The tables at the diner are pushed close together to make as much room as possible for more patrons. I sit on a booth seat at a table for two, in a line of five tables for two. To my right is a woman holding her half of silence with her I assume husband because they are both wearing rings. To my left is a young boy of about seven years. He is not at all interested in being at the diner anymore and his mother is pretty much exasperated with his collapsing and sitting up and leaning on her and whining. She is breathing slowly, working on her patience. Sitting across from me is my friend Georgi. She's full of conversation from the minute I sit down, starting off with grey hair.
"Why is it," she asks me, "that men look distinguished when they start to go grey?" She moves her eyes but not her head towards the silent husband to her left.
"Not sure, Georgi," I say. Going grey isn't something I spend my time pondering. I am so blond that I figure I'll just go clear rather than grey because grey would actually be more color than I have right now.
"Well, when I get there, it's one of the things I'm going to ask him."
She goes into a story about a natural dye she's found "under ten dollars, less than ten minutes and I do it at home. Perfect." Although I hear her, I've been snagged by her comment. Gets where? Ask who? And then I realize that she means heaven and God. And I smile because conversation with her is refreshing. She's forever slipping in gems like that and it never fails to make me happy.