Neighbors

Romeo is all tuckered out after our midday walk down to the park.  Our route takes us out at a point where it crosses New Hampshire Avenue and Sligo Creek on our way back up to the entrance of our neighborhood.  Today as we approached the creek, we both caught the scent of carnitas roasting.  Him being from Central America, and I have both lived there and visited on a few occasions, we both began salivating.

The six lanes of New Hampshire Avenue cross Sligo Creek along with a separate boardwalk bridge connecting both sides of the sidewalk on the eastern side.  The creek is fordable except when it rains and rises at such times becoming menacing in its force.  The flow of water normally resides a good 20 ft beneath the wrought iron I-bar spans of the bridge's framework.  The tempting aromas were wafting up from below. 

Glancing over the edge we spied a group of about 10 men.  They were cooking food and had a little makeshift table set up with vegetables, as well as, meats.  Most were lounging, a couple were wading in the creek, nearly all had removed their shirts to take in the warmth of the sun.  Even a passing glance made it clear that they were Hispanic, probably Central American--based on local demographics.  Their clothes were grimy, and their appearance led me to make them out to be in the late forties through sixties plus range.  Although that might be a bit inflated.  I believe they are members of the local homeless community and so a hard life can make one look much older than they are. 

Romeo was obsessed with them...or at least the smell and promise of some delicious carne de vaca.  One of the men looked up at us, and I smiled and waved.  He returned the smile and gesture which alert others of our intrusion into their gathering.  I waved again and they also smiled and waved back.  One even made "woof woof" greetings for Romeo, who began to wag his tail in anticipation.  Unfortunately for him, I did not read the moment as more than a neighborly encounter, and with some serious coaxing convinced him that our destination was home. 

I cannot imagine what it is like to be homeless.  I do know; however, what it ought to be like to be human, and kindness to the stranger should never be an option.

True Story: 22 DEC 2018

Took Romeo to the National Arboretum today for a hike. On the way home on South Dakota Avenue, a silver Vereza with handicapped plates came whipping around us and cut off a red Camaro with vanity plates that read "nomercy". The driver of the Camaro had to slam on his breaks, but then did nothing in response to the rudeness of the other driver. 

And I thought, "liar."... 

True Story: 24 DEC 2018

Today, I ran out to a nearby grocery after realizing that I was out of celery--quelle horreur! Before leaving I donned my Dollar General Store Santa hat. It's a super cheap version of the classic red night cap with faux fur trim and bedazzled with gold glitter filigree snowflakes. The grocery in question is nearly walking distance from my home and as usual I was the only white person in the store. At one point I was spied by a little girl who exclaimed, "Santa!" I smiled, but her parents only glanced and then belined down the condiments aisle. No cross cultural endearing encounter this time! But there was a moment that really delighted and surprised me.

I've been shopping here for over two decades and being a bit of an odd man out, the employees pretty much recognize me. We often exchange superficial pleasantries. All the cashiers are black save the lone man and he's south central Asian (Indian or Pakistani, etc.) They are also ALL my age or older. Approaching the registers I noticed one of my favorite ladies was working. She's older than me. A wee sprite of a woman with a chirpy Creole caribbean accent and the disposition of a stern grandmother. She's efficient. In a cashier, that's endearing!

When my turn came she looked up at me for the first time and then burst into giggles! Not on my life did I expect this from her. After immediately looking down to stifle her laughter, she shot me another glance and lost it again. I, of course, said, "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas." (I get this compulsion to poke the beast in moments like this from my father, who inherited it from his mother. My grandmother, Zola, would stop at nothing to push a good natured merry moment to its apex. I can remember her telling tales on herself that would end with her peeing her own britches from laughing so hard and laughing so hard in the telling that I wondered if I was about to be treated to an encore of the alleged finale! These are my people).

But I digress...

For the rest of our transaction we chatted pleasantly. She without making eye contact in an effort to keep her composure, and I, in hopes of lulling her into another glance!

True Story: 28 DEC 2018

I know the Virginia Zoo now pretty well. This was my fourth visit, and given the weather forecast with pending rain, I planned my visit to hit the major outside focus areas in the beginning. But first, after a couple of hours in the truck, it was "necessary room" time. After paying admission, I also realized that there would be very few fellow visitors on this day as there were virtually none to be seen across the grand plaza beyond the ticket booths. The restrooms are to the right of the entrance, and when I came out I encountered a group of 6 developmentally delayed adults with two caregivers. Other than thinking that I was no longer "alone" at the zoo, I didn't give them much consideration.

With my travel patch-festooned knapsack containing my camera, jacket and water secured over my shoulder, I rushed off to my first stop at the Asian collection called the "Trail of the Tiger". When you enter past the Thai pagoda and Tiger statue you have two choices: Orangutans or Siamangs. From here the path climbs along a faux rock palisade and leads you around to a boardwalk with views of one of the two species of Asian bears. Then you walk past a maze of displays and interior access to the Primates when they are not outside. Next you come upon the Red Panda. All the while I was taking my time and just really enjoying the animals. Some were out. Some weren't. By then I had encountered a couple of other young families with little children, but it was at the Red Panda habitat that the crew of differently abled adults caught up with me.

You know my powers of observation are legendary not to mention that I have been a social voyeur since early childhood. The arrival gave me a chance to size them up. Two women and four men with a man and woman as caregivers. One was propelled in a wheelchair while the rest were ambulatory. Most did not speak, the man in the wheelchair conversed quietly with the male caregiver. And then there was Melvin. The mere fact that know his name says something.

Melvin was black, kind of rolly polly, a little queenie and definitely a chatty-Cathy! He was a non-stop verbal smorgasbord of stream of consciousness monologue. To get his attention, the woman caregiver would good naturedly call out his name, which would momentarily stop his chatter and bring him to look in her direction. Of course, I was immediately taken with him. From his narrative, it was clear that he had been to the zoo before. He knew all sorts of information about the animals and not just about the species, but the individual animals.

For my part, I tried to just stand still and focus my attention on the Red Panda--my best attempt at being a fly on the wall while multi-tasking between admiring and photographing the Red Panda and eavesdropping on Melvin's rambling observations and anecdotes. From everything I could tell, my plan at being unobtrusive was working wonderfully.

Then as the group prepared to move on and Melvin was saying, "I wonder if the Binturong will be out? He's usually out, but sometimes he's not out. You know the other Binturong is at the farm, because they want to have some babies, but I don't think it's working. I wonder if they know why." and then to me, as he reached his closest proximity on his way down the path, he said, "By the way, I really like your bag." Before I could say, "Thanks." (which I did), he was on to the next topic. "Don't go to close to the Tapirs. They're spitters! I don't want no Tapir spitting on me...." Apparently, I was not the only one with a keen ability to multitask!

True Story: 11 JAN 2019

Out walking Romeo this evening and we'd gotten halfway down the hill toward the park, just a couple house lots away from our home, when I noticed a young woman talking to a neighbor 4 houses down on the other side of the street. They were chatting on her front stoop. The young woman leaned down and made some happy cooing sounds when Whigenstein appeared and yapped at her attention.

Whigenstein is a little dog, a mix, a mut, a rescue. He's about half Romeo's size (maybe 20 lbs) with wavy black fur like a collie and a white muzzle and belly, put on a frame closer to a corgi. He nearly immediately spied Romeo and ran with abandon (sans collar, sans leash) across his front yard to the street edge. He barked happily and then ran across the street to greet Romeo. With tails wagging, the two sniffed and said "hello".

It was about 5:20. It was dusk and darkening. I then saw a pair of headlights coming up from the bottom of the hill around the curve in the street. What happened next happened very quickly.

The car began to speed up. I stepped into the middle of the street and began to wave my arm in the air and shouted to the women at the house "There's a car!"

Then I really fucking SHOUTED at the car--"SLOW DOWN!!!"

The car didn't.

I stepped directly in front of the car (a small sliver sports car) and shouted again, "STOP!! THERE'S A DOG!!!"

The driver slammed on their brakes and about a car's length from where it stopped and maybe two car lengths from me, Master Whigenstein jogged back in front the car's headlights to his yard and up the incline to his porch.

The car had tinted windows. After the moment was over and I had taken a breath and stepped out of his way, the driver continued up the street. As he passed me, he rolled down his window a little bit, but he did not stop or say anything. We made eye contact. I presented a friendly countenance and stared directly at him as he passed. I did not recognize the car or the driver. I did not assume malice. I was ready to engage the person with a "thank you" and request to drive responsibly, but that opportunity did not happen.

The young woman on the stoop called out to me "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much." My neighbor waved.

I replied, "You're welcome," and then Romeo and I resumed our evening constitutional.

True Story: 12 JAN 2019

With snow starting in about two hours, we've a fire in the hearth and plenty of wood. Food to keep us sated through Tuesday in case the storm goes to the high end forecast. We took our walk early, too. The neighborhood was pretty quiet, the air calm and crisp, everything gray and sepia, the colors of winter.

As we approached the park, I heard a man's voice and looked over to see a dad some distance away with two young children standing on the threshold of the bridge over the creek. He looked like a young Mandy Patinkin (from Sunday in the Park with George), a neatly trimmed beard and twinkly eyes. The children, a girl and a boy were all dressed up in their winter finery.

The dad was saying, "We've just crossed through the magic portal."

"The what!?" exclaimed the little girl.

"The magic portal," said the dad. "We're no longer in Maryland. We're in Switzerland!"

"Swizzerland?" said the girl. Her little brother was poking at the ground with a stick.

"Switzerland. It's the place where people yodel."

"What's a yodel?" asked the girl. She turned to look at her brother.

Her dad turned away slightly, shielded his mouth with his flattened hand, and let peel a yodel. The little girl's head popped back. "Did you hear that?" asked the dad. "That was a yodel."

She thought for a second, then said, "That was you!"

He said, "Oh no. I don't know how to yodel. It came from other there." He pointed across the park.

As soon as she looked in that direction, he yodeled again.

By then, Romeo and I were about to pass them, and I said to him when he looked at us, "Guten tag."

Without skipping a beat, he replied, "Guten tag."

"Did you hear that man with the dog?" he asked his daughter. "He was speaking German. In Switzerland the people speak German."

"Ooohh," said the girl slowly her skepticism suddenly, momentarily assailed beyond her confidence in the game.

True Stories Preface

I share little vignettes from my life in other online forums.  I haven't shared many here because of the difficulty I have formatting them between platforms from my Chromebook.  It's silly impediment.  It would also be much easier to access them for future reference in this forum.  Not that they're any great shakes, but who knows?  I might manage to make something more polished some day.

I will post them with the date I wrote them.  There might be some back logging from time to time, and certainly here in the beginning.  I would love feedback, especially as concerned the actual writing.  Consider them all raw, all drafts for now.

Cheers and Thanks.