Norma's Corner of the World

 I noticed her as soon as I set up shop in my home office in the dining room of my new apartment last summer. My dining room window looks directly out onto her corner patio...

Yes, I know there's a giant tree in the way, but I took this picture from inside my apartment, which strikes me as kind of creepy, but not as creepy as walking outside and standing directly in front of her place to take a picture. Is it creepy? I hope not, because that's definitely not my intent. And I didn't want to take a picture of the lady herself, because that would be creepy.

She comes outside every day, unless it's raining (but it has to be raining pretty hard for her to stay indoors), to tend to the profusion of plants in the area outside of her patio. Some are in pots, some are planted in the ground, and some of the flowers are (I suspect) possibly silk. I'm not sure. Maybe she really is talented enough to have kept flowers alive inside during last month's deep freeze. The point is, her love of color and growing things cannot be contained by the confines of her patio. It flows out of that space so everyone can see it.

When I first saw her, this tiny, frail-looking elderly lady, she was clambering around on those landscaping rocks to get to her plants and I thought "Oh my God, she's gonna slip on those rocks and break a hip." As the days went by, I kept a close eye on her as she was watering, pruning, fluffing, planting, dead-heading. She didn't fall. I nicknamed her Nanny, for nanny-goat, because that's what she reminded me of. Not in a bad way. I mean she didn't look like a goat and she didn't scream or faint like some goats, but she was just so incredibly sure-footed. Like a goat. Also, her feet are disproportionately large to the rest of her and she always wears very sensible traction-soled tennis shoes. She's a climber.

Day after day I watch her. Especially nerve-wracking are the days when she's out there with her pruning shears. If she falls with those in hand...I just can't. 

Eventually I learned that her name is Norma, she's 93 years old and she walks two miles on a treadmill every day. Every. Single. Day. She chats with everyone who walk by as she's out there gardening, and she seems to especially love talking to the people walking their dogs. If you are sitting on your own patio and she walks by on her way to the mailbox, she'll stop and chat with you. She liked the Christmas lights on my patio. That's all I know about Norma, although I admit to being very curious about her life story. I want to ask: what has kept you going so that here, at the age of 93, you are living independently in your own apartment, managing two damn miles a day on a treadmill and have created this space of green and color? Do you ever get depressed and say "Nope, I'm not doing the treadmill today and those plants will have to take care of themselves."? Are you sad that your Norfolk pine didn't make it, or do you think it might come back? What's your story? Were you a mountain climber? A long-distance hiker? A circus performer? A librarian?

Maybe one day I'll ask her. But maybe not. I'm shy that way; I don't like to intrude on people and while I might say hello walking past you, it's really hard for me to stop and initiate a conversation. But Norma intrigues me so. Maybe because she reminds me of my mother, who had such a green thumb (which I sadly did not inherit). When my mom moved from her house with a backyard to an independent living apartment with a patio, we spent hours figuring out the furniture and plants that would fit in that small space. Although she loved her apartment, giving up her backyard was hard for her I think. 

I still keep an eye on Norma when she's out, and I still worry a little, but not as much as I did at first. I think the treadmill walks and her gardening are her self-love. Norma has become a sort of talisman for me:  If Norma can do it (whatever "it" is that day), you can do it too, Bonnie.

Before I go, here's a picture of a lovely succulent container that my daughter - who did inherit her grandmother's green thumb - made for the windowsill. I love the live plants mixed in with the pine cones and bits of moss...

Be well, take care of yourself, be your own version of Norma.

💗Bonnie