Marie Taylor, Ink

 I live in a senior apartment complex and one thing I’ve learned about getting older is that if you live long enough your body will do you in in one way or another – if it’s not arthritis or diabetes; it’s heart disease or cancer – not counting a wide variety of lesser known and  unpronounceable maladies.

 These complaints not only provide a source of conversation among the residents but a sense of camaraderie if not compassion. Which leads me to tell you a story about Beverley who is a feisty little Jewish lady on the downhill side of 80. Beverly has some exotic malady in her brain that periodically affects her speech and throws off her sense of balance, often leading to falls.

  She spends part of each day sitting on the bench outside of the Community Center in conversation with other ladies and enjoying a good gossip about who is doing what to whom and how often. On all of these occasions she is accompanied by her little black dog Masel Tov who in dog years is neck and neck with Beverly and grudgingly keeps to the pace of her walker on the regular circuit around the apartments to the Center.

 Our current triple digit temperatures of late have pushed back everyone’s strolling schedules to take advantage of the cooler evening air. The other night while watching   America’s Got Talent from the comfort of my easy chair, I was not surprised to see Beverley ambling by with her walker and Masel Tov at her side.  As I watched them through my patio door, Masel took the pause that refreshes on the lawn. Beverley, conscientious neighbor that she is, pulled out the ubiquitous plastic bag, hooked the dog‘s leash to the walker and bent down to pick up the offending deposit with one hand.

 Not being close enough to capture the prize, Beverley took another step forward and in doing so accidentally let go of said walker. Before you could say “Whoops,” the walker, with Masel Tov trotting smartly by its side, was rolling down the sloping sidewalk, over the concrete edge of the parking lot and heading for points west at quite a clip.  Masel, no doubt delighted to finally advance at a brisker pace than Beverley could provide, was wagging his tail and stepping high and wide.

Meanwhile, Beverley, still bending down and viewing this drama from an upside down perspective, called peremptorily, “Masel, Masel, come back here this minute,” which the dog pretended not to hear as the walker had by now crashed into the perimeter wall of the complex and he was busy smelling the flower bushes to identify the scent of each dog that had passed that way earlier in the day.

 I must admit that by this time, I was leaning forward in my ringside seat to see what new wonders might unfold. I hadn’t long to wait. Beverly began to straighten up to reclaim her errant walker and delinquent pooch but being upside down must have activated that glitch in her head. Her knees started fold up like a flimsy lawn chair and before you could say “Uh, oh” she slowly twirled around like a plump top and very gently sat down in the grass.

 While my good angel was saying “Shame on you. It’ not funny,” I hurriedly grabbed my cane and hobbled out to the patio. I inquired of Beverley if she was okay to which she replied, “Yes,” and would she like some help, to which she answered, “Please.” With my duty now plainly before me and my mirth firmly under control, I scurried over to her. Since I couldn’t lift her, without joining her on the grass, we agreed that I should first recover the walker and the dog which I did.

 With the walker locked in place getting up was easy-peasy and Beverly rose like the  proverbial nymph from the sea. Once she was dusted off and ready to roll again, I ventured to say, “I’m glad you’re not hurt, but I must admit that it was pretty funny from my point of view.” “I’ll bet it was,” she replied with a hollow smile, which is like a hollow laugh but not as bitter. As I walked back into the house, I thought I heard Mosel Tov offering some canine song and dance about how he never heard her when she called him.