Category Archives: urban life

A Cautionary Tale

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Recently, I stopped at Walgreens to test my nearly expired ATM card. Turns out it is expired. Tired and preoccupied with that, I didn’t notice the slight gray-haired guy standing nearby. 

As I left the store he walked with me and asked if I’d gotten my money. What?! I looked at him more closely. One rotten tooth, disheveled. Possibly homeless, but certainly down on his luck. 

He walked too close and commented on my purse being pretty. I understood he was trying to get money from me either by panhandling or by robbing me, and I knew I had to get away from him. But he seemed unstable, maybe volatile—mentally ill or high—I couldn’t tell which. I was reluctant to set him off. 

He stayed close and kept trying to talk to me. As I neared my car, I said in a rude voice, “I’ve got to go. Bye!!” Even though I wanted to get rid of him, I was trying to treat this potentially homeless guy like a person. I thought if I got in the car and drove away I’d be OK. 

I opened the car door. He saw cleaning supplies on the front seat and said, “Oh, are you a cleaner?” I said, “Yes” and quickly got in and locked the doors. He was standing very close to the driver’s side mirror. When he heard the locks click, he got mad and started banging on the window and shouting at me. I have no idea what he was saying, but I was scared and wanted to get out of there. He was still standing very close to the car when I put it in reverse, cut the wheel, and started to back up. He shrieked, “You ran over my foot!” and fell to his butt. 

He continued screaming, “You ran over my f***ing foot.” I apologized, saying, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I’ll call for help.” I was shocked and scared, but thought if I’d hurt him I had to stay and deal with the situation.

After I called 911, he yelled, “Get me some ice. You ran over my f***ing foot.” I went back into Walgreens. As I paid for the ice I told the clerk a man was injured in the parking lot and the paramedics would be coming. 

The guy took the ice and slipped off his shoe. His bare foot had a small abrasion and it might have been a little puffy. Hard to tell. About then three first responders (firefighters) arrived. Two gray-haired guys and one younger one. They questioned the guy and asked me what had happened. One said, “Are you sure you ran over his foot? It might be a scam.” I thought I had hurt his foot, but honestly didn’t know.

One of the firefighters asked the ‘victim’ if he could wiggle his toes. He could. He got up and began walking around and talking to a firefighter, enjoying the attention. Off to the side the other firefighters speculated the guy was high. 

Shortly after, the paramedics arrived. They asked the guy the same questions and offered to take him to the hospital for an x-ray, but he didn’t want to go. By then we all recognized the situation was a stupid waste of time. 

The paramedics told me the police would be delayed. We stood around deciding what to do. The situation seemed under control. I offered to lock myself in the car while I waited for the cops but the firefighters said, “We’re not leaving you alone with this guy.” 

Meanwhile the guy decided he’d walk home on his supposedly injured foot. Clearly it was time for all of us to go. The firefighters said the cops could find me if they wanted to follow up. They never did.

Only later did I think, “Wait. That guy was menacing me. Harassing me, trying to get money from me. Why was I so concerned about him?”

I wish I would have handled the situation differently, but I’m sharing this story so you’ll have some strategies ready in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation. 

  • Pay attention to your surroundings if you use ATMs.
  • If someone follows you or bothers you, return to the store or business and ask for help.
  • Alert other people in the area that there’s a problem by yelling, “Get away from me! Leave me alone!”
  • If you’re in your car, lay on the horn to scare away the stranger and/or alert others to the trouble.

Before this incident, it never dawned on me I might look like a target. I’m not used to thinking of myself that way. And I don’t like it. Because I’m a woman or perhaps because I’m gray-haired, I may appear vulnerable. But I don’t want that loser’s interpretation to define me. 

Going forward, I hope to be better prepared. I hope you will be, too.

Freestyle Boulevards

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On summer mornings, I walk early. Sun filters through shade trees and the humid air is soft. A light breeze stirs as I circle the neighborhood enjoying the assortment of landscaping styles. In Minneapolis, the boulevard next to the street is often the focus for self-expression. 

Tidy mown boulevards are uncommon

With native plants, nature takes its course 

An offering of gentle inspiration

When it comes to gardens, more is more

Lost the plot—sometimes the vision gives way to busy reality

Bone box—a welcoming community

Nature put it there and Nature can take it away (because I’m not gonna)

Fostering connection

Be how you are

Stuff’s Happening: FoodTrain

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Why is it so difficult to write about what happened in November? The month began with foreshadowing that a health issue would require treatment in a three-to-five-year window. Nine days into the month, tests shortened the timeline to available slots for more extensive surgery the next week. By the middle of November, I had had major surgery, my first time being hospitalized except for delivering babies.

There is a lot I could write about attempting to fill the freezer with food, set up auto-pay for bills, finish a grandchild’s Advent calendar and locate an adult child’s birthday gift within seven days. In retrospect some parts of preparation were successful, and some missed the mark. A hospital rookie, I packed a bag that included a hair dryer, curling iron, underwear, t-shirts, leggings and more than one book. Weak during that first shower I was very happy with clean, natural hair. Nurses didn’t want a t-shirt sleeve in the way of monitors, cuffs or iv’s. My attention span didn’t last through a comparison of humidifiers much less beginning a new novel. 

Returning home was great. Our daughter had stocked individual meals for a few days. She and our daughter-in-law made Thanksgiving dinner. My plan to fill the freezer had dropped off the earlier lists. Something much better happened: MealTrain, coordinated by friends, some from our neighborhood and some from other parts of our lives, created a predictable safe zone as we figured out how to get through each day. 

For two weeks the kindness of friends fed us one hot meal each day. Pasta, soup, quiche, chicken marsala, tacos, pork tenderloin, hot sandwiches, each supplemented with salads, vegetables, and breads. Sometimes homemade bread. Plus our friends believe in dessert. One Sunday brunch was delivered and served to our entire family, an incredible gift on many levels.

My husband received daily notices from MealTrain telling who was bringing dinner and what was planned. These wonderful friends gave generously of themselves showing up every afternoon with food and a few minutes of visiting. They saved Tom, who does not cook much, a lot of stress while making both of us feel supported and inching toward ‘normal’ as we sat at our table eating dinner. 

Stuff happens, some scary and necessary, some amazingly helpful and kind. To all involved, thank you. Take care.

Roadblock

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A screeching, beeping monster clawed a mountain of dirt from my front yard, pirouetting in a repetitive mechanical dance.

In a surprising moment of consideration, the monster’s keepers preserved my ratty, overgrown boulevard garden, which fringed the gaping hole where sidewalk used to be. As if that garden is worth the care they gave it! They didn’t know I’d gladly be rid of the hosta and daylilies.

Workers in neon green coveralls appeared waist deep in the front yard. Urban prairie dogs. Do they like standing in holes, dirty and damp? Being where the rest of us don’t go? Searching for a pipe—hidden—but not exactly a treasure. 

Weeks later, cars still charge up to the roadblock in disbelief, apparently thinking, You can’t stop me, I’ll get through. Some seem to contemplate launching à la Thelma and Louise over the one-foot precipice into the scraped dirt and escaping, only to accept reality, veer into a nearby parking lot, and cut through the alley. Back on their way.

That’s how this summer, or really this whole year, has felt because of COVID. We’ve hurried toward the life we wanted, only to see—again—not here, not now. Go around, adapt, try again.

At night it’s peaceful. No clattering buses driving by. No thumping bass from passing cars or snatches of song from cyclists.

Silent orange hazard lights blink like fireflies.

Gung Pao Chicken #2 Spicy

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Gung Pao Chicken #2 Spicy is written on my desk calendar, on a piece of scrap paper in my bag, at the bottom of our grocery list. My husband’s favorite order from a small Vietnamese restaurant we like. Okay, a place where we ate so often that the servers know us. 

It is a neighborhood eatery where we could relax after a busy day or before running errands. Carry out orders flew from the kitchen. Tables were filled with college students, young families, parents with grouchy high school kids, retirees. Large fish tanks amuse young diners. Food came fast. On rainy or winter nights the crowded room felt cozy. 

When curbside carry out became available, we called our place. The first night, part of our order was missing when we got home. Two weeks later my stir fry had little flavor and the rice needed warming. We noted the slip-ups, but didn’t dream about trying another place or dropping Vietnamese from our carry out rotation. They know who we are when we walk in. I know the person who says it is good to see me. They prefer cash and I understand how credit card fees eat into small business sales. 

The food is good, but not great. It is truly all about the people and setting. And we want to keep their kitchen busy and their staff working until that atmosphere can be restored and there is time to talk about the world as water glasses are filled. We have a connection. In cities that builds neighborhood.

Storefronts and restaurants have already closed on their block because of seven months without stable sales and the whammy of riot damage. Social distancing outside the watch repair place, there are no lines next to me at the theater where a new release is showing. No patrons sit around tables at the tea shop. Inventory looks low at the corner gift store. What will the holidays look like for these small merchants? How will a tenuous consumer economy support neighborhood places? 

So much is unknown because most of us haven’t experienced circumstances so forbidding. This has been described as the worst economy since the Big Depression. Hopefully there will be enough folks in the neighborhood, with resources, ordering Gung Pao Chicken to keep owners and employees of small businesses intact. In the meantime, let’s keep safe and watch out for each other.