Out on bike with Sumo in my bright butterfly dress, one guy took a shot and called me "beauty" (rare for me) and another smiled and recalled aloud O'Keeffe (did I look to him like an open flower, lol?)
Outside Trader Joe's (the American version of the German Aldi) I hitched my bike to the same post, at the same time as an 84 year old cyclist (he revealed his age to me upon my prodding) but he tied his bike with a string and said he could not afford to shop at Trader Joe's. He said he had to resort to the dollar store, but not for food I exclaimed.
I had just splurged on another Orchid I should not afford. The sprite old man told me he could not afford to get impatient as he painstakingly worked to untie the knot he had made in his string earlier. So busy, he offered me a story. With glee the skinny, a bit frail looking, little man told me how he gave a dollar to a person that had asked him for money - only to find a dollar just steps away. He promised more stories the next time we meet.
One sweet, smiling older lady in lace filled a little basket with apricots picked off the side walk. She planed to simmer them down with a bit of liquor and to pour them over her ice cream. So inspired I filled a poop bag with apricots found at our favorite park, further away from traffic. I plan to bake them in to a pie of sorts ('Aprikosen Waehe' - what the devout Swiss Christians eat on meat-free Fridays.) The first few fruits though were devoured happily by my pups.
In the park with both of my pups, we came upon one Native American splattered out on the grass, limbs in all directions, face down, a nice bike with even a nicer crate and belongings scattered in the already hot sun. I was relieved to note slight movement of his ribcage. To intervene or not? I tried to walk on, but could not. I asked the man if he was alright. He nodded yes. Not too hot? No. The man started to stir. Then explained that a thirty-something old man had offered him a drink. He had fallen unconscious and had gotten cold during the night. He had moved in to the sun to warm up. I picked up his bike, gathered his belongings (a nice pair of earrings, he might likely be an artisan from one of our surrounding pueblos in town to sell his art.) I wished him well. He thanked me, offered me the earrings and got up on his feet, as I already had walked on down the path. Oddly my pups never barked at this somewhat strange body on the ground, I like to assume because they knew him to be good.
The morning not yet over, I brought my Isabella-girl, my first canine companion, a rescue dog, my source of too much worry and anxiety for a consultation to a Pet Intuitive right across the street. A luscious, laughing, big bosomed lady assured me that Isabella was just fine, not at all grossly overweight like my Buddy Ed tried to impress on me last night at the dog park. "You are killing her" he had told me! Both advocated to feed my pups separately for a while at least. I promise I will.