...everything is now a symbol, an ideogram... All of Nature is with them... ...they are hearing tongues in trees...sermons in stones and...twisted metal... Growth statistics, offered everywhere, on bicycle ownership... ...a...meaning...mythic, as though the city were an allegorical character. ...telling its people that it is ready to...harrow hell, to rise again... - M. McCarthy in Reporting Vietnam, 1998
...a...grant from the Denver Regional Council of Governments. ...will complete...Complete Streets, which...was developed through a corridor, "walk and roll" and a project stakeholder advisory committee. "The project will calm down traffic...and make it easier for people...travelling by foot, bicycle, wheelchair, car or bus." - Englewood City Magazine & Recreation Guide, Winter 2022/23
...the Colorado Legislature has approved...revitalization grants...to involve a creative or historic space [with] a high level of community engagement and respond to community needs...to stimulate the local economy and attract other funding...to be completed in a reasonable amount of time and meet energy efficiency standards. - Westword, 11/10-16/2022
"We don't have cars. We don't have transportation. This is our only outing. This is the highlight of my life, coming here every Monday." The...Afghan refugee... women come to Ekar Farm, an urban farm next to Denver Academy of Torah... ...the pandemic forced Ekar Farm [to] shift toward...outreach...with...an anti-hunger organization. "...a simple opportunity to grow food carries a lot of dimensions. The program allows the women to be around other people from their home country." The program runs from May through October... The women cultivate a small section of land and use the produce... Colorado has welcomed around 2,500 refugees since July of 2022. - Washington Park Profile, 11/2022
Tuesday is already November. Some loose ends from Halloween: Mondays we close at 6 PM. As soon as I'm across the busy boulevard in front of my place of employment, I'm in a residential neighborhood. I'm navigating trick or treaters running across the street. I cross the busy road, out of this community and immediately into an old money neighborhood, and even more trick or treaters. The sun is already down. The time goes back this Sunday. ...and it's next to pitch fucking black out here. Fortunately, I can see pretty damned well in the dark. Not that I don't have any lights on my bike. But no one else appears to have any. I pass a couple of moms out in the street. Their kids are at the door of one small mansion. Handing out candy is a middle-aged dad in a buttoned-down shirt (and sleeveless sweater?) I hear him tell the kids to only take one peace each. Inflation? He wouldn't want to lose that beautiful home. I roll past one home with what appears to be a kind of chute. It runs from a corner window on the second floor down to the walk to the front door. It's lined with orange lights. Is this the candy delivery system left over from Covid? Just past this home is a golf cart with a string of red lights. I turn down a cul de sac and hook up with a path to a bend in the street. I'm down and around a couple of more curves before I reach the trailhead. There are even a few trick or treaters out on the trail. I turn off the trail onto a sidewalk which takes me to the Black Eyed Pea for dinner. Except that they closed early for Halloween. This is a part of town where they appreciate activities for kids. Next door is Qdoba. Not as long a line as Chipotle, but not as good. It will do in a pinch, or on Halloween. I'm done and out in no time, past more trick or treaters between here and another trailhead. Just before I get there, an old pickup truck turns uphill and hits the gas past the kids as I'm coming downhill. Again, more parents and kids appear to be headed onto the trail. In perhaps an hour, I'm off the trail and climbing a steep hill in my own extended neighborhood. At the crest, a woman sticks her head out of her storm door and asks me if I want any candy. (?) I decline. Around a couple of corners and I'm climbing another incline. Yet again more kids out on the sidewalks. Up ahead, a line of three motorbikes and a couple of ATVs rumble their way through an intersection. Last week's mayhem prevented me from getting to the gym. This morning, I get an early start instead of a late one, and get my workout done. Not long after I get to work, a customer comes in to tell me that he's seen me out on the trail. (In that case, I had better take it easy with the naked riding.) He asks me if I have an electric bike. He's the second random person to ask me this.
Also from last week, or the week before. I'm again on my way home in the dark, cresting the steep hill right off the trail. This time at the top, there's an abandoned pickup truck with the hood up. Parked at each and of the truck is a police cruiser with lights flashing. I pass the trio of vehicles and am rolling past a home. A car has just pulled up to a home and the driver exits. She says, "What's up?" to another woman exiting the screen door of the home. She replies, "There's stuff goin' on out here." On Wednesday, I'm on the way to work. This week, I'm back on my regular schedule, riding to work in the sunshine. The point where I change trails is not a traffic circle, of which there is one a short distance before this point. This is simply the same cement of the trail in a shape of a larger circle. So, as I'm preparing to make a left onto the connecting trail, this is the moment when a young woman behind me says, "On your left." If I had been sent the memo, I would know exactly which secret signal to give, to alert anyone behind me that I'm making a left. Instead, I make only a slight move to the left. I hear, "Whoa, whoa. Go right." On Friday. I'm at work when I watch a little homeless guy slowly walk past the store. He then turns around and comes back the other way. Under his left arm are a pile of shirts and a coat, all with store tags on them. Saturday I do grocery shopping at a supermarket on the way home, after a quick dinner at Chilis. When I get home, I make sure I get the laundry done. Because, Sunday I am seeing my 4th (?) movie over 4 Sundays. I haven't seen any since perhaps last year, and now I'm seeing them again with a vengeance. All at the same theater. Most are showing the first half of this month at a film festival spread out at other theaters, all during the week, and for which you need tickets in advance. And I'm seeing them on my only day off, and purchasing tickets at the box office. But before I'm off to the movies, I still need some items from my usual supermarket. So I jump on a bus. I board the same bus back home with a middle-aged guy who gets on without paying any fare. He talks to himself the entire way to my stop, something about recognizing "evil." I drop groceries at home and head out to the sister's our usual lunch. Then I elect to take the train toward downtown, to grab my usual dinner of a single slice of pizza, this time to go. I board the train with a trio of twentysomethings. They are playing some kind of game where they get out at each stop to board another car. They get out at my stop and appear giddy about boarding another train I wonder if they're high? One is a female and the other two are gay guys. One guy is in what appears to be a fake denim sport coat. The other two appear to be following him. At the station where we all disembark, he jumps up onto and over a bench. He spins around and points at it before spinning back forward. I ride to the pizza place before I take a downtown bike trail out to the boulevard with my theater. I'm coming up out of an underpass on a popular trail in a well to do neighborhood where I used to live. I slow way down to accommodate the gear assembly on this old bike. Some guy behind me instead wants to come charging up the hill, on his ten speed and in his jersey over his long-sleeved shirt and shorts over his leotards. He's surprised by me and ends up off on the grass.
Jayden, John, Evelyn, June, Jay, Joe, and Ed
I don't recall how long it's been. The homeless camp beneath the pair of underpasses, along the connecting trail to work, has been as empty as I can remember it. Ever since I called in to the police, what effectively was a sweep. The following Tuesday of a new week, I stay late at work after close. This is the first time I can remember staying as long as 4 1/2 hours past close. It's a new record. The following evening, I get out on time. I decide to get dinner at the Black Eyed Pea on the way home. I'm seated behind a mom and grandma. They are in a long conversation about the mom's family. It's striking to me how much of this familiar arc of the mom's life is completely different from my own. I listen to a seeming never ending stream of children's names. It sounds as if she's divorced, and she's dating someone else. I get a look at her when I'm leaving. She's tall, perhaps in her 40s. Her daughter Jeanie is in college, playing volleyball. Mom: "She calls her mom every day. Lot of drama. Players, coaches. She strives to be the best student and then cracks." Grandma: "These kids don't want to go to college anymore. Ten percent of graduating" (high school) "classes won't go to college. Then they" (the authors of an article she read) "were sharing how much money" (college) "grads make." M: "There are tons of sororities. They're all Texas girls. She was upset she didn't get in. She was in" (one) "with a bunch of out of state girls. John says she was losing weight. Where is the direction?" G: "It's a shame Evelyn wouldn't be able to talk to you. I bet June would like that. I started to remember about that article. They're saying, 'Go on with school.'" M: "She's just going to have a difficult college experience." G: "She has a boyfriend now." M: "I hope he's around. I just want her to be happy." G: "Happiness is everything. Look at your kids. They're all happy." M: "So far so good. Jay is maturing. I'm so glad he's here after 2 years of Covid, instead of Alabama. He'd love to go to Georgia. He's in a college town. He met Jayden Schnelling. These frat houses in the South are a big deal. He's 21. They had a bunch of their girlfriends there who go to Austin. This is the time to have fun." G: "That goes until 27 or 28, start thinkin' about what you're gonna do. Did Joe go back?" M: "He's helping with the house stuff. He's just growing up. Jayden is just 21." G: "You had a good" (job.) "We're you out of school?" M: "I loved that I worked there. I learned how to type. I'd love Joe to get in there.. Even though he's not a finance major. He's a writer. I talked to Ed today. His house sold. He has the boys for Thanksgiving. I travel a lot. Chicago, Newport Beach. My kids are going to come home now. I told him, 'Let's just get through the holidays.'"
[One] veteran...started a program called The Art of War with the Denver Vets Center... "We're not an art therapy program, we're the next step." If a veteran's work is not quite ready to be shown in the post's gallery, the VFW will set the vet up with a mentor to help. The post...hosts First Friday events, yoga classes, post-traumatic stress disorder therapy... "People don't want to come to a bar; that's just not the demographics of this generation's veterans." The post no longer has an official bar...it's a saloon... "Art causes a lot of introspection; there's a feeling involved that works, and it's been proven to work... "...if it hadn't been for the veterans Arts Council, they...or their spouse would have committed suicide." "...my job is to bring everybody back into the community." - Westword, 11/10-16/2022
Just the amount of work you have to have to survive just to pay rent, especially in a creative field. - outfront magazine, 11/2022
The grunt is no gentleman. His average age in 19, and he left high school without finishing. His skills are with the M-16...the M-60...the M-79 grenade launcher, hand grenades and bayonets. He brags and swears and swaggers. He runs into battle...screaming or cursing, as if he does not believe he can be killed. He is killed and wrapped in a green paper blanket and put off to one side... And the...youngster - from the high-school basketball team, the sharecropper's farm or the not-ready slums - has consistently volunteered... "He's just another dude without all those things to...make him bigger than he is...like a police department, big job or salary." - T. A. Johnson, "The Negro in Vietnam: 1968", Reporting Vietnam, 1998
Sunday. I'm not off to the movies today, for once this month. I do need a new shell, or windbreaker. It may have been this week when I was preparing to leave work...after staying an extra 4 1/2 hours past close. One of the last things i do is attempt to zip up the shell I bought earlier this year. When it gets to my neck, the zipper snags as it becomes caught in some fabric. I attempt to pull it apart and the zipper pull slides all the way off of the zipper. I use safety pins to keep it closed for the ride home, which begins a half hour past my bedtime. When I get home, the garment goes into the trash. The following morning, the safety pins go back to work. And today, I'm headed somewhere downtown for a new one. But first, it's back to the sister's, to help tidy up a sun room. Next weekend, we shall unpack a decade-old assortment of boxes, each with Christmas decorations. Some of which have been in storage. A little like Antiques Roadshow at home. At mid-afternoon, I'm off again to catch the train. This time, all the way downtown. From the sister's to the train, I go past a huge garbage processing facility. There have been a couple of recent mornings when I've been out on the trail before sunrise, just across the river from here where I turn onto a connecting trail. That early, the garbage truck drivers are all starting their engines at the same time, maybe 5 AM. Some of them tease each other by honking at one another. This afternoon, under autumn skies, I see a familiar pickup truck slowly pulling out of the parking lot of this place. It's towing an empty flatbed trailer. I've seen this truck a couple of times going past the sister's place. It has a neon cross in the bed next to the cab. The cross reads "Jesus saves." I'm soon at the train station. I jump on a train and am all the way to the stop for the pedestrian mall. For the first time in all the years I've been hauling my bike on and off a train, my back rim becomes wedged in the door when it opens. The door is fully open, but my bike is immobile. My gear assembly is wedged against a bar. I have no choice but to wait for the door to close. Someone is desperately making their way past me, at the end of the car where the bike entrance and exit is, instead of simple going to the door in the middle of the car which is always free of any bicycles. As the guy crawls his way around me, he says "I gotta get out I gotta get out." The next stop mercifully is only a couple of blocks away. I'm back at the pedestrian mall in no time. I hit up a downtown boutique and find a shell on sale. As it's on sale, it's a size smaller than mine but it barely fits. Hey, I ain't gonna turn it down. Then I'm off for the pizza place for dinner. Then the yogurt place next door. Then I head toward home again.
The Saturday before, a customer came into work to let me know about the woman next door, who did haircuts. He tells me she's been fired. Really? After perhaps a year of speaking so loud I could hear her through the wall? I wonder what she did after so long to get booted? He puts it this way, "Well, she's a pistol." He tells me she gave shaves with a straight razor, and she was the best. ...I did not know this. So, this was a barber shop with a specialty kind of service. It makes more sense to me now. And he tells me she was absolutely fantastic at those shaves. Later in the afternoon, I step out to throw away some trash. A guy is staring at the door to the barber shop, which is closed. I relay to him what my own customer told me. He also claims that her straight razor shaves were unmatched. I stay at work an hour and a half. As I'm leaving, the lights are on in the barber. A new lady is inside giving a haircut. I will see her on Tuesday, outside the shop on her phone. She's aware of the previous employee, and may know her. She wants to know when I will come and see her for a haircut. She's young and overconfident. She's in an Oakland A's knit cap. She doesn't convince me. Toward the end of my ride home from work on Monday, the very first flurries hit me in the face. The following morning, I wake up to snow on the ground. This month, the temperatures have finally plummeted with a vengeance. For some reason, I have no energy on Tuesday's ride to work. I was going to hit the gym first but just don't feel like it. I work too late again today to go after work. I finally make it Wednesday morning before work. When I walk into the rec center, a woman behind the desk tells me that I'm so bundled up, she's lucky she recognized my helmet. A guy next to her tells me that he saw me perhaps last month, on my way to work along a street I decided to give a try. It was an attempt to determine if the train station, past the one where I usually disembark on the way to work, is any closer. He tells me he saw me almost get hit my a car making a turn. I was in fact right where he said I was, but I have no recollection of any near miss. Besides, I wasn't supposed to be riding on the sidewalk anyway. Wednesday evening. I'm almost all the way home when the first tiny flurries begin to hit my face. The next morning I awake to snowfall. I decide for today and tomorrow to take the transit system to and from work. The heck with it. I can use the time this morning, of which I have extra as the last bus drops me off early, to drop off a check with my investment broker and to get some stamps. It's not that much snow at all which will fall over the course of the two days. I just decide, rather than dealing with riding along and probing where any ice may be underneath, I'm just going to let it melt. And by the end of the day Friday, it appears to have mostly done just that.
A Yogurt Saga
Friday morning, the sun has come out. I need more yogurt for work however. I've decamped from frozen yogurt to something more pure, at least during the week. Last Sunday, I purchased a 48 oz tub of the stuff, and still it didn't last. So I elect to take the transit system to and from work once again, let the rest of this snow melt. It's cold enough for my winter coat which is warmer than my usual one. I'm waiting for a bus to the supermarket, out on my corner, when a homeless guy comes walking up the sidewalk. He uses a standard homeless technique, asking the time or similar question before asking for change. He asks where the next main avenue is. It's in the low 20s F. out here. He has no coat, only a sleeping bag over his backpack and shoulders. Down the street, I soon have yogurt in tow, enough for the rest of the week. t's the better part of an hour until a bus comes to take me the same direction as I would otherwise ride my bike, headed to a connecting bus which shall drop me at the doorstep of work. It would otherwise be a tight connection, but the connecting bus is 10 minutes late, so I make it in time. The following morning, the streets and trail are remarkably clear. The sun has done its job. After work, I head up to another supermarket where I get the week's grocery shopping done. I find a second place which does pizza by the slice. This supermarket doesn't have the yogurt that the other does. The following morning, I take the same bus back down to my supermarket, both for what I forgot and couldn't carry last night. Again, I forget yogurt. Then I'm off to the sister's place, and after that to a movie. Not far from the theater is the same supermarket with the yogurt. I swing by before the movie, and the theater lets me keep it in their fridge. After the movie, I put on warmer gear which I carry, and head back home. To get my yogurt took two days.
Since 2018, [surrounding municipalities of Denver:] Littleton, Englewood and Sheridan have been collaborating on...homelessness together... [Not so] Greenwood Village, known for its economic drivers:...the Denver Tech Center and an outdoor concert venue... ...an affluent population and the nicest street signs in the metro area. [One homeless woman in Greenwood Village emailed the mayor of an adjacent municipality] "saying she was out of resources and very cold. ...incredibly exhausted from having been so miserable, and...just glad to sleep." [The homeless woman] was becoming an outspoken advocate in the media for the homeless... ...Greenwood Village is...unique for an ordinance...passed in 2014, limiting hotel and motel stays to...29 days. "I feel like it's an attack on somebody that doesn't make a lot of money," said [the homeless woman.] ...the city manager of Greenwood Village...offered "...I think we have absolutely prevented...a safety and public-health issue. ...a hotel...not conducive to long-term living..." ...SAFER (Solutions for Achieving Fast, Effective Response), a new nonprofit...provided short-term housing in [hotels] "with the goal of health...resource access...employment assistance...substance abuse concerns...or...justice system involvement." [The homeless woman left one Greenwood Village hotel after 29 days, but returned] through the SFAER program. Greenwood Village has an exception to its 29-day ordinance [for] families in crisis...for hotels or motels with a written contract with [an agency doing such work for homeless. This exception] is not meant for individuals [such as the woman.] "She was on the waiting list. ...to get an apartment. I think she was really just devastated." SAFER is now staying away from Greenwood Village. "Their goal is to get rid of" [services such as ours. As far as her applying for other programs, applications were too long for her,] "or the information...she couldn't provide, or she couldn't check all the boxes...didn't have a child...wasn't a drug user...things like that." [She] had to have her hip replaced. ...found out she'd have to have another hip replacement. "When we said goodbye, she gave me a really long hug and held on tight. I knew...something was going to happen." {The woman left a cousin a note.} "I'm growing old waiting for something. I didn't do anything to feel shame except work so hard I got myself hurt...for the rest of my life. ...here in the big city (too many people struggling and fighting for the same dollar)... Life is what you can scrape...or pound out of it and my scraper and my pounder are broken. No dignity there anyway. I'm lacking the tools to make my life what I want...or something I can live with. Just watching time pass from the same view of my vehicle..." [Then,] she shot herself... In August, the city served...a court order [to the hotel in Greenwood Village for] the names and dates of birth of all...who...stayed...using vouchers... ...how long these people stayed. ...any contracts...with [agencies doing work for homeless, and] emails [with] SAFER... - Westword, 11/17-23/2022
The ride on Monday is similar to being out and about on Sunday. It's less freezing during the day than it is after the sun goes down. Along the way to work, the closer it gets to noon (when I begin my shift), I end up first taking off my hoodie, then my new windbreaker, and eventually the balaclava. I leave work on time this evening at 6 PM. I need all that stuff back on. When I get home, I get a call from my coworker. I need to work her shift again. I wake up early enough Tuesday to leave with enough time to take a stab at hitting the breakfast place in the shopping center before work. I make a play for the train, but I've missed it by minutes. I decide not to backtrack to the trail, but to turn down the first street past the station and toward work. It's a familiar street. But I never knew it was a straight and complete line all the way almost directly to work. And at 5 AM, 2 days before Thanksgiving, traffic doesn't come near to slowing me down. I get to work faster than I ever have before on a bike. At the breakfast place is an elderly couple at a nearby table. The wife is doing all the talking to the waitress. "We don't use cream, thank you. We love coffee. Do you have sugar free syrup? Never say no to coffee." She reminds her husband that they must write their lists. He sits silently, looking her direction. The following day, at work, I end up staying an extra half hour. A customer tells me this afternoon that a long-time business at the far end of the shopping center also had its glass door smashed. I decide to take the bus home, it will be here shortly. A couple of municipal police cars are parked at the bakery next to where I work. The owner continues to load Thanksgiving deliveries into the van at 5:30PM. At the bus stop next to the shopping center are a couple of passengers. One is a big, tall guy with a bushy beard. He has a tinny high-pitched voice. He first asks the small woman the same question he asks me. "Do you know where this bus goes?" He sounds as if he's whining. I stick my thumbs out pointing north and say, "That-a way."
...an Army in evolution. ...ideas of dress, behavior, discipline and rank no longer apply. ...in return for...reluctant participation...all questions...are permissible. ...liberated, educated, aware... ...honesty, independence, resistance to authority. "Our business is killing, but my heart's not in it." "We had one guy...on grass all the time, and he won the Silver Star. He had it down..." He'd feel the breeze blowing away from the lifers [career soldiers, who may object] and he'd say, 'Hey, the wind's right. Let's get nice.'" ...the company's new first sergeant...announced his dislike of the [disregard for the colonel's] orders. The litter of abandoned ammunition at the firebase... ...he drew and levelled his pistol to enforce orders. [A soldier] ran off to get his M16 rifle. - J. Saaf, Life, 10/23/1970
The Balanced Veterans Network is a non-profit organization that aims to educate veterans...about...cannabis therapy. Founded by [an] Air Force veteran...in 2019 [it's a] nationwide organization...to...really find balance in life. ...other modalities. We have gotten...veterans their medical marijuana cards for free, and...reimbursed state fees... We have equipped veterans with...grow equipment... ...horticultural therapy... "Unconventional healing for conventional forces." ...we've got a lot of folks...afraid to register in [a federal] program [for fear of any disregard for] the Second Amendment... [The next president could send our efforts] backwards. [We want to] help veterans feel...comfortable...utilizing the plant. Balanced Veterans, we're a lifestyle brand... ...breath work has been a really important tool... We have...to connect...veterans to psychedelic-assisted therapy. - Westword, 11/21-30/2022
...the CIA army's wounded were getting virtually no care except that of traditional Meo witch doctors' ancient ritual of shrieks, gongs, charms and dances... - J. S. Woodruff, Baltimore Sun, 2/21/1971
The day after Thanksgiving sees reduced hours at work, and I'm working it. It's an hour longer than my regular shift. Thanksgiving Day seemed to go past so fast that it feels as if Wednesday was actually just yesterday. Bringing my own yogurt to work was a good move, as the bakery with the frozen stuff is closed Thursday through next Monday. I'm on the way to work as the dawn is breaking. Along the long street a block from my own is a newly arrived motorboat, on a trailer. It's not piled to overflowing with junk, it's partially covered with a tarp. ...but it's parked, not in front of a home, but along the opposite curb next to an open plot. I make my way to the trailhead and then all the way down to the turn for the connecting trail. The sun is preparing to breach the horizon. At the turn is a small shelter next to a little parking lot. In the lot next to the shelter is a guy in a hoodie. He's standing next to a folding camp chair and a disassembled tent. He appears a bit as if he may be the guy who kicked my rear rim last month. Today and tomorrow, I don't get as much sleep as I do when I don't have to open. After work on Friday, I'm out an hour early and I stop into the Black Eyed Pea for a quick dinner. Lunch was a piece of pie and a few bites of a leftover salad. I sit behind a family of four, with a father who is telling his son about the devil. From there I finally make it to the gym this week. When I get home I'm still hungry. This happens after I go to the gym. I stop into the Vietnamese place behind where I live for a snack of shrimp rolls. I even polish off the rice noodles, bean sprouts and lettuce. God I'm exhausted. I eat with my hands. The ethnically diverse group of college-types at a nearby table don't appear to mind. The Black Eyed Pea had the city's hockey team on their TVs. This place has WWF wrestling. Saturday after work, I head for the camera shop, where I have prints to pick up...and I'm overdue to get my Christmas photo cards made. I don't feel tired out on my bike, cruising up the boulevard. I discovered a more direct way to the camera place this summer, following major arteries. The staff there is really nice and give me a little guidance me through what I'm rusty on as far as using the software. But I pick it up pretty fast. I have a memory card which turns out to be damaged. It can't take any new photos, but the hard drive can read the ones which are on it. I also have a couple of black and white prints. One is one if myself which is think is funny. I'm not sure which ones I want, but the place closes in an hour. I end up throwing something together which looks pretty good. The card design has bright colors and two of my photos match the hue. A staff member scans the prints for me onto a memory stick. Three decades ago, when I began getting photo cards made, I would take a single color print somewhere, which would then have to send it off to a lab. Now I'm talking about memory this and memory that. My cards are done, they will be ready in 48 hours. And with my store discount, it comes to less than a dollar per card. I wasn't expecting to have this good of a day. I got to the gym and I got my cards processed. My week's work done, I cross the street to an IHOP for dinner. I sound like a radio commercial. The camera shop and IHOP are out on this boulevard, across town from where I live. I used to live on this one. This is a better part of town, but it still has the occasional wandering homeless. There isn't a municipality around the city anymore which doesn't have homeless. It's never feels as though it's a long ride crosstown to get home from here. When I get there, I'm so tired I'm dozing off in a chair. I manage to do a load of laundry and even hang it up (my dryer is broken) before I hit the hay. What I get overnight is a decent sleep.
So, Thanksgiving, I put up the Christmas lights for the annual display on my townhome complex. That was easy. Every year, my back gate has the only anyone ever puts up facing the street, which is the only side anyone else will ever see. My Christmas card order happened without having to stand in any line for an empty photo kiosk. I suppose I wasn't that late getting them done. Sunday morning, I bring out the miniature Christmas tree. And it ain't even December yet. And now, it's off to the sister's place to dig though boxes of Christmas stuff. I manage to find all boxes marked for the holiday. She finds one small tree. She claims there are 3 more. I don't find the remaining small one, but I do locate the two large ones. This is after looking around, and dismissing one large box with the word "TREE" clearly marked. Next Sunday, I shall return for the trimming. Next weekend is yet another library used book sale. This afternoon, I could go see another movie. But I think I'll pass. Instead, I want to head for the pizza place and hit a supermarket along the way, for a product my regular supermarket doesn't carry. Even though both chains are owned by the same corporation. The corporate office must want to make sure I'm getting my exercise. And there's things I want to get done at home. It's such a nice day I decide to ride the entire way there. In spite of eating almost an entire pie at work over two days, my diet still hasn't been ruined. At the supermarket, I grab my item and check out. I then ask the skinny kid running the U-Scan if he has the code for the men's room. He tells me the checker on the last stand has a key. I ask her and she acts less than thrilled that another customer wants to piss. She asks me to wait until she's finished with her customer before she tells me that another checker has the key. As it turns out, she was speaking to the sacker behind me. He gets the key and lets myself and another guy inside. Then it's off to pizza, a pinch of frozen yogurt, and off to home.
The Dog Walker of Christmas Yet to Be
Monday. This week, I have time today to hit the gym before work, thus getting it out of the way. Tomorrow, the forecast is for snow and a high if 22 degrees F. I leave the house and am coming down the long street a block from my own. There are now plastic trash cans from the city on every corner of the long, wide, winding, new concrete path across the empty plots which comprise the north side of this street. At the last trash can at the end of the path, there appears to be a guy in a hoodie. Is he taking a leak at the trash can? He appears to zip up his pants and dry his hands on wood chips on the ground. After work, I'm on my way home down the first trail. I'm approaching the site of a former homeless camp, underneath a trio of overpasses. This evening, in the dark, I can see the camp is back after being swept last month. Soon after, I turn onto the connecting trail, and I'm up next to the damaged guardrail. I decide to stop and put on my neck gator, and switch out my gloves for ski mittens. The wind is getting colder, and I suspect the snow is slowly approaching. From behind me, along the trail comes a little homeless guy on a scooter, or a bike with an improvised motor. He stops to glance at me before he turns off this trail and crosses the road to another trailhead. The scooter has an improvised trailer on the back. Soon, I'm up and off the trail, and climbing the steep hill off the street along an open field. At the crest of the hill is a newly arrived homeless camper. It's been a while, since earlier this year, than any were here or along the street below. I turn corners and climb a couple more hills before coming down another. I turn again and get to the end of a block. A kid with a flashlight is crossing the street. He waits to see what I'm going to do. I turn and cross a busy avenue, and ahead turn down the long street a block from my own. I pass the last trash can where a guy took a leak and washed up with wood chips. At the opposite end is where I turn toward my own street. I'm on the long winding concrete path. Crossing the street where I turn is a guy in a hoodie. He's moving very slowly and appears unsure of his next move. He has no light. In the dark, he appears as a much shorter Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. He has a tiny dog on a leash. I turn directly in front of him to exit the path. His head is completely inside the hood, and he doesn't see or hear me until he's startled by my turning in front of him. The dog doesn't react.
Tuesday. I don't get a chance to eat dinner at work. As it snowed today and was below freezing, I decided I didn't want to ride to work. I just don't know where the ice is under the snow. So I took the transit system. I got to work and my coworker told me I didn't have my "whip" today. Apparently, whip is ghetto for transportation. If I had my whip, I would swing by a place on the way home for dinner, less expensive than the restaurants where I've been eating in my neighborhood. When I do get hoe\me, I expect to grab an inexpensive meal from the Chinese place on one corner across from where I live. They didn't even used to close for holidays, and they've been closed all week. I don't know what's up. They don't have a whip? The Mexican place across the street on another corner is also closed. (?) Walking home from a bus stop up my boulevard, I passed a different Vietnamese place, where I used to get a kind of crepe. That place is under new ownership. So I'm back at my usual Vietnamese place. The third corner must be the charm. They're forever open. I sit at a table next to one couple who finish and leave. Another young couple sit down. The guy mentions something to the lady about getting her PhD. Ha! I knew these customers were university types. Wednesday is the end of the month. Only one more month left in the year. This is nuts. Again, because I'm not convinced I will be warm enough out on the bike, I decide to take the transit system. It's 10 degrees F. this morning. I'm at a stop for the bus I didn't take yesterday because I left too late. This morning, the bus stop appears as if something is missing. It's a wooden utility pole. The stop is next to a fence, behind which should be an electrical substation. The station is also now just an empty lot. Another reason to take the transit system. I need to clear my head. I'm writing personal notes for my Christmas cards, and I'm making headway along the way to work. I even get to my breakfast place at work and spend a good hour there this morning, finishing those up. I should return to the bike trail tomorrow, at least until the next snow and the next decision about riding. When I get home this evening, suddenly both the Chinese place and the Mexican place are open once again. Was their power off for the first two days of this week? I don't ask. It's a sign of hope that next month will begin with good luck.
