“All women should be married 2.5 times. The .5 is the most fun. If you know what I mean” – Sara, 93, Cheviot Hills, Los Angeles
Saturday morning I went to hang at a Cheviot Hills retirement center. I was helping set up various games & activities when in rolled a 93-year-old-ball-of-female-awesomeness the size of a 50 lb. bag of sugar. After she expressed her disdain for BINGO we agreed I would do her nails.
She picked a shell pink polish mentioning that “they” had just recently brought her here without letting her put on makeup or do her hair and nails. I am from the south – taking a woman above the age of 50 from her home without allowing her time to do hair and makeup is egregious. I had to ask questions.
The story that unfolded during Sara’s impromptu manicure was extraordinary:
She was born in 1920, and moved to Los Angeles with her parents at the age of 9. They took a train across the country from Washington D.C. and when they arrived in Los Angeles it was so tiny “it was a village” (see photo).
Sara’s family lived in the Hollywood area and did their grocery shopping on Hollywood Blvd. They didn’t need a car because they rode the street cars everywhere. I’ve only heard about these cars or seen ghostly remains. The electric cars ran down the center of massive roads like Venice and Wilshire with passengers disembarking in the middle of the road.
Her family went to Santa Monica Beach on the weekends. She says it was beautiful with no trash mucking up the view.
During World War II she went to work for Lockheed. She was a riveter. Yes, like Rosie. She drove a Cadillac to work every day. Meanwhile, her brother served in Europe, his last stop was Berlin before being shipped safely back home.
She was twice married but her husband had passed. She said that her second husband had been a good man. The first one was not so much. She told me that “All women should be married 2.5 times. The .5 is the most fun! Do you know what I mean?” Yes ma’am.
I finished her nails. She now had long beautiful elegant fingers with shimmery tips.
She asked me what I did. I told her I was a writer and when she asked what I was working on now I told her about my new full length play.
Before I left she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes lit up and she said softly, “You must promise me you will keep doing what you are doing. If you do you will be very successful. And you will say, ‘See Sara was right.'” Then eyes twinkling she wheeled herself out of the rec room.
She had told me that she was the last of her family, so who brought her to the nursing home without her makeup? The mystery is unsolved. I’m simply going to have to go back.