Nadia, the housekeeper here in the office, is retiring this week. She just told me she's been here since 1967. People, that's 44 years. I got out my calculator just to make sure. 44 any way you do the math.
"I raised my children. They are professionals now," she said in broken English. "I get up at 4:30 every day. I am tired."
She ought to be. When I get to the office around 8, she's already working. And she goes at it all day. Intensely. Lucky for me, she spends a little extra time in my office.
Nadia and I bonded a few years ago when a man in the building across the way committed suicide. He landed on the sidewalk just as Nadia passed. She came into my office crying, and explained what happened entirely in Spanish. I think she went on to say a few prayers as she looked out the window. I gave her a hug, and she went on with her day.
Nadia told me she's going to sleep until 9, and in the winter she's going to her home in the Dominican Republic. Sounds like a plan to me.
"But I don't call the Domican Republic my home. The United States has been good to me," she said with a smile.
I'm glad. And she deserves it.
Okay, here she comes. The vacuum is roaring. I love it.