Serenity

The weather today was perfect. A bit of misting rain has cooled summer temperatures, and after our coffee I proposed a walk in the North Park Blocks, quite close Margie’s apartment building. She loves the trees there, but her sense of direction has declined as a result of changes to her aging brain, and she can no longer find her way there and back home.

Today we found a bench among the massive trees, and it was a joy to be with Margie for some time in the present moment among old trees, accompanied by pigeons, crows, squirrels, and some unhoused people.

“Look,” she said, “look at these urban animals. We used to have a word people called children in the Bronx. What’s the word?”

I suggested feral. No. Street-smart?

“Yes! That’s it. All the kids who grew up among the tenements in the Bronx were street-smart. They knew how to make their way between the cars and the legs of the adults. They knew how to watch out for danger while they were also living their lives.”

Were you street-smart? I asked her.

“Of course! Of course I was. I never paid attention to street lights. I crossed wherever I wanted. I would watch the movement of the traffic and then GO, and I never once got into trouble. Look at that crow, it just crossed the street,” she imitated the crow swagger with her upper body “like it owned the place. I was like that, but of course I couldn’t fly up into the trees. I wanted to. I envied the birds.”

In a conversation with Margie’s daughter, we decided that I could offer Margie the possibility of a visit with me twice a week, instead of once. (I would love to spend a little more time with her each week than just the one visit on Wednesdays.) She said yes. Was I kidding? she asked. Of course. 

“If you have time,” she added modestly. So starting this week, I’ll be visiting her on Wednesdays and Fridays.