The Glamorous Mrs. L.

When I was a young teenager, I was really into fashion and always on the lookout for ways to make money to buy clothing and shoes and purses. I ran a children's camp in my backyard one summer. I made and sold candles. I tried to open a dress shop in our shed but that somehow didn't come together. Can't imagine why. Mostly, I babysat.

My favorite babysitting job was for a family in my neighborhood. The mom was young and pretty and a lot of fun. Hip and interesting, I liked the way she dressed. She was interested in fashion, too, and cosmetics. She wore Shalimar and painted her nails in a lilac color. We spent many afternoons sitting her kitchen table, drinking tea and talking. I adored her young son and spent many happy days chasing him around the garden.

Her husband was diagnosed with cancer and later died; it was a terrible time for them. They were clearly very much in love. What I remember most is one time when he was in remission. They asked me to babysit so they could go out to dinner with another couple, their best friends. Everyone was relieved and hopeful, in such a buoyant mood. When Mr. L. drove me home, there was Barry White music playing on the radio. As he dropped me at my door that night, I waved away payment. Tonight's on me, I said proudly. I was so happy that my friend's husband was well. No, Kathy, he said. Thank you, but tonight is my night. And he paid me extra.

They were such a lovely young couple and my time in their home was meaningful at a time when I was a little lost. It's these kinds of memories that stay with me and that I feel grateful for.

The work of the poet is to name what is holy. ~ Diane Ackerman