SIGN LANGUAGE

Communication

is not limited to

the small range of choices

defined by
the world

I recently had on the bus a young Down-syndrome girl probably around four years old.  I greeted her as I do all kids stepping into a huge vehicle and looking up at a guy sitting high on a seat.  She responded with a timid little wave of her right hand, as her left hand was tightly grasping what looked to be her caregiver and not her mother.

As both exited the bus after a short ride, I said ‘good-bye’ as she passed by on her way out the door, to which she responded again with a simple wave of the hand.

The bus was stopped at a very busy intersection in North Park, while she and her caregiver waited for the light to change and cross the street.  She suddenly turned her head around and signaled me an additional wave, to which I responded with the same.  She then sent a completely new wave, which I followed in kind.  This developed into a spontaneous sign-wave session, where I would reflect back each unique signal she would generate.  These included right-arm upward thrusts, left-hand side-ward thrusts, front rotations, downward spirals--you name it.  It didn’t take long before folks in the front of the bus started to notice my gyrations, and those that could see the both of us, got a kick out of the whole performance.

All of this took place within a minute, but it was a minute well-spent.

Let it not be said that sign language is a primitive form of communication, because within that minute, a boatload of LOVE and JOY were sent both ways.

FINGERLESS TOUCH

A noticeable aspect

of the underground economy

is the omnipresence

of panhandling

For reasons that vary greatly, panhandling will probably be with us until the end of time as we know it.  The demographics cover all ages, both sexes, and motivations that range from deliberate choice, to running out of any other option.  The disabled and disenfranchised make up most of its ranks.

Oftentimes you will see locations staked out, for as you know in real estate, it's location, location, location.  One such spot is the busy corner of 43rd & El Cajon, where the southbound traffic emptying from this section of Mission Valley dumps into the northern part of City Heights.  Holding court on this corner is a gentle fellow by the name of Andrew, who drew a short straw by being virtually fingerless.

On each hand, Andrew has but a first-joint thumb and little finger, and is missing all other digits.  How he conducts himself is no small wonder.  On top of these handicaps, Andrew is also blessed with a noticeable speech impediment.  Not to worry; he methodically and dependably works his corner, come rain or shine, to bring home the bacon.

I am never at that intersection for more than a moment, but I have observed Andrew both open, hold, and drink a can of soda, and more surprisingly, actually dial a number on a cell phone.  Who he might be calling is none of our business.

All I know is he works his job like any other dutiful citizen, and not relying on government largess to get him through his day.  It’s always an honor to drop him a five when I’m in close proximity, which he gratefully accepts, a returns at once to his business at hand.

Who knew you even needed fingers to make a phone call?

TOUCH & GO

It only

takes a moment

to touch and go

While finishing my grilled salmon taco on the end of the pier, and minding my own business, in walked a group of three ladies, ages 35-40, who looked like they were visiting the TinFish for the first time.  After placing their order, they proceeded outside to commandeer a table.

Two of the three not only looked like sisters, but possibly, twins.  Since we had engaged in no conversation during our first encounter, the observation went unconfirmed.

After finishing of my lunch, I told Juan, the chef, it was awesome as usual, and headed outside to hike back down the pier, which would take me by the girls seated at their table.   Making an abrupt turn as I approached, I interjected myself into the middle of the ongoing discussion between the sisters, crossed my arms to point at each of them separately and asked,

“Twins?”

“HOLY CRAP!” exclaimed the one.  “You scared me.”

“Yes,” responded the other, smiling.

“I thought so.”

I proceeded to give a light tap on the shoulder of the frightened twin as I quickly made my exit.

Just a little touch & go on the fly-by.

PARTY WHEELS

It is always amazing

to experience

the quality of spirit

that can reside within

packages of damaged goods

Some of the most exemplary characters that role up onto the bus are ones who have physically drawn a short straw in life.  One such friend rolled up on a very hot Friday evening, I thought, on his way home.  I soon learned otherwise.

This kid, probably around thirty, rolls around unabashedly in a racing-style wheelchair, all under his own power, with arm strength that is compromised to boot.  His short, stocky body is further handicapped by an enormously protruding abdomen, so much so, that it causes his head to be thrust back in his chair, requiring his eyes to be cast at a downward angle in order to see where he is going.  He is also adorned with a pair of legs that look like they have never been used as intended.  No problem; this guy operates like his status quo is as normal as anyone else.

I greeted him as usual, strapped him in, and inquired how he was doing.  Responding with a pleasant smile, he said he was no worse the wear, in spite of the warm weather.

While passing through Hillcrest, a popular uptown entertainment area of San Diego, the stop-request bell for wheelchairs chimed on the bus.  Fully expecting my wheelchair friend to exit his usual stop in southeast San Diego, I turned in my seat at the stop to confirm he was getting off here.  He confirmed that he was.

“You planning on partying the night away?” I inquired.

“Heck ya,” he smiled.  “It’s Friday!”

“Good for you.  Have one on me.”

There was obviously no reason in his mind why a pair of wheels and a short straw should get in the way of a good time.

Party on.

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN

Hiking the beach

and heading for fish tacos on the pier

I crossed paths with a group of

50-70 year old surfer-girl wannabees

in the middle of a photo-op

There were four of them, adorned in suitable swimming attire, and brandishing colorful boogie boards overhead, to go along with their big smiles.  While facing seaward, they all had their heads turned back at the fifth participant, who was about to capture the moment on digital.

I happened to pass in back of the paparazzi moments after the shot was taken, and quickly announced, with arms high overhead and pointing out to the surf,

“Hit it, girls!”,

to which they all broke out into laughter at the suggestion.

I never thought that this was anything more than a ‘poser-moment’.

Little did I know the joke was on me.

Thirty minutes later from the end of the pier, where I was involved in whittling down my taco, I looked toward the area of beach where the girls had posed for posterity, only to be surprised that all were engaged in boogie boarding what surf was available.  I was very impressed.  The water temp was a very cool 64 degrees, and the ladies were braving it without neoprene.  Not only that, they weren’t just taking a ceremonial dip.  From the time I first noticed them, until the time I hiked back down the pier and onto the beach, they had been frolicking for at least thirty minutes.

There were still two of them in the surf as I reached the camera crew to gather more intel.  They were all San Diego county residents, who gather together in Imperial Beach for a week once a year.  I made a few suggestions for increasing their ‘fun-quota’ by surfing earlier in the morning before the wind beats the crap out of the waves, or in the early evening, when the wind tends to die off a bit.  They were all appreciative for the info, but still conceded that they had a great time just the same.

Girls just wanna have fun.

LEOPARDING

San Diego

is host

to one of the world’s

most spectacular zoos

While visiting the zoo on a balmy, overcast evening, shortly after tourist season, where the place is almost deserted, is a recipe for great animal interaction.  Oftentimes the hosts will be hunkered down during the heat of the day, napping away their captivity, only to arise in the early evening and look for some entertainment.

One of the best opportunities and a personal favorite is cat-canyon, home to wide variety of felines from around the world.  Always impressive are the local variety of mountain lions; tall, gangly and amazingly agile.  Their display found them initially inactive, until I announced my presence with an invitation to engage.  The enclosure offers you an observation opportunity that is up close and personal, where, if you chose, you could stick a finger inside the cage only to have it removed.

The large male, who was initially out of sight in a small depression right up front, slowly arose, and returned my greeting with a slightly annoyed attitude, and began to pass close by and circumnavigate his entire domain a number of times.

From above and perched on a large fallen tree limb, was his female sibling, lounging on her back, and offering only a roll of her head, a flop of one paw, and a gentle whip of her tail.  That was all she could muster.  After a brief commentary that they should be more receptive to the stimulus I was offering, I continued down the canyon.

New arrivals in the last year are three Amur leopard siblings from northern Asia, around a year old, and generally quite playful.  This was no exception.  One usually takes up a spot in the upper right corner of the enclosure on the end of a fallen limb, to scout out visitors and dream about catching the many squirrels that scamper about out of reach.  A second was asleep high up in the rear of the enclosure and not too engaging.  But, it was with the third that the fun began; this guy was ready for action.

Since his/her siblings offered no stimulus, the moment was ripe for an encounter.  It immediately responded to my vocalizations with eye contact and an expression that said,

“Let’s play!”
And so we did.

I began to make a quick lateral movement along the length of the cage, only to be followed just as quickly by this impressive cat, whose response was as graceful and beautiful as a 250 lb. spotted coat could demonstrate.  Darting back and forth for the entire length of the enclosure, which was probably sixty to seventy feet in width, the leopard followed me like my shadow.  I would stop at one end for a moment, make eye-contact with my playmate, and quickly move to the other.  This went on five or six times, until we were both panting in the warm evening.

The interaction was about as much fun as you could have with a big cat, who would otherwise consider you a potential meal, had it not been for the fence that kept us separated, but not disconnected.

BENCHED

One

never knows

where a seat

on the bench

will take you

Seeking out a landing spot on a warm summer evening overlooking the bay on Coronado, I spotted an available seat next to an older gentleman preoccupied with a phone call.  As I was making my approach, we made eye-contact, smiled, and I proceeded to land safely.

He quickly concluded the call and immediately informed me that he had been touching base with a sister who lived in New Orleans, who was being pounded by the rain of Hurricane Isaac, but otherwise, was safely weathering the storm.  I asked him if he had lived there, which he had, and for 18 years.  Inquiring about his line of work is where we took off.

Doug had spent his entire life in law-enforcement forensics, going back into the mid-50’s, long before the popularity of CSI and NCIS.  His career had begun with the NCIS, on a naval airbase in the middle of Texas in the 50’s, investigating sabotage by our own guys on training-planes.  They had lost about six planes that had mysteriously lost power and crashed, fortunately, without any loss of life.  He was able to track down, through maintenance records, the same two mechanics that had worked on all the planes involved, but was never able to produce enough proof for conviction.  As soon as the men were reassigned, the crashes stopped.  That was proof enough for him.

He received additional training from the FBI, and with dental forensics at LSU. This lead him to work for the City of New Orleans for many years, and his talents saw him get farmed out to many of the local parishes and small towns in the surrounding areas that lacked similar resources.  He discussed some of his more bizarre cases, describing many gruesome details which will be omitted from this account.  All in all, he loved ‘working the mystery’, despite the context.

After a long and storied career, he took up bench-warming in Coronado.

Who knew that an open seat next to Doug would secure front-row seats inside the Crime Scene tape.