athena

Last weekend I took a break from my paper-writing marathon to enjoy a little snack with Brad (cranberry-studded cheese, crostini, and cracked Sicilian olives...very nice). We were sitting in a spot of sun in the backyard,the birds were flitting in and out of the grapefruit tree, and the lily in the pond was open and showing itself off splendidly. Brad was happy to be sitting down as he was flying furiously through a long list of house repairs and whatnot. We were soaking up the few moments we had to relax.

Then Shaddie started barking his head off to announce a visitor.

I could see through the carport and over the truck. It was our neighbor,whom Brad calls Athena, because she is from Athens, and because it's the only name he can remember for her.

Athena is quite elderly and lives by herself in this big old house two doors down. I love going to her house. It feels like what I imagine a Greek home in the old country to be: complete with a large statue in the living room and plastic flowers and crucifixes everywhere. And best of all, pictures of Athena when she was young and beautiful. She often asks me, "I still look pretty, no?"

I confess on this day I was not so happy to see Athena. I was in a panicked state regarding getting my 20-page paper done. I think I was on page 5 and the weekend was almost over. I actually hid behind the bouganvilla. I'm not proud of that, okay? But it's true. I looked at Brad with an imploring look. I think he said something like "I feel your pain."

So we invited Athena into the backyard where she shared some cheese and went into her usual astonished exclamations regarding her house phone.

Several times now we have come to Athena's aid with her phone. (Once she asked Nate to break one of her windows because she was locked out...but that's another story... yeah--Nate loved it) The only thing wrong with Athena's phone is that it needs new batteries. Every time. But she can't remember that, or maybe doesn't even realize that's what we keep doing--replacing the batteries. It's always the same... she is mystified that her phone won't work, and I think she is convinced that Brad is a genius and the only one who knows how to make her phone work again. It's rather endearing, if you want to know the truth.

Anyway, it's always a long process with Athena. She wants to feed you something from her kitchen (where the counters are covered with spoiling food), and it takes a long time to explain to her that her phone is working now. I stand right next to her and her phone, and call her from my cell, and she doesn't understand that it is me calling her. She asks, "Yes? Who is it?" Last time I foolishly tried to explain that it was me calling, but not into the phone, exactly. More like to her directly. She insisted no one was there, her phone was still not working, and hung up on me.

The thing is, I sort of worry about Athena. I can't imagine how she makes it through each day. Or why she hasn't keeled over from food poisoning, or wandered down the street and gotten lost. Yesterday she saw me walking past her house and didn't know it was me. She gave me the cold shoulder, thinking I was some stranger daring to walk on her street. (She complains constantly about her neighbors and other people, wrinkling her nose up in disgust)

But here's what I believe about Athena. God totally takes care of her. She tells me constantly that God tells her to come to our house when she has a problem. The first time I met her she told me that. People from her church take her shopping and pick her up for mass. She sleeps alone in that big house every night, prays before she goes to sleep, and stays safe. I doubt she always remembers to lock her doors.

Yesterday she introduced me to a young man who had come to take her to the grocery store. She described me as "the one God sends me to." I liked that so much, I thought I would burst from happiness.

She reminded me--in a finger-wagging sort of way--to remind her on Thursday that she is coming to our house for Thanksgiving. She is afraid I'm going to forget. Then she said "Come here," and pulled me to her with surprising strength for someone with such frail little arms.

Then she kissed me. Right on the mouth.

As I walked the rest of the way home I laughed and thanked God for Athena. And reminded Him--in an embarrassed sort of way--to remind me that stuff I am doing is not more important than being there for someone else.

I'm afraid I'm going to forget.