2018 is a week away. I still have my health and a great job working at a wonderful organization. No one has passed on in my family so that subject is still intact, too. I have yet to move from the house I rent in the sometimes sketchy neighborhood replete with transplanted Hispanics, domestic violence, and drug dealings. Even so, I feel safe. I was accepted a while back as part of the sketchiness.
I am the single white female that daily walks her little dogs around the block. I will smile and wave or say "hello" or "hola" but you have to ignite the conversation. For those that live across the street from me, like Mrs. Kravitz, they have had a bird's eye view of the relationships that have started...and ended. They keep an eye on me and quickly match man with vehicle. They don't know that Jim has died or why someone will appear out of nowhere, disappear, and then reappear. One time I was told by the new man of the hour that after he parked his truck he was boldly approached by one of my neighbors. The older black man crossed the street and without hesitation stood at the new guy's driver side window to quiz him about his intentions.
My windows are open and I can hear the church bells being rung. Why at this time of the morning? Perhaps someone has died or perhaps they, too, are mourning the passing of the greatness of our country. The tax overhaul that favors the rich and big business, the FCC vote against Net Neutrality, or no longer proclaiming to those in need that we take in your tired and poor. All of these are satisfactory reasons to mourn for our country's slippery slope.
While some things are the same, others are not. If you expect change, when it happens, you won't be surprised and if it is a new trial instead of a new celebration, it might be easier to bear. I know that while my body lives, my soul is pinned to the earth. I might as well do my best.
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