What is it with me and this world's forgotten?
I was out on the deck supervising Loki and the doves as this older guy is walking his dog down the alley. I know them by sight and sound well, they've both got a limp and have a distinctive shuffle. The Lokes starts caterwauling at his dog, who responded in kind, so we got to talking. I now know all his friends and family are dead, so he doesn't get to talk to people much, he's apologetic for talking my ear off, the cats and dogs aren't good conversationalist, his mother died from Alzheimer's, he grew up in a dying mining town, he came to Baltimore in the 70s and has lived all over the city, likes walks in this area best and likes searching on the Internet for stories of forgotten, dilapidated, abandoned or just weird places to live. His name is Richard and I'll make a point to look up his hometown and the names of some of the places I've seen photoessays on lost and abandoned places to mention to him next time.
I run into this so much. I'm like a magnet for these elders. Very often, there are reasons more complicated and difficult why these folks find themselves so isolated, so it's not as simple as leading them to one of the senior community groups at the Y or whatever. But if all I have to offer is a friendly conversation...well, it's not enough. But I can offer it.
And now he's not invisible. His name is Richard.