Greetings from sunny Yuma, Arizona, a place where the snowbirds come to roost for the winter; some of us come to “pick.” So far, every person I’ve met here is retired (except for those who work in the local businesses).
The rules of the road don’t seem apply here in the Foothills area; it’s not uncommon to see people riding golf carts, ATVs, and other off-road vehicles on the city streets and on some of the four lane roads. Terry brought his Polaris RZR with us for desert exploration and trail riding but when in Yuma, we do what the locals do.
One thing about retirees in a resort area (including myself), they are not big on fashion, but they are real big into comfort. I should buy stock in Rockport, Easy Spirit, Hush Puppies and Birkenstock. I didn’t come prepared for weather in the mid 80’s but never fear, Thursdays are garage sale days, the old folks are out in force buying each others junk. I got a whole new summer wardrobe for seven dollars.
Every morning I put on my Rockports and my garage sale T-Shirt that advertises a Casino I’ve never visited and I take a long walk. It’s always wise to take some “walking around money” with you. The citrus fruit is at it’s peak and the folks hang sacks of fruit on their gates with either a sign that says “free” or there will be a coffee can for donations.
On our street, there is a public “library,” well, actually it’s like a large birdhouse on a fence post and it’s filled with books. You take what you want and put your used books inside for others to read.
For the non-picking people in the area, the two big social events of the week are going to the Laundromat and the grocery store. I’ve been warned not to go to Fry’s on Wednesdays, as that is Senior Discount Day. The parking lot is usually full; a handicap placard is of no consequence. The grocery aisles are filled with shoppers and you will find carts parked around with no owner in sight and sometimes you will see a bewildered shopper walking around trying to find their cart. I’m tempted to attach our dune buggy flag on my cart next time I go shopping. I also had a hard time finding slightly green bananas. As my buddy JD Rhynes says, “Nuff said.”
As I mentioned before, some of us come here to jam. There are regular weekly jams at nearly every RV Park and at many of the churches. During my first week here, I went to four jams; made lots of acquaintances and lined up one gig at a church. All the jams I’ve been to are made up of retirees.
Many people my age and older suffer from hearing loss and when we are jamming, someone will call out the Key of G and everyone says in unison , “Huh?” It’s like that child’s game of “Gossip.” One person says, “I believe I heard him say C ,” and the next person says, “Alrighty then, D it is,” and the person next to him Capos on the fourth fret to play in B. At one jam I went to, someone came up with a solution to the problem. They had a big wheel (think Big Spin) with all the keys marked out. When it’s your turn, the person with the best hearing will turn the wheel to where the arrow lines up with the key you called. Don’t laugh, it works…well it works if they remember to spin it. This leads us to another topic, memory.
When we are on vacation, which is most of the time, I have trouble remembering what day of the week it is, that’s where my pillbox comes in handy (if I’ve remembered to fill it). Being a senile…I mean senior citizen has its challenges but we laugh it off and carry on. Laughter is good medicine.
I went to a jam one day with a couple other ladies; I’ll refer to them as Lucy and Ethel. While at the jam, I saw a woman (Let’s call her Maxine) coming through the door. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet (she should have worn her Hush Puppies). When she sat down across from me it was obvious that her boots were on the wrong feet. I wondered if there was some tactful way of making her aware of it without causing embarrassment. I kept on picking and figured that her feet would probably begin to hurt and she would discover the problem herself. Needless to say, at the end of the jam they were still on the wrong feet.
When the jam was over, I packed up my guitar and other gear and began to load it into a van I was sure I had arrived in…wrong! I almost went home with Maxine, the shoe lady. After a bit of shuffling things around, Lucy, Ethel and I were on Interstate 8, headed in the right direction in the right car. As we neared the neighborhood where we were to drop Lucy off, she began rummaging for her house keys in a large black purse. She pulled out a cell phone with a pink cover and handed it up to Ethel, who was driving. She said, “Here’s your cell phone, I have no idea how it has ended up in my purse.” “And, I can’t seem to find my house keys.” “Are you sure that’s your purse?” asked Ethel. “Of course!” came the reply. “Well I always keep my purse right here by the console, I guess we’ll have to go back, I must have left it at the jam.” Then Lucy exclaimed, “Oh wait! Here’s another purse, oh, I think it’s mine.” “ I guess that’s why I was finding all your stuff in that other handbag.”
By then we were all laughing and I said, “I guess this would be a good time to tell you ladies about something I saw at the jam.” “Someone showed up with their shoes on the wrong feet!” Instinctively, they both looked down at their shoes and we all burst out laughing. Later that evening, I received a text message from Ethel saying that Maxine had called her and told her how her feet had been killing her all day and she had just noticed that her shoes were on the wrong feet. I have a feeling I will have fodder for some future columns before our vacation is over.
We will be in the desert a little while longer. As I mentioned before, there are many jams to choose from, the weather is perfect and the people are interesting. Until next time, read a book, eat an orange, learn a new song, and take a walk. Just make sure your shoes are on the right feet. God bless.
