There is an elderly lady who needs company. Mind you there are many who do but this particular aunt has a long history with my family. She invited us to Sunday dinner for years and the check in her Christmas card took our celebration from ordinary to spectacular. When my father could no longer live under the same roof as my manic mother this sister in law gave him safe haven. Her daughter and I played kick the can, and trolls, and got chased by the llama they kept as a pet.

Hence my idea emerged to offer myself as her companion two mornings a week.

Today we drove. For two and a half hours. Not because we had a pressing need to get somewhere, but to enjoy the last of the leaves. We stopped for a quick errand.

"Don't rush," she assured me while I left her in the car.

Don't rush. After twenty some years of babies and toddlers the notion was startling. I was always scrambling to get the laundry done or the dishes washed. But for today, in this moment, I needn't hurry.

Could I even find a lower gear on my taskometer?

Lately I have been noticing those brands of connection in which scintillating conversation is not the centerpiece. The Japanese maples were red whether or not we said as much. Maybe just looking at them together was enough without a pithy response.

She misses her husband. His picture is in every room. His gifts to her made the final cut in downsizing. He gave a chunk of his exceptional store of energy to near death experiences and I wondered how he was doing with his after death experiences. Could he find a way to comfort his wife of fifty years?

Maybe this new venture was not my idea after all.