Chris

 

With time on my hands and trying to get back to the memoir in the days of groundhog and grey skies with mortality hanging by, I ponder…. ‘What’s next?’

Awake in the morning to check the aging rock star obits (those who made it this fair) then listen the sounds of artillery and riots with cheers for the winners and cries for the losers. Scrolling through the ever-expanding Internet with stories of sand or evidential doom of patriotism or what are we going to do with Africa. In a quiet neighborhood police don’t search for black guys to make the nightly news. The neighbor always park in their designated spots and stay inside with their electronic toys taking up the broadband space avoiding the climatic change or migration issues of the day.

There are those who till make the weapons to kill (thoughts and prayers placed here) and fossil fuel trucks still pour off the conveyer belts while the old ones rust in vacant property. Children and children’s children keep popping out for cut selfies and necessarily plastic toys soon broken and forgotten.

So what’s on my mind?

Health, Money, Security, Relationships are a constant, even though not looking for some and happy with other (for now).

What to do with the vacant time?

Travel? Where to? Why? To see some old buildings built by ancient contractors with hand tools and slave labor? Can see pictures and read history with slides and boring instructions like in college that put me asleep. Been to Europe, Asia and highlights of the U.S.A. but for the most part stayed in hotels. A hotel in a foreign land you can’t read the menu or understand the language and hope the water is drinkable.

Music? I like music. I’ve attended (and participated) my share of shows. I’ve heard lots of style and variations yet with age few now catch my ear.

News? Liking to be up-to-date with the news yet trying to tell the difference from fact or fiction. I’ve turned off visual media due to news shows becoming entertainment and opinions shows being kitchen chatter rather than informative. Journalist interviews are merely promotions for a book or a movie or a streaming show. News has become advertising promotion products and celebrates get awards to prove it.

Health? Even the best of us survivors will be breaking down. Except for those who are rushing in the vacant lots, we use people in white coats to tell us how we feel and possibility of extending time here (don’t ask the cost). Mortality is eventuality so it is where you want to spend your money. That sore or ache or pain or gas or… (Check the web- they have all the answers). Then there are those pesky viruses that if you get a shot in the arm will not infect you. Or not? What did you eat today?

Relationships? Our species interact with each other. We talk, walk, and make babies in every form of interaction. Some last a bit of time while other fade. Everyday we have a relationship with those who share our space. We may never speak or acknowledge the other, but they are there. Breathing the same air at the same time. To entertain another requires work. Taking someone out to a dining establish or local pub for a conversation and watch each other chew. If you invite someone into your personal living space requires cleaning the house (cleanliness is next to Godliness, but you haven’t seen my God), buying groceries (cannot get together with eating) and then there is the clean up later. For recreation with another requires a large flat screen, a pool or boat, or a mass amount of alcohol. When all that runs out, there is sex. Games are always an option. Athletic toss the ball or run to board games there are rules that must be followed and there is always a winner and a loser just like school. You may be given a grade or a place in the standings but is this data objective or subjective?

Alone with my thoughts I remember going to Scotland with my mother to see her bother and family. We would we suddenly fly away? Why didn’t the whole family go? Was there a problem at home? I was basically too young to be left alone but not alone with my father and older brother? I’d be shipped off to camp and left alone so that might have created my independence?

So the time comes to turn over again on the mattress or stand up and move on. The routine of pulling on pants and socks and shoes awakes the muscles. Breathe the air outside and meet the world. Why?

The yard stores need to be replenished. They won’t be my relationships if I don’t provide for them.

A few yards of pavement get the exhausted pumping and the aches forgotten due to the mobility. All systems are working.

Dementia hasn’t lost my way yet and pay my bill at the blue postage box can still be remembered like the guy that was a waste of money and testing out the ever weakening breaks remind me of bad possibilities (but no Russian missiles are falling yet)?

Noticing the weather map, the rest of the week appears to be a washout (as it should be this time of year but there are green sprouts poking up through the brown leaves).

Strap on the mask to keep from breathing all those germ cooties flying around and enter the Tummy Temple.

The usual route has been pretty clear but there seems to be a clean up on the alcohol beverage aisle. The clone of the cheese monger has the yellow cones blocking off the area and is slowly sweeping what is wet. I decide it is better to take another lap around to visit the pasta, dairy products and questionable starches before returning to the disaster area. A mop is being retreated but I find a way to retrieve six bullets before the next disaster happens. (Note to distributers: Put the second six-pack sideways because two one-on-another do not fit on the shelf). Those said, the second batch of bullets dropped from the shelf and bounced upon the floor. How embarrassing?

As I picked up the rolling cans a nice lady came up to offer assistance. Perhaps the pity of an aged geezer gathering up clumsy behavior or just kindness, she said “I just spilled some wine” (which could have been the reason for the mopping necessarily or not) but she smiled sweetly for an old man and my ‘Thank you’ was not enough (no phone numbers were shared).

That event usual is enough for a Tummy Temple adventure until a black man walked up to my cart. His face was familiar but I couldn’t remember why. He was attached to this place and I put out my hand but we gave correct elbow bumps. I remembered he was the ‘red vest’ at the checkout but couldn’t remember his name. I’d probably spoken to him for years but couldn’t remember his name. We parted with him calling me ‘Sir’ and I wished him a good life.

“Chris”!!!

I have a bad time with remembering names (thus not in sales or politics) but I try to talk to someone who is wearing a name badge. For those I converse with everyday, I try to remember names.

Names are our titles and should identify us.

Glad Chris stopped and talked. Some of our brief conversations were revealing. When the Covid-19 hit and ‘essential’ workers had to decide to stay or go; he left.