Giving Thanks for Harriet

Harriet is 87 years old, stands 4'8" and teaches me daily everything I need to know about resilience—a practice I think many of us are working on during this pandemic.

Harriet grew up a latchkey kid with a single mom in Brooklyn and credits her NYC school teachers for raising her. She lost her cherished husband at 40 and has no additional family. She worked as a hospital charge nurse, has a sassy personality, a twinkle in her eye and gave the doctors a run for their money. Everyone who doesn't think she is a total pain in the ass adores her.

Since the beginning of the pandemic, Harriet has instituted daily routines that keep her afloat. When I call, she asks if I am dressed in my skirt, lipstick, and earrings? She always is—sometimes a hat as well! "We must keep up appearances" she instructs me. Then she proceeds with her list of daily activities: chatting with the doorman, coloring in her adult coloring book, a visit to the Eleanor Roosevelt statue in Riverside Park, reading the New York Times from cover to cover and gossiping with all her young friends—one who calls her weekly from Portugal. She also sends out a weekly email ledger of pandemic humor, some of it quite salty. "Spring will come soon," she tells me, "and I am getting ready! "