This is what Christmas shopping looks like on the Boulevard. Short sleeves, shorts, and flip-flops. Not everyone has a baby on their hip, though. That's a big baby. How do women do that? It is one of the mysteries of nature.
I tried for a healthier life yesterday. I mildly succeeded. But poco y poco, no? For breakfast, I had a hard boiled egg and half a pear. I have walked all the live-long day this weekend. All the day that I have to myself, that is. Ain't much. But I got in eight miles on bad knees and back and hips. Not at all the kind of miles my friend Travis puts in, but. . . . For dinner, I made a delicious chicken soup.
How, you ask? Oh, here's what I did. Four chicken thighs. Whole chicken thighs, not boned nor skinned. Half a bottle of leftover Chardonnay. Salt, pepper, red pepper, brought to a boil. Add equal amount of water. Chopped carrots, celery, onion, potato, and a head of garlic. Salted. One can of garbanzo beans. Cooked in my big Dutch oven. Oh. . . those things are miracles. After an hour, I tasted the broth. Good, but it needed something. What did I have? I drizzled in some Buffalo Wing sauce, just a touch. Bingo!
Damn it was good, and you could feel the health swirling through your system.
I forgot to add the spinach at the end, though. And I think I should start using some micro greens. But soup is an easy, good thing to make. I could eat soup most meals.
What else do I have? A bald eagle flew overhead. A barn owl looked me in the eye. I saw a fellow I have known for decades whose father was a wealthy businessman and whose stepfather was a famous Senator. He now lives in a small complex of apartment houses designed by our most famous architect. I say "our." This part of the universe. This fellow has lived a privileged life but has done it as a roustabout. His connections are big, but his hair is longer than mine. He travelled the country in a VW for years, surfed and saw the world. He came out when he saw me walking by just to chat. Turns out he is taking care of his 91 yr. old mother. We traded stories. It is hard, but his mother lives in the apartment house next to his, his grown son in another. He lives with his stuff and they theirs. He doesn't sit with his mother's t.v. blaring, though she is going deaf, too. He finds boxes of money, $75,000, $100,000, from collected rents that were never deposited. They own lots of properties.
We share much, but his lot is different somehow.
We talked about people we knew in common from the old Boulevard days. Did you know things used to be better? Sure as shittin'. Ask anybody.
Ha!
If you have been a shut-in isolato, though, a walk down the Boulevard seems like a trip to the fair. People still enjoy things. People still have fun.
I saw my tenant sitting on a bench outside a coffee shop eating some delicious looking desert and drinking a cup of coffee. I sat down with her for a bit and watched the parade walk past. She was headed to the museum at the other end of the Boulevard. I stood up slowly. I'd been on my feet for miles and probably stood for an hour talking to my friend. Everything below my waist hurt. I still had half a mile before I was home. But the day was lovely. Soon, I would be back to my caretaking job. But for the moment, I breathed life.
I must do some Christmas shopping this week. I am not good at buying other people things. I am much better at buying things for myself. There is danger in shopping. I will get a small live tree to hang some bulbs on in my mother's house. I may get some other decorations, too. I'll try to make it a little festive here. I may even take my mother shopping.
There. How's that. Hardly any whining.
I'll be fine.
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