Isolation in desolation. Some days, the reality of my situation leaves my heart racing. What. Have. I. Done? Here I sit in a town in which I really KNOW no one. Yes. I have my beloved Ninja Neighbor next door for whom I am so thankful. Otherwise, I have a variety of acquaintances. A lunch date here, a friendly chat there. Oliver and I are alone, and he doesn’t have thumbs or a voice.
Being a party of one does have its benefits. I won’t deny that. Watching My Beloved God Mother through the decades, I envied here so often. A faraway life facing the Pacific Ocean, with a husband she adored on a wild little stretch of California coastline too remote for anyone to take seriously except a Billionaire publisher.
When my God Father passed away, she was alone with long time neighbors and friends in her tiny little community. I often wondered just how she became so strong. Now I know. Widows have no choice. Strength bubbles up within all of us. With no audience, you simply carry on. You raise up and fly right. Also a widow, her bestie neighbor, Cambria’s Goddess, sings in the choir and lets the wind blow through her beautiful hair as she drives down the coastal highway in her convertible embracing her Goddess status. Beauty on wheels, that one. Widowed, but not being restricted by that status. Independent and strong as nails.
God Mom always had little jokes with the neighbors and involved me, making me feel as if I lived right down the street. Nurse Girl and the Writer lived next door to her. The perfect kind of neighbors, they respected their fence line and privacy. Great friends, they all shared a similar sense of humor.
Fences don’t last forever, and the one between them was failing. Ocean air takes a toll, and the fence lasted as long as fences do. For months, discussions flew back and forth about shared replacement materials and costs, (in a very neighborly way, of course). Until. The conversations took a new turn. Instead of leaving this costly little project dry and uninteresting, it was named The Erection (of the fence of course). Eventually, it became the reason to hold An Erection Party. As you can imagine, the puns and conversations were laced with innuendos, leaving giggles and laughter to surround a situation that could have been painfully serious.
How I wish I had a failing fence with anyone right now. Winterpast fencing will live on for decades more, being made of rugged white plastic. Wonderful material for desert life, the fencing looks as beautiful as it did on day one, seventeen years ago. A neighborhood of perfectly white fencing does look pretty sharp.
Surrounded by Winterpast, new relationships are growing. Slowly. I could recognize 10 people at the Tee Pee Bar and Grill if we both dined at the same time. There are two waitresses at the TPBG I know on a first name basis. A handful of friends from the political group. The ice cream maker, Steve. My minister and his wife. Strangers that haven’t yet become good friends. And so it is for me.
The other day, I decided it was time to visit my favorite little country church again. Bible study begins promptly at 6 PM on Wednesday evening. After attending the 5PM City Council meeting, I arrived to be greeted by a lovely congregation. I felt like the High Desert Rodeo Queen, as everyone was eager to say Hello. The bible lesson was interesting, giving much to consider for application in my own life. It was towards the end of the lesson a visitor arrived.
The class had run late and was just finishing up, when a slight lady walked through the doors. Finding a seat in the back, she quietly picked up a Bible and followed along as we listened and discussed verses.
Unremarkable, she was someone I’d pass at the store, not even to give a second glance. Being at least twenty years my senior, her skin was wrinkled, weathered, tanned. Petite and trim, she wore a desert girl outfit of white cotton pants, sandals, and a cotton blouse, pale in color. Her white hair added to a ghostly appearance. Although she might have been at one point, she was no longer crisp and fresh, but slightly disheveled from head to toe. Eyes, milk-y in appearance, made me wonder about blindness, but she carried no cane.
After the minister had wished us well, in a frail voice, she startled everyone.
“I’d like to play a piece on your piano. I wrote it when I was a girl.”
In a flash, she was at the piano, announcing it was terribly out-of-tune. But of course, a little church in the desert wasn’t the place for any thing other than an untuned piano.
Just then, her concert began, stunning us all. This woman, an unknown, gave a Carnegie Hall presentation. A concert pianist in every sense of the word. The notes ran together in a flowery piece, drowning out her small little singing voice at times. Every key and chord were used with a flourish. After two minutes of beauty, the last note sounded and applause rang out.
Without missing a beat, she rose and declared, “I’m 86. I’m driving to Oregon. I can’t drive at night. I need a place to stay.” Five little sentences, played as skillfully as her original song. Smiling, she waited, looking at the entire congregation twitch with nerves.
In church, one needs to stop and think back on the two hour Bible lesson. Think hard. What would Jesus do? Covid. Loneliness. Nefarious ideas. Isolation. Murderers. Kindness. Thoughts, like dissonant chords, played through in my head.
Just then, a young man stood up and said, “I’ll find you a hotel room.”
In a room of 30, we all had our own reservations and reasons she couldn’t visit our own home, lost and puppy-like. Leaving that night, I had a lot to consider.
I surely had the space with an empty guest room. Extra food sits untouched in my frig. I could have been helpful in the situation. Someday, I’ll be traveling the country to unknown places. When I’m 86, I’d hope for the kindness of others to help me in a pinch. Heck, I do now at 65..
But, 2021 is a different time and place and it couldn’t be me. It wouldn’t be me. It wasn’t me. She’d need to find help in a different life raft, because mine is having a hard time staying afloat with one. Coming from a house of God, I know Jesus understands this. Maybe he would’ve chosen differently, but maybe he would have done the same.
At church today, I’ll find the chap that offered the hotel room to find out the rest of the story. Give him $20 towards the expense. Thank him for helping The Visitor. A special pianist, a very long way from home.