Bus Report #1018

Yesterday morning the bus was late for the second day in a row (no Tasha, but Annie was our friendly driver twice!), but at least my sweet, elderly Russian friend was also waiting for the "three three," as she calls it.

We always try to talk to each other, now that I call out my Russian good morning and she replies in English. But it is hard. I've never wanted to learn Russian or French before but I do now, just so I can chat with her and make her laugh.

I stood near her as she sat on the bench by the pizza place. I think she forgets sometimes, about the language differences, because she started speaking in Russian. I just shook my head and apologized for not understanding.

"You grandparents Russia?" she asked. I'd mentioned before that my great-great grandparents were Russian - or at least from that part of the world, depending on where borders were from year to year.

"Yes," I said. For simplicity's sake.

We stumbled along as we do. Where was the bus? It was late. How were here knees? Not so good.

Finally, the bus was in sight. We stood up and walked to the curb. She pressed her hand against her chest. "Olga," she said. "And you?"

I smiled. "Rachel," I told her. "Nice to meet you, Olga."

"Rachel," she replied, sounding it out in her pretty accent. "Rachel."

She stood in the front while I made my way to a seat in the back. As she got out at the next stop, she waved and I waved back.


*Well, we will call her Olga, because I like that name, but it is really something else equally as lovely.