It was early morning in Tacoma’s North end and a little foggy. I had just opened the email from the nearby Senior Center. After months of being closed while a new road linking down to Point Ruston, it was now open. They were about ready to get back to normal with Seniors: exercises, creating art, sharing, and working on balance. I got my car and drove over to the center and parked in their parking lot.
There were a couple of cars in the parking lot with foggy windows, interior lights, and perhaps music playing from the early days of rock and roll. Just beyond the parking lot, I could just make out a man walking in the pathway. Quite often, while waiting for my wife inside doing exercises and stretches, I loved to watch people walking the trail with their dogs around the nice sized park and throwing tennis balls for their dogs to chase. I loved to see the dogs and their owners enjoying each other and the exercise. It was a game of movement and stealth.
I got out of my car and approached the man in the blue gray foggy mist. I spoke and he jumped a little bit and turned looking surprised. “Just walking yourself, no dog”, I asked. He blinked a couple of times and shrugging his shoulders he said, “No, no dog, my wife was allergic. What brings you here?”
I smiled and said, “My wife’s still in bed I thought I would get out and get some exercise. We live just two blocks away.” The man looked me over a bit and then commented, “You drove two blocks to come here and exercise? Why didn’t you walk the two blocks to begin your exercise and then follow through here with more walking?” I had no response. Mostly, I just chuckled and thought to myself, yes, why didn’t I?
The man just continued looking at me. Finally, he just said, “So? What can I do for you?” I responded. “There was no one else around outside of their cars, it’s still a little early for opening the center, so I thought it neighborly to just start a conversation.” The man looked me up and down again and asked, “What would you like to talk about? The weather? It’s a little cold this morning and the fog a little thick, but supposed to be lifting soon and give us a mild, possibly crappy, day with stupid people.” The conversation went back and forth like a fencing match with parry and thrust, steps forward and backward until we both realized we had walked the entire park around . . . three times.
I finally suggested,”Why don’t I pop inside the Senior Center and return with coffee for us both?” He looked at me and said, “Yes, why don’t you.” I felt like stomping away, but managed to control myself. Inside the center the conversations were buzzing, and I thought, “What have I been missing?” People turned and looked right at me. I felt like I was being undressed . . . either physically or mentally, I wasn’t sure. “Is there coffee available? Do I pay? I’d like two cups.” The room was silent until the door opened and my wife walked in.
With “Let’s go honey,” my wife tugged my shoulder and we walked outside and stood beside our car. The fog was lifting. I looked at the empty park. Nothing was even moving. My wife gave me the details of numerous people talking about the arguments and comments I had with myself. “Shall I drive?” She asked. “No,” I said, “I am capable . . and sane.” Turning and looking I saw a small sea of disbelievers watching my every movement. I turned the car around and just as we left the parking lot I could see in my rearview mirror a Cheshire Cat smile from inside the remaining fog.
