Jun
2
Local Street Walker
By Shirley O'Kealey
Do you smile when your neighbour puts his recyclables out on the wrong day? I do. But I believe I am a good neighbour. I pick up someone's trashcan if it has fallen over; I pick up litter on the sidewalk; I smile at little children. I ask how someone's mother is doing, and I compliment people on their efforts.
He who speaks does not know; he who knows does not speak. (What a shame.)
The Kindness of Strangers: I was sitting on a park bench writing when a kindly woman wearing a pink sweater stopped and asked, "Are you all right? Can I carry your groceries for you? Are they too heavy?" "No," I answered as I thanked her, "I'm just writing something before I forget it." I haven't forgotten her. Have you noticed that it seems so much easier to remember the wrongs others have done to us than the many, many wonderful things that happen?
On Smoking
Pretty Young Woman!
Why would you want to
Coat your lungs with nicotine and tar?
Standing on the sidewalk,
Smoking.
Do you think you look "cool"
And attractive to men,
Impressing your peers,
Snubbing your nose at the elders,
All accomplished
At the same time.
Spending your money
To shorten your life,
Leaving your partner, small children,
Family and loyal friends behind.
Suffering years of expensive treatment,
Becoming hollow and gaunt,
Withered and pale,
Old before your time.
Are you addicted already?
Your time is short,
Pretty young woman.
On Bugs!
It doesn't take long, now that good hot days are here. A wasp buzzes around me, the apple tree has a tent of caterpillars, a big bluebottle fly wants to get outside, little webs and spiders are in crucial corners, snails and slugs are out bigtime to eat my primulas into oblivion. Welcome the birds, everyone. They eat bugs by the thousands.
Shan called me to come help her.
"Check my hair!" she said. "Do I have lice?"
She has a mountain of curly hair. I didn't know where to start. She works in the schools and her little charge has lice. I carefully lifted up a strand. She shouted instructions at me, obviously quite distraught.
"What do they look like?" I asked.
"Small, white eggs attached to the hair! Do you see any?"
"No, I don't think so, but if you keep shouting, I'm going to walk away."
She paid me no mind and I walked away. A half hour later she stood with her hair newly washed and wet.
"I went to the drugstore and handed them a twenty for this bottle," she explained. "I don't care about the money. I just want to be sure."(I wanted to suggest that she cut her hair as the longer your hair is, the easier it is to connect with critters - but I thought better of it and kept mum. All is well.)