. It was a lengthy time together and we sat happily side by side on the squishing sinking couch, listening to the old creaking wooden floor sounds and the whining and cracking of the stairs upon stairs leading up to the upper rooms at the top of the old red brick building.
He gave me four crayon drawings of me seated on the couch. They were wonderful and I told him so. I told him they were good because they looked exactly how I felt; squashed and a little tired and smashed down by life.
I don’t think that he completely understood but we both laughed quite a bit.
I do not think that retirement or old age will require much if any adjustment on my part…
690 Saint Paul 