Years ago, when we lived in New Jersey....I was still ...we both were still...working in Manhattan. It was brutal. Just literally 12 miles west of the city, yet two stinking hours away. Drive? Sometimes...it could be done...VERY early in the morning....before the traffic jams. I mean...early. And then there were the tolls and the cost of a garage for the day.
It was bad enough trying to get in via mass transit. More "reliable" but not cheap. And very time consuming. Going in the morning, early....early morning..wasn't so bad. Except that it was basically the middle of the night, but the commute was tolerable. Quiet. Dark, for the most part. But it was still night for most of the normal people.
Getting home was a totally different story. Crowds. Tired and angry people. Spent. Crowded subways. Crowded buses. Lines. OMIGOD...sometimes the lines in the Port Authority would make me cry...literally. All the way down the escalator. Was the escalator working? Was it busted or was it turned off because of the crowd?
Once you got to the top...where then? Where is "the line?" God forbid, don't get out of it, SOMEONE will call you out and want to kill you!
I remember one evening when a lovely gentleman seemed to notice that I was suffering (I have 2 kinds of arthritis) and I do not try to advertise that fact, but he tried to get me "ahead' in the line and I declined and he got a bit upset. I tried to explain to him that I didn't want special treatment, that people took it the wrong way. He happened to be a black man, and I think HE took it the wrong way, but we were able to come to an amenable conclusion. Oy.
Eventually I managed, temporarily, to work out an arrangement so I could work three days a week rather than five. I didn't care, thank goodness, about the pay, but it made it easier for me to see my doctor and also to rest and finish my online degree. This would, however, have consequences later on.
Also, while I was home two days a week, I joined a local gym. It was on the main street in town and I had passed it sometimes. I noticed that people inside had gray hair...some of them, anyway. I noticed guitars on the walls. It was called "Mr. Bill's"...like the old Saturday Night Live character.
One day I mustered up the courage to go in. I had been gaining weight for years and could not shake it. Of course, I was trapped in a commuter lifestyle...but I had eliminated all sweets and fats as best I could and still....still......
So, I walked in and this bald, lean man approached me...friendly...introduced himself...Mr. Bill!! Sat me down at a desk toward the back....and we started talking and soon I recall saying..."Hello!"...it was Cody...his big black and white dog....just came up and stuffed his head under my hand..and it was...love.
Yeah, so I joined. Monthly fee...doesn't matter how many times you come in. He personalizes your workout...so I was told what to do and how many times and I had a paper to fill out each time I came to prove I did it!!! You could do more...if you wanted...which I did...I nearly killed myself on the treadmills.
I managed to eventually lose a few pounds, maybe 10 at the most. What I gained was camaraderie. I gained a sense of belonging to not just the community of Mr. Bill's but of the community in which I lived. I had an identity. I didn't just live to go to work and come back and do it again. I had friends. Mr. Bill organized walks. One was on the summer solstice. One was in the fall. And he always had a big party at his house on Cinco di Mayo. The fifth of May....every year. Everyone came, with their spouses, partners....everyone brought something...potato salad, guacamole, chips, dip....
I eventually was able to retire while still going to Mr. Bill's. It wasn't a "happy" retirement...it was awful, actually. But, I had my home and I had my degree (yay) and I had a new adopted dog....and I still had Mr. Bill's.
Soon afterwards my husband lost his job too....*2008 fallout....and we had to sell our house and move.
It broke my heart.
We moved to central New Jersey...to a "retirement" community that I hated. I loved that house, I hated the place. There was a pool you could never get into because it was always so crowded. There was a gym I went to where the had fucking Fox on the TV until someone must have complained and they finally set it for a music channel. But I was never comfortable there. People were dying. It was an awful place.
So we decided to move to Italy. Radical, yes. Practical....pretty much. The food is magnificent and the cost of living is cheap. The climate is moderate....it was gorgeous until last year when it was hot, but it is better again this year. No one escapes climate change. And there is socialized medicine. It has advantages and disadvantages.
I nearly died last year. Twice. First from pneumonia (brought about by a botched gall bladder operation) and the second time from the botched gall bladder operation. I went to an ER and they decided after an entire day that I had "diverticulitis" which I have never had. I went home and took the medication and it exacerbated the already existing problem. My intestines perforated.
My dear neighbor brought me to the hospital in Chieti. I also owe my life to her. They did a scan with dye and saw the perforation and leak. They told me I would have surgery...then. I was put in a room, in a gown, hooked up to IVs and made comfortable. I was, for a bit. Then something went...poof. And then I was screaming and taken to surgery and a male hand was gently holding an oxygen mask over-ish my face...and I thought I would die.
Mr. Bill had been jogging on May 5th. He had been happily jogging along when he was hit by a car. He was rushed to a hospital and he nearly died. That's why he had a big party every Cinco di Mayo. He lived.
So did I. This my MY party and I'll cheer if I want to. I lived, too. On June 30th, 2022.
