GIVE IT UP, GLADLY
On my walk this morning through the Village, I encountered an elderly woman who was very upset and screaming at the parking meter. Something about all this money, and money lost, and stolen, etc. I hate it too when you feed the meter and it steals your money, but when I looked closer, the meter was in fine operating condition, but the elderly woman did not seem to be.
So, I carefully observed her as she paced the sidewalk, cursed, yelled and screamed at various imaginary people, attorneys, her daughter, and the world in general. She was extremely angry, and I thought of approaching her and acknowledging that she was upset, and asking if there was something I could do. After all, she wasn't homeless, in fact, she was nicely dressed, hair neat, glasses on, slacks and a nice sweater, handbag, and leather satchel, which she randomly threw to the ground in disgust. No, I thought I should seek another way to help.
I ducked into a boutique that I frequent for gifts from time to time, and explained to the owner the situation: an elderly woman who is someone's grandmother, someone's mother, someone's sister, with obvious dementia and standing on the corner of Sunset and Swarthmore ranting and raving. The boutique owner called the firehouse, and they sent over the Paramedic Unit. I explained to them her behavior, and as one firefighter approached her, she resisted his efforts, then she tried to get on the Big Blue Bus that had just stopped along Sunset. He intervened with the bus driver, and the bus took off, as did the angry woman in a huff. She headed toward Sav-On, and one firefighter trailed her at a distance, while the other called LAPD for assistance, and began to drive the Paramedic Unit over to his partner. I continued on with my walk, thinking about the woman, her distress, and where she belonged.
As I was able to observe this elderly woman for at least 20 minutes, I couldn't help but realize that she had become angry and obsessed with some situation regarding money and loss and was terribly bitter beyond belief. I really thought about my own grandmothers: Nethla and Betty. They managed to live well beyond the age of this woman with their wits about them and their sense of loving intact. They were fun and funny, opinionated and not always tactful, but also respectful in their own way and in their own hearts. Then I thought about this rather elegant elderly woman, who was seemingly held hostage by an old hurt and loss, and I wondered how her holding that in her heart had led her to an insane rant in the Village, drawing stares and whispers among those who passed her by. A part of me loved her . . . . as I would my own grandmother.
She taught me this: GIVE IT UP: any hurt or loss or slight or insult. Give it up. Don't hold it in your heart, your memory, or the cells in your body. Grow your love, not your bitterness. And grow old with as much grace as you can muster, otherwise some Wee Walking Woman may encounter you, and intervene against your wishes, hoping only that you are again safe and sleeping soundly in your own bed tonight.
CONDIMENT ALERT
Mr. B has added a new condiment packet to his collection: Tartar Sauce.
WILD CHILD
I am walking down to the Village to do some errands, and come upon a ten or eleven year old boy skateboarding on the sidewalk. He picks up his skateboard as I walk by and we have the following conversation:
He: Hi.
Me: Hi.
He: Have you seen the large feathered chicken?
Me: Ummm, no I haven't.
He: Oh.
I continue on down the sidewalk, and I hear footsteps behind me. I look back, and see the boy walking behind me. I continue on, and soon his footsteps become closer and closer until, he is right behind me. I turn around just at the moment that he seems to be reaching for the inside of my bag, catching my arm as I turn.
Me: What are you doing?
He: You had a bug on you.
Me: What kind of bug?
He: It was about this big. (easily the size of a half-dollar)
Me: Did you find the large feathered chicken?
He: No.
I notice he is standing uncomfortably close to me and moving closer.
Me: Where do you live?
He: (gesturing up the street) Up there somewhere, on a street . . . .
Me: Would you like to walk with me to the post office?
He: No. . . . . I'm (eyes WIDE WITH GLEE) supposed to go to a party!!!
I pause briefly, assessing this bizarre exchange. Either he is off his nut, which I am quite used to certain wee ones being off their nut . . . . . or . . . . . he really is a creepy, quasi-dangerous child having a little bizarre fun at my expense. I realize that I am extremely uncomfortable, and unsure of his motivation. What to do at this point, as he is literally matching every body movement that I make, closely mirroring my every move.
Me: What happened to your skateboard?
He: Oh, I left it up there.
Me: Hmmm. (I stare at this child trying to get a read on him, and finding myself oddly incompetent, and still extremely uncomfortable to the point of nervousness)
He: Ha! I better go get it! Thanks for reminding me!
He races up the sidewalk. I walk away, confused, and when I turn back to look for him, he's vanished. I felt such an unnerving sensation as I walked along, not really knowing whether he was evil or incompetent in some way.
Creepy. Very creepy.
I hope I run into him again sometime. He's made me very curious.
