Where the Sidewalk Ends....

Early this morning, Lucy and I took off to walk to the other side of the Hidden Hill, and once again I caught myself, eyes glued to the sidewalks, wishing I could see the horizon; wishing there not endless hot steamy streets, sidewalks, and concrete curbs wherever my eyes searched.

I passed a favorite yard that always seems to have something in bloom. I stopped and collected my thoughts. 

Noticing the trees bending and swaying; birds fluttering and chirping; flowers blooming is one reason I walk, so why, I asked myself, am I so miserable and disgruntled with my concrete surroundings? 

The lanky daisies brushed my leg like a gentle fairy's touch, and my mood improved immediately. I smiled and decided to walk a new path to the other side of the hill where I could view the horizon.  The weight of wishes that bore me down lifted the faster I walked toward the horizon. 

When I came to the place where the sidewalk ended, I laughed. I stopped to give Lucy a drink of water. My eyes scanned the surroundings and I wondered how Shel Silverstein could possibly have written such delightful poems while surrounded by a concrete city (poem). The more I mused on the subject, the more I realized that it's not the concrete that binds me, but my own selfish wishes.  



Suddenly, I relished in relief...a new perspective opened my mind's eyes. 

The nearly hidden window on a home built on a busy
corner intrigued me. As if the home wished to be elsewhere in time and place, I felt myself drawn to whisperings of the ivy covered lot. I listened.



Lucy had no patience for the secrets of the home. With some effort she led me away down a hill, on a sidewalk where I could cast my eyes out across the horizon. 

Slowing my breath, and with the help of my imagination I could see past the homes, visualize the horse farms in the distance, and feel the freedom of space.  At last I understood: ignoring the rooftops, the streets, the pavement allowed me to relax.  

Thanks to Lucy and Shel Silverstein, I found the place "Where the Sidewalk Ends," and my
imagination begins.

When Exercise Became Sexercise

No matter the weather our Lucy dog needs exercise or we have no rest.  Sadly, Jack and I need even more exercise, so to satisfy our bouncing begging dog 

we often take her to the walking trail on North Base. This winter we've experienced several weeks of fog and drizzle which makes the waking slightly miserable.

So when the sun came out we jumped at the chance to walk the dog and then perhaps enjoy a delicious lunch at LaBaquette, never mind the cold blowing wind sailing in from the northwest.  The winter view of the setting moon relaxed Jack and I, as we bundled up and began our hunkered down walk into the brisk north wind.  

Lucy paid no attention to the wind nor to the afternoon moon, and in no time at all she was out of sight.  We slowed down, held hands, and giggled like a couple suddenly without little children running through the house.  Our eyes cast around looking for a low area out of sight, but this not our old Kansas field with tall grasses and miles of privacy.

Then without notice Lucy came charging from behind like a greyhound racing out of control.  Always aware of her clipping abilities and how hard the ground can be when we fall, we both automatically stepped aside as she barreled through us.  How proud she was when she galloped lightly back to us, with her helicopter tail in full spin.  We'd been caught just thinking about sex! How reminiscent of moments with our children.

The remainder of the walk was just for Lucy, filled with chase scenes and hide-and-go-seek maneuvers by Jack, while I exploded with belly laughter as the two of them played.  In the end, we loaded our now hot and sweaty bodies into the car.  As Jack drove to Sonic (not even near LaBaquette), I noticed a text message from a friend.  I felt compelled to explain why I hadn't replied earlier, so I wrote, "Jack and I have been out in the field sexercising."  

She immediately replied, "What did you do?"  Then I saw the error, and once again I laughed out of control.  I guess it was either a spell check error, a Freudian slip, or perhaps just a wishful expression. 

Good Night Sun.  Good Night Moon.

Here's hoping that all of your New Year's Wishes come true.