As I get older I want bigger and bigger rings. I notice at the pool that the very old women have extraordinary rings on their fingers and I think that it’s appropriate, justified for what they’ve gone through and what they’re facing next. Of course, I wonder who gave them the giant rings, whether it was a husband or if they’d taken the first chance after the burial to rush to the upscale jewelry store and buy what they’d been hinting at but not getting for twenty years. I want rings that go to my knuckle. There’s the truth of it. That’s what I want.

At the pool today when I wasn’t admiring the jewels of other women, I was minding three eight-year old girls, one my granddaughter, the others her friends from school. They are a hive. They are a buzzing, loud, rugged, dangerous, funny hive of girls. I am around them just to keep life legal, otherwise they would be driving the car and calling my broker.

After the pool, we went to the grocery store. The leader of the pack, a fearless amazing girl who swings from high bars, falls on hard objects, leaps up and swings again, decided to use the plastic bags meant for vegetables and fruits to make balloons. So the other two locked into this idea pretty fast and so we were going up and down the aisles, pasta, coffee, milk, eggs, while behind us and in front of us the hive was running with blown up plastic bags that they tossed like beach balls.

Who taught them to do this?

We hurried through the shopping, worrying that any minute, one of them would climb into a freezer cabinet or rappel across the far reaches of the meat counter. I have not been with wilder people since my own children were toddlers, alternately screaming and laughing through the canned goods and cut-rate cereal.

“We need to get out of here before we’re thrown out,” I told them. They were undeterred, deciding to run back to the produce department for more plastic bags, each coming up to the register with three or four more bags in their hands, ready to inflate in the parking lot.

They ran out the door of the grocery store, strong and oblivious. I admired that so much. They were just about being together and blowing up their plastic bags and laughing and coming dangerously close to tipping things over and not worrying, seemingly for a single second, about being quiet or compliant.

Is this what new girls look like? I like this.

I like this more than I’ve liked anything for a long time.

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#49/100:49th in a series of 100 in 100