Returning

to urban D.C. home . . .

Gertie, my nearing-eighty next door black neighbor, matriarch of a large and successful family, sat on the stoop in the hot sun on the sofa cushion she likes to have there. Gertie's daughter was talking with my white neighbor Bob, who is an Eastern Texan Democrat who has strong opinions about upkeep in the neighborhood. The girls came into the house, and I gave Gertie a hug and told her it was good to see her. She's had some strokes and other health problems. Gertie once told me sharply I ought to think harder before I speak, and I love her for that. I think I was between medications. Bob went inside; things are not as openly friendly between us since I called his wife a "noodge" for getting on me about shovelling my part of the sidewalk.

Anyway, the family in the house, I unloaded the car, in slow motion. That's because a week ago I threw out my back, pulling something around my lungs. We had the youngest's birthday party at a local "waterpark," and we were loading huge amounts of ice and beverages into the trunk of the car, when I spasmed, like a boa constrictor cinching up his coil around my chest.

(Still, I just had to try the "giant bubble maker." I used a wet paper bag with plastic wrap in it, and prepared the concoction from the soapy liquid and water, in the sprinkler area. Watch out for middle aged man in wet shorts with the giant soap-wand, lurching around like Frankenstein! He may hit you!)

Checked the rat traps. Nothing!