Tuesday, July 20, 2010

The Boardwalk

                                                                                                                       
             


They landed in town in July.  Spent the summer playing a lot of golf. Finally bought a little townhouse on a street close to the downtown and 7 minutes from the ocean beach.  She loved to walk along the beach.  For dedicated walkers, there was an asphalt sidewalk, but it wasn't very long and when it ended, gravel.
When the cold and rains came in the fall, they headed south.
Back again in the spring, she was thrilled to find a huge new boardwalk along the ocean!  It went from the old walkway, past the playground and in front of the town's big hotel.  They'd eaten at the hotel and the food was good, but often they were the only ones there. "Whoever owns that place must have deep pockets" they said to their neighbors one day. "The oceanside suites might be sold, but a lot of it looks empty to us."  And the little mall built on the street side was empty too.
The boardwalk was an instant hit with the locals.  Serious walkers would be there every day with smiles and nods in the passing.  Moms walked babies.  Wheelchairs glided along smoothly. Canes, walkers. And dogs everywhere!  Seemed everyone walked a dog!  And picked up after them. In fact, the whole beach was remarkably clean - a testament to how important it was to them.
When summer finally arrived, and the sun shone more warmly, the change was dramatic.  The big hotel filled up, the outdoor patio buzzed with families, seniors and everything in between.  "Wow, there was a lineup tonight!  People were waiting for outside tables" she reported from her walk."And you should hear the tourists talk - I passed three groups and heard three different languages - no, I don't know what they were!" When it got seriously warm, there were people on the hotel decks, on the lawns outside their rooms, on the boardwalk.  One Sunday a disc jockey played everything from Diana Krall to Johnny Cash.  It was very loud, and they hoped it wasn't going to become a habit.
One weekend there were three weddings!  Right on the beach - a little bower, white lawn chairs. Guests looking out of place in "dress-up" outfits.  Ever seen a woman trying to cross a stretch of ocean beach wearing high heels?
Kites.  Not little kids and kites.  These were macho looking men doing "fighter plane" dives and twists - a manipulator in each hand. At the Kite Festival they can't find a place to park for blocks.
The town also seems to be the volleyball capital of oceanside. Weekends with 20 volleyball courts going non-stop.  Knowing nothing about the sport, they can't tell whether they were good or not. Seemed like there was more girl/boy watching than volleyball.
At any ocean beach - high tide or low, sunshine or not, people seem drawn to the water and sand.  Sand castles, sea shells, splashing, beach balls, and kids running every which way in sheer delight.
For her, it was the majesty of the ocean itself.  No matter how many times she turned that corner, she could feel it's power.  They often talked about it.  He's a pilot.  He tells her that the question is often discussed amongst fliers and boaters.  Which is the most forgiving? The ocean or the sky?  In storms and bad weather - which is the most vulnerable - the plane or the boat?
He is still quite ill, but today they hold hands and walk a bit along the boardwalk. Then sit in the sun feeling soothed by the blue blue sea.  

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Waffles?

"I'm in a renewal phase" he says. "Made some changes and just fine-tuning them."  He's very thin.  Says he weighs 125 pounds.  At least he was small to begin with.  His walk is faltering.  But again, he's always had a bad ankle and never been a walker.  His speech is a bit tentative.  She finds herself intervening in his phone calls.  "He's just having a nap.  Oh here he is.  Now don't talk for too long."  "New dentures?" said the dentist.  "It's just that there's no bone here - there's no place for the bottom teeth to sit".  The dentures had not been taken out of his mouth for all his time in the hospital, and sores have developed. They hurt.  But he's hungry.  "It's a trade-off.  I have to eat.  So I suffer."  Sitting is uncomfortable.  She jokes to her girlfriend.  "I swear he has no butt at all!  We've simply got to fatten him up".  She's right.  No matter how padded or cushioned the seat, he squirms and twists, trying to find some way to sit more comfortably.
So there's grumbling, and impatience.  "Don't be impatient" says the home care nurse, "you are doing everything correctly. So let things develop as they will.  You'll be surprised at how quickly you will forget this part of your life".  He's not impressed with this take on things.
She's astonished at what he eats. Waffles! He hates waffles and now he loves them.  Fruit!  He's never shown the slightest interest in fruit. Pasta.  "Are we having that pasta 'alfredo' that we had last night?  I really love that stuff".  Strange, very strange.  But here's the kicker. Coffee, scotch, beer, and red wine?  NO interest.  This worries her the most of all.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

two boiled eggs



"What I'd like is 2 boiled eggs with 2 slices of dry toast, one plain and one with peanut butter" - pause - "oh, well, I guess I don't need the one with peanut butter." (I wished I hadn't asked)
Hmmm.  Seems to me the last time I boiled 2 eggs was in the winter of 1963.
And this guy isn't in the mood for mistakes.  So far my list includes "not enough salt"  "too cold"  "too hot"  "too dry" and "completely tasteless" so I am nervous.
I don't even have a pot.  We only have one small pot and it's in the frig with leftover stew.
With the lightening thinking for which I have become known, I reach for my heavy duty"$250" fry pan and put some water in it.
Get well-chilled eggs out of frig, and hold them in my hands thinking "please warm up quickly".
Get the lid of my hardly-ever-used-because-it's-too-big "Le Creuset" pot and put it on the fry pan.  Fits perfectly! The gods are trying to help me.
Patient clears his throat, and asks "How's it goin'?"
"Just fine", I shout, noting that his hearing aids are parked on the table beside him.  I see a "how to do the perfect chip shot" just starting on the Golf Channel.
I decide I better not stress the gods, so I set my timer to 4 minutes exactly.  Very gently and with words of encouragement, I slowly lower each egg into the boiling water.  To my great glee, they hold firm and quietly genuflecting, I lower the lid.
I put a little butter in the coffee mug I have chosen for this delicacy, have the pepper and salt at the ready.  Put in the toast.
As soon as the buzzer sounds I have that first baby outta there.  Clumsily open it up to find a perfectly boiled egg!!!!  I am a happy cat!  Quickly empty it into the mug. Not missing a beat, like any trained athlete, I clamp the other egg, behead it and it also is perfect.  If you're making notes here as I'm sure you are - these are size medium eggs. (they are still there - way at the back in cartons that look like the ones they meant to throw out).
With triumph, I present breakfast to the sick one, and watch quietly as he eats every spoonful.
He will usually make noises of approval if he likes the taste of the first couple of bites, but all is quiet.  Still filled with the thrill of my perfectly boiled eggs, this doesn't bother me one bit.
Ignoring the cluttered counter top, I start the coffee, put my waffle in the toaster and slice my banana.
The perfect chip shot is over, the commercial is starting.
Just as I start my breakfast, he says "What are we having for lunch?"

Monday, July 5, 2010

Bird Bath















The robin is the cleanest.
Always first at the bird bath
On the edge, he checks everything - 
traffic, cleanliness, desire.
birds are quick, very quick.
tentative flicks become whooshes
water flying everywhere more and more whooshes
Now the head dip followed by the whoosh 
Two more times for good measure - 
Then up to the fence.  Shakes off the last drops.
Gone.  
A little bird appears.  Nervous.  In then out.  In then out.
Tries a little whoosh.  Another.
No style at all.