Holiday Pile-up

 “Happy Valentine’s Day! Happy New Year! Gung Hay Fat Choy!!! Happy Presidents’ Day!”

            He rattles off the holidays as I pass by, giving him wide berth by walking in the middle of the street. Even though I have my mask on, I still practice the give ‘em-too-much-social-distancing protocols. At this point in my walks, the avoidance of people is so automatic, yet even so, I sometimes feel strange about it.

            Like today with this cheerful neighbor wishing me all these holidays’ good cheer. Would I have ordinarily stopped to chat with him? Probably not. But it’s the idea that we can’t do this that starts to wear me down.

            He’s getting into his mid-2000’s Toyota sedan, a plastic container of to-go food balanced on the roof of the car. He’s masked, too. Thank goodness. Even though most people are, I still see the occasional rogue non-masker on my walks. Like today the man with his gold shoes, ubiquitous phone in his hand playing some stupid video, and a sad little dog that wanted to stop and have me pet it. This man had NO mask on. He did glance at me, but barely. He made no motion to give me any social distancing. He just sauntered along, phone blaring, ignoring me.

            Unlike Holiday Pile-up man! He was all about wishing me well. Do I know him? Have I seen him before?

            Maybe. Though he doesn’t look familiar with his salt and pepper curly hair popping up all over his head and brown eyes smiling at me over his black mask. He’s a short and stocky guy, dressed in non-descript beigey clothing, getting ready for his Saturday. But not before wishing me well. Which I appreciate.

            I wave and laugh as he lists the holiday off. Even the Chinese New Year in Chinese! Was he Chinese? Maybe, I can’t tell under his mask, but with the curly hair, I think probably not. But it’s the Bay Area. We’re multicultural here. Embracing everyone’s holidays and not just the usual Anglo European ones of the Patriarchy.

            I wish him happy holidays too as I march past him.

            He’s watching me, but not in a creepy way, just a friendly neighborly way. “You take care, Young Lady!” he calls after me.

            Young Lady! I love this guy! No one has called me that for decades! There are some advantages to being masked and hatted and sunglassed up. No one can tell that I’m an old lady and not a young lady. Though this could just be something he calls every ‘Lady’—I mean, what’s he gonna say, “You take care, Lady?” Or “You take care, Old Lady?”

            Nope, “You take care, Young Lady” has a nice ring to it.

            Hell, I’ll take it.

            As I stride up the street, a grey plush cat stares at me serenely from her perch on a porch. I wish her Happy Valentine’s Day.

            She closes her eyes, raising her cat face to the morning sun.  I wave goodbye and then continue up the street, marveling at the puffy clouds, pink blossoms, and holiday pile up on this fine faux spring day.

       

Happy Face

 “Daa da daa daa da da daaaaaa! La da da da daaaaa!”

I hear the melody before I spy its source. A man’s groggy baritone, floating over the block as I march up 30^th street for my usual morning Pandemic Pacing.

            The tune is familiar. But I don’t place it right away. Instead, as I approach one of the neat little bungalows that line the block, an elderly man with a tremendous shock of white hair and beard, calls out to me. “Beautiful day!”

            I nod, “Yes, it is.”

            “No wind, no rain.” He’s beaming. Waves his arm in a wide arc. Behold the beauty of the day!

            “Yes,” I agree. But for me, I immediately think how no rain means continued drought here in Northern California. I try to banish this from the front of my brain right now as this gentleman is obviously so delighted with the weather.

            And, why not? It is a gorgeous day. Bright blue skies. Warm gentle sunshine. Sweet birds chirping.

            What’s not to like?

            As I pass his house, he takes up the tune again and it hits me. Oh, that song! “Grey clouds are gonna clear up. Put on a happy face....”

            Ugh. I’ve always loathed this song. I mean, like if you just ‘put on a happy face’ all will be okay? Who really thinks this?

            Though as I continue up the street, my face has turned happier, just from the exchange. The music. His delight.

            Is this song really just a song? I mean, my therapist would tell me all the time when I was so depressed to just get up and go through the motions. That soon I would feel better. And I never believed her. But then, when I did try it, when I did go out and walk—this was my go-to strategy even then! ---I did feel better.

            So, maybe there is something to the song, obnoxiously saccharine as it is.

            The beagle couple, a man and a woman, are paused at the top of the block, masked and waiting for me to pass.

            “Good morning,” I holler, putting on my happy face even under my mask.

            “Good morning,” the man says, though not very enthusiastically. He isn’t putting on his happy face! I decide to make him!

            “Good Morning Beagles!” I call out.

            The dogs stare at me, tails beginning to wag. I can’t go up and pet them cuz of the Pandemic, but their owners now smile. I can tell behind their masks.  I almost start singing the song, but decide that this is really too much. Tempting as it is.

            Striding up the next block, I grin to myself, singing the song softly. “Grey clouds are gonna clear up. Put on a happy face.” What’s the next line? I can’t remember, something about sunshine and blue skies?

            I glance up at the blue blue sky, feeling the warmth of the sun on my shoulders. I guess putting on a happy face ain’t so hard after all.

            At least till the next storm comes.

Surprise!

Image by Christopher Salerno

            It appears out of nowhere. Slinking up behind me after I turn the corner at Downer and 29^th. I’m mostly off in space, thinking about the woman I just saw dressed entirely in apple red—red sweat pants, red sweatshirt, red sneakers. Except for her sparkly Black Lives Matter black mask. I’d wished her a good morning. She’d said something to me about the sidewalk. “Get off the sidewalk?” Who knows? She could have been talking on the phone, too. And not have seen me at all. 

            And, then I’m just distracted by the birds and the clouds and the trees. As I turn this corner, though, I’m wary of the dog yard. I’ve got these pretty well mapped out. I know which tall fences around specific houses hide the barkers. The one on this corner is always full of barkers. Sometimes I’ll cross the street to avoid being barked at. Yes, I know this is what dogs do. I just get sick of it.          

Today, though, I don’t cross the street, but just stay on the shady side, keeping my eye on the fence, a small hole dug through its bottom.

            I feel It before I see it or hear it. When I turn around, I scream. Loudly. The big black dog looks at me, shocked. Its brown eyes wary. It backs away from me.

Photo by Pixabay

            I scream again; yes, even though the dog has retreated, but only slightly, I can’t help myself. I’ve been bitten one too many times. And the fear just yells out.

The screams don’t deter it. It hasn’t run away. Just stands about 6 feet away, cowering a little. At least he’s socially distant!

            And I wonder. Where the hell is everyone? Here’s a lone woman, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, screaming at 10 a.m. on a Monday morning and NO ONE peeks out their window let alone comes out onto their porch to see if I’m okay.

            What the hell are they all doing? I know they’re not at work. Or if they are working, they’re working at home cuz of the Pandemic. They’re all inside Zooming with their clients, or watching The Price is Right, or playing video games.

            They are NOT looking out for me.

            Immediate panic hits me as I quicken my steps. My heart is pounding. The dog seems submissive, but who knows? I can’t be sure. And it’s out on its own. An escapee, obviously.

As I hurry down 29^th, I turn at Grant instead of heading straight on like I usually do, trying to stay out of the dog’s eye view. I glance down Grant. Another dog is trotting up toward me. This one is a Shepard. He’s on a mission and that mission seems to be me.

            Do I scream again? Do I run? I haven’t run since I was in high school playing on the tennis team. And even then, I loathed running. It gave me such a side ache. Today, 45 years later, I doubt I could run at all.

            Though I would if I had to.

            The Shepard doesn’t give me a second glance, but turns up the street toward the black dog. They greet each other. In doggie conference? Planning their mutual collaboration of snagging the little old lady on her morning walk?

            But no, they decide against this, I guess. Together they trot up the street away from me.

            I breathe. Slowing my step now, but still shaking. A man with a Pitbull is walking toward me. The Pit is on a leash at least. “There’s a pair of stray dogs up 29^th,” I warn him. “Be careful with your pup.”

            The man stares at me, baffled, then comprehends. “Oh, thank you. Yes, I will,” before walking on.

            As I turn down 30^th street, heading home, I think how fraught pandemic walking is. How much dog drama have I encountered in my neighborhood walks the last 10 months?

            A lot!

            Like I’ve said before, it’s exhausting to always be on guard during a seemingly banal activity like walking. Whether it’s a mad dog, a creepy man, or an unmasked kid, the walks are hazardous to my physical and mental health.

            But what can I do? I can’t stop walking. It’s all I have right now in the way of a physical outlet. My swimming options are limited to the Dive Tank once a week because of too many swimmers and not enough lanes available.

            So, I will walk. And I will try to be more aware.

            But this morning. That dog literally came out of nowhere!

            Did he drop out of the sky? Had he crawled under the fence? Did he have anyone who cared for him?

            Or, is he just wandering the streets of Richmond, looking for some companionship?

            Who knows?

            At least he has a buddy. They can go terrorize some other walker. But from now on, I will avoid this corner. Turning up Roosevelt, I begin to calm down. A couple of crows caw caw at a piece of trash on the road before one of them grabs it in its beak and flies away.

          

  And, I watch them soar into the blue sky, their black wings flapping in strong even strokes, I continue my march down the street. The sun on my back, the breeze soft in the trees, the neighborhood quiet and orderly.

            Till the next dog appears....