The title had something to do with aging. She, the author, encapsulated her thesis as: adaptation. Her focus was on the physical aspects: grab-bars in the bath, using a cane, a
walker.
I started using a stick a couple of years ago. But even still, I've found myself, several times, after gravity suddenly having its way with me, on the ground. Fortunately, so far, nothing but a few scratches and tears in the pants.
The phalanx below encapsulates the current State of Affairs. I keep hearing the woman's comment from the other day when -- seated next to each other -- her husband came forth from the blood-draw lab and tottered down the hall. Watching after his receding figure she commented, "Old age ain't for sissies." "I'm in trouble." I rejoined.
The interesting part is the empathy that's emerged. I've always had a soft spot for underdogs, but since the heart attack it now includes humans.
Trundling across the parking lot toward the library door, I recognized the woman I'd met several weeks earlier in the portico of a nearby church. I stopped to say hello and asked about the book in her lap. It was
Michelle Obama's autobiography, Becoming, which she said was, "Really good." She added that there were several copies available; with her opinion as motivation, I determined to get one.
Entering the sanctum, a worker with squirt-bottle of antiseptic, mask tightly in place and obviously on a mission, let me button-hole her. I explained about Winona's recommendation and without ado she took me straight to it.
After plucking the HOLD I'd come for:
What Light Can Do: essays on art, imagination and the natural world by Robert Hass, I exited and re-engaged with Winona. She was having dinner and told how several of the libraries have tower-like columns at their fronts. The architectural alliteration had caught her interest and she'd looked up the makers. She then told how four artists had been by earlier to check on the mural that spanned the face of the building. They were making sure that now, after fifteen years or so, it was holding up. Meeting them had been a high point of her day.
A couple of days ago I received a present:
The Collected Writings of Robert Motherwell edited by Stephanie Terenzio. These three diverse and very different
reads are providing solace in the early morning hours. Although the Smirket Room is cozy and Ms. Cook is nearby, I miss sitting in
Phoebe, listening to the birds with coffee and waiting for it to warm up enough to attend to "morning bidness."
A Smirket is a black cat.
This, the Smirket Room, is where Dana & Fox, Susan's two Smirkets, spent much of their time after Susan, Michelle's mom, died in 2015.
Dana & Fox have since also gone on and I now have it to myself.
(The painting on the paneled wall is an acrylic by
Michelle called Bigger & Better. A parody of cultural influence, the miniature poodle appears to be enjoying its blow-dry from a woman with big hair, big breasts and big everything else. The fellow in the background looks a tad unsure as he checks to see if he "measures up." Another dog, also a poodle, Michelle's metaphorical icon, looks on with trepidation.)
Winona's been on the street for several years. She has several paper sacks that contain a variety of foods and a couple of other bags with clothes and other items. She dresses casually, in jeans and a t-shirt, though I noticed her undershirt, as it was the time before, was purple. As she looks over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses, her eyes have that incisive look reminiscent of your third-grade teacher in the first weeks of school.
We chatted a bit about our previous encounter. Michelle had joined us on the portico where we'd lounged on the concrete discussing the collective unconscious and -- an interest of Winona's -- the importance of a healthful diet. When we got up to leave I gave her ten dollars. This time, in anticipation of a meeting around fungi, I happened to be carrying a wad of twenties and it was easy enough to part with one. She accepted it gratefully and as I turned to make the trundle to the car, we smiled at each other...sharing the pleasure of giving and receiving; giving away money has been a life-long source of pleasure.
Maybe some day I'll get the chance to tell her she's my model of adaptation; her attitude is amazing!
