Happy Cinco de Mayo, Louise

Whoo-hoo: May 5, pretty much meaningless to Mexicans as their independence is in September but a fun made-up American holiday nonetheless. Aah, thanks Corona!

Good grief.

I met an extraordinary woman yesterday named Louise- w ran into each other outside the CVS as she came up to admire Percy and Oliver. Beautiful woman, Chanel bag, truly lovely in every way. She was born and raised in D.C. (you definitely don’t meet many nonagenarians in this category), and in 1947, she and her husband returned here (he was a dentistry resident at Walter Reed after the war). They moved to 48th between Quebec and Rodman, the neighborhood of Spring Valley, where we live now, and bought a large home on a big parcel of land for $37,500 and $50.00 down. Dios mio, I wish that’s what we’d paid. Anyway, they raised two daughters here, one of whom attended the same school as does Jack. One daughter was good friends with Tricia Nixon, both attended great colleges. One died at 52 and I didn’t ask but believe Louise to be widowed.

As we parted ways, she said I’d made her day, and I said, No, ma’am, you’ve made mine. Take care. And she said, “I’m 93 years old if you can believe it.” What a woman. I sure hope to run into her again!