Postcards: She Wasn't Who They Thought She Was

We passed through the checkpoint leading back to the Florida Republic. What happened next was a surprising twist to our travels - something we should learn about the humble investors we may not know.

Dear Fellow Expat,

“Esther Greenbay” had a funny way of sitting.

She hunched in her wheelchair like a cactus drunk on NyQuil.

Travelers passed the B4 Gate at Baltimore Washington International Airport.

She eyed each stranger with suspicion while clutching her tote bag…

Would they?

Could they… steal this tote?

The one stuffed with travel tissues, lozenges, and a physical address book?

As boarding started, an airline agent wheeled Greenbay down the gate.

At the plane door, she stood, groaning.

Then she ankled to the second-row aisle seat on the plane’s right side.

She coiled like a corkscrew into the chair, lifting the tote back to her lap.

The peppy steward approached, smiling. He lifted the bag to the overhead compartment and retrieved a book when she requested it.

It was a routine flight. A few bumps along the way. Nothing unusual.

She read Jan Karon’s "At Home in Mitford" and drank iceless club soda. She rested her eyes - only for them to pop open again when her jaw bounced off her neckl…