openscarf

I’ve been accused of having good spirit and cheer by my downstairs neighbor. He’s the one who took me under his wing last year, checked on me several times a day, sat on the landing ledge in the sun with me, then eventually took me on walks around the neighborhood. He’s 62 and suffers from PTSD resulting from three tours in Vietnam. He’s on various meds, just got his medicinal marijuana card, but what he loves is riding his bike. He rides for hours and hours and always says it’s the best thing for him.

Last week, he went flying over his handle bars and broke or fractured his collarbone and maybe his opposite wrist. I think today’s doctor appointment will verify more since a lot of swelling has gone down.

I told his wife I’d check in with him during the day while she’s at work. I went down there yesterday with some pears. He’s doing well but he’s on quite the cocktail of meds plus smoking pot. I can see the adrenaline still pumping in him.

Like it did me, the mix of adrenaline and pain meds makes him super chatty; he laughs a lot, blissfully forgetful of the true extent of the injuries until his eyes cloud and he acknowledges how much worse it could have been.

Oakland is getting closer and closer to legalizing pot. I think it’s barely illegal here and in San Francisco. Anyone can get a medicinal card and everyone knows someone who has one. My neighbor has an impressive grow set-up and legally, he can. Which is neighborly I think. ;-)

The city just legalized four industrial-size marijuana manufacturers to do business in town, beginning next year. Some long-time small growers are worried about paying the same high taxes the new Stoner Joe’s will be able to afford. I think some are worried what happens when Phillip Morris takes over. I don’t know. I wonder with all the problems Oakland all ready has, what leading the way with legalized pot will mean for it.

I need to write one day about my youth, pot and growing up in a little beach town.

I’m covering a meeting tomorrow night in collaboration with another writer. The meeting will be in Spanish, with an English interpreter. The purpose is to find out what the community wants and needs in terms of food justice, availability, etc. I can’t get any detail on what the finished article will look like. The editor wants a bilingual collaboration. I’m curious to see what this means.

On Sunday I went with some friends to a tiny town on the Sacramento River, called Courtland, population 675. It’s where they grow pears. Pear trees for miles and miles and miles. The rich land owners live along the river, the little towns run into each other. We went to the Pear Fair. The drive was gorgeous. It wasn’t as hot as it could have been because there was a breeze, which everyone commented on.


                                  

                                      
We got lots of pears. I had a glass of wine (not pear), a pear muffin and a pear/raspberry smoothie. I think all the sugar turned syrupy inside of me under the hot sun and I didn’t feel so good towards the end. The smoothie was thick like ice cream; the day was so warm I slurped it down. One friend had fried asparagus, the biggest asparagus I’ve ever seen and the other one had a big hotdog link type of thing. There was an adorable parade, a mechanical bull, lots of hay bales, and a crashingly loud party band that thumped and bumped out BTO’s ‘Taking Care of Business’ and more in that vein. I think the salsa band came on at 4, but we left by then. I would have preferred salsa and bluegrass in that setting.