I have a friend Eleanor. She’s our next door neighbor, and she likes to frequently read me her mail. Whenever I sit in the lobby to get Internet that actually works for more than five seconds, we have long, long chats.
She reads the Bible and Guidepost magazine. She prays for Shea and I. She asked us to pray that she controls her habit of swearing. Especially at the pharmacy when they don’t have her prescriptions ready. And pray for her, I did.
She bakes even though she’s trying to lose weight so she gives cookies away to her neighbors. Supposedly she’s baking Saturday so we’ll get to taste the fruits of her labor.
Eleanor had her purse snatched a few months ago while shopping at a nearby mall. The teenager who grabbed her purse pulled the muscle on the side of her body. Now she rides her exercise bike twice a day to keep it loose. She had to take a bus to the court house the other day to give a victim’s statement.
She is fascinated that my hair is dark, and my eyes are blue. She calls me her beautiful new friend. She comments that she thinks my shoes are cute, failing to notice I am wearing snowmen pajama pants and Shea’s baggy sweatshirt at 1 p.m.
Even though we’ve probably only talked a handful of times, Eleanor always leaves me with a hug, a kiss on the forehead and an “I love you very much, Sarah.”
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