Florence taught me to sing, not well, and we would sing and skip and laugh out loud. I knew her years ago, in my first job in a nursing home. I was a nurse’s aide, I was seventeen, and she was in her seventies. Florence was confused, happily so, unsure from moment to moment of her age, her history, her condition and status in life. She was not inclined to wonder, happy to accept whatever explanations I and others would offer for the apparent inconsistencies in her life. She sang a few songs many times: “I ain’t had no loving since January, February, June or July!” And skipped a step on her walk to the dining room.