Roselyn is the lady who helps the children cross the street.
She is constantly smiling, in sickness and in health, in cold weather, in hot weather. With a smile so big that her dimples look like they are going to blow up. With a smile that makes you want to eat chocolate cake and have hot tea and tell your grand-parents you love them.
She says “good morning my love” to my little girl, with honey in her voice. And my little girl, who never hugs anyone, runs and hug her.
She is 56 and she looks about 15 years younger. She has five kids, four grandkids and a whole crew of kids from the neighbourhood who tell her about their new outfit or old problems.
Her job is hard. But she looks so happy that I find myself suddenly wanting her job.