What Neighbors Do
Last week was incredibly stressful.
Our neighborhood shares in the care of an elderly widow across the street. For the past six months she hasn’t left the house, except for an occasional venture to the front yard to pick up sticks. And since May she’s gotten worse. She wouldn’t let us help pay her bills, or accept the groceries we brought. She looked starved and ill, phone calls were answered with “I’m in bed, I don’t feel well” and a hang up. The County Adult Services weren’t much help, saying “…if she wants to starve to death, we don’t like it but it’s her choice.”
We’ve been reaching out to her family for months. They also said there’s nothing they were willing to do. Monday the neighbors got together: a “team meeting” as we struggled to determine our next move. We were afraid that the only course was utility shutoffs and back to the County authorities.
But, at the last moment, a niece stepped up. The family kept her in the dark about what was going on; but we were able to find her and reach out. On Thursday our widow friend let the niece call the ambulance, and she went to the hospital. She was very frail, but still proud and tough. She wouldn’t be carried to the squad, she walked out on her own.
They’re working on getting her better, and though she looks tiny in a hospital bed, she’s smiling.
Our America
Last week was another week of turmoil and hate in American politics. We are very tuned into what’s going on, sometimes too much so. A steady diet of our current American disaster creates a constant surge of adrenalin. After a while, it’s hard to stay angry. It’s exhausting.
And then came the shooting in El Paso; and then Dayton.
Out of Dodge
In my family the phrase is “get out of Dodge.” It comes from the old Western movies; when the shooting starts it’s “time to get out of Dodge City.” It was time to go, get away from the stress, change the scene, and simplify life.
So we packed up the camper, the truck and the dogs, and headed to Burr Oak State Park. It’s located in southeastern Ohio, the foothills of the Appalachians. As retired folks, we’ve discovered that even in the summer you can have park campgrounds pretty much to yourselves if you go during the week.
It’s not all leisure, but it’s different. It’s an early morning hike with the dogs, and a campfire to cook dinner. We tried frozen fish patties for the first time last night – and maybe the last!! Brats tonight; can’t go wrong with them.
Disconnecting
But we aren’t fully disconnected. I’m writing this essay sitting at a picnic table as the sun comes over the trees, my young dog Atticus (yellow lab) trying to bite the flies that try to bite him.
We have all of the electronic devices and MSNBC streamed, and we can keep track of the neighborhood by text and email. But it’s still different, it’s more fundamental. It’s a walk down to the shower house; better to go early, or the walk back up the hill will make you need another shower.
It’s Trump country here and certainly our experience in other campgrounds has been the same. But people are courteous, and they are aware that while campers may be close to each other, everyone is here for a little peace, a little nature, and a little relaxation. And there’s beer on ice in the cooler.
Yesterday it was tough to even try to disconnect. The debates were raging on Facebook and Twitter about guns, mental health, racism, and whether our Nation can ever find the will to prevent these horrific events. Try as we might to concentrate on the cicadas and the blue sky, the battles raged back and forth, and the signal reached all the way into the foothills and the woods. We had lots to say, and put in more than our “two cents.”
Today we’ll try to disconnect a little more. There are books to read, and a lake to visit, and the dogs will absolutely demand another long walk. Our camper is “out of Dodge.” Now we’re working on getting our minds to follow.
