Life: talking and walking

I don't know that much about her, but I do know that she walked around Vankleek Hill and that she made a point of taking an early-morning walk on most days. I first saw her several years ago accompanied daily by two friends - another lady about her own age and an older man. They used to make their way down the middle of the street often just as the sun was shining straight into their faces as they walked east down Higginson Street in front of my house.
I don't remember when it was that she started walking alone in the mornings.
I talked with her only a few times. I know she cooked and, although advanced in years herself, prepared food for those who were less able to care for themselves. I think we talked about knitting one morning and often, about gardening.
She seemed to me to be so practical. As she walked early Wednesday mornings, she would move my empty blue boxes off the street onto the steps of my house. I have a feeling she did that kind of thing all over town.
Although she kept on walking every day, she began to move more slowly; she had knee problems, if I remember right. Then I stopped seeing her for a while, but then there she was, back on the street again, this time with a walker. I saw her just recently with her walker on a blustery day, inching down the middle of the street. There had always been something about her that made her seem like she would keep on going, no matter what.
If I ever passed her walking in the rain mid-day, even my offer of a ride home was refused with a gentle smile. Our brief exchanges were about straight-ahead things like making jam or there was too much rain for good tomatoes this year.
I was caught off-guard when I heard she passed away about a week ago and felt a sad sense of loss. Certain I had just seen her pass by my house, I had to ask quite a few questions to make sure it was my walking lady who was gone. I didn't even know her name until that moment.
Someone who knows her better than I did told me that her life ended quickly, with little trouble to her family and those around her, which is what she would have wished.
She was a hard worker, this person told me. She never stopped.
But I knew that.
Somehow, as I came out to my car in the mornings, this lady and I had connected in some small way. I guess I did feel like I knew her.
Unknown to her perhaps, she pulled my mind back from work to something simple. We talked. She walked.
As time goes on, and I try to squeeze a few minutes in to think about work/life balance, the simple things, whether part of a discussion or in the doing, are becoming more important to me.
I want to listen to the perspective of those who are older than me for the wisdom of what is really important because I think that most of us don't know what that is any more. And worse: even if we have decided something is important, we only think about making changes.
I took time out this Saturday morning to have breakfast with our local museum volunteers; it was a thank you to those who had made the museum a priority.
I talked with people I don't get to talk to very often.
As the last of us headed off to other commitments, the remaining table-talk was about the time crunch. My complaint, ridiculous though it may seem, was that people land in our offices and need to talk. Everyone grimaced and said they could relate to the time that people eat up by stopping in and then talking your ear off.
It is only now that I think I need to take back my complaint. All of the talk that comes into this building, my office and my ears is important. The listening and the conversations are what keep us connected in so many ways.
If I can't make room for that . . . maybe I should take a walk. But no one will ever replace Violet.