This pub in Nottingham, England, that Rebecca is fronting, opened in 1067, 1189, 1751, or 1799. 

Maybe it’s the oldest in England; maybe not. But it got me thinking about why we honor persistence in pubs and Cathedrals but not necessarily in humans. 

Yesterday, on Turquoise Line 79, an older woman with a large handbag looped over the corner of her walker got on at Bobbers Bridge and off at Ascott Street, two stops later, where there is a Tesco Express. As she inched her way down the coach aisle, I thought of the two bottles of wine in my backpack that, a few moments earlier, had weighed heavily on my shoulders.

I know nothing about that woman other than what I observed. She seemed a decade older than my 77 years, and she is not alone, as we’ve observed over the past month riding British trains and buses. 

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