I Wish I Were Getting the Haircut!

Two huge trucks on the block at once!! That was enough to bring me out in my jammies, which truthfully dont look that different from my regular clothes. Crazy disheveled lady with a therapeutic boot, brandishing a walking stick and taking pictures like crazy. The workers gave me tentative waves. I had to put that stick up to keep the neighbor at bay; she was heedlessly intent on coming over to tell me something over the sound of the machinery.

They trimmed those two shaggy palm trees in a very short time. That bucket truck was impressive, although I couldn’t help thinking that my son the tree guy wouldn’t need any stinking bucket truck! He’s climbed plenty of those palms—best part is when the resident rats start freaking out. The life of a tree guy isn’t the picnic you might imagine! 

These are the palms that entertain me when the wind is strong. I’m not as close to them as the neighbor whose car gets dinged by falling branches. And they are heavy suckers, some of them had to be lowered by rope or in the bucket after they were cut.


You can’t see the sign on the front door of the truck: Designated Essential Service Operations.  I wanted to liberate that sign and give it to my hairdresser, so I could look as good as those trees, or give it to my body worker so I can get realigned and be on my way!! It’s a strange hierarchy of services. I think my body therapist is classified with nail salons as a personal care worker. Some things need to be fixed. 

I zoomed with my new Physical Therapist, who is classified as medical, and therefore necessary. She was so good, a breath of fresh air, someone who listened and tried to understand what I was saying. I left with a series of easy stretches and exercises and more hope than Ive had in awhile.

SIP 50/Ankle 19