The Volunteer

Unlike many whose appearance belies
their age, there is no disguising this
woman's 83 years -- soon to be 84 -- she
proudly says. Her gait is a painful-to-watch
shuffle, her form ungainly and her face
perched atop that topsy-turvey body is
creased with deep, time-begotten folds
her hair wispy strands of silver-white a
mirror image of the little companion dog 
whose presence saves her from loneliness.
But wait, this poorly-aged octogenarian
gets places on sheer will of purpose and
reliance on a well-indoctrinated physical
memory handling the horsepower of a 
snappy red late-model car to transport
her wherever whimsy takes her. She is
quite familiar with the innards of those
'retirement' homes and confides to any
of her generation her heartfelt advice --
'don't go there'. She does. Twice weekly
she leaves her dog at home to complete
her pledged mission of arranging suitable
entertainments for residents -- those of
whom her descriptions of half-comatose
in passionate tones of compassion
tinged with contempt speaks volumes.