Solitary

I was in Argos this morning, waiting quietly for my purchase, when a whirlwind swept in.

Announcing himself at the counter -
Man: Always keep the ladies happy, that's the secret. How are you my dear?
Assistant: Very well, and how are you today?
Man: Oh fine, and I have the lovely Fiona to help me today"
Turns to introduce his companion.
Man: Sweet 16 and never been kissed, have you Fiona?
Fiona has seen it all before, she's at least 50.
All laugh dutifully.
Man: I don't know what her husband would say about that, good thing we ken each other.
Man: And I've been here for 70 years, and I'm 92 now
Man: You wouldn't think it would you?
Shaking his wattles,
Assistant: Never in this world!
Man: Aye, I was on the flying boats here in Oban.
Man: All my mates were killed, you know. 19, 23, 21 ... young lads. Terrible, terrible.
Both women make clucking noises.
Grabbing his purchase along with the hands of the assistant -
Man: Well thank you , m'dear. Good morning to you.

The whirlwind passed, leaving me feeling unaccountably sad, even though the whole exchange was accompanied by laughter, and blushes and Fiona's slightly raised eyebrows. I wanted to ask him about his days on the flying boats, as I'd researched a bit about the station at Ganavan and Oban's part in WW2, but he contrived to leave no room for actual conversation. He was a tall, straight 92 year old who carried a cane he appeared not to use. The need for independence is strong in us all, and once we have to admit to needing help, it seems we go to great lengths to deny it. In doing so, we push people away. This man taught me a valuable lesson in my present circumstance. I do need people, however strong and coping I appear, and I'm betting I'm not the only one.

This solitary tree bending in the wind at Dunollie seems appropriate for this story.