whose streets these are, i think i know. the officials work in the village though. they will not mind me stopping here to watch the sidewalks overflow. :) my tribute to robert frost.
i started the morning out pondering politics. the 99%. people who receive unemployment, welfare, funding for college, wic cheese....people who take advantage of the system. people who use the system as it was intended. corporate greed. democrats versus republicans. corrupt banks, corrupt companies, corrupt politicians, corrupt church leaders. i thought so deeply i gave myself a headache. i decided to walk into the village.
i went to the post office and mailed a kindness cross and some postcards and letters. i love the post office. it is accessible and i feel 'normal' when i buy my stamps. i walked to my brother skip's apartment and delivered his inhaler and his advair. he showed me his new tv. he loves that tv. i considered reminding him that he owed me $6.40 for his meds but i decided to ignore it. i told him i was still working to get him that walker and, after some pleasantries, i left.
it began raining so i put on my dad's rain gear i had stowed in my walker. after a very hot dry texas summer, this rain felt luxurious to me. but i seemed to be the only one grateful for the raindrops. the devastating floods of irene are too recent for the locals...they eyed the falling rain nervously. post traumatic stress. i tried to hide my exuberance. i felt guilty.
i walked to the rite aid. their automatic door wasn't working so a woman held the door for me. she looked vaguely familiar. i was still thinking about accessibility, about fema and the flood damage, and about the 99% protest as i shopped so i finished quickly. the cashier was friendly and courteous and i reminded myself i should send a note to rite aid thanking them for a great employee. when i got to that broken automated door, i realised i didn't remember his name. the woman was still hovering by the door, beneath the canopy as the rain fell heavily. i looked at her closely....so familiar. 'you wouldn't have any spare change, would you?' she asked, i apologized and shook my head 'no.' i walked away but then i remembered...lydia. i had grown up with her in saxtons river. i had heard the stories about her addiction problems. her face was weathered and wrinkled and reminded me of those black and white photos of the dust bowl victims of the 1930's. dorothea lange photographs.
i considered going back and giving her a dollar but i didn't. i felt uncomfortable but i walked away in the rain and i made my way through the friday bustle in the village square, up the street, past the library with the perfect maple tree and, eventually, home. and i can't help but mull over this life of mine...how i can argue about wheelchair accessability and write letters and make phone calls and give away kindness crosses...and not give a dollar to lydia.
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