"Hey, come over here!" The 88-year-old woman and her middle-aged caretaker (pictured) wave their hands and yell at me from their kitchen sink overlooking the apartment grounds where I am walking Mimi.
"We haven't seen you in almost a year and a half! Where were you?" they ask.
I am touched. They had noticed my absence and gotten the time frame almost exactly right.
I tell them what happened, and they are shocked -- mostly that I had come back overseas after such a serious diagnosis.
They tell me to come in and visit, but I have Mimi with me right now, so I tell them I'll come back another time when my dog is not with me. Sounds good to them. They like me, but they aren't anxious to have dog hair or muddy paw prints in their spotless abode.
A few days later, I'm out with Mimi again when the caretaker yells at me to come over to the window again. She has something she wants to give me. I can't tell what it is until she places it in my hand. It is a warm, wet piece of corn on the cob.
I don't like warm wet things, but I thank her profusely and carry it in my left hand while Mimi's leash is in my right. When I get to the downstairs door to my apartment building, I have trouble handling the key so I can get in. Finally, I get on the elevator, punch more buttons with my hands that are not free, and get back home.
Life here is awkward like that sometimes. Awkward, but interesting.
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