My Song

 

I just want to live
to enjoy my life's song
Spring soon turns to winter
life's really not that long

Many live to own things
I've always thought that wrong
I'm attached to living
and singing my life's song

Listen not to others
Your life is yours alone
Follow your heart it's often said
Let it guide you home

Old age creeps upon me
My end days now on wing
But I have my cherished memories
Of the song I chose to sing

written by Dave Gibson  

I'm Editing the Book

 After a three year hiatus, I am now in edit mode for Swauze Acres Life.  The reasons for the vacation are many, but they include Covid three times, and my living situation is now in an adult home.  What we used to call the Old Folks Home.  I am in assisted living, not a nursing home.  Be that as it may...

If you've read through the many chapters to the book, you know that they are a vague unconnected bunch of short stories.  Right now, I am editing each for typos, poor grammar, and sentence and paragraph structure.  As it sits now, the book is 54,758 words.  The target for a novel is somewhere around 80,000 words.  This will be no problem.  The 25,000 words needed will be filled by the storyline connecting all the stories to make sure it all flows seamlessly.

I've been contacted via Facebook by a pay to publish company.  The fee is considerable.  A bit over $2,000.  They not only print and distribute, as my current print on demand publisher does (for free), but also market the book in various media.  Marketing is something I've never done.  My first book, Living Among Sasquatch:  A Primer sold amazingly well.  Many thousands of copies.  It was Amazon's best seller list for one month.  I attribute that to my well known presence in the Bigfoot community.  I would not be as lucky with this book.

I intend to look for an agent.  Their job is to contact publishers who are looking for books like this one, in particular.  They do everything the pay to publish  houses, but at no charge.  For well known authors, they even pay in advance, and then royalties.  Having seven books self-published means nothing to a publisher.  Anyone can self-publish anything, even really terrible books.  However, I'm hoping that the consistent 4.5 star reviews for all seven of my books will be the edge I need to attract their attention.

The editing and rewrites will take me several months.  As I get closer to the end, I'll be looking for an agent.  If any of you folks know of an agent with a solid track record, please let me know.

In finishing... it feels great to be back in the saddle.

Seven Stories

28 Seven Stories first edit 4/26 2:00 PM

Another beautiful day. Bright and sunny, and warm. I can't remember the last time it rained. It's really a shame we have a pandemic shelter-inside mandate. They can't stop me from going outside.

I checked the weather on my phone. Sixty-three degrees. No jacket needed. I had on one of my long sleeve tee-shirts with a pit bull on the front and that's good enough. I miss my two pit bulls. I would never be allowed to have a pit bull at Van Schoonhoven Square Senior Apartments. They only allow little yappy dogs. After owning a pit bull, you will never own any other breed. Of course, all owners feel that way about their dogs too, I suppose.

I grabbed the usual. Cap, cane, camera. And now a mask. This is crazy. Who would I give a virus to on a walk? I hardly ever pass anyone. But the fine is $1,000, so a mask it is. I suppose it's better this way. The governor knows what he's doing. With the mandates the hospitalization rates for Covid-19 are going down. It's sad, though. I just read on the news that 52,000 Americans have died of this virus. I've never seen anything like this in my lifetime.

As I walked out my apartment door, I slapped my pocket to make sure I had my keys. I did. I knew I did, but I always check anyway. In my golden years, I've become forgetful. Golden years? Who in the heck told you these are golden years? Well, it is a saying, the golden years. Golden years my ass. Let me tell you about getting up every two hours at night to pee, and... OK OK. I get it. Now just be quiet. Walking is my quiet time. My peaceful time. I don't need you correcting me all the while, so just be quiet. Fine. Fine.

I walked down the hall. I better check my mail. I stuck my key in the lock and opened the little door. Nope nothing. Good. No bills.

“Good morning Mr. Gibson.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Schiocetti. How are you on this fine day?”

“I'm just wonderful,” she answered. “Are we going for a walk?”

“We are. Would you like to join me?”

“No, but thank you. I have to watch things here.”

“You have to watch things?” I asked. “Does the apartment complex pay you to stand watch? What do you mean?”

“Oh no, Mr. Gibson, it's nothing like that,” she answered. “When I retired after so many years working, I felt useless. There was no point getting up every morning just to turn on the boob tube and watch mindless TV shows. So I decided that I would stand watch.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I hear you, though. I write and take photographs. Not because I have to, but because I want to. It gives me a purpose. Is it something like that?”

“Yes, exactly, Mr. Gibson,” she answered. “I help the residents if they need help, like bringing in groceries. Or sometimes just helping carry laundry. With this pandemic, I make sure that the UPS and FedEx drivers don't come in any farther than the office. They might spread the virus, don't you know.”

“I know,” I replied. “Good job.”

“I let Richie know if you need a ride.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“How do you know if I'm going for a walk? How do you know if I need a ride?”

“It's my job to know,” said Mrs. Schiocetti with a slight smile.

I stood dumbfounded. I looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. I didn't know what to say. So I didn't. She caught me off-guard. I turned and walked out the main door.

“Hello Mr. Gibson!”

“Hello Richie,” I said quietly.

“Would you like a lift?” Richie asked.

“Well, I thought I might walk to the village today,” I answered.

“Why? Everything is closed.”

“Yeah, you're right,” I replied. “No point. Swayze Acres?”

“You got it man,” said Richie. “Hop in.”

I got in Richie's jelly bean car.

“What make of car is this, Richie?” I asked.

“It's a Kia Sorento,” answered Richie.

“It's a nice car,” I said. “Fairly easy to get in and out of.”

“Yeah, it is. This one even has a third row seat under the floor in the back. They say I can get eight people in this car.”

“Eight people? In here?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

“Yep. I ain't never done that, but you never know when you need to.”

Richie had the radio on. It was playing country music. Classic country music. I recognized He Stopped Loving Her Today by George Jones. Great song. But a sad song. The guy stopped loving her because he died. That will do it, I guess.

Richie turned onto Lea Avenue in Swayze Acres. He stopped at McFarlane's house.

“Is this good, Mr. Gibson?” asked Richie.

“Yes, this is just fine,” I answered.

I opened the door to the big Oldsmobile and slid out.

“Thanks Richie!” I hollered as he pulled away, tooting his horn twice as he did so.

I walked down Lea Avenue, towards my old house. I really should walk around the Acres more. Davis Drive, Barrett Drive, Terri Avenue, and the rest. It must be force of habit, I guess. McFarlane's house is where the school bus dropped us off, right where Richie drops me off.

Down the street, by Bombard's house, I could see girls jumping rope. Or did we call it playing jump rope? I don't remember. It doesn't matter, I suppose.

I shuffled down Lea. When I got near Chumley's house, there was the damn kid and the darn kid arguing. Just like before.

“It was a stupid shit movie!” yelled the damn kid. “There weren't any Martians in it!”

“No kidding, dumb ass! It was called First Spaceship to Venus! There would be Venusians in it! Not Martians! And don't swear!”

“Shit ain't a swear word!” said the damn kid.

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“BOYS!” I said sternly as I got close. “What is all this about?”

“He says a movie about Venus should have Martians in it!”

“You know what I meant! It didn't have alien monsters in it! Only some kinda mechanical spider puppet thing. I could even see the puppet strings. It was STUPID!” said the damn kid.

“It's a movie!” yelled the darn kid. “Whadaya expect!”

“Now boys, this is nothing to argue over,” I said calmly. “Why do you watch those old science-fiction movies if you don't like them?”

They both turned and looked at me. Staring.

“What do you mean by old?” asked the darn kid. “I just saw it at the drive-in last summer.”

Uh oh. See what you did now? You should just keep your mouth shut, because you confuse people.

“Oh, um, what I meant was old as in an old plot. Not even Shakespeare used his own plots. He followed those that were written long before his time,” I offered.

“Did Shakespeare write about Martians?” asked the damn kid.

“No, no. But the story lines are all the same,” I said. “I read that there are only seven basic story lines, but different twists are used to make them appear different. Let's see, it's been awhile. Let me think, see if I can remember them. Rags to riches, tragedy, comedy, overcoming a monster, a quest, voyage and return, and rebirth. I think that's it.”

Both kids just stared at me.

“Where are the Martians?” asked the damn kid.

“Well, Red Planet Mars would be a quest for knowledge,” I answered.

“What about First Spaceship to Venus?” asked the darn kid.

“That would fall under voyage and return.”

Both boys just stared at me. Too much, I thought? They're what, eight or nine years old?

“What about the Creature From the Black Lagoon?” asked the darn kid.

“Well, naturally, that would be overcoming a monster,” I said. “I actually once lived near where some of that movie was filmed. Silver Springs, in Florida. Beautiful place. The water is crystal clear, fed by underground springs. The water is seventy-two degrees all year round.”

“So we're watching repeats?” asked the damn kid.

“Sort of,” I laughed. “What's old is new again.”

“C'mon, let's go watch TV!” said the damn kid as he ran down the street with the darn kid right behind him.

I think I better get while the getting' is good. I turned and walked back down Lea Avenue. Richie was there with his Old F-85.

“Ride, Mr. Gibson?”

“That would be nice. Thank you Richie.”

Martians

27 Martians First draft 4/24 6:00 PM

I opened the living room curtains. Living room. HA. It is also my dining room, reading room, and computer room. I'm getting nutty sitting in this apartment all day, day after day. I need to get out.

It looks pleasant. Blue skies with a few puffy cumulus clouds. No breeze to speak of. I'm out of here. I grabbed my light fleece jacket, the baseball hat with the Sasquatch on it, my camera, my cane, and my mask. Anyone caught out in public without a mask can be fined $1,000. A fifty-cent mask is a lot cheaper.

“Good morning, Mr. Gibson.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Sciochetti. How are you on this fine day?”

“I'm well, thank you,” she answered.

“Why aren't you wearing a mask?” I asked.

“Oh my no. Not indoors.”

“But what if one of our residents has the virus?”

“I'd know about it,” said Mrs. Sciochetti. “I know everything that goes on here.”

“I'll bet you do,” I chuckled. “Well, it's so nice, I'm going for a walk.”

“Have a very nice walk, Mr. Gibson. It is a gorgeous day the Lord has given us.”

“Yes ma'am, he did,” I answered as I stepped outside. I paused to enjoy the feeling of sunshine on my face. It's been, what, a month since I could go out? No, five weeks. Well that's about a month. A month has four weeks. Whatever.

“Good morning, Mr. Gibson.”

“Hi Richie,” I waved.

“Would you like a ride?”

“I haven't walked in a long time. I shouldn't push it, so a ride would be good.”

“Hop in!” said Richie.

“What happened to your Olds?” I asked.

“Olds. Your new '60 F85,” I said.

“Mr. Gibson, how could I own a 1960 anything when it is only 1958? Do you have a time machine or something?”

“Um... no, my mistake.”

“This is my dad's Dodge Coronet, but I am saving up for a car of my own.”

“I see,” I said. “Think about an Olds. Nice cars.”

“Where to?” asked Richie.

“Might as well make it Swayze Acres. Before the shelter-inside mandate from the governor, I walked as far as St. Mary's cemetery. Swayze Acres was just beyond my walking range.”

“Ask and ye shall receive,” said Richie as he wheeled down the Van Schoonhoven Square driveway, taking a left on Middletown Road and up the hill.

“You know what Richie? I walked as far as St. Mary's cemetery before all this virus stuff started. Would you drop me off there?”

“Can do, Mr. Gibson.”

“Pull into the first driveway at the cemetery, please,” I asked.

Richie took the first right into the cemetery.

“Drop you off anywhere special?” asked Richie.

“Down by the back. My parents are buried there.”

Richie drove down to where the driveway turned left.

“Is this OK?”

“This is great Richie. Thank you. I really appreciate these rides,” I said.

“Just...”

“I know, just doing your job,” I interjected.

Richie was laughing as I slid out of the Coronet. He slowly pulled away and took a left down the main driveway. While I'm here, I might as well visit my parents. As I passed the Patrignani gravestone, I noticed that someone put the pictures of the people buried there back on the stone, and they looked exactly as I remember them. That's nice. That's a nice thing to do. They looked like nice people.

I walked slowly towards where my parents are buried... but where are all the gravestones? There's nothing here but grass. I know this is where they are. I looked around. I'm sure I'm in the right place. I must be confused. That second concussion really messed me up. Shit. I really wanted to pay them a visit. Maybe walking a bit will clear my head.

I walked along the back driveway of the cemetery towards Swayze Acres. I heard children laughing and yelling just over the hill. Thankfully, the well worn path we kids made was still there. That's surprising. Kids today seem to stay indoors all the time.

I walked down the path to the top of the hill. The small playground that the town put in when I was a kid is still there. Nice! And kids were using it. All four swings were being used. There was a line of maybe a dozen waiting to go down the slide. Just like in my day. We kids respected protocol. At the school bus stops, the first kid there would set his lunchbox on the ground. The second kid put his behind the first, the third behind the second, and so on. When the bus arrived, each would grab his or her lunchbox and board the bus in that order. The same for waiting for one's turn on the slide. Each waited his or her turn. Orderly. I like orderly.

I shuffled down the hill carefully. It was pretty smooth, but sandy and downhill. One thing I learned on my last walk is that I don't go downhill so good. I stuck my cane in front a bit in case I started to go head over heels.

I got close enough that I could hear a couple of boys arguing.

“It was the stupidest movie ever made!” yelled one.

“Was not! It had God in it, and God isn't stupid!”

“It was supposed to be about Martians, you shithead! It was called RED PLANET MARS! There wasn't a Martian in the whole damn movie!”

“HEY! No swearing on the playground! There are little kids here!”

“I didn't swear! I said damn, not God damn!”

“Same thing!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Boys boys boys!” I said sternly as I got close. “What are you fighting about?”

“I stayed in this morning to watch a space movie called 'Red Planet Mars',” said one. “It didn't have one damn Martian in it!”

“NO SWEARING!” said the other. “SAY DARN INSTEAD!”

“I'M NOT SWEARING!”

“Now boys, there's no need to fight over a movie. It's just a movie. And you, it isn't considered polite to say 'damn'. Try darn instead, like he said,” I said calmly, but sternly.

“Yeah, but I wasted the whole damn... darn morning! I could have been outside playing.”

“Well, you're outside now,” I said with a smile. “And it is a nice day to be outside.”

“OK Mister,” said the damn kid.

“It was about a scientist who thought he was sending and getting messages from Martians, and it was actually God,” said the darn kid. “I saw it a couple of months ago. Everybody on Earth learned to love God again.”

“You seem pretty intent on God,” I said. “Are you an alter boy at St. Mary's?”

“Yeah. How did you know?” said the darn kid.

“Just a lucky guess,” I said with a smile.

“Did you notice the scientist's TV Set?” asked the darn kid.

“Yeah! It looked like a picture hanging over his fireplace, only it was a TV set! That was so cool!” said the damn kid.

“Yeah! And it was rectangular. It wasn't round and big like ours,” said the darn kid.

“What are you boys talking about?” I asked. “The TV was flat and rectangular like a painting would be? What's surprising about that?”

“That was so cool,” said the damn kid. “I don't know where they put the tubes and stuff.”

“I don't know,” said the darn kid. “It must be a TV from the future.”

Don't say another word. I won't. Make sure you don't. Red Planet Mars was made in 1952. Tube TVs were just coming on the market. There was no such thing as flat panel TVs then. Well, then I wonder why they had one in that movie? I don't know, but don't interfere in the past. Do you know what year it is? Well, it's 2020. You think so? Try asking the kids.

“Boys,” I said. “I forgot what year it is. Can you tell me?”

Both boys stopped talking and looked at me strangely.

“You don't know what year it is?” asked the damn kid.

“No. Sorry, but I'm forgetful,” I replied.

“Gee mister. It's 1958,” said the darn kid.

“Oh, right. Thanks boys,” I said meekly as I turned and walked back up the path to St. Mary's cemetery.

What did I tell you? Stop talking, I'm thinking. Oh, you're thinking are you? Yes. Now please just shut up. I need to make sense out of this. OK fine. Fine.

Walking

26 Walking first edit 4/24 5:00 AM

Walking.

I try to walk everyday. Well, yesterday was no exception, I said to myself.

Usually I walk a half mile into the village of Waterford, stop in McGreivey's for a beer, and walk back. Fine. I'm happy with that, for a guy who shouldn't be able to walk, who was bed ridden just months ago, and then stuck in a wheelchair, no friggin' way. I was determined. So I walk.

In the hospital, first it was getting out of bed and into a chair. That took a lot. You have no idea unless you've been there. But my stubbornness can be in my favor sometimes, and I thought to myself that this is bullshit. This isn't happening. Not now. Not ever. Get up.

So I got out of bed with great effort and got myself in a chair. The nurses were not happy. "You are not supposed to be out of bed!" they'd yell at me.

Hell. I'm old. I've been yelled at lots. My mom yelled at me as a little boy all the time. Yelling has no effect on me.

Then I started walking up and down the halls of the hospital. That really freaked the nurses out. The nurses quickly learned that yelling doesn't work, so they called in the professionals at walking. They called physical therapy on me. And they walked with me.

There was one guy from PT I really liked. He let me be. At first, he had some kind of a strap around my waist that he would hold on to in case I fell. Later, he would hang onto my arm. Then he would just walk next to me. Sure, I'd stagger a bit. My sense of balance was shot. I have little feeling in my feet which makes walking difficult. I walk like I'm drunk. I still do. I wonder if I got drunk, if I would walk normally? I don't need to find out that bad.

Eventually, I was released from the hospital. Maybe they just wanted to get rid of a troublemaker.

Now I have my own apartment and I like it. I looked out the apartment window wistfully. A nice day. I am going to go for a walk. Unsure of how far I could go, I would grab my hat and cane and walk a half mile to the village of Waterford, stop at McGreivey's, have a victory beer, and walk home. I was very pleased with myself.

Well, thanks to this pandemic, McGreivey's is closed. But I would walk it anyway. Non-stop. That is a big deal for a guy who is supposed to be bed-ridden. But damnit, I'm doing it. I don't know if it is my Irish stubbornness or my Polish dumbness, but get out of my way.

Yesterday, I went for a walk. Instead of taking a right into the village out of the Van Schoonhoven Square Senior Apartments, I crossed the street. There was a lady cleaning up the end of her driveway. I stopped to chat. Her name is Donna. She and her husband bought the old Fanucci's gravel pit. Twenty acres of gravel pit. They built a house in it. I think that is awesome. Who builds a house in a gravel pit? She said Fanucci stopped digging when they hit water. They hit the aquifer. Water gushed in. The pond in front of her house is forty feet deep, she said. I think that is awesome. I wouldn't mind living in a gravel pit.

Then, after chatting with Donna, I didn't walk into the village. For some reason I took a left and walked up the hill. Walking up that hill was something I always did as a kid. The steep and long Middletown Road hill. I clearly remember walking my single-speed bicycle up it as a kid because I couldn't ride up it. It was a huge accomplishment for me when I could finally ride my bicycle up it. It was coming of age.

And now, at 69 years old, I'm trying to walk it. I can do this. Damn it. Just walk. I stared at the ground, one foot in front of the other. Just do it. Just like running cross-country in high school.

I surprised myself. I made it up the hill. I walked on, as I did when I was a kid. I got past Sts. Peter and Paul's cemetery. I shouldn't try for Swayze Acres though. That's a bit too far, I thought. What if I run out of steam? I would have to sit someplace and then someone would find me and call an ambulance or something. Nope. Not happening. So I walked into St. Mary's cemetery.

I paid particular attention to the grave stones. Sure, I saw them as a kid, but I never paid them much mind. Only the Patrignani stone. It had photos on it of the dead people at one time. I liked that. They were real people, at one time, but now dead. Some idiot had stolen the photos, probably pried them off the stone. Now there were just a hole where each photo was.

I finally made my way back to where my parents are buried. I said hello. I'm divorced now, I told them. I was alone now.

I walked out of the cemetery and took a left on Middletown Road towards my apartment. I really wanted to walk Swayze Acres where I grew up, but I didn't know if I could make it. Not yet. A little at a time. Don't push too hard.

I shuffled along as I always do. Past Prospect Hill, to the Middletown Road hill down to the village of Waterford. Believe it or not, that was the most difficult part of this little walk. Walking downhill. I'm glad I had my cane, because without it I would have fallen and looked stupid. But I made it back, into the apartment building and into my apartment.

Today, I could barely get out of bed. My legs are worn out. My knees hurt. My left hip hurts. But I did it. About a mile and a half yesterday, I figured. I am not going to lay in bed and wait to die. I am going to try for a shorter walk today. But then, one day soon, I want to do the Swayze Acres walk. That will be two miles. I can do this.

Rhubarb

25 Rhubarb first draft 4/04 2:00 PM

Do you think the rain will hurt the rhubarb?

Spring is here, I thought, as I gazed out of my apartment window. It's sunny. It stopped raining. The wind is calm, and the sky is blue. I checked the weather app on my phone. Fifty-five degrees. What did we do before weather apps? Well, I guess we looked at a thermometer screwed outside of a window. We don't need to do that anymore. We have apps.

I put on my jacket, baseball cap, and grabbed my cane and camera. This will be a walking day. I stepped out of my apartment door. I looked and there she was.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gibson.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Sciocetti,” I answered as nicely as I could. “I'm going for a walk. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh my, no,” she answered. “I can't walk much anymore.”

“Well how do you know if you don't try?” I asked.

“Oh no,” she answered. “But you have a nice walk. Richie is outside.”

Really? How does he do that? Sure enough, I walked out the complex door and there he was, leaning on his '60 Olds.

“Hello Mr. Gibson!” hollered Richie. “Want to go for a ride? Swayze Acres?”

“That would be nice, Richie. But why are you here?”

“Just waiting for you, Mr. Gibson,” he answered with a big smile.

“OK,” I said. Whatever, I thought.

I opened the passenger door and slid in, just as Richie got in the driver's side. I love these old cars. Nice, big doors.

“Swayze Acres?” asked Richie.

“Sure. That works,” I answered. I don't know where else I would go. The village or the acres. Toss a coin.

Richie drove along, commenting on the weather and how nice of a day it was. And it was. But at my age, I'll take whatever weather it throws at me. Richie took a right on Lea Avenue. He dropped me off by McFarlane's house, as he always did. This is, like, a routine now.

“Here ya go, Mr. Gibson,” said Richie.

“Thank you,” I responded. “I really appreciate these rides.”

“I know you do,” said Richie. “Just doing my job.”

I got out of the F-85 and watched as Richie pulled away. Good kid. He was raised right. I should ask him what his last name is. All these rides and I don't even know his name. What does he do besides sit outside the aparment complex waiting for me? He said he has a job at Behr-Manning, but I don't even know what he does there. I need to fine tune my social skills. You would think that after sixty-nine years, I would have this. I guess I don't. Age isn't the problem here. Being a dumb ass is. You again? Yes, me again. Who were you expecting? No one. Why don't you just shut the hell up for once? Fine. Fine.

I didn't see anyone around. What day is it? I have no idea. It might be a school day because I don't see any kids.

I walked slowly down Lea Avenue, stopping only to take a photo here and there. I passed my parents' house and I was next to Bombard's. Mr. Bombard was washing his maroon '63 Chevy. He looked up and waved.

“Think the rain will hurt the rhubarb?” he hollered to me.

I don't know anything about rain and rhubarb.

“Uh... maybe?” I shouted to him.

Mr. Bombard just laughed and kept washing his car. He's a nice man, Mr. Bombard. I always liked him. I think he was a salesman. Sold pharmaceuticals or something.

Mr. Bombard's brother, John, was my seventh grade English teacher. He was a nice man too. Good people, the Bombards.

Later, Mr. and Mrs. Bombard would more to the village and open an insurance business.

I wonder if he knows that?

Pandemic Walk

24 Pandemic Walk first edit 4/3 4:00 PM

I was sitting in my apartment, staring out the window. Yesterday, I was sitting in my apartment, staring out the window. The day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Ten days quarantining myself, along with everyone else at Van Schoonhoven Senior Apartments. I used to walk everyday. A half a mile to the village, stop at McGreivey's for beer, and a half mile back. I was doing pretty good. But I haven't walked in ten days. I have a hard time getting out of my chair and walking to the bathroom now. I need to walk. I need to keep moving.

This sitting around stuff can't be good for me. When I get up, my joints ache. I should go for a walk. You won't get any argument from me. Really? That's a first. Well, because for once in your life you're not wrong, that's the first. Just shut up. Fine. Fine.

I looked out the window. It was sunny. The sky was blue. I looked at the weather app on my phone. It was 52 degrees, forecast to go to 56. Damnit, I'm going for a walk. To hell with this quarantine.

I got up from my chair with difficulty. Everything from my hips down hurt. I hobbled to the closet. Which coat? Well, I think I'll just wear a tee-shirt with my lined jacket over it. And a baseball cap instead of my wool Irish tweed cap. That should do it. I grabbed my wallet and keys, and my cane and camera, and out I went.

“Why hello Mr. Gibson!”

“Hello Mrs. Sciocetti,” I answered.

“Going for a walk are we?”

“Yes. We're going for a walk,” I said too quickly, cutting her off. That wasn't nice. At all. So I stopped.

“I haven't seen you leave since the quarantine started,” said Mrs. Sciocetti, staying the required six feet away.

“No,” I replied, “I'm trying to follow the rules, but I think I should be able to go for a walk if I don't stop anywhere or talk to anybody.”

“I think that would be fine,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “We all trust each other to follow rules.”

“Well, I'm glad,” I said, “but yesterday, my door buzzer went off. I answered it. It was UPS. Without thinking, I hit the button to unlock and open the door. As soon as I did it, I knew it was wrong. I ran out my door and I met him at the outside door to the building. I told him that I would take my packages, and he said that he had them on his hand truck and ran down the hall to my apartment, number five. I ran after him. I opened the door to my apartment as he was setting packages down. I pushed them inside with my foot. I reached to grab the remaining packages on the hand truck and he said they weren't for me and went rushing down the hall. So I think I broke some rules.”

“Well, yes it does,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “But let's pray that he and his packages didn't have any viruses.”

“I washed my hands right away, for more than the twenty seconds they recommend,” I responded weakly. “I hope everyone did.”

“Oh, I'm sure they did, Mr. Gibson. Now you don't worry about it and go for your walk,”

“We will,” I replied and went out the door.

No Richie. Good. I don't want to ride, I want to walk. I need to walk. Don't get me wrong, I truly appreciate him giving me rides. I don't understand how he just shows up like he does. And why isn't he here today? Is it the quarantine? Is he afraid of the virus? Is he sick?

I was at the end of the driveway. I took a right down Middletown Road/Sixth Street... I need to find out where the road ends and the street begins... and I shuffled along. The road/street was as busy as ever, it seemed. It took me several blocks before I could cross the street down close to the church hall. Damn kids were driving too fast and I was walking too slow. I had to cross when absolutely no one was in sight, and even then I had to pick up my pace. But I made it.

I hung a louie at Division Street and headed down the hill. St. Mary's School is closed. Just like all of the other schools. And I read that they won't open anytime soon. Governor Cuomo is going to waive the 180 mandated school days requirement. That's a good thing. Cuomo's doing an outstanding job, all things considered, I think. In spite of all of the disorganization at the federal level. He is rising to the occasion. For one of the few times in my life, I admire a politician. He's good.

Coumo said to congress "This was the time to put politics aside and partisanship aside. This is the time for governmental leaders to stop making excuses and just do your job. Do your job. We're one nation."

Strong words.

As I got to the bottom of the Division Street hill at Fourth Street, a woman came up Fourth and took a left onto Division Street. “Six feet!” I said with a smile. She smiled back. It was a weak smile. It was my lame stab at humor. I think she understood that, but she didn't think it was so damn funny.

I got close to Broad Street. The Valero was open. Two kids rode up on bicycles and went inside. Kids have no clue. Social distancing kids! They didn't hear me because I didn't actually say it out loud. But I thought it.

McGreivey's kitchen was going great guns. I could smell the cooking and it smelled real good. Good for them. The Fordian folks are doing as best they can to patronize local businesses. They know their friends and neighbors are hurting. Without the allowed take-out and delivery, these places would be gone pretty quickly. From my years in business, I know that the bills keep coming in. Sure, maybe you stopped your advertising, which in turn hurts those businesses. Maybe you laid employees off and such, but bills come in and income doesn't.

This crisis brings out the worst in some people, but the best in most people. I firmly believe that.

When I got to the intersection of Fourth and Broad Streets, I stopped. I looked around. A fella across the street was walking his dog. Virus or not, dogs still have to be walked. There was a couple waiting across the street to cross Broad. I hope they live together. Social distancing! Quarantine! There were still many cars driving around. Could they all be going to essential jobs? Or doing permitted errands, like grocery shopping? I wonder. But since everything is closed, they must be.

I took a right. As I passed McGreivey's I noticed there was a handmade sign on the inside of the door. The instructions of how to call for pick-up meals was written on it. Part of the instructions, including the phone number, was obscured by grill-work on the door. I should tell Art McGreivey about that.

It was hard to believe, but walking up the slight hill towards St. Mary's church slowed my pace even more.

Everything was closed. The antique shop, the hair salon, the bakery, the sign shop, I've got a mule and her name is Sal..., even the rectory and St. Mary's church looked closed. Of course, I didn't check the church because that would involve climbing stairs... Wait! Don't tell me. Break a hip. Am I right? Just shut up.

Now I had to cross Broad Street again, and again people were driving just too darn fast! I got almost to the convent before I could cross, and at that I held up a car coming. Too bad, you can just wait a minute. I was gearing up to shake my cane at them, but then the car slowed way down. Almost stopped, waiting for me. As I looked at the driver, she gave me a friendly wave. I waved back friendly like. I'm not sure why. Virus and all, you know. Everybody is scared. Who has time to be friendly?

The rest of the walk was uneventful. I knew I was walking slow and I tried to pick up my pace. I tried, but I couldn't. Geez, I hope I make it. What happens if I can't take another step? Don't think about it. Just put one foot in front of the other. Step. Step. Step. Step.

I did that, and was on autopilot. I didn't think of anything. I just looked at my feet. It was like when I ran cross-country in high school. You stop thinking of anything. You just run. You run and breathe. Run and forget what hurts. You run. When you get passed, by another runner, you don't care. You run your own race as best you can.

And that's what I did. An before long at all, I was at the driveway into Van Schoonhoven Square Senior Apartments, and I took a left, and it was slightly downhill. Downhill. Yes! I've got this. I can do it.

As I got there, the mailman was leaving. I waved my key under the automatic sensor and the door opened. Without me touching it. I held my key as I made my way to my mailbox. I opened the mailbox door and I had mail. A catalog of all of the take-out and delivery businesses open. Well, that may come in handy.

I got to my apartment, tossed the magazine on a table to sit for a couple of days for any attached virus to die, and went to the bathroom to wash my hands while I sang the happy birthday song. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey and you are one too. That takes about twenty seconds. You have to wash your hands for twenty seconds, the quarantine guidelines say.

Happy friggin' birthday.