"Ma, who's the old lady with the walker standing in our driveway in her nightgown, filching our newspaper?" I'm watching an old woman with silvery-lavender hair in a pink and purple flowered housecoat steal our daily news in slow motion outside our kitchen window. Ma walks over and stands next to me, her smile wide. "Oh, that's Mrs. Randolph. Her daughter, Francine, moved in next door last month. Mrs. Randolph is visiting for a few weeks for Thanksgiving. She's feisty. You'll like her." "Feisty? She's a goddamn thief. She just stole your newspaper. I think I'm in love with her."
