Mavis, who lived directly across the hall from me, was the queen of stating the obvious. “Sure is hot”, she’d say if she got onto the elevator with you in the middle of the afternoon. “Sure is windy”, on other days, a virtual weather report, succinct, boiled down to it’s essence.
“Thanks for the report, Mave”, I’d say, “now I won’t have to look out the window.”
I like, as a general rule, the statement of the obvious, always finding it flirting with the ridiculous, a senseless and foolhardy declaration of perceptible irrefutable truth.
“The parade went right by the building”, she said one Canada Day out there in the hallway, taking a bag of kitchen garbage down the hall to the trash shoot.
“Thanks for the report, Mave”, I’d say, “now I won’t have to look at the news.”
Mavis was mentally challenged.
Her mother was an alcoholic. Socially challenged.
I found myself living in the building because it was cheap and right downtown. I didn’t know it was full of welfare bums and pensioners. But it was fine overall, except for the elevator rides up and back from the 15th floor.
I almost never saw mom. Though from time to time I would hear bottles rattling together, tattling on her as she or Mavis took them down the hall to the trash shoot .
Of course, the only thing more boring than talking about the weather is talking about a meal you once ate or a dream you once had. I say that a lot. But with Mavis, it wasn’t really talking anyway.
Fruit is typically sweet and juicy. It’s hard to expand on that in any meaningful way.
I never give money to beggars. I don’t have to think about it. I don’t care how destitute, humble and pathetic they look. They are more of a simple curiosity or a minor inconvenience to get around.
I just live and let live.