Innermost Thought

From the moment I left for college, my father has ended every telephone conversation we've had with "Remember, be aware of your surroundings." After three and 1/2 continents, numerous treks by car, rail, and planes, moves to exotic and distant locales and more than ten years (okay 15) of hearing that phrase at what must amount to a few hundred phone calls (at least), the idea has taken root, sprouted, flowered and now drops pecans in my brain when I'm out and about. Seriously. I've gotten to the point where I tell myself to be aware of my surroundings. On some occasions, if I trip on the sidewalk (a biannual thing for me in NYC) or get so engrossed in a thought that I've missed my destination, I admonish myself that I was not aware of my surroundings and redouble my efforts to be vigilant.

My Grandma L effectively used this technique to brainwash me for good (as opposed to evil.) When I was a little girl, we couldn't walk through her kitchen unless we had washed our hands. On the days that we made tortillas, it was especially important because only clean hands would get to use Grandma's rolling pin and fashion a specially-set-aside, specially-aportioned-for-little-girls tortilla mound. (Try as I might, a "round" tortilla proved ever elusive and still does to this day.) Being the smart little girl that I was, it didn't take long before I took it upon myself to wash my hands before my Grandma asked. I have to admit now that this was only partly because I wanted her to be proud of me and also partly so I could be a smart ass. Well, my Grandma was smarter than I. Our exchanges would go like this:
G: Are your hands clean? Go wash your hands.
Me: I already did, Grandma!
G: Go wash them again.

Wash them again I would.

My Grandma L has been gone for seven years and my little girl days of little girl oddly shaped cinnamon-sugar tortillas are a lingering, fragrant memory. So is my Grandma's command. I cannot leave a bathroom without hearing her request and the sure knowledge that she would frown down upon me should I be remiss. It's why a have cleaner bathroom and kitchen etiquette than anyone else you'll find this side of the Obsessive/Compulsive line.

My father's mantra, "Being aware of my surroundings," has now evolved. In recent weeks, I've realized I have taken to occasionally, randomly and as stealthily as possible turning around and looking behind as I walk late at night. The trick is to appear to be walking forward until the last moment when you are looking back, and thus catching any possible bad guy in the act of following. It's become a sort of game with me. It's fun and vigilant and though I live in a great neighborhood and NY is these days a pretty safe place, a girl can't be too careful. One night recently, it dawned on me that I was doing a Crazy Ivan.

It's a great idea this looking back. Reflecting and inspecting. And if you catch your past by surprise there's no telling what you might find lurking towards the bushes.


Grandma and Mrs. B. (Grandma is the one with gorgeous mane of black hair.)