My great Aunt Ethel is a 102 this month. She lives at home, she still remembers me. When I was little and my other great aunt was checking behind my ears, she was always asking me what was on my mind. She married once when she was twenty and he died a few years later. I don't how or why, I don’t even know his name. All my life she lived alone, traveled the world alone, brought me back crumpled money in an envelope.

I thought she was the bravest woman alive—not only could she put my grandfather in his place but she could ride a camel in Egypt. I come from strong stock, my father would tell me. You come from ocean women, you could live forever. Sometimes this is not a comfort. Sometimes I feel, I need a longer time to hear the lesson.

The human brain is an interesting landscape. My aunt can read anything; she will not know who you are, then if you give her a slip of paper, she will ask about your children, your divorce. She will asked about the weather in Minnesota, b/c that little slip of paper with your name, clicks something on which can not be turned on any other way.

Today I want to write TERESA---only my first name b/c my last name always confuses me. I have been given a few and I have chosen one--maybe I will write down all my names.

I want to sit in that space, next to someone who has lived, survived alone. I want to write it all down on piece of paper, all the questions I have. I want to listen, hold her hand—wait for her to speak.