Category: Life

Ray

The other day while heading to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, I chanced upon an older gentleman. He looked to be in his late 60s to early 70s, silver hair, wearing cargo pants and carrying a backpack. He was trying to get the attention of other pedestrians, saying “Excuse me, but may I ask a question?”

People kept walking past him, not even bothering to look at him. He was a couple of doors up from the pharmacy, so I figured I’d talk to him after I got my prescription, but when I walked in, something told me not to wait. As I’m one to follow my gut, I went back out and approached him.

“Where do you need to go?” I asked, figuring it’s always best to assume someone is just lost.

“Oh, hello. I’m trying to get to the Super 8 around here. I think it’s over by XYZ Road not far from the [landmark].”

“Hmmm, I’m not familiar with that. I know there’s one around here but I don’t know the street address.”

I got out my phone to look it up.

“Okay, yes, it’s at ABC road, two blocks after XYZ Road. Just keep going down this street until you get to 123 Street, make a right, and it’s about four blocks up.”

“Thank you! Did you know they have a special discount for homeless veterans?” he asked. “There’s a lady there who runs the place and it’s not advertised.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

He looked down at his shoes for a second, then looked at me, his face red.

“I haven’t had a shower in two weeks. So I’m hoping she has a room. Two weeks. It’s driving me nuts,” he said. Then his voice broke. “I just want to be clean.”

I remembered that I had an emergency $50 and other cash in my wallet in preparation for taking Rodrigo to the vet, as I pay the driver in cash.

“How much is the room?” I asked.

“$46.99.”

I pulled out a $50 and handed it to him. “There’s your night.”

“REALLY? Oh, wow. THANK YOU!” Tears sprung to his eyes. “Oh, WOW. I will be thinking of you and being grateful for you tonight! What’s your name?”

I told him.

“That’s great. There was a show in the 70s, do you remember it?” He named the show. “There was a character with your name in it.”

“Yeah, I do! I used to watch that when I was a kid. It was funny.”

“All of those shows were great,” he said, naming a few others. As we spoke and reminisced about 70s sit-coms, I noticed he was still holding the $50 bill in his hand. I think he was more excited to talk to someone than he was about the money. I could see the light come into his eyes.

“By the way, you probably want to put that away,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to try to take it from you or hurt you for it.”

“Good idea.” He put it in one of this leg pockets, carefully zipping it up and patting down the flap over the zipper.

“Wow. I can’t wait to take a shower,” he said. “Zennie, you are an angel, and I will never forget you,” he said. “My name is Ray. Ray [Last name]. You get home safe now, okay?”

“Ray, I hope you have a nice night.”

He proceeded to walk down the street.

I went into the pharmacy and cried in the make-up aisle.

See, he never asked me for money. Maybe he was planning to, or working up the courage to, but maybe he was only looking for directions. Or maybe he just wanted someone to talk to for a few minutes. I’ll never know. But what I do know is that it’s tragic and cruel how people will not even acknowledge another human’s existence. He looked like any other Boomer I know, the ones I work with or have gone hiking with or any of my older friends’ husbands, but with a two-week beard growth on his face and sadness and shame in his eyes.

Meeting Ray was a reminder that it costs nothing to give a moment of time to someone in need, even if we aren’t in a position to provide help in a tangible way. It’s behaving as though those less fortunate do not exist, like they’re all trying to scam us, or like they somehow deserve what has befallen them that carries a price, for when we forget another’s humanity, we lose our own.

An old green backpack resting against a tree in the forest.
Image: Earth15

Small Joys

Oops. Got caught up in some journaling, so I’m late on this one.

Today Holidailies says: Share your best advice for surviving the holiday season.

I’ve answered this last year, on December 3. My answer was to protect your peace, namely by saying no to things and people who disrupt it. You don’t have to do all of the things and you don’t have to see all of the people.

This year, I’m suggesting saying yes, but to the small joys that can still be found in an ever-demoralizing world. There’s a lot going on around the world, as there always is, with war, natural disasters, economic instability, and social upheaval. If you’re in the United States, 2025 has been a whammy of political insanity. For all intents and purposes, the country is collapsing under a regime led by a megalomaniac who has one foot in the grave and wants to ruin as much on his way out as he can. Wherever you turn, there’s bad news.

And yet, wherever you turn, there lies the opportunity for a small joy.

Fill a bird-feeder and watch our feathered friends flit around. Look at how the sun shines on their feathers, listen to their little chirps and songs.

Make a giant mug of hot chocolate. Dump in some marshmallows and top it off with whipped cream. Sit under a quilt, take a sip, and let the whipped cream dot the tip of your nose.

Listen to your favorite music. Play the same song over and over again as many times as you want. This song has 1,046,490,278 plays on Spotify. I think I’m responsible for those last 278 of them. The music sounds like we’re being flung out into some kind of giant cosmic nightclub. I love it.

Call a friend you haven’t spoken to in a long time. Let the friendship pick up like it was just yesterday. Listen to how happy they are to hear from you. You’ll hear it in their voice.

Sleep late. Like, really late. Past noon. Get up, have lunch. Then read a good book. If you need a nap, take a nap.

Put on something comfortable and stretch. Feel how everything extends and loosens up.

Hold the door open for someone else, just to do it.

Make a donation to your favorite charity.

Light your favorite candle.

Watch your favorite comedy. Or spooky movie. Or musical. Or drama.

Help your kids build a snowman.

Draw something fun on the sidewalk with sidewalk chalk.

Play solitaire with real cards. Or have a game night with friends.

Stroll through a museum.

Get on the floor and romp around with your dog. Let your cat judge you both.

Take a hot bath with a million tea lights around you like they do in the movies.

Look up at the stars.

Scroll through your phone at pictures of the good times.

Go down a YouTube rabbithole of old commercials. Send the links to friends your age. Every time I see a montage of commercials from the 70s and 80s, it’s like I’m a kid again. “I had that! And that! Remember that?”

Buy something small on sale that you never tried before. I’ve discovered vanilla cream seltzer for 89 cents for a 33-ounce bottle, and the other day I managed to snag five of them for a dollar.

Small joys like that are sustainable. They’re what will get us all through both the season and whatever earthly turmoil surrounds us. Post ’em if you’ve got ’em. I’m always looking for fresh ideas.

A Christmas ornament in the shape of a snowman, with a small tag that says "joy."

Batty Boo!

It’s the most wonderful time of the year again: Time for Horrordailies! This is the precursor to Holidailies, and while only a few of us have signed up for the spooky stuff, I’m looking forward to it. Check out my nifty bat tumbler:

It goes with my bat earrings, which have purple sparklies:

My plan for Horrodailies is to offer up a dark poem, likely a Haiku, with photos from photographers I think you need to see and, if they’re looking for work, hire.

Unfortunately, I got thrown off my plans already because of the not entirely unanticipated letter that was stuck to my door by my landlord tonight informing me that my lease will not be renewed when it’s up on December 31. It’s a long, ugly story, but the short version is that my apartment has had mold issues for three summers running and this summer they actually had to remove and replace panels from the ceiling and wall. So, rather than do what Virginia law requires of landlords who must do a mold remediation, which is put the tenant up in another unit or in a local hotel for up to 30 days at the landlord’s expense, they’re just not renewing my lease. This way they can take their understaffed crew their usual infernally long fix-it time to correct the moisture problem that’s causing it.

Am I sad? Not really. Not like I was about a month ago when it became apparent that I was going to have to move, either voluntarily or involuntarily. I’ve lost some minor property to mold here, things like a leather jacket that couldn’t be restored (that I didn’t wear anymore anyway because it doesn’t go with my vegetarianism), some old Salomon winter boots that were good up to -20 degrees F, and this summer, an ironing board.

But I also lost something VERY precious to me this summer, which was the box of birdie mementos from Inigo the Nanday and Jimmy the Green Cheek. I had cleaned Inigo’s wood perch after he passed, but one day this summer when I opened the closet in my home gym, I smelled something rank coming from the birdie box and it turned out that the perch was covered in green mold. All of the soft materials, like rope perches and palm and fabric toys, had spots. Then, when I opened the plastic baggies that held wooden toy parts, Jimmy’s old and smaller toys, and Inigo’s leftover popsicle sticks that he loved to chew so much when he was healthy, they all smelled of mold and mildew. I managed to save some of Inigo’s half-chewed toys, but the only toy Jimmy has now is one tiny blue wooden star with one tip chewed off that I put inside the little tin that holds his ashes.

To say I was devastated by this loss would be an understatement. And yet I am SO very grateful that last winter I decided to take the baggies of feathers from Inigo, Jimmy, Louise the Alexandrine (who lives my ex-husband), and an ex-boyfriend’s birds out of that closet and put them in one of my nightstands. The baggies are doubled and sealed well, and I believe my bedroom furniture is made with cedar, which is mold-resistant, so they’re safe.

At any rate, I knew this was coming and I cried my tears over it a month ago—enough so that the problems and annoyances I chose to overlook about the place are now on my last nerve. I even got annoyed that a seam on the light fixture in the dining room is where you can see it instead of facing a corner. I just didn’t expect to get this letter until Halloween, 60 days before the lease ends, but instead they gave it to me today. It threw me, even though I know it will work out in the end. New year, new apartment, and I’ll likely have to cheat on Holidailies and write a few in advance in December.

But first Horrordailies. Here’s an oldie but goodie vamp poem that I originally made with Magnetic Poetry online, titled “Velvet and Cake.”

More tomorrow, friends and fiends!