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They almost made me cry, these two young men. We were their last stop for the day to pick up junk. I knew from an earlier phone call that they had already had a very full day. But as one of them went through the company schpeil, he added, “And if there’s anything else you need our help with just let us know.”

I looked up at him, “Are you sure?”

“Uhm, yes, that’s why we’re here. To help.”

I nodded. “Okay, next to my husband’s side of the bed, there’s a pole he uses to help with transfers that relies on tension between the floor and ceiling. It became loose and fell. When you’re done can you two put it back up?”

Without skipping a bit, they nodded.

And that’s what they did.

As I led them up the stairs, I said, “You know, the older I get the more I am willing to accept help when the offer is made. And sometimes I don’t even wait for the offer before requesting it.”

They laughed.

After acknowledging their presence, Steve napped in the bed as they worked. One of them nodded sagely. “I used to work in elder care, ” he said. “This is just fine.”

The two of them went to work using language that is not part of my repertoire about tension and how to insert screwdrivers at the base and turn to tighten . . . and after noticing the apparent look on my face one of the fellows looked around and saw Steve’s in-door woodworking area.

He said, “Uhm, if it’s okay for me to go in there and find a screwdriver I can do it for you.” I went in and picked up a screwdriver. “Will this work?”

He nodded.

Yes, I gave them a tip and good review but mostly what they left me with was a lighter spirit. A genuine offer made and genuine follow through.

And as they left, I heard those usual soft words and so I shouted to the men as they made their way down the stairs, “Steve says thank you!”

And they replied, “You’re welcome, Steve!”

a bit of blue and green

It was so warm today as I walked about it almost felt like autumn. But I know there’s plenty of winter remaining!

9 years ago …

Hard to believe it was nine years ago that Mr. Langosy allowed me to share the story of his art. What a remarkable man and such a pleasure to have known him and his family. Donald Langosy passed away this week and what a legacy he leaves behind. An active artist until the end, his last exhibit, The Journey of Eduardo Gunkla, is currently on display at the Multicultural Arts Center in Cambridge, MA, until January 9th. A virtual gallery is also accessible online. https://multiculturalartscenter.org/eduardo-gunkla/

small things

I love when the sunlight falls upon the leaves of this cyclamen. It makes me pause in my day and it is important sometimes to simply pause.

hard at work

I purchased not a ton, but a lot, of greenery. One bundle was composed of six branches. I collected six pinecones and gave the mass to Steve along with a birch branch, inviting him to create an indoor decoration. If there’s one thing, in many different ways, Steve teaches me, it is patience … and that sometimes less is more. He sorted through everything and selected just three branches with the same type of needles and just one pinecone. “For the center,” he said.

I think it turned out well. 🙂

still hanging on

I think I bought the bouquet of strawflowers maybe 2 or even 3 summers ago in the Copley Square Farmers Market. So darned expensive but the vendor knew he’d caught me. I wish I had the patience to grow them myself. Maybe one day … 🙂

just words

A new restaurant has opened not far from where I work. I paused in my journey this morning to peer at the menu from afar. Words rang out. “Hey, Nigger. This is where people walk.” Startled I turned toward the voice to see a young white man striding past. Now I’d seen him earlier in the morning. He was clearly strung out on something so there was no need to say anything in return. But as I returned to work I was startled that the words of a junkie, someone clearly in need of some help of some sort, could touch me so. Probably doesn’t help that I am currently immersed in historical research about the profiling and imprisonment of free Black seaman in the antebellum south.

Nor does it help that as Steve and I continue to make our way in this world that people continually, immediately, assume that I am either the paid home health aid or the overnight caregiver. And so then the onus is on me to calmly explain that I am his wife. The onus. I know of a lovely older Black woman in an interracial relationship and she shared that in the retirement community where they reside she always carries her resident card to prove she belongs there and is not “just” a visiting care giver.

We live in a time of unprecedented whitewashing where people in power are trying to normalize outright racism and bigotry and even more so foment deep and abiding ignorance about this nation’s past let alone its present. People are not questioning their assumptions. Race does matter regardless of what a super rich and powerful white minority are trying to assert.

Just some Sunday musings … best get back to my research so that that forgotten story can be shared soon.

Here’s a challenge. In this age of quick reads, read this whole poem, Let America Be America Again, by Langston Hughes. Indeed try reading passages out loud. Written about 90 years ago, it could have been written today. And therein lies the sadness and yet the hope. Read on …

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147907/let-america-be-america-again

feels like feathers

Just as we were entering what I like to call “the woodwright shop,” the room where we sat up a mini-woodworking area so Steve can do small projects upstairs instead of in the basement, I noticed the fall of sunlight across the room. “Wow, look at the ferns!” I kind of thought I was talking to myself but to my surprise Steve started rolling that way. I didn’t expect him to reach for the sunlit fern fronds with his left hand but he did. When I asked him what they felt like, he said, “Feels like feathers.”

They are Rabbit’s Foot Ferns. And somehow I’ve amassed a tiny collection. I think it happened during the pandemic when I just wanted some inexpensive greenery in the house to clean the air, add some humidity, etc. And they sure are forgiving when I forget to water. Their furry rhizomes spill out over the pots and from them new leaves emerge.

There’s some serious repotting that needs to be done as soon as I find the right planters. Hmmm. Perhaps I’ve identified Steve’s next small works woodworking project, some nice wooden planters. We’ll see. 🙂