We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It’s easy to say “It’s not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem.” Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes.
― Fred Rogers
I read the news and decided to take a walk and do some rescue breathing. In through the nose for two breaths (think: one breath then a second, like a layer on top) hold it and exhale through your mouth longer than you inhaled. I exhale to “vuuuu”. This calms your nerves and that helps pretty much everything.
It’s easy to walk down the trail that it is our street, saying “vu” as loud as I want. No one minds, or notices, and if they do, they probably figure I’m singing and can’t remember the words. I’m guessing there are about fifty of us here right now, in the lull before the summer people arrive and winter vacationers return. It’s us and the waves, a cold wind, a bit of rain, and maybe a few snow flurries.
Sun is in the forecast. Daffodils are poking out of mulch, at least one dog has had a bath and brush, and the water is back on. Two handy guys turned on the creek system so we turned off the valve from our storage tank and opened the one marked “creek”. It’s good to have plenty of water, and it’s good to depend on neighbors (and have such dependable ones.)
About an hour later, Chip walked the dogs and said the main line from the source creek was spraying the trail like an irrigation system. Others had already noticed, and the crew went back to work repairing winter cracks. Luckily, there are hose clamps, tools and all kinds of supplies for just about anything, if you know where to look, and they do.
The time change did not catch me off guard, since the clock determines when I can take a hot mineral bath. Sunday morning, I pedaled to the bath house a little late on purpose. 10:15 instead of 9:15. (I give the guys 15 minutes in case the transition is slow.) Women’s hours are 9am-2pm and 6-10pm.
Last night, I took another soak after supper. A friend cooled down as I undressed in the locker room and we chatted for a lot longer than you’d think two naked grandmothers would. She reminded me to help myself to the greens in the community greenhouse. She said I can clean up dead leaves in the beds in exchange for a salad.
Last week, I took a four-hour CPR first aid class at the community center. There were eleven of us. Although five are in the same family. (Seven if you count the grandparents.) Four residents took an ETT class with more advanced training. A shirttail relative from Haines instructed us. His children call me Mimi and are the cousins of our grandchildren. There is an urgency to teaching and learning lifesaving skills in a community without a doctor, clinic, an ambulance crew- in a place where advanced medical treatment is a medevac flight away.
There are a lot of AEDs. The bath, the community center. The harbor. Down the west end of the trail and out the east end in a boat shed. We learned how to use them, and to count chest compressions to “Stayin’ Alive,” although one of the old timers had no idea what that tune was. It’s fast, we told her. She did her compressions and breaths just fine after that.
I have had CPR classes before, but have never needed to do it, and I never really expected to. Someone else surely will be better at it. But now, here, I listened carefully. I practiced. It feels more important. I want to be a good neighbor. I hope no one needs me to keep their heart beating. But I think I can do it. I can count to 30 while I push down on a chest and sing, give two gentle breaths, return to compressions. I can open up an AED and follow the instructions ( Take your time, listen, don’t panic Heath—deep breaths buddy. You have this) —and I can keep on going until more help arrives, confident that it won’t be long.
