Jeffrey

Simply the best.

Sometimes a really great person pops into your life, unexpectedly and at just the right moment. For me, that person was Jeffrey.

Yep… 2022, a shit year. And not just because of politics, climate change and Ukraine. For me, it was a year of 24/7 hip pain. I could no longer work in events or in anything else it seemed, as I was miserable sitting, standing, walking, bending, reaching or carrying anything heavier than a chihuahua. I simply could not take on a full time job. And really… who, in their right mind was going to hire a 60-year old woman with a pronounced limp and a constant scowl from pain? Well, remarkably, my good friend Ed (of Gerardz Honeybees) did. Ed sells his “products of the hive” at numerous farmers markets in the San Francisco Bay Area. Buy them. He’s one of the good guys and he deserves your business.

The honey booth gig turned out to be just the right amount of work. Not too strenuous, not too many hours and I always had a couple days to recover before the next market. Oh yeah, and it handily paid the rent. I know some of my peeps were like “Chris, what the hell are you doing selling honey?” Hard to believe this is where I was at, what with my multiple college degrees plus decades of experience running my own businesses and working in management. But, crippled as I was, this was my reality. Quite humbling.

Let me be really clear: there was nothing wrong with the honey booth gig. In fact, it was a great job. It paid well, the tasks simple and clear, the work stress-free and I got to be outdoors and meet really lovely people. And it was fantastic honey. Not cheap, but worth every EBT dollar. I loved my customers and my many vendor colleagues. Every week the same folks would parade through the market and I always looked forward to the repartée… both with customers and vendors. Chatting with Jim, Liz, Doug, Devon, Justin, Laddy, Karine, Grace and the rest of the gang was the big perk of the gig. I would not, in fact, be exaggerating in saying that the honey booth gig was my favorite job ever. Really was. And my boss, Ed the beekeeper… a wonderful human being (or should I say “beeing”).

During the Year of the Honey Booth I grew to understand (perhaps for the first time) that which really mattered and that which did not. It was like the debris floated away from my boat and I could see to the bottom of the lake. There was beautiful, pure water that was delicious and wild, and full of living things. And soon all I cared about really was being alive. It was so basic. And it was during this year that I realized the extent of my pain, both physical and emotional, all of which had manifested itself in my right hip. Years and years of taking care of other people and shoving my needs to the side had caught up with me. It was an unrelenting ache. About a 9 on 0-10 pain scale. This pain underlined what I knew deep down: I either had to muster up the courage, will and desire to go forward for myself or my continued caretaking was going to make this next decade one long, drawn-out swan song.

Surrounding me at the farmers market were the kindest people. They came in every shape and color, from every walk of life, spoke a variety of languages and spanned all ages. A truly remarkable mix of humans, all of whom shared a common trait: RESPECT. Some people used walkers, some turned up on mountain bikes, others rode in strollers, but most cruised around by foot at varying speeds. Among the vendors were farmers and their children, older folks who sold mushrooms and apples and chill young folks devoted to selling organic produce and healthful artisan food products. And each week, the hardworking farmers market staff saw to keeping the show safe and orderly and assisting with the end-of-day clean-up (no small task).

This was a great job in an inspiring environment. Down-to-earth. Real. And a really happy place. Did I mention that this was the Napa Farmers Market? Be sure to check it out. You will love it.

And it was at the market that I met Jeffrey. For much of the year, I had the pleasure of having my honey booth next to a cheese and meat vendor from Petaluma. Jeffrey was the guy who ran their show. He was really committed to the products and took time to get to know his customers. And Jeffrey always helped me put up my tent, which was not easy for me, given the situation with my hip. I didn’t even have to ask. Whenever he pulled up in his van, the first thing he did was come over and pop up my tent. Over the course of the year Jeffrey and I got to know one another fairly well and though half my age, we had much to talk about. He was an interesting, intelligent and engaging young man. And his sales style was inspiring. Can’t lie… I learned a few new tricks.

The best part of getting to know Jeffrey was this: he was really kind and selfless. This came through in all that he did, in every anecdote and in every deep conversation that transpired on the rainy days when there were few customers. I looked forward to seeing him every week. Truth be told, I was really missing my son (who’d recently moved to North Carolina) and Jeffrey helped fill that emotional void.

Fast forward to mid-January 2023, the one year anniversary of my honey booth gig… there I was, just days away from the hip replacement surgery I had needed for six years. Gearing up for this surgery took all I had left in my bank account and what little remained in my emotional reserve. A really scary juncture to say the least, complicated by my 20-year old daughter moving out just five days prior and my son (who came out to help) having lost a close friend to suicide shortly after arriving back in California. Long story short… neither of my kids were “there” for me and in addition, my son had a medical emergency the day prior, rendering him incapable of even driving me to the surgery (as had been planned). Chaos ensued.

The day before the surgery, it felt like my future hung in the balance. How was I going to get through this major procedure without any help? A “responsible adult” was required for check-in and for my release – and I was scheduled to go home a couple hours after the surgery was complete. That’s right… not even an overnight stay. This was not exactly a job for an Uber driver or limo service. And at this late hour, I couldn’t think of anyone who could take off an entire day to sit in a hospital. In Vacaville. My closest family and friends were far, far away.

Most upsetting of all was knowing that having to reschedule the surgery meant possibly never getting it done. It would have taken months to reschedule and in the meantime I would not have physically been able to do a regular job, as things had gotten that painful. All I could see was financial disaster and unending pain as my future. That Monday before the scheduled surgery was one of the worst days of my life.

Mid-afternoon I sat with my phone in hand trying to decide whether to call things off with my surgeon. I couldn’t see any way to resolve the situation. It was gut-wrenching and I felt so defeated. But before giving up altogether, I did one last scroll through my contacts list. I had already called everyone I could think of who I felt comfortable in handling this very personal situation. Then, in my final scroll through, a name stuck out, a person I hadn’t even thought to ask previously: Jeffrey. Not sure why I hadn’t thought of him in the first place. Though our friendship was casual and we only interacted on market days, Jeffrey stuck out in my mind.

So, it was in this very vulnerable state of mind that I called Jeffrey at 4:00 p.m. the afternoon before my surgery and with pre-op in just 12 hours. Low and behold, he answered. Jeffrey listened to the details, which were extensive, and then said “Sure, I’d be happy to do that.” I couldn’t believe it. He said yes. I had a ride. A wave of relief washed over me, then a torrent of tears. When family and long-time friends were unable to help due to distance or circumstance, this kind young man took on my burden. A huge responsibility. “Sure, I’d be happy to do that.” Wow.

Jeffrey arrived at my home at 4:00 a.m. the following morning, ready to go. He gently drove me to the hospital, carried my things in, saw me to the surgical prep area and listened attentively to all of the post-operative instructions (as my “responsible person”). He gathered up packets of home care materials, held on to all of my belongings throughout the day, and picked up my many prescriptions and medical supplies. Jeffrey even saw my fat ass when they went to do the spinal anesthesia (so sorry friend, I know that’s something you can’t unsee). Then, Jeffrey stayed by my side the entire day, minus the hours in the operating room. Before the surgery, he filled my nervous ears with funny anecdotes and kept track of everything that was going down. Hours had passed, it seemed, and it was only when they wheeled me off for surgery that Jeffrey could head off for a much needed pancake breakfast. Before I was completely under, I venmo’d him some food funds.

Three hours later, when I emerged from the surgery, there was Jeffrey, his gentle smile greeting me in the recovery room. My pain was excruciating at that point. Jeffrey sat right next to my bed and he held my hand. I was scared and I was hurting. But I was not alone. This kind young man, my friend, was there.

Jeffrey stayed next to me the rest of the afternoon, keeping me company. And when it came time to walk (omg… only an hour and a half after the surgery), he did it with me, standing in front of me with a picture of a shirtless Jason Momoa on his phone, motivating me to walk across the room so I could get the doctor’s release to go home. For me, this was perfect… the endorphins from laughter were far better than the fentanyl. Thanks buddy (and Jason).

Shortly thereafter, Jeffrey signed the release papers, helped me make the torturous journey to the car, then ever so carefully drove me toward home. Despite the doctor’s orders to go straight back and rest, I convinced him to take me to the drive-through at In-N-Out Burger, where we pigged out on double double burgers and animal fries with abandon in the parking lot. Those burgers, fries and diet Coke… best fucking meal ever. Yes, I was on a lot of medication.

When we finally arrived back at my house, Jeffrey gingerly walked my battered body up the front steps with the help of my son. My two favorite guys. One on each side. Jeffrey laid out all my medications and went over the post-operative instructions with Ben. I then gave him a long hug and off he went. The rest I barely remember. I slept for days. I hope he did, too.

This beautiful young man impacted my life in a way that will resonate for many years. Jeffrey saw me through my surgery and through a very dark moment in my life. And now, on a scale of 0 to 10, I can say my pain is at ZERO. I cannot thank Jeffrey enough for that.