Maria 101

I sadly lost an old girlfriend on Sunday. Mrs. Spezia was 101 years old. I had known her all my life. She was a great Leonardite. My sister married her son. Her daughter was my age and there was a little adolescent flirtation; that’s just because it was in a small town where eligibility had a level of entrapment since earlier times.
Mrs. Spezia had a full life, being widowed only four years ago. She and her husband were not far removed from their Italian immigrant parents. Her man farmed for cash crops of potatoes, corn, and pigs. She managed the household.
I may have been ten when Mr. Spezia was very ill and his potato crop was near rotting in the field. The call for help came and the whole village showed up that Saturday to reap the harvest.
Another recall was while wandering about their barnyard. I stopped dead in my tracks with the electric fence across both chins. It kept the pigs contained but left me falling forward into a smelly sludge that sent me home for a shower and change of clothes.
The fondest moment was at my nephew Mike's wedding in Lake Tahoe in 2006. At 99, as the only grandparent, she had taken her first airplane ride and was feeling wonderful. At the wedding reception, she and I were left alone at a table when everyone was dancing. I got up, bowed, and asked her to dance. She beamed beyond my expectations. I pushed her walker out of the way and escorted her to the dance floor. By the second song, the rest of the party stood watching us dance. Never could a gentleman be so pleased as to have thrilled a lady so much. She exclaimed she had not been on the dance floor in thirty years. I had seen her twice since and received a fond hug, kiss, and renewed thoughts of our night on the dance floor. Simple efforts can mean so much at the proper time.