A Bit on How to UnFuck the World

I live in an apartment building whose tenants are mostly either elderly or disabled. In the last 2 years, I've befriended the sweet 83-yr-old across the hall from me, Ernest. He's a war vet, and a member of the Algonquin First Nation. He's always got a story to share and I really enjoy his company.

Last month, I coincidentally met him downtown and he asked me if I would crochet him a hat because he'd lost his. Given the cold winters we have here in Canadialand, how could I refuse? So on Christmas eve, I left the finished toque in a bag hanging off his apartment doorhandle (because he wasn't home). When I saw him again on the 27th, he shoved one of our fancy purple $10 bills in my purse. I didn't want anything for the toque, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

So that weekend, I'd bought a nice locally-raised beef roast from our local farmer's co-op, along with some nice organic veggies and threw it all in the crock pot. When it was ready, I piled it high on a nice plate and brought it over to him. He smiled wider than I'd ever seen him smile, then got sad. When I asked what was wrong, he said that he's been so sore lately due to the weather changes that he could only carry home bananas. He said that he thought he wasn't going to have supper tonight.

He hugged me and we sat and shared dinner together.

Then I got this letter in my mailbox from him today. I've been out of commission lately due to some strange chest thing (doc thinks it's pleurisy, but I swear it felt like I cracked a rib despite taking it easy).

Just warms my heart.

But seriously, please check on your elders! Like, IRL! You'll never know if they're really okay if you don't.

~A