Disabilities are relative…and hands down I’m part of the family!

Good God it is hot.

Not necessarily a revelation for mid-June in Florida at high noon. But a three mile walk along the Bayshore, to the car repair shop to pick up the Tahoe, seemed like a healthy plan when I stuffed my Amex card in my pocket and my headphones in my ears. Through the neighborhood, over the bridge, and….and…what the hell was I thinking with only two and three quarter miles to go.

But slowly I got into rhythm and the glistening, flat Bay’s occasional splash of life combined with my folk music helped pass the time.

“We shall overcome,
We shall overcome,
We shall overcome, some day.
Oh, deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome, some day.”

That and the good- natured greetings; head-bobs,

eye contact-less smiles, and the random “how are ya?” exchanged

with my fellow sidewalk sidekicks. Verse two…..

“We’ll walk hand in hand,
We’ll walk hand in hand,
We’ll walk hand in hand, some day.”

A Wave Hello! Wave! A Wave? Hello?

Yes indeed ,for some still unknown reason I waved…at the white haired, bearded man in the sunflower yellow shirt and biking shorts, left hand gripped tightly around the gear shift, his right sleeve flapping in the wind unencumbered, because there was no arm in it.

Really Donna, a wave? You couldn’t just smile and nod. A toothy grin perhaps?

His raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders alerted me that he wasn’t going to be able to offer a reciprocal howdy-do. Now in all fairness, he looked only slightly perplexed, “I’d wave back if my hand wasn’t occupied at the moment,” and he looked only slightly amused, “You’re walking in the mid-day sun, in a dark brown shirt, with no water, and I’ve got the perceived disability?”

Slipping my hands in my pockets with my sun burned impulsivity I continued down the sidewalk until I reached the stoplight and waited my turn to cross the street. Still singing. Still hot as blue blazes. Just me, myself, my thoughts and, and, and a one-armed guy on a bike that came to a stop on my left side.

“How you doing, Sir,” I asked, hoping he would not recognize me as the hand-jive Joan Baez from mile marker two.

“WOW, it’s so hot my hand is getting too sweaty to let go,” he said.

How sweet, he’s telling me that he usually waves at folks and I’m not a goof-ball. “No worries, “ I responded, smiling confidently and no longer feeling like an insensitive shmuck. (Briefly)

“No worries? Maybe not for you,” he barked.

His raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders reappearing.
“But I’m having a hell of a time downshifting and stopping.”

“Apparently so am I…so am I….,” I mumbled.

We parted ways at the corner I wished him a great day, he nodded; no doubt wondering if the earphones in my ears were holding my brains in place!

Good God it’s hot!