"My looks are deceiving" said I to the new old guy on the complex, that I've decided to name Talker No. 2.
Last few weeks, on a daily basis when the weather's pleasant, I’ve spied an old guy that I’ve never seen before resting on the bench outside my bedroom window.
A new resident, I'd assumed.
Turns out he’s not new at all, has lived here for an entire year …… came to us from an apartment building down the street that he says the County took over and where the entire management staff "all look like serial killers".
He was sitting on the bench when I headed out for a short walk on Wednesday.
At the edge of the walkway, near that bench, I paused to give way to two residents on walkers, and joked "Are you two in a race …… Who’s winning?".
"He is", one of them said.
My being so close to the old guy on the bench, I included him by joking, "Are you not joining in the race?".
"I have a walker, but if I start using it, I’ll become dependent and have to always use it", which is a very true statement.
Now that the two on walkers had passed, before getting started on my circuit around the complex, I asked if he was new here; whereupon he launched into a conversation where he told me everything about himself, his son, his son’s wife.
He was talking so much, giving me so much rapid fire information that I couldn’t take it all in, remember details; but the cliff notes are he himself was a medical researcher. Not in the sense of being a doctor, something to do with researching the effect of certain foods on the body.
He told me to eat organic, LOL, but I mostly do.
His grandma was a full blood Cherokee, which he says people find hard to believe because he has blue eyes, and grandma would go out into the forest, find plants, make poultices and drinks which the kids hated, but fixed what was wrong over night.
His 6 foot 4 inches 250 pounds son used to play pro football, injured his ankle, became a Deputy Sheriff, recently retired from that gig and is now Manager of a trucking company. Old guy seemed pretty proud of the work his son’s wife was doing but, like I said, I couldn’t take it all in. By the time he got to the wife’s details, my brain was in overload …… could not retain any further data.
As for how Talker No. 2 has lived here for an entire year, and I’ve only recently seen him, he said that when he was living down the street, he was in pretty good health, walking 2 miles a day, suddenly began to weaken, ended up hospitalized after which black mold was discovered in his apartment — he’d been breathing in poisonous spores.
When released from the hospital, his son said no way would he let him return to that apartment building, got him a unit here, where he has been recovering.
After a year of recovering, he is just now able to get around, but can only manage around 400 steps a day.
Out of the blue, stroking the gray in his beard he asked me, "How old do you think I am?".
I really don’t know what he thought to accomplish by asking me that question.
Did he think he looked recovered/fit/youngish and wanted me to guess an age that would mirror that?
I sensed around 80 years of age, but was really reluctant to voice that, reluctant to answer the question period, because I hate when people put me on the spot with that question. I’m not a good guesser of age and have been known to unintentionally burst someone’s bubble, trash their ego, damage their sense of self.
Like the woman at the gym in San Diego many years ago, on the machine next to mine, who seemed pretty pleased with herself, had been bragging to someone on the other side about something she’d done, and suddenly turned my direction, asked "How old do you think I am".
I gave her a good look over, saw she had a banging body — well maintained, fit, youthful looking, but here’s the thing.
While living and working in San Diego, I’d noticed there was something about the weather that caused the skin on the face of its residents to look dried, aged, weathered, like 30 miles of dirt road.
I had in fact fought that happening to my skin by using baby products — oils, lotions, baby bubble wash.
So, though the woman had a fit/young looking physical body form, her face gave her age away — worn, weathered, deep spider veins around her eyes.
So, I generously/kindly (I thought) guessed "50".
The light in her aura went out, she looked stunned, like I’d slapped her and said, "50? …… I’m only 39".
I am just not the one to be asked, "How old do you think I am".
Skirting around answering Talker No. 2’s question, I replied, "I’m probably older than you".
"Oh, I highly doubt that", said he.
"My looks are deceiving …… I’m 82".
"I’m 82 as well", said he.
Turns out not only were we both born the same year, but also the same month, with me 8 days before him.
So, I was correct in responding, "I’m probably older than you", but same year, same month ?????? …… what are the odds of that. Plus, his grandma was Cherokee, while my Great Great Grandmother was full blood Oklahoma Choctaw Cherokee.
We might be related.
While typing this post, I looked over and saw something strange peeking out from the edge of the carpet near the blinds.
ROFLMAO, it was another misplaced item left by the great grands.
Since Sunday, I've laughed myself silly running across misplaced objects — one day an inspirational rock I'd picked up at a meditation retreat ages ago, alongside a glass bead from a jar their little hands had managed to extract from behind other objects back of a shelf. Another day it was a rather large red rock — a piece of the Sedona Vortex a coworker brought back for me when she visited the Vortex.
She'd asked if I'd like a souvenir from her trip to Arizona. I'd asked for a simple rock to add to my collection, and she walked in with a huge portion of the actual Vortex; which btw, is illegal. Considered theft from a federally protected site.
Yet another day, I discovered another glass bead. It had made its way to the bathroom counter; and today it was a Wooden Easter Egg I'd painted years ago in a craft session.
After these many days, I can't imagine I'll run into any further surprises, but you never know.
