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EndNotes

Orange offering on the pink line

I commute by “L” train to the loft where I'm living for three months in Chicago. Tuesday when I caught the train from the medical center, a man hopped on the same car at the last minute with his daughter who looked about 7. The train car was packed with professionals and the man stopped in the middle of the car and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, my daughter and I are hungry and broke and anything you could give us would be appreciated. Money or food.”

People looked stunned. I felt like a deer in the headlights. The man then knelt in the aisle and said, “I am on my knees asking.”

His daughter had beautiful brown eyes, a clean face and neatly braided hair. The woman in the seat across from me zipped open her bag and handed the girl an unopened juice. I remembered the orange I hadn't had time to eat that afternoon and opened my bag and handed it to the girl. And that was it. The father looked disappointed that no money had poured forth. But the girl seemed pleased with the juice and orange. #NotinSpokaneanymore.


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About this blog

Writer Catherine Johnston of Olympia, Wash., addresses issues facing aging baby boomers and seniors as well as issues of serious illness, death and dying, grief and loss.

Ask a question: Catherine welcomes questions about aging issues and grief. Email her at endnotescolumn@gmail.com.

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