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Work 4 Peace,Hold All Life Sacred,Eliminate Violence! I am on my mobile version of the door-to-door, going town-to-town holding readings/gatherings/discussions of my book "But What Can I Do?" This is my often neglected blog mostly about my travels since 9/11 as I engage in dialogue and actions. It is froth with my opinions, insights, analyses toward that end of holding all life sacred, dismantling the empire and eliminating violence while creating the society we want all to thrive in

Sunday, January 09, 2011

Great Great Granny

I hear the whack whack whack of a machete on a coconut many feet before I see an incredibly old womon dragging herself across sand under coconut trees to a plastic arm chair a few feet off the road on the beach side where, miraculously, there is no fence or buildings – but lots of soft sand and several palm trees.

I approach her saying Buenas Dias. She nods and responds. As I continue down the road, she calls out to me. I cannot begin to understand what she is saying but I’m interested in trying to talk with her.

I head back onto the sand and shady area and ask her to please repeat what she said. She talks so fast I can’t begin to understand her – and I suspect she’s not making sense anyway.

I ask her name. She rattles off something. I point to the little structures on the other side of the road where I see a very old man sleeping in a hammock and ask her if that is her house.

She says no, the hammock is her house. I see a very holey hammock, very close to us, hanging between the palms and wonder which part of her is supported by that hammock.

She jabbers some more but I cannot figure out what she is saying. I ask her how old she is. She tells me 54. I repeat 54 to her vigorous nodding. No way.

This womon has no teeth, her eyes are pussy and draining liquid, her hair is shaved so she has more on her protruding chin than her head, her hands and feet are bumpy and twisted with arthritis, and her skin is skin of an 80 year old womon.

She cannot walk but drags herself from place to place. She has on a baggy top and several layers of skirts around her waist so it is hard to see how fat or skinny she is, but I think she is eating.

I ask her if her eyes hurt her. She rubs them vigorously to my protestations. I point back to the pueblo and tell her she needs to go see the nurse at the clinic there – she will give her medicine for her eyes.

She scoots her chair around so her back is facing me. I tell her goodbye and she struggles to turn around quickly, talking to me in a language I cannot understand.

But I can understand she doesn’t want to go into town to the doctor. I will try to find if there is a visiting nurse that will come to her. She has a terrible case of pink eye, or maybe something worse.

I continue looking for my ideal parking spot.


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