Fun

 “Are we having fun yet?”

The question floats across the neighborhood as I walk down Downer Street. “Nothing like a drought to start all the fun, right?”

Did I hear this second question right? A drought starts fun? How could that be? A drought may be a lot of things: worrisome, dangerous, scary, but fun?

            I don’t think so.

            As I approach the spot where the questions came from, I see a group gathered in front of a house where landscaping is being done. Earlier in the month, I’d noticed one of those mini bulldozers digging up the dead lawn. Now, as I draw near, I see that the lawn is gone and in its place is a pretty little drought-resistant landscaping.

            This must be what the fun is all about.

            Of course, I stop and talk to the group, hollering at the one man, who must be the DroughtScaper. “Hey! I need to do that to my dead lawn!”

            One of the women laughs, “Us too! We all want to get rid of our dead lawns.”

            As I pause, I take in the group gathered around the landscaper’s truck. He’s leaning on it, tall, dark and handsome. I’ll hire him, I think to myself. Then 3 women of various heights, ages and sizes circle around him.

            “Do you have a card?” I ask Handsome Landscaper. He nods and disappears for a moment into his truck.

            “I see you walking around here all the time,” one of the women comments to me. She’s very tall and slender with Mary Tyler Moore slacks and a brown bob haircut. “Do you live around here?”

            “Yeah, I just live over on 32^nd. I’m Carol,” I offer.

            Tall Woman introduces her neighbors, rattling off their names in a too-fast-for me-to-remember list.

            One of the women, with a tangle of grey and black hair, holds a little dog.

    

        “And who is this?” I ask.

            “OH! This is Mr. Doodles.”

            “Hello, Mr. Doodles.” In vain, the dog wriggles to get out of her arms.

            “And that over there is my son Leo,” Tall Woman nods. The kid is climbing around in the back of the landscaper’s truck. He grins at me for 1 second, before turning around and proceeding to play some sort of topple from the truck game.

            Handsome Man comes back with his card and a brochure, hands them to me and one of the other women. He doesn’t engage in the chit-chat. He has work to do.

            “Lots of business for you!” Mr. Doodle’s person observes. And, I realize now that she’s the one who made the drought fun quip.

            Without the drought and the subsequent landscaping, this little gathering wouldn’t have happened. Or not in quite this way. At this time. With these women.

            A tortie cat saunters past.

            “Who’s that?” I exclaim, wanting to go pet the cat instead of talking. But she’s off and slinking under the truck now.

            “Oh, that’s Pebbles. She’s Maya’s cat.” Mr. Doodle’s person says, the authority on the pet element of the gathering.

            As I stuff Handsome Landscaper’s card into my pocket, I smile and wave goodbye. “Nice to meet you all.”

            “Bye-bye!” They call out before going back to their neighborhood gossip.

            I walk on, thinking about the exchange with this group. Glance down at the Landscaper’s card. “Paul Siminali.”

            Okay, I’ll call Paul.

            Who knows, maybe the drought could start some fun. With the right ingredients, that is.  

 

Luna

Luna approaches me as I walk up McBryde, her lanky saunter and pink panting tongue now a familiar encounter on my morning walks. Her person, a modestly friendly young man in shorts and t-shirt, always stops and lets me pet her. Today was no different.

            “Hi Luna!” I call out. “How are you today?”

            She is tentative at first, then recognizes me. Heads over to sniff my outstretched hand and then does the big doggy leg lean-in. Immediately, my black velour pants are all aflutter with white dog hair.

            She turns to look at me with her two-colored eyes, one blue, one brown, as is common with Huskies. Her lean-in is solid. She wants me to hold her up. I’m delighted to oblige.

            “She’s a hot dog today,” I note.

            “Yeah, a little,” her owner acknowledges. Of course, I don’t know his name, just the dog’s.

            “It’s supposed to rain this weekend,” I offer.

            “Oh, that’s bad!” he exclaims.

            Baffled, I eye him more closely. How could rain be bad in this severe drought that we’ve been in for the last three years? Why only this morning, I’d read a horrifying article in the SF Chron about how the rice fields of the Sacramento Valley are only at half capacity because of the drought. The photo of the brown cracked river bed where the rice used to flourish almost made me cry.

            I had to turn the page.

            So, when this young man says that the rain is bad, where has he been?

            I think he sees my look of confusion and so he backtracks a little. After all, you would have to be in either heavy-duty denial or an idiot to not know the drought is killing California.

            “I guess the rain is good,” he says now. “But for me, I have to walk her. In the rain, this is difficult.”

            And I think, maybe this is most people’s reaction to the rain. If it inconveniences them, then they don’t like it. Never mind that we can’t live without water!

            “Doesn’t Luna like the rain?” I ask.

            He shrugs. “She don’t care. Once, I think it was last year, it rained a lot and we got caught in it. It was a mess.”

            I nod, wondering what kind of mess it could have been. Muddy dog mess? Sure, I know that dogs do like the mud and water. Then they come home and shake it all over the house. It is a mess.

            But what a wonderful mess at this point in the drought. Yet, it’s not like one afternoon of rain this weekend will end the drought. It’s here to stay and will only get worse. I have constant anxiety over it and there’s nothing I can do about it. Eco Anxiety. Eco Grief. It’s a thing.

            “Well,” I offer, “I know you have to walk the dog come rain or shine.”

            “Yeah, but if I had a smaller dog, it wouldn’t be such an issue. But I had to get a Husky.”

            Luna continues to lean into me; she’s in no hurry to leave. But I can tell that her owner has had enough.

            “You two have a good rest of your walk,” I say, starting down the street.

            “Yes, you too, Ma’am,” he says, his standard goodbye to me every morning.

            As I walk down McBryde, I notice the Monarch Butterflies flitting about, the crows cawing atop the telephone wires and the cars whizzing by. Our life is so vibrant and active! How can this world be drying up before our eyes?

            I can’t think about it anymore as I turn the corner at 30^th street and head down the sidewalk, the too bright sun bearing down on me. I really hope for the rain this weekend.

            And that Luna gets soaked! And makes a BIG mess!

Lemonade

I spy a man up ahead, shirt off in the heat, shoveling the yard. Who the hell is working in this heat? Granted, it’s not that hot yet; after all, I’m out here walking. But to be working in the Heat Dome sun? Seems a bit insane to me.

            As I draw closer, I see that it’s a young man in a tan shirt, not shirtless. He’s working up a sweat, his dark hair dripping as he steps on the shovel. I say good morning and then can’t help but comment:

            “You’ve got a hot job this morning!” He’s in the process of replacing the dead grass with bark, digging up the dirt first, then laying down the cardboard, then spreading the bark on top of this surface.

            “Yeah,” he stops, grins at me, tired but friendly. “We took yesterday off so gonna see what we can get done this morning.”

            “I need to do that to my dead lawn,” I note, thinking how I’ve been meaning to do this major landscape transformation for years.

            “Yeah, we’ve been on Craigslist, asking for cardboard donations.” He shakes his head, laughing softly. “It’s a job alright.”

            “Yeah, I’d need to get someone to do it for me. You need a lot of strength to do it yourself.” I note his young, fit body, the strength still there. Where did all my strength go?

            I think it’s in my brain now.

            A young woman approaches from the sideyard, “Hi,” she calls out cheerfully.

            “Hey,” I say. “Did you guys just move in?” I’d noticed the peach house on the corner here of Esmond and 32^nd for sale this summer.

            “Yes, in August,” she says. “Where do you live?”

            “Just down the street a few blocks here on 32^nd.”

            “Cool,” she says, pushing a heated strand of brown hair out of her eyes. She’s dressed in very short cutoffs, her pale legs screaming to get out, her tank top barely holding in her ample bosom.

            I can see where her strength lies.

            “Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” I proclaim as I watch Liv approaching from across the street, her big floppy hat adorned with huge yellow plastic flowers held in place by a sky-blue ribbon.

            “Well, hello!” she calls out. “I brought you some lemonade!” She hands the clear plastic container filled with the cooling beverage to the young man.

            “WOW!” he says. “Thank you!”

            “You’re very welcome,” she says. And, I think, did she see me out here talking to her new neighbors and decide to make this overture? Or does she do this for all the neighbors working in their yards?

            “Have you met your new neighbors?” I ask her.

            “No, I have not. I’m Liv.”

            “Todd,” he says. “Milly,” she says. “Carol,” I say.

            “Wow,” Todd repeats. “This really hits the spot.”

            “It’s not that cold,” Liv responds. “And I didn’t add any sweetener.”

            “It tastes great!” he gushes, taking a large gulp and then handing it over to Milly.

            I think how I’d like a gulp, too. I’m so hot! Why I’m out here in the heat is beyond me. Though, frankly, it’s early still. Not that hot. Unless you’re trying to replace your lawn with cardboard and bark! Honestly, I don’t get why these young people are out here. New young homeowners. They’re a different breed. Full of hope and energy. The house will be theirs as soon as they make all the improvements. The bark for the front lawn. A new paint job perhaps? I mean, who would want to live in a peach-colored house? Then planting. A strawberry tree. Some drought-resistant flora and fauna.

            And then the dog. The baby. The jobs.

            It’s a young life.

            It gives me hope and makes me happy despite the blazing Heat Dome that has descended upon the Bay Area. Evidently, there has been nothing like this heat before. The Dome is dangerous and long-lived. Heat warnings abound. Our usual hike for the Monday holiday, Labor Day, in Wildcat Canyon is on hold. All the East Bay parks are closed because of the heat. I don’t remember this happening before.

            It’s our new normal---Climate Crisis. I shudder inwardly. What can I do?

            I turn to go, “Well, nice meeting you both,” I say, “I better keep walking before it gets too hot! See you at the pool, Liv! Liv and I swim together at the Plunge and Kennedy High.” Why I tell the young couple this I have no idea. I sure don’t want them coming to the pool. It’s crowded enough.

            Todd waves bye and takes another shovel stab at the hot dirt.

            Liv and Milly continue chatting. “Nice hat, Liv!” I call out.

            “Why thank you!”  she beams.

            I start up the block humming Chopin as a couple of crows caw at me from the telephone wires above. The sun bears down on me; I feel the heat that is to come. As I turn the corner onto McBryde, I think how there must be a story in this encounter.

            I’ll have to think about that. After I get home and make some lemonade, take a cooling shower, and try to stay cool…..

           

           

           

            

Positivity Forever

“Let me ask you a question if I might?”

I’m trapped. I’d seen them earlier on my morning walk around the neighborhood. Down on 28^th street, between Roosevelt and Barrett. Their slow methodical walking. The tan suits and somber dresses. In no hurry at all. Stopping on the sidewalk to gather and chat. Methodically making their way to each front door, where with a knock, they’d corner the hapless occupant with the Scripture.

            Jehovah's Witnesses.

            Now, since I’d left my door open, with only the screen between me and the elderly gentleman, a little hunch of a man, black mask, open bible, tan suit, stands on my doorstep. A handsome middle-aged man stands behind him, grinning openly at me.

            Praise the lord for him!

            “Sure,” I respond. For some reason, today, I don’t slam the door in their faces. Why? I don’t know. First off, I knew they were canvassing the neighborhood, so it was no surprise to have them appear on my doorstep. I’d essentially invited them. But more than that, I was in a good mood.

            Sometimes that happens. I get enough sleep the night before. I don’t have to work. I get in a good walk with lots of cat pets. An entire day looms before me, free and clear and beautiful.

            Now, I’m welcoming his question because, why the hell not?

            “Do you think that it is possible to have positive thoughts for the rest of your life?”

            “Yes!” I proclaim. It’s such a ridiculous question, what else could I say?

            He pauses, for a moment flummoxed. “You are the first person this morning to say yes.”

            “Well,” I say, “I’m on vacation.” As soon as I say this, I think to myself, oh no, now I can’t get away from them claiming to be hard at work. He ignores the vacation reason, but Handsome Man behind him chuckles.

            “Would you be interested in lessons from the Scripture?”
            “Oh, no, I have enough to study right now,” I say, the phrase on Duolingo that I’d been practicing when they knocked on the door still running through my head: “Los servicios estan detrás de esa puerta.”

            I refrain from repeating this to the Jehovah's Witness. I don’t need them coming in and using the bathroom.

            “I see,” he pauses for only a moment. There’s an answer to this response. “Well, then let me make a request of you to go on our website, JW.org”

            “Oh, sure,” I gush, “I’ll be sure to do that.”

            “Thank you,” he says, now opening the Bible. “Let me leave you with a verse from the Scripture, if I may, Psalms 23, ‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord, forever.’”

            I almost say, “Amen,” but stop myself in time. I really don’t want a Bible lesson right now. But there is something so earnest about him, that I can’t dismiss him. Or make fun of him.  He really believes what he’s reading. You can tell. And, frankly, there is something to be said for this. A belief in your life’s purpose, whatever that may be. Spreading the word of the lord or teaching veterans how to write essays.

            Handsome Man lights up, “Well, you have a good weekend here in Richmond where we’re enjoying the nice cool weather. I live right down the street and I feel lucky to be in Richmond.” Evidently there’s supposed to be some massive heat wave descending upon the Bay Area this weekend, but so far, Richmond has been spared. I’m sure it’s the Lord’s doing.

            “Yes, I will, though I hear the Heat Dome is coming!”

            Handsome Man nods. Earnest man has turned and is descending the stairs, but before he leaves, reminds me again to check the website.

            I assure him I will. Does he know that I’m lying?

            I think lying can contribute to positivity if used in the correct doses. Today, the lie seems appropriate. Who will ever know? Who will it hurt?

            No one.

            I watch them move slowly down my front path, Handsome Man back on the sidewalk first. Earnest Man clutching his Bible, shuffling now beside him.

            I head back into the bedroom and pick up the phone. Duolingo has been waiting:

“Ellos estudian para ser mechanicos.” I repeat the sentence slowly, happy to know that I can say how they are studying to be mechanics and thinking how chatting with the Jehovah's Witnesses will make a good story.

            Positively! Perfecto! Bueno!