In which, I accidentally found what I was looking for.

I like to look out the east window of my sunroom. Or when I’m out on the deck, I like looking eastward.

When I was a day dreaming child, little European towns made me swoon. Before constant access to internet, my exposure to these towns was PBS shows like Mr Bean, Fawlty Towers, The Vicar of Dibley, Waiting for God, Red Dwarf and Are You Being Served?
What sticks out the most to me are the perfect rows of homes where their peaks lined up, spaced apart perfectly, when you looked down a street. All homes looked very similar, but each resident has added their own touch to their plot of land. Their front and back gardens lush green. The streets made of cobblestone.
Somehow the air and the light, the atmosphere of these street views was always lovely, warming, and perfect - that is to say - lovely and perfect for a gray, misty, temperate European day. I was in love with it.

I’m older now, and I still hold the images of the places I never got to live in my mind. But somehow I found it where I currently live. I like looking east because among the many trees, I’m looking at a perfect row of garages. The peaks are spaced apart perfectly, each also separated by a wood fence. They look similar, but each resident has added their own touch. I’ve seen it everyday for nearly three years which means I’ve seen it in all weather and every part of each day. It’s the most beautiful during sunrise or sunset, where the pastels enhance the shit out of it. It’s lovely and perfect and I am in love with it.

I, I was standin'. You were there.

When he got out of his car, he began to run up the hill in his flip flops. At the top of the hill, I was standing outside of my car. When he got to the top of the hill, standing across from me, I noticed he was skinny and cute and nervous. He was visibly shaking. I knew from our conversations on Bumble that he wasn’t the type to make decisions, so I had already decided where we would go and what we would do on our date.

”Hop in. We’re going to the cemetery.”

”What? Oh. Ok.”

He walked around to the passenger side, and looked at me like, “Is it okay that i’m getting in your car?” His eyes gave me that hesitation, and my voice said “Get in.”

My Poor Walking Buddy

We were to have a walking buddy.  We were to walk in a line, in pairs, with our walking buddy.  

"Hold hands.
Stay on the sidewalk.
And don't pick things up off the ground.
Brad, put that down, please!  That's trash.  Icky, no!"

I imagine Hazel must have thought to herself "Goddammit, you little fucker." at least twice a day.
About each of us.
If i recall correctly, there were about seven of us at any given time, so that could be an understatement.

My walking buddy was Emily.  We were about 4 years old.  We were walking uptown for ice cream.  This was a rare treat.  Just like when there weren't very many kids at Hazel's on a particular day, we got to pile in her car and go visit the Tasty Freeze that wasn't within walking distance.  But this particular day, we walked two-by-two, holding hands swinging our arms back and forth as our little feet padded the sidewalk.  The pendulum motion of Emily and I's arms growing larger and larger as i feel the momentum and wish to keep it going.  Back and forth, higher and higher.  

I was bigger than Emily.  My arms were longer than hers, and even though Emily was resisting and audibly protesting her hand being interlinked with mine, i continued to swing our arms back and forth, higher and higher.

Next thing i know Emily is on the ground, i have her by the wrist, and i'm pulling hard on her arm.  "Get up! Get up! Let's go!  We gotta get ice cream!" Emily is crying.  Emily is making no attempt to get up.  I'm yanking hard on her arm, in order to help her up.  It's not working.  She's laying on her side in the grass right next to the side walk.  My only solution is to keep yanking on Emily's arm, until Hazel sees us.  Hazel separates our arms while scolding me.

"Can't you see you're hurting her?"

"Obviously not, you old bat."  I'm kidding, i didn't say that.  

But that's where that memory ends.  A scolding from my babysitter for hurting Emily.  And the feeling i always got when i would recall this memory, was that what happened was a big deal.  

Next memory: It's still summer.  We're all outside in the fenced-in back yard.  I had my shovel and my pail from the sandbox, but i was using it under the playground slide to shovel the rocks into my pail because i'm four years old and i'm sure i intended to count and name and keep those rocks until JJ had the brilliant idea of making mudpies and throwing them at the side of the house.  JJ taught us how to grab a handful of grass, hang on real tight and pull upwards to obtain a good-sized dirt clod.  The ground was moist.  The grass was lush.  And when pressed into a pie, and thrown at the siding, they stuck pretty well.

But there was a whimper coming from Emily.  She wanted to help.  She tried to help.  She couldn't do it herself.  She couldn't quite grasp it.  Because Emily's arm was in a cast.

Astute as Fuck

I was parked at a set of meters in the East Village right before going inside the salon to get my hair cut.  It was 7:55am.  I was holding a giant coffee in one hand as i stood at the set of meters in front of me and plugged an hour and a half worth of coins (just in case!) into the right-side meter.  I tripped as i hurried my way across the street, saving my coffee (phew!), and curtsied in case anyone saw that.

An hour later when i came out, i noticed a parking ticket on my windshield.  I stared at it in a "WTF Moment" for a split-second before i imagined myself plugging those coins.  I truly closed my eyes and pictured the moment i dropped coins into the right-side meter.

*SIGH*

I was parked at the left-side meter.

I grab the paper and envelope and plop down into the driver seat.  I stare down at my $15 parking ticket. I look up at the Volkswagen that was parked at the fully-paid-meter in front of me, then back down at the parking ticket.

"Motherfucker."

As i start the car i think, You’re welcome, Volkswagen. #payitforward

UNENCUMBERED

Riding in the back of a truck on hot, summer evenings was an exciting way to treat small-town children to some cool air after inferno-like days.  My friends and I would have spent all the hours we were allowed at the swimming pool. Come home, barely eat our dinner to save room for ice cream later, and assess the pink or brown tones of our skin. In my case, usually, it was red tones that later peeled and often needed chilled aloe vera. I could never be bothered to put on sunscreen. My nose and my lips were grotesquely damaged many of the days each summer until I reached the age where not looking like a scabby troll mattered to me because I had crushes. Suddenly, applying that SPF was effortless.

When it was time for ice cream, I'd get to hop in the back of daddy's truck, sometimes with a neighborhood friend. Mom instructed Dad never to go too fast. She was always concerned one of us would fall out. But even if he was creeping along at Sunday speeds, the warm, summery smells of the air were breezy and felt like the most satisfying quench after an unreasonably long thirst.

It's Okay.

I've been reading "When Breath Becomes Air" by Paul Kalanithi.  It's a book from the "Sociology of Death" section on Amazon.  Having been reading such literary content leads me to reflect on my first and most recent experience with death.  I've lost friends, family, and beloved pets before, but i have never watched someone take their last breath.  This someone wasn't a person though, it was a dog.  (I'd argue a kind of person.)  And though i had spent only six months getting to know this dog, i loved this dog.  I love animals.  Period.  Being able to spend any amount of time with an animal, i will form a bond.  I will care deeply about that animal.  Call it a weakness.  If someone ever needed to make me tell them where the gold is hidden, all they would have to do is threaten to harm an animal in front of me, and i will tell them.  There.  My secret is out.

Within six months, i watched Dutchess, a thirteen year old beagle mix, go from bouncy-crazy for hotdogs and general kitchen scrappings, to barely eating anything.  I watched Dutchess go from HOWLING at the notion of a treat or a car ride, to barely caring to lift her head.  Many times I watched Dutchess catch treats in her mouth that were thrown from any direction.  Not a single one hit the floor.  Then one day they bounced off her ear or her nose, and she had trouble finding where the treat landed.

It was a sharp decline.  Maybe it was a stroke that took her downhill.  Maybe she had a tumor in her swollen belly.  Maybe it was simply age, but she was ready to go.  Her body was ready.  Even her eyes expressed the desire to finally be able to lay down in comfort.

When she began to go, we lay her down on her left side.  As i faced her, I held her front paws in my left hand and her face in my right. I stroke her jaw line with my thumb.  The Vet Techs left the room. The door was closing when an audible cry left my face which was buried in her neck.  Her body pushed out the rest of the air it contained.  I whisper-cried to her, "It's okay.  It's okay."  As her eyes turned black and her heart slowed to a stop, I continued to rub her ears and her face, and kiss her head.  I ran my hand down her belly.  The feel of her was all i experienced by this point, because i could not see through the ocean in my eyes.  I smelled her.  She smelled like the fresh outdoors.  A scent i always loved when i breathed her in while she was curled up as my little spoon.

It's been a few months, now.  I look at her pictures.  I think of her often, both at her best and in those last moments.  Whenever she crosses my mind, my eyes well up and i have to whisper to myself "It's okay. It's okay."

He Was Born in February

When I got to Thomas J’s room he was wearing his shoes.  His legs were propped up on the foot rest.  He was wearing basketball shorts and a tshirt.  Other than the facility-issued socks and his disheveled hair, he looked like himself.

I asked him if he wanted to go ride around with me.  He considered it for a second and said, “Yes, I do.”  “Great!  You and those sexy legs look ready to go,” I said.  He used to tell me to shut up at comments like that, but now he just smiles and his eyes look confused.

The nurse chuckled while pushing a wheelchair into the room.  This was the first moment I realized Thomas J was truly “off his legs.”  In that moment, it became apparent that I couldn’t whimsically pick up my brother for rides without the help of a nurse.  Thomas J was very unsteady, and while I attempted to help lift him from his recliner, I was shocked with just how heavy he is.  He’s tall and skinny like dad, but his deadweight is deceiving.

Once buckled into the front seat, and pulling out of the driveway, Thomas J’s gaze was steady out his window.  Occasionally, he would fidget with something on his shorts and I could hear a crunchy plastic sound coming from underneath the fabric.  “He must be wearing a diaper fulltime, now,” I thought.  When he wasn’t fidgeting with his shorts, his whole body was relaxed and his mind seemed content.  Mom (who was in the back) and I conversed about where we were heading, about seeing one of my aunts recently, about the concert I had been to, about the tomatoes in the garden.  Interspersed with unanswered questions to Thomas J, we continued to chat for the next hour as I drove around the county.

Thomas J had zero reaction to the town square that we grew up on, where he worked for 20 years.  When we drove by our childhood home of 37 years, again zero reaction.  We drove by the elementary school, the middle school, and the high school.  Every time I asked him “Do you remember this, TJ?” he either didn’t respond, or he said no.  A few questions I would ask again because I was certain he didn’t hear me.  I tapped his knee and tried to get him to make eye contact.  He looked at me twice in that hour.

I knew one of the final stages was going to be the inability to walk on his own.  I was as prepared as one can be for that one.  But to be unresponsive towards our lifelong home and surroundings? Where did Thomas J go?

As a teenager, Thomas J (myself included) wasted a lot of gas and a lot of time driving around happily and aimlessly.  I think to myself when the nurse helps him out of my car that he has got to be enjoying himself.

“I’ll see you next week, Bro.”

ADVENTURES IN YARD WORK

I arrived home about noon.  I ate some lunch and before going back outside to do yard work, I smoked a bit.

I grabbed the yard bin with the green lid and tried to drag it across the lawn by the bar that the waste trucks use to lift the bins.  It wasn't working, so I opened the lid and proceeded to tip it back on its wheels to push it.

Since the lid was open when I tipped the bin back towards me, I ended up stepping on the lid with one foot - which trapped the other foot under the lid.

I lost complete control of everything.  In that moment, it was one impact to my body after another, as I came crashing down.  With every blow to my bones, I kept wishing it would be the last.  Finally, my skull hit the bin wall and I was laying INSIDE the bin.  I stayed there.  

A neighbor came running outside, she saw the whole thing.  As she was trying to help me up, out of sheer embarrassment I asked, "Did you get that on video?"

I DO LOVE IT HERE

I got everyone to leave.  Finally, i was alone.  My possessions, many boxes, strewn about the hallway, the living room, the bedroom, and the kitchen.  I was ready to organize and setup my new living quarters.

I started with the furniture that i could move on my own.  I got all of my books shelved.  When i got to unpacking, and had most of my clothes put away, there was a knock on my back door.

There stood a blonde, young, portly man holding a beer in one hand, and a potted plant in the other.  Through the screen door his voice boomed;

"HI! I'm Randy.  I want to welcome you to the neighborhood."  

I can smell the Coors.  This wasn't his first one.  I open the door; he hands me the plant.

I'm shocked and very touched as i say "Thank you so much!"  
I introduce myself as i place the plant on the countertop.  

"So do you need help with anything?" he asks while casing my place from the doorway.  
"No, no.  I'm just unpacking."  Randy insists that he could help with unpacking.  
"No, thank you." I insist back.  "I'm very anal about where i want stuff, i need to do this alone."  
Randy tries to re-insist, but i kindly decline once more before he tells me,
"Well, i juss wanted to welcome you to our neighborhood and if you need anything, anything, girl let me know."  I thanked him again, and assured him that i would do just that.

After shutting the door, i was relieved to continue my organizational quest, and also in giggles over the silly-drunk exchange.  Immediately, he became my favorite neighbor, even though i hadn't met anyone else yet.

I barely got the rest of my clothes put away when came another knock at my back door.  There stood the same blonde, young, portly man holding a beer in one hand, and a potted plant in the other.  He opens the screen to hand me the second plant.  

"HI! I'm Randy.  I juss wanted to say 'Welcome to the neighborhood.'  You're going to love it here.  Ohmygawd, it'ss sooo nice here.  Do you need anything?  Do you need help with anything?  Do you want a beer?"  

I shake my head no. 

"Okay, well, girl - let me know if there's anything i can do.  Welcome to the neighborhood!  Byeeeee!"

I set the second plant on the counter-top next to the first one.  Both succulents.  Like Randy.

ROTTEN

In the back of Mrs. Olson's fifth grade class, Trent Nuzum and i tried very hard to stifle our giggles as we farted and wafted our stink onto each other.  In the back of that class, Trent and i conspired to capture our farts in jars and release the contents onto our siblings, and other enemies.

We had completed an experiment on osmosis some time that spring.  We all brought an egg to class and soaked it in vinegar while recording the visual changes.  For days, Mrs. Olson would remind Trent to take his egg home.  It had gotten so large, it nearly popped out of the container.  We were afraid to open it.

Trent and i lived on the same street, so over the years, we sometimes walked home together.  Though, in fifth grade, we walked home together quite often.  The day Trent finally remembered to take his Osmosis Egg out of the classroom, we were walking through the usual alleyways.  It was sunny and warm and i remember school was almost done for the year.  I recall this fact because what transpired next made me grateful that we wouldn't be walking down that alley again until the fall.

Trent took the lid off the egg container - the sulfuric-vinegary powerful stench raping our nose hairs with hot stink - Trent drew his arm back, holding the container tightly, and launched the contents onto the wall of a house.  It made contact with the siding up near a window, but i couldn't tell you how big of a mess it made because we ran.  We ran without being able to stifle our giggles.

MARJORIE

The nurse shut my brother's door so he could pee before I took him away with me. I'm propped up against the wall in the hallway. The door beside me opens and out pops a lady's white-haired head.  She's about 5'1" maybe, and she's just leaning her top half out the door and asks, "Did you need me?"

Me: "Nope. I'm just waiting for my brother."

I point to his door. 

Lady: "Oh good. I like him."

I smile at her. 

Lady: "I'm just in here watching TV. Got tired of sticking to the chair."

Me: "That sounds uncomfortable."

Lady: "Yep. So what did you need me for?"

Me: "Nothing, I'm here to pick up my brother."

Lady: "Oh. Okay."

She comes out a little further and I can see she's wearing only a shirt. 

A nurse passes by and says, "Marjorie, I assume you'll be eating in your room today."