The Lady In The Window

She’s just at the end of my little street. I’ve been walking past her, several times a week, for twenty months, without even noticing. This is because I always keep my eyes pinned to the floor, trying to dodge the cat shit.

Lady In The Window

I was about to crop off that passer-by, but then decided to leave him in. I do love men in pink shirts… and he fits in a treat with the colour scheme 😉

She does look a bit sad...

She looks downcast… like she’s just received an enormous phone bill after a bad night’s sleep.

Uploading these photos reminded me of an incident that happened about a year ago, involving two elderly ladies that live in a house around the corner from me. And when I say “elderly”, I mean ancient. They must be in their mid-90s. I see them out and about, clinging onto the arm of a young Indian lady, who must be their home help.

The two of them are always fully made-up, donning lots of blusher and green eyeshadow,  hair freshly coiffed, dressed to the nines. From the ankles upwards, at least. They shuffle through the neighbourhood in their comfy slippers. Very sensible, I’m going to follow their example as soon as I can feasibly get away with it.

They are a chatty pair, though a bit hard for me to understand at times. Which is a shame, because they sound really interesting; I gathered that one of them used to be a lecturer of Greek and Latin at the University of Salamanca.

So, one night in June last year, I, my (visiting) brother and his friend were returning home after a meal out.  We passed by the ladies’ window, and they called out to us. We went to see what was up, and one of them handed us a tin of sardines through the grate. They had been unable to open it with their gnarled arthritic little hands.

My brother pulled the lid off the tin in one smooth movement, and passed it back to them. It was 2am, the street is always totally dead at night. How many hours, we wondered, had they been sitting there, hungry, waiting for somebody to come by and liberate their paltry ‘dinner’? While the three of us were out, having a good time, drinking red wine and feasting on an enormous chicken and seafood paella… 😦

The house where the old ladies live, and the sardine window.

The house where the old ladies live. Sardine window in view.

[Here is a short picture post of the little streets, alleys, plazas, buildings and shops surrounding my house, if you are interested. ]


11 thoughts on “The Lady In The Window

  1. TBM

    Cat shit … not dog? And are you allowed to call people ancient? We have a gal down the street that’s 90 +. the other night I walked by her place and I thought she was calling for help so being a good citizen I tried to help. She was watching TV. I heard the TV. Then I felt like an idiot.

    Glad you guys strolled by and helped them out. My grandmother used to say, “Getting old isn’t for sissies.” As I get older and the aches and pains are here to stay, I’m starting to understand.


  2. stupiduglyforeigner

    I like to think that maybe it was just a tin full of biscuits. Or preserved peaches (old ladies love preserved peaches, right?). And that their helper simply didn’t think their treats were healthy for them, so they got help from the outside.



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