Receiving
It was Feb 14 2022 when I met a stranger - purposefully. I know the day because I wrote it down. I had the date in my calendar because I had to visit the ‘Dentists of Apache Junction’, I took note because - uh duh- it was Valentines day, and I literally wrote it down because it poked me in the eye. Or I poked myself.
We were still in Arizona for the Renaissance Faire, and while completely routine, a visit to the dentist was necessary. It was about 3 in the afternoon. Now I can say it isn’t typical for February in Apache Junction to be hot-hot at this time of year. I think 70' is pretty normal. But this day it was pushing past 80’ and I could feel it. I love the sun - but at a distant bay.
I pulled into the outdoor mall - that’s where dentists reside nowadays- and parked. As I walked to the front door I couldn’t help but notice what appeared to be a homeless man, tattered clothing, barefoot and going thru the garbage can in front of the dentists office. I smiled at him and went inside. I did the check-in thing and sat in the waiting room and, yes, waited.
I had a front line view of my homeless man looking through the garbage. He couldn’t see me because the windows were tinted (reminder it is freaking HOT in Arizona at times), so I had a voyeuristic slice into his time. My pulse lowered and my heart hung its head. That’s when I really took aim at his bare feet.
They were red. Filthy. Scabbed. Crusted, splintered, and I could hear them weep.
I was called in to see the dentist.
My mind wouldn’t stop. It’s gonna be bloody 90’ soon. His feet cannot manage the sidewalk or the dessert sand at 90 degrees. I cannot stand this. I’m going to die inside if I walk away from this man. I am literally going to strangle my own heart if I walk away.
I am going to buy him shoes. There is a Fry’s grocery store, in same outdoor mall, and right next door that Ty and I were in last week and I know for certain it is one of those ‘super’-stores that carries everything…including shoes.
I walk out of the dentist office pumped up. I look for my lost sheep. He is inside the juice shop next door and waiting in line. Well, ok. I take off on a slow sprint, in my flip-flops, darting people, in what appears to be a marathon. I had no idea Fry’s wasn’t exactly next door. Whatever. I’m on a mission and I need to get back before my shoe-worthy friend is no longer in sight.
I find the shoe section. Good gravy. Do I get hiking boots? Will his feet be able to handle the pressure of hiking boots? Socks. He will definitely need socks. No. These are too heavy. Not comfortable. Light-weight runners. That’s what he needs - oh geesh, what size?? Hmmm. He was a bit taller than my man at 6 foot. I’m going 10 or 10 1/2. Well, I’ll give him the receipt and he can get the size he needs.
These ones. Relief. My heart starts to look up.
Marathon jaunt back to juice bar/dentist office location. OK. Just leave the box on the sidewalk near him, smile and walk away. Don’t say anything. Don’t be pithy and for God’s sake, do not cry. Now, I panic as he is no where in my view.
I slow down and look out into the parking lot. I look behind me. I look in the juice bar. I look behind the garbage can. He is no where. It’s ok. Maybe if I get in my car I can find him before he wanders too far. I book it to my car and open the door and get in. One glance back towards the dentists office and there he is coming around the corner with his juice drink. I smile inside.
It was a long walk in my head. I stood probably 3-4 feet away from him and set the box of shoes down. He needed to know that somebody loved him. Right?
“I don’t need shoes.”
I’m not only shocked but confused. “It’s just going to get hotter. Please take them as they could help save your feet…”, I plea with my words and my eyes. Please let me be a good human. Please let me be a good samaritan. Please let me feel less like a shit with my 100s of shoes. Please, please save your feet. Right?
Pleasantly he said, “I’m making my feet stronger for the next life. I don’t need shoes.”
I smiled. What else was there to say. I nodded good-bye. He nodded and smiled back. I could feel my eyes swell.
I walked away with the box of shoes in my hand. I felt numb. I cried. For him? For me? I don’t really know. It was all sort of mangled together. I wanted to give him what I thought he needed. We think we know what other people need. Judgement that wasn’t really judgement? I strongly wanted him to know that he was not judged. He was still loved regardless of his circumstances.
He didn’t need me, shoes, or validation of any sorts. An eternalist perhaps.
Giving
A time of gathering and quiet early rain. November. Green leaves turning and falling presenting the naked branch. The ground covered with orphaned foliage. Time. Calendars. Markings on a page. What is time? Time feels continuous yet all that we perceive exists is the present. Literally exists. Such a bizarre thought. If the present is always present then how does the present turn into the past? Yet memories do exist of former present moments and what existed at that moment. My head spins. Thank you calendars. Calendars help us place a former present onto a place in a time.
Historically calendars existed in order to control, mark and enjoy memorials, feasts, sacred days, …duties. Calendars today have as much scope as the cereal aisle. A calendar can model any timeline we desire. We can explore an endless personal and generated perspective of time. For instance I could create a calendar of every Thanksgiving I can recall I’ve ever had…in a sliding scale fashion.
A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch. —Jane Austen, 1814
Presentism. This is the belief that everything that exists is only what can and does exist right now. Logically this is true to me. Its counter argument is that time is more like a dimension, and all dimensions have reference points that have equal validity, in that all time- past, present, and future, exists at once - extending (like the stars above) in all directions. This is the eternalist view: everything existing simultaneously.
One could argue that a calendar is an eternalist device. All possible years, dates with endless dimensions - oh, Möbius strip of past, present and future. It’s so romantic that I just can’t stand it. To engage in more that one time, more than one history of ourselves, without feeling a pressing need to reconcile them?
I have a poloroid photo of me and my dad at a family Thanksgiving in Susanville, Ca. He and I are sitting on my aunts couch waiting for the bountiful spread. It’s a fun photo because my dad rarely smiled. He wasn’t much for affection or silliness. I’m all about affection and silliness. So he tolerated me and in this particular moment, he was smiling.
My dad passed in 2015. On some days I feel like adjusting my dimension and allow the floodgates to open. I was holding his hand and singing to him when he passed. It was the hardest thing I ever did. We live along the vanishing knife edge of the present. Yet our personal calendar can continue as long as one person chooses to keep it.
At Thanksgiving we generally celebrate the simple fact of existing …together. There are no formal ceremonies on this day as each family, in their own way, do their own thing. The casualness of the holiday and its simplicity of giving thanks warms me. A genuine gathering to show grace and gratitude.
Reminder: Comparison is the thief of joy.
Peace. Peace to you, my homeless barefoot man. Peace to all. Without drama..let’s just give thanks for the present.
Slight drama..if you are a tree that is robbed of its leaves, but as the Möbius strip leads you, the proper circumstances present themselves, and all the stars align, your leaves will come back.
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Your heart is so beautiful.
Tick tock in the back of my head. Aging not enough time to....