I was in Disneyland last week. It rained the whole time. On the up side, the lines were very, very short. If you are an old hat at Disneyland like I am you know that when the crowds are small it's time to hit the most beloved of all rides-Peter Pan.

I prepared to board my pirate ship when I noticed the gals ahead of me. Two eighty year old women, silver halos of curled hair, no grandchildren in sight, loading up for a ride together.

I imagine two girls, maybe sisters maybe friends, laughing and whispering into the wee hours. Hair tied and in rollers and mutual fascination with dolls, then horses, then marriage, then boys and then marriage again. I think these women must have had their hearts broken given their age. Either by boys or husbands or children or dreams, things that pass by so fast and you spend the rest of your life wondering why they were was so slippery, why you couldn't just hold on.

Did they carry the hope that you start with, the disillusion with which you throw it all away, the resignation you wear as you tote your burdens, the grim acknowledgement of hardship and finally the light at the end, the understanding, the surrender?

I think I am seeing these women at the point of surrender. I imagine they have returned from a long journey into a time wear there is no time, no time for silly stories, fairy tales, and rides not made of magic, but fiberglass, cardboard and paint. They have traveled through that strange land of adulthood and are returning home with all of the wisdom that comes from a long trip abroad.

The mechanics of the ride give a shudder and start and I watch two silvery heads peeking out of a pirate ship, returning to Neverland.