The light rail is running late today and as I board at the Othello station I notice a variation of musical chairs in this very overcrowded train car. Young hip jean-clad professionals relinquishing their seats to elderly and mostly Asian passengers. As I reach above me to grab hold of the handrail a woman, much older than myself, or at least I hope so as she looks very frail with snow white hair and a battered pocketbook tucked under her arm, the kind my own mother has refused to exchange for the more practical shoulder sling purse, offers me her seat. I’m shocked! “Oh no,” I shake my head unable to say much that would be heard above the sudden explosion of powerful engines speeding us all to our downtown destinations. She grabs my arm and points to my dress suit and then to her own loosely tied kimono smock and baggy cotton pants. “Sit” she insists, making a big deal about it as she practically shoves me into the seat. Now I have to admit, technically I do qualify as a “senior” being 62 years young and all (although my students insist I don’t look a day over 61), but seriously……”Thank you” I yell above the ruckus. She beams back at me, nodding yes, yes, yes.