On the way into town I saw Bill out gardening. Bill is a retiree. He does not consider himself fragile. He can still drive and read without glasses. He wanted to show me a letter he had received. It was a computer printout, but it had the President's name printed below a scribble at the bottom. He said his "stimulus check" had arrived at last, and he'd lend me half of it till mine arrived, for a $200 processing fee, har har. Then he said he needed to get in out of the wind.
(For those who don't know, I think about ninety percent of the men over age 50 in America today are on blood pressure medication that makes them feel cold whenever the rest of humankind are not on the brink of heat exhaustion. This is only one of the many reasons why a lot of us "Silver Singles" don't bother dating any more. If we were still "in love" with somebody at the age of 49 I think that's probably The Last Love.)
I waited for Anne all day. In a basement, with a view of a back road, I waited and looked at the computer and at the little sprinkles of rain that hardly darkened the pavement outside. It was a nice, cool spring day, a good day for getting house and yard chores done. It would have been a good day for getting cyberchores done if it hadn't been so much better suited to garden chores. I did a lot of cyberchores anyway. I kept thinking that when Anne came back from the bank with the money, on the way across town to pay some of it to Cal I'd find out whether my "stimulus check" was at the post office.
Why why why had I told Cal I'd pay before 5 p.m.? At 5 minutes before 5 p.m. Anne sent me a text message that she was ill and had gone home, but expected to be up and on the job "tomorrow," meaning of course today. This could mean any of several of the minor chronic things that basically mean that, these days, most people's grandparents thrive on work, but they need a lot of flex time, and when they say they don't feel like driving they are probably saving someone's life. Anne is a grandmother.
Hoo-ha! If I started walking home right away, I'd probably missed Dee, might or might not find Ed outside the convenience store, or at worst might have to ride with Frank the Crank who is not fun to be around, but I'd probably be home in a few minutes. I started walking. I did not see Dee, or Ed, or even Frank.
Bill came out in his yard again as I passed his house. He did not have symptoms of a chest cold but he was not feeling well. He wanted to give me a carton of eggs, not because I needed eggs, but because he has hens. I hadn't bought anything else to eat since I hadn't collected any money from Anne. I thought I might try cooking the eggs. Seriously, I said to Bill, could he lend me $45 to pay Cal? No, said Bill, his money was in the bank and it was closed. He could withdraw $45 early in the morning.
Gray, driving past, saw me taking pains not to let the egg carton spill into my tote bag, as rain began to sprinkle on the windows, barely enough to darken the pavement. Gray offered me a lift home, talked about a job, and thought he could lend me $45 to pay Cal if Anne wasn't there "tomorrow morning," meaning of course at the moment I'm typing this. He'd be back around 9 a.m.
Rain had hardly dampened the ground but it had definitely dampened the barrel I use for outdoor cooking in summer. I never have replaced the old electric stove my parents brought in, nor have I been able to get the chimney into condition to use the wood stove. I set up the stack of metal bowls and candles I use for indoor cooking. I thought it would be fun to find out how long it took to scramble eggs in a metal bowl over candles, and in any case the candles would relieve the damp chill in the air.
The eggs were just starting to set on the bottom of the bowl when Ed drove past. I blew out the candles and went out in the yard to talk. He had not been in town since Friday. He was checking that I was all right, having heard that some people in Gate City were ill but not feverish. There was some work that could be done around his house but he had no money. He still had not received a "stimulus check," nor had anyone he knew. He had a bag of chips to share. I went in, looked at the bronze color of the eggs that were now cold on the bottom and still liquid on top, and gave them to the cats. I ate chips and fresh greens.
The cats said that first batch of fresh country eggs tasted pretty good to them, by the way. I'm one of those humans who are particular about how eggs have to be cooked in order to taste good to us, but most cats will happily eat eggs raw.
Morning came. I waited till 8:45 to leave the house and was on the road that passes Gray's house at 9:01. I did not see Gray, nor did he answer his phone. Gray is another grandfather who should be publicly commended for not driving when he doesn't feel fit to drive.
Bill's car was parked in front of his house. He'd had time to buy breakfast in town at his usual time. Was he eating it in the front room, and would he rush out onto the porch to share the news as I walked past? No, and no again. Was he hiding because he did not actually want to lend me $45? Possibly. I listened at the open front window, and did not hear anything that sounded like "Help, I've fallen downstairs," so I went on toward town.
Anne did not immediately return a message. Was she bustling around, away from her phone? Likely.I kept walking.
Then I saw what had changed since yesterday morning, and why, although I felt cheerful and perky, people who had been working outdoors yesterday afternoon did not feel so good last night or this morning.
That's what was the matter with youall last night, Gentle Readers. The rain would have washed most of it into the soil (and the water people in Kingsport drink) before I walked past it last night. The Bermuda grass looks as badly damaged as the native plants above that curb, so I don't know whether the public enemy used something other than "Roundup" or used a lot of "Roundup." Anyway, it was that house. If anyone felt bad enough to go to a hospital and risk exposure to coronavirus, that's whom you ought to be able to sue for Reckless Endangerment.
I know all of our reactions to poison sprays are deadly boring "chronic conditions" we've been training ourselves not to mention for forty years, but if enough of us document enough of these things our grandchildren (or, in my case, The Nephews) may live to breathe unpoisoned air. I think it's time for all of us to be boring. We're not just old people nattering about symptoms of "getting older." Old or young, we are all sharing a bewildering range of reactions to the reckless use of poison sprays. If we compare notes and trace the source of problems like this one, it's not griping, it's scientific evidence.
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