Seeing old folks like this, do you ever wonder what they'd have to tell you, the life experiences they had? I remember being assigned to the U.K., and sitting in the pub across the street from my apartment one night. An old gent sitting next to me, not knowing me from Adam, decided to share his wisdom: "I worked the land, boy, for fifteen shillings a week. Write it in your diary, boy, write it in your bloody diary!"

I never could figure out exactly what he meant, but neither could I escape the feeling I was missing something.

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One of the best of ">2011

I remember being assigned to the U.K., and sitting in the pub across the street from my apartment one night. An old gent sitting next to me, not knowing me from Adam, decided to share his wisdom

This reminds me of a segment on yesterday's Sunday Morning show, on War Horse.

Long before a single scene of Spielberg's film was shot, "War Horse" was a novel for young adults published in 1982. Michael Morpurgo intended it more as an anti-war statement. It was inspired by conversations he had at age 17 at his local pub in the picturesque English village of Iddesleigh in Devon with an elderly WWI veteran named Albert Weeks.

"I said, 'What regiment were you with?'" Morpurgo recalled. "He said, 'I was over the Devon yeomanry . . . I was there with horses.' And he started talking, and the more he talked the more upset he became, and the more engaged I became in what had happened to him - this young man who'd come away from a completely pastoral background and had been thrust into this hideous, hideous trench warfare. The only thing that kept him sane was that he said the he would talk to his horse."

In 1997, my Shift Manager had a heart attack, and I determined I would drive the hour-plus to see him in the hospital (standing joke - "get well, or I'll come visit again!). I took my bike, a Buell S2T.
I got lost in Columbia, SC. I knew he was at a Providence Health Care facility, though, and so when I saw their logo, I pulled in to ask where the hospital was.
I was at the Senior Care center. As I walked in, there were several people outside in the afternoon air taking it in, orderlies tending to them.
When I walked to the nurse's station, no one was there. OK, I thought, I'll wait. After a couple of minutes, one of the orderlies came back in with his charge, a very elderly lady, hair obviously dyed red. She held up a hand to stop, so I knelt to speak to her.
"Yes, ma'am?" I was shocked. Her eyes were still clear and brilliant blue in that frail and ancient face.
"Do you like that motorcycle of yours?"
"Yes, ma'am. That's why I'm out on it today."
"I used to ride one of those, you see. I was a courier in England during the World War."

I'm still amazed.