My pal Alvin (who runs the antiques store down the block) and I were out on the sidewalk chatting. If we stand in just the right positions, we can keep eyes on both of our shops without having to lock them every time we wander a few feet away.

Approaching us, slowly and in a somewhat fragile manner, walked a nicely presented old woman. The kind of lady who has her entire life dressed "up" if she was leaving the house for any reason at all. She was clean, her outfit was considered, her make up done, and her hair coifed in large, silky, blue-gray curls atop her head.

I could see she had something on her mind, and as she approached us. Stopping at a "safe", unobtrusive distance, she asked if we could please direct her to the "Lydia Roper House".

The Lydia Roper House is a nice looking, huge, old brownstone mansion with an expansive front porch. It is a Home for Elderly Ladies. I am told it was started to help women who had lost their husbands in "The War" (WWI) and as a result were threatened with losing everything they had. EVERY thing. Bless Lydia Roper for helping such women, and the continuance of this home .

Well, the Home is only one block up and one block to the right from our stores, so yes, we knew where it was, and we told her. She seemed relieved, making the comment she needed to get back because "It is about time for lunch..."

Ah ha! There it is... NOW I understood... early stage Alzheimer's in one of their residents. She was lost. She didn't SAY so. She was embarrassed. She was very hot (having made the mistake of choosing a pretty but heavy, long sleeved sweater on a humid, 90+ degree day), and she looked very tired. As a "dew" of sweat appeared on her forehead, she would delicately reach up and blot it with her fingertip.

She'd been walking the exact wrong direction. She thanked us for our help and turned around to head home.

"I'm going to keep an eye on her," I said. "She may not remember our simple directions long enough to make it."

And she didn't. By the time she reached "my" corner - all of fifty feet - she'd stopped, aimed herself two or three directions, hesitated, and made a wrong turn.

"I'm going to go get her and walk her home," I said to Alvin. "Yeh, she needs it," he said.

I ran down the block, caught up with her, and said: "I have a little extra time and feel like a stroll. Mind if I tag along and we walk together to the Roper House?"

"That would be lovely... so nice," she said as I gently turned her around and we strolled at a very slow pace up the street.

"I think I've explored too far," she said.

"No, we're not far, and there are all these nice antique shops and such to see. We'll just take our own darned time."

As we strolled, she spoke enough that I knew she was on the same mental "path" as my Mom, but no longer had a husband or children nearby. Now, all her new relationships form within an Elder Ladie's Home. She told me she'd been lost long enough on this particular walk she had to rest on a stranger's front porch. I thought "The heat or exhaustion could've killed her."

"Catherine" was originally from Texas, where she and her husband built a "lovely home". Something, I don't know what, took her to New Orleans. During this time, her children began "taking her independence away from her" - not letting her drive her own car, then removing her car altogether. It sounds VERY familiar to me. Things got to the point they wanted her to stop cooking, and have a part time helper come by the house. This is just what my Mother and her children have faced.

"Yes, I understand," I said. "My Mom needs more help. Your kids are doing what they think is best. They want you (and every on the road) safe and happy. They sound very well-meaning. I'm sure they love you very much."

"Yes, they do," she said...and paused. She was tired.

We'd reached the corner where she needed to turn right. This was good timing. She needed to rest, and I had an idea...

"Is this the corner?" she asked.

"Yes, it is, and you know how we can remember your corner from now on?"

"How?"

"See all of these yellow signs? THESE will be your 'signal' when out on strolls. Keep those in mind, and don't worry what a street sign says. You'll just watch for this group of yellow signs."

"Oh, that's a GOOD idea!" she said. "Do we turn at this corner?"

"Yes, we'll turn right, and walk down between these yellow signs, and your home will be right down this street."

"That's easy enough!"

"Mmm hmm."

"I LOVE Crepe Myrtle trees," she said. "Their blossoms are so nice..."

"I like them too. I also like how their smooth, silvery-gray bark feels to the touch."

"Oh yes, that too!"

She told me about her husband, her kids... and her home, which she wanted to see again (translation: "before I die") in New Orleans, which was hit by Hurricane Katrina. For all I know, the home no longer exists. I thought of the film "The Trip to Bountiful". (If you haven't seen it, do so.)

Catherine told me her children gave her a rocking chair..."and it IS nice..." she mused...

I butted in: "...but you can't do THAT all day long!"

"Right!" She nearly squeaked with delight that I'd finished the thought in the words she was too polite to utter.

Catherine and I strolled. Her steps were slowing, but we were close to home now. I slowed with her, and once there at the home, we stopped out front to chat while many of the residents sat at the top of the tall set of stairs, in the shade of the gray painted wooden front porch. Each had her own rocker, and were intensely interested in this "new" turn of events..."JUST WHO IS THIS WITH CATHERINE!!??"

I took her left arm and she grabbed the old iron railing with her right hand. We had about ten cement and wood steps to climb. What's the rush? We chatted as we climbed.

Up on the porch, we chatted a little longer, she asked my name again, told me her name again, she reached out to shake my hand, I again reminded her of the "yellow sign" markers for home, and if she thought she needed me (or other STORE KEEPERS along this route) all she needs to do is ask while she's out on one of her strolls.

We bid each other a good day, and I strolled off. I wasn't fifteen feet down the sidewalk before the hard-of-hearing were talking loudly to Catherine. As I drifted out of range, I heard her explaining "His name is Ronn...and I couldn't remember where..."

People have helped my Mom too. I've been so grateful for that.