One of the first things I did when I became a snowbird was to find a park where I could do my five-mile thing. And I found a beautiful one, hidden away, full of so many birds . . . and the occasional armadillo. It came complete with a resident alligator and a pair of sand cranes. The park adjoins a recreational spot where grown men fly toy airplanes, and I always offered a peace sign in lieu of a wave when they passed by on their way to their playground. I think they know me as "that woman that gives the peace sign when you drive by."
But a few years ago, a couple of the old guys stopped to chat, and we became friends. Bill and Hugo.
Bill is almost 89, but he still drives and is, as they say, "sharp as a tack." I always think of him as being much like Woody Allen . . . before we hated Woody Allen. Bill is from New York (complete with that Brooklyn accent), and has a storied past. He tells me about the restaurant he frequented in the Village where Bob Dylan was his waiter. He makes slight references to his service in the Korean War, but like many veterans of war, he does not like to talk about it in detail. He does let me know, however, how that experience helped to form much of the way he looks at life. For instance, today he was telling me about a friend of his who got his first COVID vaccine shot and suffered a side effect of shaking. And yet, he was still trying to fly his little plane. Bill suggested he go home instead and take a long nap. "Take a dump and hug your old lady," Bill told him. I like Bill a lot.
But I met Hugo before I met Bill. Hugo would stop his little red MiniCooper in the middle of the road to have a morning chat with me. He and his wife were from Argentina, but they'd been in the States a long time. A couple of years ago, they were able to visit their homeland, and Hugo looked so happy when he told me about it. A year later, when I posted pictures of my trip to the Galapagos Islands, Hugo told me they inspired him to put the Galapagos on his bucket list.
Most mornings when I visit this park, I am the only person there. A few years ago, I had a sobering thought: what if I fall? What if I feel threatened by an alligator or an armadillo? Or worse yet, a creepy stranger? So I asked Hugo if I could have his phone number to put in my contacts, just so I could have someone to call if I ran into trouble. I'm sure he and the other toy plane pilots would do whatever was necessary to assist me. And of course, Hugo obliged. I am happy to report, however, that I never needed to call him.
I last saw Hugo last year, before the pandemic messed everything up. I've visited the park a few times since I've been back down here this winter, but I have not run into Hugo. Today, however, I saw Bill. He stopped to chat, and the first thing he told me was that Hugo died. Bill said he'd had bypass surgery and was in the hospital for six days. On the seventh day, they let him go home . . . where his heart gave out.
Hugo had a big heart.
Of course, I didn't know Hugo the way we get to know some of our friends. I never met his wife or his kids or his grandchildren. But I have a feeling that Hugo is going to maintain residence in my heart for a good long time. He was that kind of person. Right now, my heart is hoping that Hugo is island-hopping in the Galapagos.
And as for Bill, I hope he hangs around for awhile longer. He, too, has a big heart. And a lot of wisdom. I mean, who else is going to advise you to "take a dump and hug your old lady"?? Wise words.
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