I met Margie one beautiful day in September at Huntington Beach in BayVillage, Ohio. The sun was shining, the air light and breeze. The lake waters moved gently, leaving a calming effect on the soul. As I sat by the lake taking it all in, a woman approached. She was about four feet, nine inches tall, smartly dressed in denim with hair styled to perfection. Even the gold jewelry she wore was carefully selected. This was Margie.

 She stepped over and asked if I were familiar with the park's concession stand. I delivered the unforunate news that it was closed for the season. She paused . "Pooh" She said. "I wanted a cup of coffee."

I began to give Margie directions  to a nearby coffee house, but for some reason I was having a hard time speaking and was stumbling over my words. She finally said, "You're not from around here, are you?" "No I told her. I lived in Westlake, a nearby suburb. As luck would have it. Margie was on her way to Crocker Park, a shopping center there.

 Then she and I began a coversation in which I found Margie to be a free "spirit and full of life. She was the kind of person you want to be around. I invited her to sit down alongside me. We continued to talk and Margie shared many stories with me. It was like I had known her all my life. She and I flowed beautifully in the spirit.

Everything around us seemed magical. The lake was beautiful and the trees stood out in a different way. There were birds and seagulls on the beach. A gorgeous little rabbit even dashed out in front of us. She and I were getting along so good. I began to wonder if Margie might even be an angel. I knew there were things I needed to learn from her. Margie was fabulous and interesting and I knew I would write about her.

Margie told me she had retired from the banking business in Akron after working for many years. She had made many friends and still had many realtionships with her coworkers. She expressed to me that her realtionships with her black friends were different than her realtionships with her white friends. When Margie made this statement, I didn't become offended. {I am a woman of color.} Margie and I simply flowed and connected very well. She asked me a few questions about myself, but mostly I listened to Margie. I've always loved the gift of listening especially to those a little wiser than me

. Somewhere in our conversation, we formally introduced ourselves. We exchanged names shook hands and continued to talk. Margie called me"kid even though she knew my name was Mariann. If anyone else had called me that, or "honey " or anything other than my name, they would be walking into a war zone. But, with Margie everything was smooth as butter.

Margie had really taken good care of herself. I could not believe she was seventy years old. She ate well, exercised, practiced yoga, enjoyed life and she looked it. Her hair had a natural blond sheen, very shiny but not obviously colored. Her original hair was black. She was very pretty with her make-up just right. As she spoke, she articulated every word with zeal.

I particularly y loved the story Margie shared about her grandson who called her "Grand-nana" When Margie and her boyfriend had visted with her family at Chirstmas time in California, it was the first time they had seen her since she had lightened her hair. That particular evening she was wearing a short black mink jacket a gift from her boyfriend. When her grandson saw her he said, "Grand-nana, why did you let your bear take your dark hair?" The little boy had pegged the mink coat to be a bear. Margie thought to herself about how her little grandson had taken the wind out of her sails. As she told the story, we laughed and laughed.

Margie had two children and two grandchildren whom she adored. She had been married twenty-five years. She shared that the beginning years of her marriage were wonderful.

Her husband hadn't wanted her to work, so she didn't. He was also very possessive and even beat her, breaking her jaw twice. The second time she promised herself she would get a job and leave him when her daughter turned eighteen. This was just what she did, too.

God bless Margie. The amazing part of Margie was that she didn't let the experience get her down or make her give up. She continued living with joy and peace. She shared with me that she had been divorced for thirty years. At age seventy, she dates , travels and goes shopping. She looks beautiful. She told me that she had been dating a good-looking five foot, eleven inch tall Italian man, a sharp dresser and very generous to her. (Some might think of him as her "sugar daddy,"but those individuals would be lower intellect think-types.) Margie told me that she and Joe had a great time but she didn't want to marry again. Time went by and then Joe became sick with throat cancer and the doctors had to remove his vocal cords. Margie said this was quite sad for Joe. There were periods he even became violent and he acted out because he could not speak. The violent outbreaks required the doctors to restrain him which made Joe even more unmanageable. Joe did not calm down and continually wrestled with the straps that held him down until one day he had a heart attack and died. Margie was devastated. After that, she didn't date for a long time.

But life eventually got back to normal for Margie and she began socializing again with her men and women friends. She even resumed her shopping excursions to Crocker Park.

For hours Margie shared story after story with me as I listened. At about eleven o'clock Margie and I finally parted. What a treat it was to have met her and heard her stories. Margie offered me some lessons and assured me that no matter what, troubles will come your way. "You've got to live life, move from the past and dance with life so you can sail joyfully into the future," she told me. Margie said we must all remember to share our story. Stories transforms lives. They heal the heart and sooth the soul.

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