Mamies

Mamies are the old women in Argelès, usually Catalan, who have been here all their lives and have been friends from the cradle.

They sit outside their houses on the street and chat, watch their grandchildren, snap beans. Or sometimes they meet at benches.

They usually wear house dresses and aprons. Fashion passed them by.

Each year there are less of them. I suspect now some are younger than I am.

Most have little formal education, but their wisdom makes up for it. I never thought that we had a lot in common although we have all raised families. It doesn't make me feel superior, but I did think my world view having done extensive travel and theirs which may be limited to Catalonia is different.

Still I was surprised when Lydia and I were writing and one of the Mamies was in the tea room. She and I often talk, usually about what she is knitting or my handwork projects when I find her sitting outside her house.

Her grey hair is in a ponytail. Her dress is like all Mamies except for the bright pink and grey sweater.  I complimented her on her sweater.

"It's 40 years old," she told me.

We said it looked new, which it did.

We weren't surprised she was in the tearoom. What came next was the surprise.

"You know I write every day." She mentioned her journal. "Sometimes I take a picture of the mountains, or something I see. I write about that." 

Just like Lydia and I.