Border's Books apparently hosts a book club. And, apparently, you need to be 60 years or older to take part, and you need not have read the book of the month. Apparently, too, it meets on Friday afternoons, a time when I evidently had not yet hogged a table while I sip iced tea and pretend to write.

I didn’t find out what book they were there to discuss; I don't believe that the entire time I was there anyone mentioned it. I did, however, get to hear that Irene's bladder infection has cleared up nicely--they were worried to would spread to her kidneys--and that she would join them the next time. I also learned about Michael Jackson (but not that sissy boy singer!), son of Sumner Jackson (Why, I’d known him my entire life), who died last year at 76 years of age while on vacation in Italy. He had cancer and wanted to see the world before he died, and that was the last place on his itinerary.

They agreed, it was a lovely way to pass on, doing those last few things that you want to do. We should all be so lucky.

I also heard snickers and titters over the young man with waist long hair and a wiry beard who left the cafe with a flourish; he was wearing a long dark linen dress with a gold paisley-type pattern, pearls around his neck, several costume jewelry bracelets, and he carried a vibrantly sequined purse. I waited for the ugly edge of it, but they were merely amused.

"Honey, if I looked that good in a dress like that, you bet I'd wear it no matter what!"…"Good for him. If I can wear dungarees, he can wear that pretty thing."…"I want to know where he got the bag..."

They laughed at stories of each other's grandkids--three year old Jimmy has learned the word "booger" and says it at every inopportune moment, including quite loudly during a church service--and of the horrible way several of them golfed this week. "I got a 92!" one woman proclaimed, only to be met with "Well, yes, but that was on the first four holes and I don't think I'd be bragging about it."

There was a belch. I’m too old to need an excuse for that.

There was a spill. Get a napkin for me…Eh, get your own napkin…Don’t make that poor girl behind the counter clean up after you…Why not, I’d give her a nickel…

I was a little sad to see them go, but they noted the time and realized they only had half an hour before the Harry Potter movie started.

I love spunky old people.

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