I'm tired but I must jot this down so I can remember what I felt today.

Today is a 99th year birthday of a beautiful, sexy and energetic lady who is my friend/landlord's mother.
I was one of approximately 100 guests of family and friends who celebrated this momentous day of a life that began in 1912. 

Her name is Elsie, a Japanese-American woman who is a delight and precious.  I get to see her because I live in the loft/studio/cottage behind her house, which she lives with her daughter.  I see her working in the garden in front and back of the house, which is beautifully enveloped by the living things surrounding the house, like the garden, trees, flowers and squirrels.  She has a smile that is infectious and soothing.  She goes to work two or three times a week (at 99!!) and looks alive and full of life. 

What I appreciate the most about Elsie is that she is present.  Even though I do not see her much or spend much time with her, in spite of our proximity in living quarters, I am always made aware that she is aware; her presence is uncanny. She awakens my own senses of none sense, like I'm used to the emptiness of exchanges of "hellos" and "how are yous." 
I'm used to people saying those things as empty 挨拶 (Aisatsu = greetings) as a default response just to 'pass' a ritual of the mundane.  An empty vessel of words of repetition and recycling movement.  One loses senses and makes no sense to the point of making sense out of empty habit: product of default.  Like a machine, machinery, mechanism, machine-like, machine-made, machine-esque, machinism, machinization, machinized. 

Switch.

Fade black.

Elsie is a delight because she awakens me, my none sense, switching the machine-like common sense.  What comes out of the fading black is the emergence of a presence, a moment of sensing and recognizing sounds from one body to the other.  The body wakes up to that sensory sound that recognizes each other.  A moment of rupture; a moment of truth.

After the birthday event, I was being driven home with Elsie, her daughter, granddaughter and a friend.   We were all tired.  Elsie seemed to be asleep.  A friend said she liked my outfit.  I said it is amazing that granddaughter and her friend's clothes were passed down from Elsie's clothes from the 60s and they were beautiful.  Missing no beat, from the front seat, Elsie said, "thank you."