I noticed you on a sunny, fiercely windy day outside of a Caribou coffee shop. In addition to your warm coat, you wore a plastic rain bonnet, which was covered with pink chiffon and tied under your chin. Under it, your white hair looked freshly styled, and the bonnet protected your hairdo from being blown to pieces. You had to be at least 85—rain bonnets like that were popular in my mother’s era, and she would be 98 if she were still alive.
My immediate reaction was, “Aww, how sweet!” Then I thought, “Wait a minute. I’d hate it if young people looked at me indulgently and thought, “Aww, isn’t she cute with her matching jewelry and sensible shoes!” while I was going about my ordinary day being my badass, 65-year-old self. So, I decided to spare her the stereotype that diminishes and infantilizes even though it’s kindly meant. I don’t know anything about her. She’d probably a badass, too.
While I was placing my order, she came in and looked around. She seemed uncertain and quickly returned to her car, which was parked near where I sat stirring my tea and waiting for my friend.
Later she came back in and sat at a table. “Uh oh,” I thought, “I wonder if she realizes that this isn’t the kind of place there they come over and wait on you?” I could imagine my mom being confused about how Caribou works. A few minutes later, two middle-aged guys with leather-covered notebooks joined the woman.
I told my friend why I was distracted. We watched the three of them for a minute.
“I hope they’re not scamming her,” my friend said, reading my mind.
“Maybe they’re just selling her car insurance. But why two guys?” I asked.
The lady didn’t look worried or out of it. She was probably perfectly capable of making her own decisions about whatever they were selling. I turned away, thinking, “It’s none of my business. I have an overactive imagination—the downside of being a writer.”
My friend and I resumed talking about her daughter’s upcoming wedding and my Thanksgiving travel plans.
Why did this stranger capture my imagination? She brought to mind how unsure my smart, confident mother became in her final years. The woman with the pink rain bonnet also made me contemplate how vulnerable I might be when I’m in my late 80’s or early 90’s.
I wish I felt certain the lady in the pink rain bonnet was OK.
13 responses to “For the lady in the pink rain bonnet”
Wonderfully written!
Thanks for reading!
Most welcome!
Another great essay. I love the image of the woman in the pink rain bonnet. And often wish I wasn’t so matchy-match.
Thanks! I know matchy matchy isn’t cool, but I can’t resist 😆
Sometimes, something or someone we see just gets to us, and we really want to know that they are okay! I’ve had that happen too….it might be the fact that we are writers, or it might be that we can easily put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. And I loved what you said about not generalizing about people!
Since I easily imagine scenarios for other people, I’ve done this before and am bound to do it again . . .
Ellen, I thought this piece was terrific!
Johanna
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Thank you!
What a lovely, caring heart you have, Ellen. Unfortunately, it is a reality that there are unsavory types who prey upon the elderly, so I understand your conflict. We’re not sure about what to do when we see things, and don’t know the person or situation. We care, but don’t want to overstep any boundaries.
Exactly! It was so hard to know if she was totally fine or not.
Touching. Now I’m wondering about her.
A good ‘coming of age’ story.
Like how you put that—coming of age.