In 1975 when I was 18 years old and a college freshman, I worked as an orderly in a nursing home with memory care patients. There was a 98 year old resident who had a private room filled with books, LPs, opera librettos and what looked like three decades of The New Yorker. After she found out that I was familiar with French, Italian and Latin, her daughter hired me as a private duty aide to play the LPs, stop the music when asked in order to read the libretto if needed, make sure the resident’s teacup was always filled with Earl Grey, and to turn off her oxygen when she lit up a Lucky Strike. During those occasions she was sharp as a tack and ever so joyful. I had a great time as well, and learned so much.