Aunt Maude

She holds her purse like Queen Elizabeth, but has not yet perfected the imperceptible wave. At 92, she still drives, makes wide right turns like the long-haulers and couldn't pass the parallel parking test if she had to. Aunt Maude isn't about to stop now, though once she was caught driving the wrong way in one of those turn lanes on the strip on the way to Joann's Fabrics, right by McDonald's. She takes her purse to wedding receptions of smitten young couples she does not know. Social graces intact, she shmoozes a bit, then sashays over to the buffet table and fills her satchel with watercress sandwiches and bacon-wrapped crackers to eat later, which she never does. They calcify, like her arteries, thoughts no longer flowing freely on the highways of her mind. She is past knowing. Resigned, her daughter comes each week to empty the purse.

Anni Macht Gibson