Circle of Life

There are a few elderly Hungarian women in my building. A few of them still wear the fatalistic numbers seared into their flesh by insatiable cannibals before they finally found refuge in the US and Canada. Though they lost many of their loved ones, they exacted their revenge by creating strong, Jewish families and an unbroken legacy of love, faith, and wisdom. Their capped teeth and perfectly coiffed wigs belie their past. They have seen the true resurrection of life from the abyss of death, but you would never know it from their twinkling smiles and jewelry that weigh more than their frail, stubborn bodies. I revere them. I am humbled by them. They also, at times, get on my nerves.

Before you throw virtual tomatoes at me, please let me explain.

For these “mega seniors” who are stuck here in an endless loop, due to Corona, every day is Shabbos. They, along with their aides, wait until the heat subsides and the sun wanes to form their circle of socially distanced chairs under the shade of the voluminous palm trees in between the stretch of greenery between the pool and the beach. Like a panel of judges at a reality show contest, their sharp critique leaves no one unscathed. They’ve earned the right to scorch all passersby, but they still sting like the busy bees that they are. These bees are dripping with honey; as they say in the south, “Bless their hearts.”

Though they are adorable, there is no avoiding them or their brutally honest opinions. Every time I walk by them to go to the beach or for a walk, there they sit, “The Senior Supreme Court”. (I’m convinced that a few might be the “hanging” sort, especially if you’re wearing the wrong outfit.) Additionally, there are no charges, no trial, and no jury. You’re at the mercy of this court of widows; the physical manifestation of why women outlive men.

“Lilly” is a spry, octogenarian who calls me “Mees Ahhmereeca” each time I walk by. She is the only person I know who can outtalk me. She has an extremely thick Hungarian accent which is difficult to decode, so I, mostly, nod my head and pretend I know what she’s saying. After two years of nodding my head, today, she called me over to come closer to her. Apparently, she didn’t want the whole “circle” to hear what she had to say. I went as close as “covidly” possible with great trepidation, since the last time we attempted a semi-intimate conversation, she wanted to set me up with my ex-brother-in-law.

“I don’t know VY you ahrent merried”, she exclaimed in her singsong Hungarian cadence. “Me and my Fhrends tink youahre so pritty”. (I was having wicked witch flashbacks)

With that two of her “friends” stared at me. One said,

“I think yuhre too much”. You’re dangeress.”

(Did anyone ask her?:)

I, respectfully, responded

“I’m at an age where I don’t care about other people’s opinion of me. I’ve been through too much in life. I am who I am.”

This post is officially over since I need my hands to extract my foot from my mouth.😜😁