Oh, Puhleeeze! Not another Bird Drama!

“At least it’s not trying to get in the hot tub anymore,” the Lovely I said philosophically.
JL nodded, concern worrying her brow. “But he’s drinking an awful lot of water. I’ve never seen a bird drink so much water.”
“And it’s got yucky chlorine in it,” the Lovely I tsk tsked. “Here, Birdie, have some good clean Berkeley organic water,” she floated across the tub and poured out a puddle next to the thirsty pigeon who of course ignored it.
PP sighed as she settled into her favorite corner of the hot tub. Bird drama. No more. She’d had enough after the little crow escapade which in the end had turned out all right, but still……
A thirsty pigeon? Maybe it was just thirsty? It was a hot day. Don’t pigeons deserve a drink too?
But yet……
PP turned around to watch its little brown head sucking up the yucky water. LI shaking her head. “Hey, bird. Drink the good water!”
And it did. Like it had heard her command and then hopped to.
It drank and drank and drank.
PP had to admit that it was drinking an awful lot of water.
JL moved up to the side of the tub and leaned on the edge watching in heavy bird concern. “I don’t know what to do. Lindsey won’t take pigeons. When I found my pigeon here, I called them and they said, no, not unless it’s a wild pigeon. And when I described it. White with a little pink on the wings. They said, nope that’s no wild pigeon. We can’t help. And when I told them there was a hawk circling overhead, they said, well if you leave it there, the hawk will get it and of course I couldn’t do that so I took it home and then to Liberty Wild. Did you hear that story LI?”
The Lovely I shook her head as she continued to coax the pigeon to drink her healthful water.
“This pigeon is brown,” PP offered. “Does that mean that they might take it? That it’s wild?”
“Oh, I never thought of that. Does their color show their wildness or tameness?” JL mused.
“I don’t think so,” the Lovely I offered. “I just think the color is like you know our eye color. Brown eyes or blue eyes.”
“Is it like race? Like the brown pigeons are a different pigeon race than the white ones?” PP asked to be silly.
“No,” JL answered very seriously. “I think I is right. It’s like eye color. Though there aren’t as many brown ones that’s for sure.”
PP nodded as she turned away from the drinking bird for a moment to soak in the tub and gaze at the group of pine trees blowing in front of her.
OH! There he goes!” JL exclaimed, excited and happy.
PP turned and yes, there he had gone, but not far. Only to the tarp covering to land there, a dark shadow now trying vainly to get up to the top of the tent like structure. But the shadow kept slipping down. Like he was drunk.
Oh, no. there was something wrong with him.
Damn!
Now what to do?
JL and the Lovely I climbed out of the tub and moseyed over to check out the progress. He’d hop up the slope and then slide back down then hop a bit more and then slide, but each time he did get a little higher till finally, he reached the metal bar pinnacle and perched there, resting.
Ok, PP thought. He must be ok to get to the top and then just hang out. If he were really sick, wouldn't he fall back down?
Shit.
PP decided she was gonna go take a shower and not get involved. She wasn’t in the mood to drive to Walnut Creek with a drunk pigeon. She wanted to go to Moe’s and listen to Al Young read poetry and then go up to O’s and have grilled cheese and watch the Marilyn Monroe Marathon on AMC.
Was she just a selfish bitch?

PP thought probably so, but then, if JL and The Lovely I wanted to somehow rescue the pigeon though lord knows how they were gonna get it now that it was atop the shade tarp thingee, well…..let em. She was gonna go partake of poetry and sex appeal.

But then, in the shower, PP felt a Pigeon Pang. What if a hawk came by and saw the poor little guy perched atop the tarp all forlorn and tired and drunk on pool water?
Could she sleep at night knowing that she’d left the poor little guy to such a fate?

She could not.
And of course, neither could JL and the Lovely I.
“We have to go check on the pigeon one more time before we leave!” JL had insisted, knowing that they were all going to do this anyway.
And they did. Clean and showered and spacey and hungry they ambled over to the far side of the pool to take a look.
No, he wasn’t on top of the tent tarp anymore.
Was this a good sign? Had he flown away?
Or….
Had he fallen down into the grass of the dark dense hedges that surrounded the hot tub area?
JL and the Lovely I started to peer around the surroundings. PP did too, but was hoping she didn’t see anything. And if she did?
Would she tell them?
Oh, of course she would. Marilyn Monroe could wait.
“I don’t see him, do you guys?” JL asked anxiously.
“No, I don’t see him,” the Lovely I shook her head.
“Me neither,” said PP. “But I’m hoping I won’t’ so I’m not looking very hard,” she joked.
They laughed but not very hard. It really wasn’t very funny. Bird Rescue. It was a very serious business and PP knew this but she just couldn’t help herself sometimes. It was only a bird after all. Not a human being.

PP suddenly shuddered to herself as she remembered the Homeless Man she’d seen lying comatose on Market St when she got off the BART on her way to work the other day. Everyone just sidestepping him. Talking on their cell phones, completely oblivious. How could this be? As she stopped to see if he were ok. And he wasn’t. This much she could tell. He was in really bad shape. Lying there on his side, his face
all scrunched up and purple and his jeans offa his ass and it was
awful.... it was so sad. She’d almost started crying...and so when she got to school, she tried calling the homeless advocacy agency in SF—but of course, could only leave a message--then social services who was a person, but then this person, a Harried Woman with a tired edge to her voice, just hooked PP up to their homeless issues division--another message---so PP had called back and HW was really bitchy and said well, if PP thought he was sick or dying they don't go pick people up off the streets. She needed to call 911.....

Stupid bitch why didn't she tell PP that in the first place?

But at least the 911 lady was nice and said they'd send a paramedic out
right away. Which made PP feel better, but.....will that help him? She didn’t know. It's all so sad and she felt so powerless. Here in the richest country in the world and this goes on. He’s a human being for crissakes!

Maybe this is why they tried to rescue birds. At least they could do Something. Even if it was just capturing the poor sick bird and taking it to the Lindsey Wildlife Rescue. At least it felt like solid help. Whereas with this poor man. Did the paramedics really come to help? And even if they did, then what? They’d probably throw him back out on the streets and the whole process would start again.

At least with the birds, if they get better, they fly away, right?

“He musta flown away then,” JL sighed in relief.
PP nodded, thinking how she wasn’t going to mention the Homeless Man. How it was just a silly pigeon they were so worried about.

But it was a life. And isn’t that what the real issue was here in both cases? Life is so precious, whether it’s a pigeon, a Homeless Bum or a Swimming Kitty.

“Can we go now? I’m really hungry all of a sudden.” The Lovely I sing songed softly, and she was right. It was time to go. Eat grilled cheese. Drink bubbly water.. Listen to poetry. Drool over Marilyn. Play with the cats.

.And the pigeon was fine, he had to be. Just like the Homeless Man. The paramedics came and helped him. Right?

PP shook her head as she stared up at the vast blue afternoon sky.
“I don’t see any Hawks.” JL proclaimed as they headed out of the Mills Pool Compound.
“Nope,” PP agreed.
And with a sigh of relief, PP turned and followed the Lovely I and JL outta the Aquatics Compound and out into the lovely summer evening where birds flew, Homeless Bums thrived, and Marilyn proved she was a girl's best friend.

SOLAR CRAZY

“So, I haven’t seen you guys around lately.” Handsome Hot Tub Guy stares at DHBF, and PP, interested, curious.
“Oh, yeah.” DHBF chuckles in his good-humored affable way. “That’s because she,” he points at PP who’s trying to sink down into the hiding bubbles, “hasn’t been coming much.”
”Oh….” HHG turns his stare at PP, who just smiles, making no comment. She’s just not in the mood to explain why she doesn’t come to Mills much anymore, esp. to HHG, whom she didn’t really know, even though he’d been swimming at Mills for years. You’d think that a year after surviving the Melanoma Scare, she’d be more blasé about it, but she’s not. So she just says nothing. HHG doesn’t really care about her anyway. He wanted to partake of some Guy Solar Business Chat.

BORING!


But then, to PP’s delight, the Large Blue Floral Woman who’d been soaking in the tub's corner pipes in, “MORE PEOPLE WOULD INSTALL SOLAR IF IT WASN’T FOR THE GODDAMN GOVERNMENT REGULATIONS! IT’S ALL BULLSHIT IF YOU DON’T MIND MY SAYING. BULLSHIT IS WHAT IT IS!” She harrumphs and frowns, sighs heavily and then glares at the two men. PP sinks back into her corner under her hat--this is so great! A solar crazy! How wonderful! Now we’re talking!

HHG stares at Bullshit Woman in friendly disbelief. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s part of why people don’t install solar, but for the average family it’s gonna cost upwards of what would you say?”

He glances over at DHBF who shrugs, “Depending on the size of the house and the amount of electricity they use it can generally run 30 to $40, 000….”

“YEAH! BUT HOW MUCH OF THAT IS FOR THE GODDAMN PERMITS? I mean, I live out in the El Dorado foothills, and we got around all the permit costs by installing our own system, but I know people who spend upwards of a couple thousand dollars just for the goddamn permits and then the rigmarole they have to go through to get their rebate from the state. It’s BULLSHIT!”

HHG laughs, “Yeah, well you’re right about that. The rebate system is pretty convoluted….

”I mean they have to make sure that they’ve installed the panels on the proper side of the house with…..”BW starts in, fire in her wet eyes.

DHBF interrupts her, “That’s because if they didn’t have those regulations then people would just be installing panels wherever just to get the rebates. People need to install them where they can get the optimum sun power.”
”Yeah,” HHG agrees, “that’s true, but wouldn’t people just be motivated to do that anyway? The better placement just leads to more power and thus bigger rebates? The rebates should just be on a strict….”

Here is where PP zones out a bit. All the technical jargon. Then the kilowatts. What the hell is a kilowatt anyway? In the past, when DHBF had been really into the Solar Thing, he’d start going on and on about the goddamn kilowatts till PP was ready to Kill a BF!

“AND LET ME TELL YOU GUYS ANOTHER THING!” BW interrupts, pointing her finger at them in energetic zeal. Maybe she’s bored with the kilowatt talk too? “The Shipyard? In Berkeley? You heard of them? Well, cuz of the city of Berkeley’s goddamn regulations, they got shut down. The city came in when they found out that the Shipyard, which if you don’t know is an artists’ community hooked up with Burning Man you heard of that I’m sure. It’s amazing the amount of energy they generate for that event. But anyway the Shipyard had this whole Solar Set-up with this self-sustaining energy-enhancing situation, and the city got all up in arms and went and raided the Shipyard and dumped out all the batteries there were tons of batteries being used for this situation, and I ask you? Where the hell did they dump all that battery acid?”
”That’s a good question,” HHG tries to intercede.
“And isn’t it worse to dump the goddamn battery acid wherever then to let the artists generate their own energy? I mean, granted, maybe they weren’t doing things strictly by the book….” BW chuckles conspiratorially.

"That’s just it,” HHG took advantage of her chuckle, opening the door a crack in her tirade, “you’ve got people messing around with electricity and you’ve got to regulate it somehow. It’s dangerous.”


“Yeah, DHBF tried to help his cause, “it’s not like they’re installing a pool.” PP laughs. Did he really say POOL or did she just imagine it? She thinks she probably imagined it, but hell, this is a pool blog, so such watery flights of imagination are allowed.

In any case, BW harrumphs mightily, spraying her indignation all over the tub, “Yeah, I know you’re right on one level, I just think that if the government or the city or whoever made the whole regulation process less expensive than it wouldn't be so prohibitive to install solar. Look at us!” she waves her arm expansively toward the sunny blue sky above. “In California. With all this sun! We should be completely powered by solar. There’s no excuse!” Pointing her finger more vigorously, she puffed up her cleavage, thrusting out her chin in Righteous Solar Indignation. BW was a force to be reckoned with.

“Yeah, but like we were saying, “ HHG is trying to talk to her reasonably like she’s a normal person instead of the El Dorado Solar Radical that she is. “It is expensive. The regulation fees are only like about 10% of the total cost which comes to ….”
DHBF jumps in. He’s the expert. “If it’s a $30, 000 system, then it’s even less really, usually no more than a couple thousand.”
More harrumphing. “THAT’S JUST MY POINT! IT SHOULD BE FREE!!!! I mean, sure people could still have regulations to follow and paper work to fill out, but they don’t need to charge them up the waazoo to install something that is so goddamn good for the planet!”

PP tries not to laugh as HHG and DHBF stare at her, both thinking of some response. But she’s not giving them an inch.
“AND SO, TO CONCLUDE MY WONDERFUL SPEECH,” BW smiles and gives a little bow, “I’d just like to add, and it seems like you guys know what you’re talking about and are behind me in this, but the government just needs to get rid of their BULLSHIT regulations and get behind the actual installing of solar on every unit in California before it’s too late!”

And with a final satisfied harrumph and dramatic point of the finger in their direction, BW heaved herself out of the tub and waddled away.

DHBF glanced over at PP who was doing the silent giggle in sheer delight. HHG shrugged, before stepping out of the tub, “Well, it was nice talking to you, kinda.”
DHBF chuckled, “Yeah, maybe next time we won’t have such a lively audience.”

Giggling, PP started out of the tub, but DHBF pulled her back, “Not so fast. What’s so funny?”
”Hey, lemme go, I wanna go take a shower at the same time as El Dorado Bullshit Woman.”
“Haven’t you done enough eavesdropping for one day?”
“Never!” PP giggled as she wriggled out of his grasp and hurried after the large blue flowered ass jiggling ahead of her.

A FREE GIFT

“Would you mind circle-swimming?”
Goggled-Crankster Woman glared at PP through her foggy mask, “I guess not,” she replied, all huffy.
PP gets this on one level. GCW had had her own lane a moment ago and now she was gonna hafta circle swim. Hell PP detested circle swimming too, but what to do on a Sunday afternoon at the Y? She glanced at the other lanes, all with at least two swimmers in each, and a couple with 3 or more, the lane next to GCW hosting a spastic Chinese family of 4 frolicking and having fun, can you imagine? in a lap lane. Their playing did remind PP of China and how no one swam laps in any way shape or form at the Dalian Natatorium. She smiled at the memory now. But then. Well, PP wrote a Book about That!

So, GCW was just gonna hafta deal with circle swimming. No way should she expect to get her own lane, esp. on crowded weekend day in the middle of the summer! GCW paused for a moment, eyeing PP and her dear friend, MC, whom PP had been trying to get to the Y for a couple weeks, telling her how warm and friendly and welcoming it was here, and now?

Well, what kind of welcome was this?
Damn.
Fortunately, MC was over at the steps wading into the water past the Frocklickin Family and didn’t catch GGW’s inhospitality.

Shrugging and trying to make her not feel quite so put upon, PP grinned, “You’re definitely the most Organized of the lanes!”
What the hell did this mean? PP wasn’t sure, but it came out of her mouth without any self-censoring, unusual for her, but not unprecedented. GCW gave PP one final glare before shaking her head and diving under water.
PP sighed under her breath, Bitch, she thought to herself as she smiled over at MC who’d managed to swim past the frolicking family.
“Sorry it’s so crowded and we hafta circle swim,” she apologized to MC.
“It’s ok, I’m just happy to be in the pool!” MC exclaimed and took off down the lane with an elegant sidestroke.

PP giggled. MC was right. It was good just to be here in the pool. Fuck GCW. Maybe they’d scare her off!

But this wasn’t to be as they continued to circle swim, PP passing both MC and GCW a couple of times before glancing over at the Family Frolicking Lane to note a serious confrontation going on between the Father of the Family and one of the Head Honcho Lifeguards. Much hand waving from the father, and much earnest explanation from the lifeguard. PP couldn’t tell what exactly was being said since she had her earplugs and cap on, but it looked pretty intense. Perhaps some Cultural Misunderstanding? This did seem likely as the father continued to gesticulate angrily--few words seemed to be being exchanged. Hell, was all this Emotional Wrongness for MC’s benefit? First, GCW and now Frazzled Father?

PP shook her head and headed back down the lane, speculating about how the lifeguard was telling him that they couldn’t play in the lap lanes, that they had a whole side of the pool designated for this family swim activity. But Dad wasn’t having any of it. He paid his dues. His family was swimming! Hell, they were even kinda swimming laps, something that PP had never witnessed in China. Not that the Oakland Y was China, though sometimes PP felt like it was when she was soaking in the hot tub surrounded by boisterous, giggling Chinese Ladies gossiping away in their native tongue.

But now Dad was pissed off-- Why the hell did they hafta go over there with all those noisy splashy obnoxious other families?

And PP thought. That’s what you get for having a family.
You get herded into the Family Section with all the other Obnoxious Ones.
What do you expect?
Have a family, swim in the family section. It was that simple.

Turning at the far wall, PP saw the two kids get out, all skinny and shivering and then mom and finally dad following, heaving himself up on the deck and sitting there staring morosely at the now empty lane.

PP grinned.
Cool. She and MC can snag that lane, but she better move fast!
And she did, diving under the lane line and then shouting for MC, “Hey M, over here! We can split this lane!”
MC nodded, dipping under the lane line and continuing her graceful kickboard kicking down the right side of the lane.
And GCW can have her own lane back, too, PP thought; for a moment she even considered thanking her for letting them share her lane. Hell, wait a minute, it wasn’t HER lane! The Y was all about sharing, remember? It’s one of those BIG values painted up on the wall. PP grinned when she saw another swimmer get into GCW’s lane. Hah! No OWN lane for you!

Finally! It was lovely now, swimming with MC. PP was so delighted to have a friend here with her at the Y. She’d missed the social aspect of swimming so much since having to give up her Mills Midday Routine cause of the stay out of the sun dictate from the dermatologist. Sure, she'd made a few "Hello, how're ya doin?" aquaintances here at the Y, but it wasn't the same. Maybe someday, as she watched MC kick- floating happily on her back down the right side of their lane.

Later, MC was relaxing in the Hot Tub, and commented on how much she liked the Y, swimming indoors was perfect for her. She didn’t really like the sun. It actually made her feel sick sometimes.
“You’re smart,” PP had nodded. “The sun is NOT your friend!”
”Not mine, anyway,” MC had agreed. “I get sick of having to put all that sunscreen on.” She wrinkled her pretty nose and shook her head and PP had to agree. It was super nice not having to worry about sunscreen here inside the Y.
“What’s MM up to this afternoon?” PP had asked, referring to MC’s BF.
“I dunno. When I left he was plopped in front of the TV watching some King Arthur and his Merry Knights marathon.”
”That is so weird,” PP had mused. “Staying in the house all day on such a beautiful afternoon.”
”Yeah, I think so too. And lord knows he doesn’t feel compelled to do anything around the house while he’s in it!”
They both giggled. It’s an ongoing issue for MC, PP knows, the slovenly BF. One of the many reasons PP lives alone. The only slovenly one is herself and this is rare.
“Yeah, I hear you!”
“I just sequester his Mess to the bedroom. Tell him he has to keep it confined there. The rest of the apartment is off limits.”
“But you hafta go into the bedroom every night to sleep, right?”
She nodded, “Yeah….it can get a little depressing.”
PP shook her head. Thinking about how her BF, though Dashingly Handsome, did have some housekeeping issues that she was glad to have no part of. Hence he had his own apartment and she didn't have to deal with the quarantining of the mess situation. This could get ugly real fast, as MC has chronicled over the years. What a relief that PP has her own place!

Now if only she could get the landlord to put in a pool!

“I’ve bout had it.” MC cracked up as she raised her legs out of the tub. “I’m a lobster.”
PP giggled, “Yeah, me too, let’s shower and call it a day.”
And they did. Shower. Call it a day.

On their way out they tried to talk to the harried clerk at the front desk about MC getting a free one week pass since PP had brought her in—PP waving the“BRING A FRIEND TO THE Y” card in the air.
“She hasta go on the Tour,” HC sighed as she tried to explain the free tour while checking in patrons. “And I’m the only one here, so I can’t take her on it.”
”That’s ok,” MC is so calm and agreeable, “Do you have any literature I can take with me to study? Then I can come back for the tour later?”
HC nodded, retrieved some literature and handed it across the counter.
”Thanks,” MC seemed excited. “Oh, literature!” she exclaimed as she shuffled quickly through it and then popped it in her swim bag.
“Yeah,” PP agreed, “It’d be so fun if you joined! Then I could have someone to swim with and I get a Free Special Gift if you join by Sept 15,” PP was reading the back of the the BRING A FRIEND TO THE Y little card with the above enticement.
“Wonder what your Free Gift could be?” MC mused.
“Dunno,” PP shrugged, thinking how most likely it’d be something really stupid like a stuffed yellow bear with a bright red YMCA sweatshirt on, or a workout water cup with blue YMCA embossed on it, or hell, it wouldn't be anything that good, PP was sure.

But from PP’s perspective, the Best Gift would be having her friend, MC, join the Y and swim with her every Sunday! Nothing could be more special than that.

Not even having your own lane and never having to circle swim!



Penguins Circle Swimming--take a lesson from the birds!

COURAGE

Ok, PP is all for the Y’s Values.

Respect.
Honesty.
Caring.
Responsibility.

And hell, she’s all about being sensitive to those who are Differently-Abled. Can’t imagine what it must be like to not be able to walk. Or see. Or hear. Or eat. Or whatever it is that’s ‘different.’

But. And this is something that’s always confused her.
When a D-A person is about ready to kill herself cuz everyone’s afraid to offer help. Is this really what respect for their Independence is all about?

Again, confusion reigns here surrounding this philosophy, but in this particular instance, PP had to say something. No one else was going to. Or for some reason, she was the designated Leader. Why the hell was that?

That’s also a weird thing. Why is it that one person in a group is the seen as the leader? But hell, that’s another blog.

This one is about the political incorrectness of offering to help a paralyzed 110-year-old tiny African American grandma outta her wheelchair and into the hot tub. (PP doesn’t know why she assumes she’s a grandma. Maybe she’s just thinking of grandmas today since it’s hers birthday—94! Happy Birthday, Gram!)

Let’s start at the beginning.
PP’s had survived an exhausting swim. They’ve all been so lately. It’s the summer rush pandemonium plus the wrong leaking mask and her sore neck. But on this particular Sunday, August 5th, she did manage to surmount all these obstacles and get her 2200 yards in.

So now, in the hot tub, she’s beat. Barely coherent. Close to heaterzied comatose. And so…..when she opens her eyes to behold Gram in her wheelchair, she’s hardly paying attention. Besides, there are lots of Y patrons in wheelchairs. And PP is always in AWE of them. How the hell do they do it? The one legged man swimming his 10 laps. The beautiful Chinese woman with dead legs wrapped in weird blue floatees swimming for an hour.

And now. Gram is trying to unhook her electric wheelchair from a pair of black flip-flops on the side of the hot tub. The other two women in the hot tub look pointedly away even though the flip-flops must belong to one of them. Of course, Gram can’t reach down to the floor and move them, so PP hops across the tub and moves them outta her way.

Gram cranks her chair forward relieved of its obstacle. PP goes back to her corner and watches in concern as Gram starts to painfully lift herself out of the now parked chair. Her legs completely immobile, so horribly swollen. They probably haven’t moved themselves in decades.

It was so worrisome. PP watched as Gram reached for the guardrail to the tub and barely managed to grab hold. And then to heave herself out of the chair, slowly, slowly, and drag her slight body into the tub, her dead weight legs dragging perilously on the wet slippery tiles surrounding the tub.
Damn.
Shouldn’t she have someone to help her?
PP glances over at the pretty Asian woman who’s eyeing the scary scene with wide fear. She’s thinking the same thing, but looking at PP to do something.
PP shakes her head slowly. What can she do? She glances over at the other woman in the tub, a middle aged white lady in navy Speedo who stares into space, ignoring the whole drama.
How can that be?
Some people.
But as Gram inches across the wet tiles and Pretty Asian Woman nods at PP more emphatically, her eyes the size of chocolate donuts, PP sighs deeply. Yeah, she knows. Don’t offer to help. It’s the independence protocol surrounding Differently- Abled Persons.

Or is it? Maybe it isn’t. Maybe an offer of help is the only sane thing to do. Who cares if Gram gets huffy? It’s better than falling and cracking her skull on the wet tiles.

Then....a little slip. But Gram catches herself. Stands steady for a moment on the first step into the tug.
PP can’t stand it anymore.
“DO you need some help?” she hops across the tub, hopefully.
Gram stares at her for a long silent moment.
“No.”
PP heard that tone. The one that says, you stupid walking person, I can do it myself. I don’t need anyone’s help. Esp. yours.

And she was right. She did make it into the tub. Sinking thankfully onto the underwater bench to face the whirling jets.

Sighing in relief, PP inches around her. Not saying anything else. To Gram. To the pretty wide-eyed Asian woman, who now, also looks visibly relieved.

But PP wonders. What if Gram had slipped? And she hadn’t offered to help?
Wouldn’t she have felt just awful? Isn't it better to step on someone’s toes, figuratively speaking of course, rather than watch in fear as the D-A person falls and cracks her head open?

PP thinks it is better to offer the help. No matter what. And if someone snarls at her. Or declines her help with pride and coldness?
Hell, that’s ok.
At least she knows she tried.
And isn’t that what the Y is all about?

RESPONSIBITY.
HONESTY
CARING.
AND YES, RESPECT.

Cuz without this last one, the other 3 are moot.
At least as far as PP is concerned.
And one tough old courageous 110-year-old Gram!