LIFE AND THE RIVER

      I drive to Rehab twice a week, stop off at Trader Joe’s on the way home, and I’m good to go; two birds with one stone, so to speak, though I don’t care for that image.  I learn so much at rehab I’d gladly make the 17 mile drive + bridge tolls 5 days a week if they’d let me.   

     Still using my phone’s navigation system everywhere I go; I’m lost without it.   I drive to medical appointments in places named Fairfield Vacaville and Concord, words I never dreamed would be in my vocabulary.  I’m hopping onto freeways like a loony-bird and trying to shut-up about it.  

     Efficiency is key; gotta re-think everything.  In addition to the long tube at home and the small portables, I’ve got 4 big oxygen tanks stored on my Patio.  I formed an “Oxygen Brigade” consisting of 6 neighbors who’ve agreed to think of me in case of a power outage and if they’re able, to come help me with my tanks.   Anyone else out there is invited to do that too.

     Good food has become more important than ever.  Thinking about doing a cookbook for invalids.  No kidding.  What a concept.  It might sell more copies than my memoir.  

     Have you gone to my website, flatbushprincess.com to buy it yet? 
 

     Started walking along the river.  There, in my opinion, is the heart of Vallejo: the murky currents, the steady ebb and flow, the sparkling menacing sludge of it is so much like this city and it makes me feel alive.  It’s a challenge, I need to slow down, buck the wind, pace myself.  Gives me time to look around and see who’s there, recognize the true colors of Vallejo on a human level.  

     I meet other regulars who come down to the river at Independence Park – MY PARK – most days.  We wave, nod, sometimes stop to chat.  Walkers acknowledge each other and keep walking, bikers are careful with eyes ahead, parents pushing strollers are happy to stop and let me admire their beautiful babes.  Fishermen tend to be reticent but they’ll show me what they’ve caught.   Quite a few grandma’s with little kids, talking, enjoying each other.  I pity the moms who miss all that. 

   One day I was struggling to walk in a strong wind, hanging on to the barrier, my teary eyes fixed on the oxygen meter dangling from the index finger of my left hand, when a young man dressed in black and silver, his hood covering his face, and pants below his tuchas, came up to me, touched his heart and asked, “Where you goin’ mama?  Do you need help?”

     This guy looked like the lurkers in the alleys behind some Vallejo homes that I read about on Next Door.   I could tell he was up to no good, except for the fact that when he saw me he responded straight from his heart.  Later, we sat and talked.  I told him to stay out of trouble, don’t hurt anyone.  He said, “I’m black, they want my heart. You don’t know how hard it is.”  Then, what blurted out of me was, “shut up, MF.  I know it’s tough.  But next time the going is rough, think of me -- struggling to walk, struggling to breath, struggling to stay alive.  Then get on with it, and be good – like you are with me.”

     I don’t know where that came from.  It must be the meds.

     Then there’s S--, a truck driver in his 60’s from South America, who talks dirty to me.  He’s got a twinkle in his eye and says sooner or later he’ll get me into bed.  He tries to grab my hand, but I tell him “don’t touch,” and he obeys.  Imagine propositioning a little old grey haired Jewish lady with an oxygen tube up her nose, pushing a tank on wheels, barely able to walk for more than a few minutes at a time.  Obviously, a wack job, but he means no harm.  He shows up most days and pins the bait on the hooks of his friend in a wheel chair, who fishes all day long.  If he promises not to touch, I take his arm and let him help me cross the street.

     I’m thinking of joining the infamous Senior Center.  I actually used to shoot pool once upon a time in my life, and would like to take it up again.    And… if anyone is wondering, the Mayor and I are moving ahead swimmingly with the Independence Park project.  More about that anon.