Tante Gerda

Yesterday, around noon, I jumped on a train to visit Tante Gerda for the afternoon.

She makes jokes and tells stories (awesome combo):

Recently she needed to stop by a pharmacy for some eye-drops. A 30 minute walk there and 30 minute walk back. That evening her son called, the standard how-was-your-day-question, "Why in the world didn't you take a taxi, mom?! You are 89 years old!!" Her clever response, "There was something wrong with my eye, not my feet!"

She's beautiful. She's strong. She lives in a 10 room house with massive garden: cooks and cleans herself. She still has naturally brown hair (see picture). She is 89 years old. She does a crossword puzzle a day. She complains that she is losing her memory when she can't remember a politicians name. She laughs. She hikes. She wears a skirt every day. She goes to birthday parties (and has been the oldest at them for years and years...). She gives out compliments. She builds people up. She is totally aware of her surroundings and the world around her. She notices flowers. She is grateful for all sorts of service. She loves her family.

I love my Tante Gerda.