The hood is full to the brim with characters and eccentrics. This is in keeping with human aging, a process that magnifies our negative qualities and tends to mask our positive qualities. If you are a complainer by nature the years will only turn up the volume on your negative tirades. If you are an optimist sooner or later you will become Polyanna.
The first sub set of the quirky is the golf cart Parnelli. Day or night the high pitched whine of the cart is heard throughout the land. Some customize their rides with flags, streamers, grocery baskets and panniers. A close cousin to the golf carters is the car restorer. The car restorer can be identified by the car covers that protect their fabulous rides. A conversation with one regardiing a ’59 T-Bird was a brief education in itself. I now know that this was the first year that leather upholstery was available and that a Hotchkiss drive and parallel leaf springs were on board …knowledge that will have absolutely no utility going forward.
You will often see the game players on the move. Eighty year olds don’t play ping pong, they play table tennis. They sport custom made bags for paddles and balls and they make the pilgrimage to the tables at the community center. For the less physical ther e are cutthroat games of Rummi Cube, contract bridge, 9 Ball and Bunco. Another group in this species is the aging athlete who plays pickle ball, hikes religiously and sports a cycling jersey issued by some local eatery or watering hole.
As you dodge these weekend warriors you will encounter some actual warriors. Aging heroes sport pins, hats and t-shirts that memorialize their military experience. All branches of service are represented . Semper Fi hats compete with the names of ships and- more rarely- a specific unit organization appears…503RD Airborne, Screamin Eagles and Green Berets…to name a few. As these warriors age certain comedic situations arise. I once saw an old soldier swapping stories with a fellow veteran who had significant hearing loss. The lack of communication didn’t seem to matter, it was the chance to swap stories that mattered.
There are the custodians. One woman sweeps the streets… not the sidewalks…the street. Others have strong opinions regarding the neighbor’s landscape choices, their house color or the height af their trees. There are the meticulous and truckloads of Latino gardeners often off-load in front of their perfected abodes. These are the folks who have lost the battle with perfectionism. They serve us all by volunteering for committees on the community board.
Most common of all are the health reporters who regale you with stories of gall bladders, knee replacements. and a host of varied medical events. They sound like a group of residents in the break room and they ply medical terminology, triage assessments and prognoses with a facility that leaves one gasping.
On the spectrum of quirky, there is a place for everybody.
Who said old folks were boring ?
Olio Folio 