Time needed to understand the changing world

    Greetings from the Ridge.
    Olga wouldn’t leave her porch. I was just a kid running wild and loose on the streets of Coonridge when I noticed her sitting there. She’d come out early that morning to take her usual place in the wooden rocker on her porch, coffee in hand, but unlike her usual practice of watching the traffic, listening to the birds, then going back inside to do her housework, on this summer morning Olga simply stayed in her rocker. . . two hours. . . four. . . noon came and she was still there. Being young, impetuous and only half-smart I walked up onto her porch and asked if she was OK.
    “No Freida, I’m not,” she said, then took a sip of her cold coffee and stared out onto the street.

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