Note from Spring

I am happy to report I walked my way safely through winter
and now it is spring again, and it's wonderful. full stop.
Walking the dog around the property the other day
taking in the jungle sounds of these pacific foothills.
As she relieved herself, sniffed random leaves, and rolled in the cedar duff
an obstacle revealed itself, as well an opportunity
and a solution, to a practical problem, bumped into
each other, ostensibly it's a dog walk, that I take everyday
the practice that I have built my existence around protecting
the walk that enables the continued health of my body and mind
which I ask a lot of everyday to pursue all of the things that sustain me.
So what happens when the dog cannot take the walk
that walk, the just about 3 miles daily, the one where I can go
flat out fully striding with her at my side. It happened recently,
she cut her foot and was lame for a week. Without her
I felt off balance and down-right lonely. But I walked fast those days.
It will become too much for her, on hot days it's too much now.
So I resolve to walk her around the property, doing little circuits
in the meantime, we'll meander rather than march. I'll keep an eye on things
as the seasons change along with everything. Day by day,
give us this walk, our daily walk.

Peace Pigrim

My new hero. Meet Peace Pilgrim who began walking January 1, 1953 and continued until her death in 1981.

Returning

I am back to walking despite the bitter cold. The question of purpose comes up not just for me but for others in my milieu. The young are confused and misinterpret their daily acts as trite and unimportant. I often think if only X would happen then I could do Y, Z. Well here's a news flash. X is happening! I picked up trash today on my way home. I picked up a big plastic cup, a plastic sheath from one of the salmon reparation saplings that flew off in the wind, and an empty bottle of vodka before I found a discarded grocery bag to put it all in. I filled it up pretty quickly. I have been meaning to do this for a long time but haven't. The trash annoys me. Beer cans, coffee cups, fast food bags that like magnets pull the dog off course. So today I did it. It felt good, and it gave me a totally different perspective on my walk. I may never write a great novel and there may be no purpose to any of it but I will be able to walk down my road without hating humanity and that's something.

P.S. Someone on my road drinks a ton of 100 Proof Vodka in plastic mickey bottles. I hope it isn't a kid.

Sundays

On Sunday it was frosty and clear once the sun came up over Sumas Mountain. It felt good to be outside and I took pictures of the frost. I am planning a garden, such as it is covered in black plastic and spare tires. I helped at the Urban Farm on Saturday and came away feeling good about everything. We will have a kick-ass raspberry crop again this year and I have plans to throw in a 20ft row here at home too. We made a rough list of things to grow in the garden, things we think we can handle. Beans, peas, cabbage, kale, the basics. Meanwhile I felt nervous about Monday's surgical event but what can you do, time moves us along and now it's 4 days later. The rain started up again and I wouldn't have walked even if I could have. Tomorrow I will try again.

Words

I seek the space where words converge
I keep waiting, thinking it will happen
the woods will open into wide pastureland
flat and navigable, an easy space to lay it all out.
It hasn't happened yet, I am waiting.
I have not entered the woods.
I remain on the periphery. 
Walking and thinking, the road before me
a dashed line on which to build,
the blank spaces where thought drops out
a grid of ideas
built with letters giving way to words
revealing phrases, a melody even
the grid does not extend into the woods
the road is long and the same
a rhythm played each day but without words
no song, the beat of foot falls on dashed line
nothing comes of it but I go out again
hoping words will meet me, pull me in
without suffocating me on the way to the vast openness
I believe exists just beyond the safety of the road

Around Here

We cancelled our weekend plans.  I am out 30 bucks for a reservation but it's the price you pay. I've been home for a few days on my own now settling into the routine of work and dog care with occasional trips out to purchase berries or to pick them. The pressure to preserve fruit is heavy right now, how could I possibly entertain the idea of going away again when raspberries are finishing up and blueberries are coming on.

I am in love with my days, the lazy way they unwind. Yesterday, I inflated the blow-up pool and filled it up two-thirds with water as Mark requested. Today the temp was 58°F after a few hours of sun. Later on I'll pick berries again and even hope to cook a meal, something I have been neglecting. When I am home alone like this I regress into some pretty questionable eating habits. I am no ones model. I eat nachos for supper without vegetable accompaniment. I let the dishes sit where they were emptied.

Listening to music while I work, the doors to my office open wide. A breeze blows past and taps me on my bare shoulder, reminding me how lucky I am. I wish I had a signal to make, like the sign of the cross to acknowledge the greater force but my luck has no name it just blows in from outside me and I gather it up.

My Dog

 

This dog. Not just any dog but this dog. I have let it happen as I have in the past when faced with a dog, faced with the care of dogs. I would not describe myself as maniacal when it comes to pets. I can say no to kittens and stray dogs. But this dog is mine to care for and I take caring for things quite seriously once I agree to do it. This dog rules the day. The walk I take for myself I take for her, she needs them as much as I do, maybe more. Lately I have stopped letting her run free because she seems to be developing a seizure disorder. Over the past few years her seizures have increased in frequency and I am trying in my way to rule out possible causes. I changed her food and now I am restricting her movement around my 5 acre property as well as the adjoining properties where she was in the habit of getting into all kinds of things on her daily romps. This is over. I take her out on the leash and we wander around together until she does her thing. Recently, I awoke to the sound of her throwing up and then she appeared suddenly on my bed, practically on top of me and in seconds I was up and she was in a full blown convulsion. I cleared the area around her and then stepped away, these episodes are hard to watch. She came to and I was there to reassure her and feed her and clean up the urine and the vomit and then I let her come back to bed with me. She slept in that morning but was otherwise fine. It's perplexing and worrying, this dog, my companion, this fragile being. When this neurological malfunction happens her little brain screams my name and she runs to me, a barfing, foaming, urinating, seizing mess. My dog, my mess. I was out of the house today for about 5 hours and I kept thinking about her, knowing how she puts herself into a suspended state when I go out, she fervently waits. She'd wait forever. Such loyalty I do not deserve but I have it and I won't waste it. I plan her walks and her playtime, I think about her comfort, her nerves and her care. This dog, my dog. Not just any dog.

Self at 49

I'm turning 49 tomorrow. Natural progress, there's no fighting it. The salmon are running finally, I saw two today during my walk, their red bodies listing right and left in the shallow pools beneath cedar trees. I am encouraged by the progression and vitality of nature, how it slows but does not stop, there is no dormancy as we perceive. Each day begins and ends as it should, I hold tight to the structure I place on each one and together we move along. The winter solstice is nearing. The darkness won't last forever. It occurred to me this afternoon while I was lighting the stove that I need to embrace this time of hibernation because in 2 short weeks we will have experienced the longest night of the year and will then embark effortlessly on the path to summer, the switch flipped. The days begin to lengthen slowly at first but lengthen they do and before I know it the afternoons will be long and light. Natural progress. I am not struggling as I have in the past, maybe it's this new age but I feel excited about everything again. I am hopeful and philosophical, I suppose I am always that way but often I feel like it might be a facade under which  is concealed something rotten and dying. That is only part of the story because even the rotten things make way for new growth. Look at the salmon coming up Kinney Creek. 40 miles they have traveled to these spawning grounds, their flesh, in some cases, falling off them. They lay their eggs and then die and rot on the banks of the creek. I can smell them even though the air is cool, rotten fish permeates the creek air. The smell of progress.

I made my first oil painting over the weekend with the help and guidance of my sister-in-law, Paula. The whole process is quite backwards to water color but I can certainly see the appeal and will try another one shortly. My mantra, dark to light, seems appropriate for the time of year. I have also been documenting my walks lately in greater detail as I am working on this sketchbook project. The portraits I envisioned for the sketchbook have not quite materialized but there is still time. The practice of walking daily and being observant is most pleasant and nourishing for this part of my journey upstream. Hello 49, welcome.

Favorite Things

In the universe that is my life there are many pairs of black fleece gloves. I wear them in the fall and winter, I abhor cold hands. I have worn gloves twice this fall, last week was the first time and today was the second. I try to never smell the gloves, I know they stink because I pet the dog when I wear them and sometimes they get left damp in pockets of infrequently worn coats. I wash them in the washer and sometimes after the dryer has run I have to search for them as they can adhere themselves to a synthetic pant-leg with whom they have shared the journey from washer to dryer. I don't mind. Laundry is one of the things I like in addition to the simplicity and near disposable quality of black fleece gloves. I am trying to organize this universe that is my life and make piles of things I like and dislike and to take note of how particular things make me feel. I want to have logical answers to these persistent questions so that when someone says what do you like. I have an answer. I can say I like my black gloves. I have at least 4 pairs placed strategically around my house so that no matter what I am never without them, but I never smell them. Smelling is forbidden.

The Natural World

Golden Ears Park, B.C.

I casually titled this photo "What Emily Carr Saw". Of course the woods she encountered were wholly different from these. The trees she saw were giants, as big around as 10 men standing with arms outstretched, some of them were close to a thousand years old.  I can't say what she saw there but the resulting paintings are mysterious, sometimes dark, gnarled and smoothed, deep and cavernous forest-scapes. I read recently she was never accepted by the darling, Canadian, Group of Seven. They were easterners, she was out west. They were in different worlds geographically, she was a woman.

Interestingly or strangely I have little interest in painting the natural world. I prefer to walk in it, listen to it, absorb it and carry it away with me, let it nourish me. Today a friend and I walked up near the site of the 2010 winter Olympics at Cypress Bowl above Vancouver. My friend is a Parks Volunteer and I went along with her to help observe a particular trail. She took notes and photographed trouble spots, we noted birds and flora and fauna and I felt profoundly content. It felt useful to make honest observations and to clear a few branches away from the path and to consider how we could, in simple ways make the destination of the trail a better experience for those who trek up there. I forgot my camera and was a bit worried about my feet as I had neglected to bring socks (stupido!). The hike was fantastic and I decided, as it combined my two greatest interests; walking and pruning things, that I want this as my new job.

Grocery Store Confessional

I got into one of those random conversations with a near stranger in the local Trader Joe's that got me thinking as I walked away. The cashier was speaking to the customer on line ahead of me. The cashier was confessing her lack of attendance at the gym where the customer worked. I piped up and said I have to admit I have never had a gym membership. It's true I am not a gym person, I go occasionally but not religiously like some, I prefer my long rather meditative walks. The cashier cocked her head and said well you're lucky, you're naturally slim. I scoffed at this a bit and it got me thinking.

I am tall, at over 6 feet, I am 60% leg. I weigh between 182 and 190lbs depending on what season I am in. I do not consider myself slim, in fact I most often see myself as slightly pudgy. In reality I am not fat. I have a round belly but my arms and legs are long and fairly free of fat. I have a flat ass, I can't sit on hard chairs without my it hurting. I recognize that my perception of myself may not accurately reflect my physical reality but maybe that's a good thing. Honestly I try not to think about my body as I find my size sort of freaky.

I am not going to confess an eating disorder here, I don't have one. What I am realizing though is that I don't see food as convenient entertainment, I see it as a necessity and it's preparation an artful practice that is orderly and logical and subject to much control. I am not a faddist. I am trying to maintain a healthy body and I have strict beliefs about how to do that. I have that quote on my fridge and the fridges I frequent, "Eat food, not too much, mostly plants". I think before I put things in my mouth and there are many things I simply won't eat any longer. I buy whole foods, meat, cheeses, grains, fruits and vegetables. I have fewer and fewer presto fallback foods. I still get that feeling of wanting something naughty like a doughnut or cake, I generally want the bready or the doughy but if I can just think about it awhile in a rational way I can usually easily dissuade myself from the craving.

Consequently I think a lot about food and what I should eat to keep my intake well balanced and interesting. I have the big picture in my head of what I have generally been eating and what I have eaten on any given day. I carry the macro and the micro view around with me, always weighing the findings. Have I had enough beans or grains, enough cold water fish, too much dairy, too much salt, not enough protein? At the moment I am attempting to train myself away from white flour and sugar which when I went at it hard core before Christmas yielded a 5lb weight loss which was a pleasant side effect. More importantly I noticed that my general anxiety was much less severe because my blood sugar levels were more constant, this is what truly motivates me, a feeling of calm.

I have been accused of being controlling and it's probably true but in a world where we have so little control over most things I feel okay about controlling how I am feeling through diet and exercise. I am less concerned about how I look since my view is fairly distorted anyway it's hard to gauge. If I feel good hopefully I look all right and if my 501's fit me that's ideal. It's funny to realize that others make these assumptions about a person's body. If only that cashier knew that I spend my day weighing and considering what to eat making sure never to have too much, denying myself all sorts of things in the name of physical and emotional enlightenment.

Light and rain.

Wrote 1200 words this morning. It's raining again but I actually feel okay about it. The dread I felt yesterday going into the barn to clean the chicks pen dissipated quickly, somehow the thick mat of shit and straw did not strike me as that disgusting. This morning they were all hungry so I just fed them and cleaned their water, I will change their bedding later on. I checked in on my laying hens 3 and found them still roosting in the dark coop. Lazy wenches. I went and got a light for them and set the timer, it will come on at 5am when I get up to write and stay on until noon. I watched them as they adjusted to the light coming to life almost instantly and went outside to scratch around. I even gave them a few cock-a-doodle-dos to bring home the point. The dog shot me a weird look. I guess the new darkness has it's effect on all of us. I went to sleep at around 7:30pm last night, a trend I really don't want to fall into but something happens to me after dinner when the darkness comes early. I fall into a low level temporary depression. I have things I want to do but it's nearly impossible to motivate myself and I can only see the merits of lying down. Mondays are trouble for me anyway, I am blue after the weekend with Mark and not quite in full swing for a week of mothering. It passes, today is better. The rain has subsided so it's time to get out for walk, honestly I really like this life and the pace I have set for myself.

Derailed

Sometimes it just doesn't pay to go out in public. I was supposed to give blood yesterday but my Blood pressure was off the charts so they sent me home. The funniest part about it was the nice guy who took my vitals trying to make sense of me telling him I was anxious and nervous. He reminded me that I knew them and that I should feel okay but what he couldn't see or hear were the alarms going off inside in my body fueled by hormones, lack of sleep, feelings of fear and confusion and all of it lined up like a parade marching band of all cymbals clanging and marching and no one in step and I was smiling and nodding and acting like maybe it could be okay but my heart was pounding and that part he could clearly hear. He was right to send me home. I needed to rest. My body knew it needed to rest. As stated here previously I do not vacation well and I had just returned from an entire week away from home. An entire week of not sleeping well, eating crap and drinking more booze and less water than normal, and not exercising or doing any of the activities I had planned to do to quell my black soul. So there I sat behind a vinyl partition, pulse racing, once again choosing duty to a faceless blood blank over my own well being. My self which often feels like a flaccid appendage of my body seems to cause so much trouble at times and needs so much fucking attention and care that it's astounding. So I came home and instead of throwing myself on the couch I went to my office and thought about doing things I like and I made a sketch of a Chuckbox that I could build from wood and glue and it would keep me organized while camping and it felt like a good compromise between my hands and my head, and for my heart I will remember to sleep, to read, and paint, and walk or run so that I don't explode, at least not just yet. This helped too.

Disruption

Sample of grass collected during the walk.

I hate the dogs who come barking, biting and bitching as I walk. They hurl themselves down bucolic driveways, from rest on sundecks, snarling and lunging until they hit invisible walls of electricity or lengths of rope. I am peaceful as I go along because that is my mission, the goal of the whole activity to clear the poisonous slackitude from my mind and the road complies. It stretches itself out straight and open with only one big turn which I can easily navigate with my narrow body, narrow dog on narrow leash at my side. I look up and down as I go, noticing the grasses, Buttercup, Skunk Cabbage, the beginning of Indian Paintbrush and so many more silent road residents whose names I don't know. Do they know my name as I pass by occasionally stopping to yell "back-off" at the charging retrievers? What is the point of this walk, designed to calm me if my blood pressure shoots up while my body tenses forming and expelling the words that I launch not really toward the dogs at all but at the house they have emerged from. Hoping the words will drift along with the cottonwood fluff and be heard by the woman who lives there. What I wish she could experience are the jagged spikes as my heart pounds against my chest, feel them like sharp jabs in her temples. As I wait for the car—that I know is approaching—holding my breath as it rushes up to us and meets the dogs now in the middle of the road. Will today be the day they get hit? I am always surprised by how loud I can yell in these situations. It stops the dogs, perhaps saves their lives and I move on following the freshly mowed edge of the road with my eyes but still conscious of my disturbed heart.

Respite

One of the details from my daily walk.

Life inside my head can be exhausting. The constant vigilance, taking note of my mental state all the time, it's like adjusting and readjusting wool underwear, it just never feels right. So naturally I am pleased when I have the opportunity to just act, to think quickly and then burst into action.

It happened this week during my daily walk. I came across one of the neighbors horses, loose in his yard. The owner was at work and must have put the horse in his orchard for grazing and the horse got out and was lurching around the yard, testing the sensation of gravel under his hooves by the fire pit, tasting the BBQ and generally looking a bit freaked out by this sudden freedom. Without too much labored thought I attached my nervous dog to a fence post and intercepted the horse as he trotted toward the road, I raised my arms in the air to make myself appear authoritative, I grabbed him by the mane with my right hand and then held his nose in my left and sort of steered him toward the gate of the paddock. I spied some nasty bailing twine which I grabbed from the bucket of water (and horse shit) it was floating in and threw it around his neck and nose, making a quick halter so I could hold him and get the paddock fence open, splattering mud on my face in the process. I made the good-horse-go-forward clicking sounds and in he went, I closed up the gate being careful not to get shocked and went and rescued the dog who was really nervous because the horse was now very close to her, albeit on the other side of the fence. Then we carried on and I felt terribly brave and capable. It's been years since I've had much to do with a horse but it all comes back.

Farther down the road near the creek I stood for awhile looking skyward and watched a young eagle swoop and soar and then settle in the trees. Some smaller birds were heckling him, foolish and brave I thought and for a moment I imagined how exciting it would be to see the eagle swoop down and pick up the spaniel who had come out to follow us. I made it to Friday and they were playing some Bob Marley on the radio and it made me think of my youth and my husband and the weekend and I felt like I had hit on the just the right adjustment.

Completion

Dragged myself out today to buy a set of double pointed needles. I have other things to do but this hat that I have been obsessively knitting for the past couple of weeks had to be finished. I wandered out around 2pm, right as all the over scented high school students were beginning their end of the day migration and made my way with them up to the drugstore to mail a condolence card. A store bought card which had traces of guilt on it. I can't make everything. The words printed inside seemed good enough but still it felt cheesy. I could have just written a note, but what to say. Your life will never be the same, you have lost your only father. Your heart is broken. You won't get over it, why would you want to? Instead I sent a card with a lovely painting of a single purple tulip on it. The members of this club of grief stricken people will understand. Grief is overwhelming and familiar, we all understand so we nod at each other with these crisply designed cards whose words are appropriate and safe presented in tasteful fonts.

I walked from the drugstore to the knitting store quickly as it had started to rain while I was mulling over over-priced eye brow brushes, luckily I was dressed for the rain. Still I felt cold but also sort of hot from the briskness of my movement past the nondescript buildings that make up our suburban landscape. I wished I was wearing a sweater.

In the knitting store I unwrapped myself from my shoulder bag and loosened my scarf, removed my gloves and began my usual contortions about what I needed, what I was making, how it was making me feel, why I was doing it. My usual public dance, speaking quickly my hands flying around. The owner wasn't in but her helper was able to sort me out. There was a young woman there winding yarn into balls on their machine. She was exactly the type of person I have been hoping to run into in this shop. I considered coming back later with my pattern and project but really I just wanted to work it out in silence on my own and not feel like I was performing for anyone as I tend to.

On my way past the vegetable store next door I noticed a man loading his car, resting a gallon of white milk on the roof before placing his bags in the back seat. His skin, white as his milk, had a dense but short black beard at a right angle to his neck, a thin bright column standing up out of his black colored coat. His black jaw length hair falling in his face. I wished he had on a fine orange knit hat such as the one I was rushing home to complete and perhaps a scarf of bright colored wool to warm up his overall chiaroscuro demeanor. As I passed him another young man decked out in excellent punk rock style passed in between us and I had to catch his eye and smile because I approved of how he looked and off I went feeling pleased to be out on a gray Monday afternoon.

Making Friends

In my perpetual quest for a satisfying life this question has been plaguing me lately. How do you make friends in a new town? As kids, if you move to a new place you have the arena of school in which to sample the various flavors of friends. As an adult if you move with your job, the workplace offers an instant supply of personalities to connect with. Time and routine also create friendships. I have lived in Whatcom County for 16 years and have made friends in a handful of places, the library, the grocery, post-office, the farmers market, work interactions.

Mark bought his place in Abbottsford with one singular reason in mind, to be closer to me. He works at home by himself as I do. 6 years have passed and I look around this town and think how the hell do we meet people here? Don't get me wrong, I have many friends. I am not forlorn and friendless unable to connect with other humans I just want some friends here in Abbottsford, someone to play cards with on Saturday night over drinks. It presents an interesting sociological problem. How do a couple of people in their 40's make friends in a town where they don't got to church or school, or even work, not to mention that we spend a lot of time away.

I am solution oriented personality so I think what can I do. What if I put a little flyer up around the hood that read, Professional married couple seeks similar for light social activity, cards, tennis, rides in a big red car, BBQ-ing. And our phone number. Seriously what would happen? Swingers is what comes to mind for me, freaks, and other lonely misfits. So sad, I need a friend, will you be my friend? It's more complicated than all that of course, developing friends.

I walk the dog in a park near us and occasionally I see someone who looks nice and we might stop and talk about dogs. But then it's time to go and it seems so socially awkward to suddenly blurt out, I need a friend here in town. Here's my card, call me anytime. Well not anytime because I am not actually here that often but sometimes I am. I met a woman with a really fat Weimaraner and thought okay now we're getting somewhere but she lived up the coast. Thwarted I was.

Yesterday I ran into a woman who attended the same dog obedience class as we did 4 years ago when Luna was a pup. She had a little fuzzball dog called "Butters", a name some of you will recognize from the long hours you spend watching "South Park". She barely recognized me but was happy to chat once I explained who I was again. The whole time we talked I was thinking, give her your number she is funny, you could be friends. She lives in town and probably has enough friends already, that's the other thing, by this age people seem to have all the friends they can manage, why take on more?

I have 259 friends on Facebook. According to Mashable this is the optimum number any one person can hope to interact with in a meaningful way, which really means that of that 259, about 40 of them actually participate regularly in normal FB activities, posting pictures, making status updates, sharing links. I like Facebook but it is a slightly empty experience after a time and sometimes I just want to encounter a real person. But how?

At my place we have friends near and far who are happy to come over. We go to town occasionally and meet friends there for music and meals and holiday parties. When we got to Vancouver we have a mix of friends and family we routinely encounter. Occasionally some of the Vancouver people pilgrimage out to Abbottsford but it is a long drive home especially if you have been well fed and watered. Our American friends don't come to Abbottsford often, I feel it is an imposition to invite people up because of the border crossing, not everyone is comfortable with the scrutiny and frankly some people just can't cross so I don't ask.

Again, what to do? Join something? A quilting group, museum boosters, tennis or running club. It all takes time. I just want to see some nice couple who sort of resembles us in natural fibers out with a dog and at the risk of coming across as completely strange, say hey there, need a friend? Me too, here's my card.

Change

On average I have walked down my road twice a week for the past 16 years. That's roughly 1600 trips back and forth. Part of the walk takes me past some tribal land, about 200 wooded acres. These woods create a wall to the south, blocking the light and making that stretch of my walk cooler and dim. I have sometimes ventured in to them as there is a well worn path leading south used by deer and sadly, 4-wheelers. For some reason a few residents of the road feel it is okay to ride on private lands. The woods are the home to deer, heron, eagles and beavers, there is a salmon stream that runs through them. There have been rumors of logging and development for years and I ignored all of them. Yesterday the logging rumor came true. There is little romance to this logging, there are no old growth trees there, they were probably logged in the twenties but there are mature alders which have value currently. It was sad to see the gash in the forest wall but I am also dispassionate about it. Change is inevitable in our lives, it is doubtful a Casino will suddenly appear. I worry about the creatures who call the wood home but for me it signals a new era, the landscape will be altered, it is too soon to tell how much. An 18 foot buffer has been proposed but we'll see. A perfect pristine wilderness is an illusion, the change is upon us and what can we do but adapt.

Urban Walking

I have a piece of paper on my bed with 3 columns of first lines on it. I am not sure how to start this entry but I am not going succumb to the list. I have a thing about being original, I will stumble around and come up with my own way to begin this story about how I almost got a flat tire on my way to town last Thursday. It seems I drove over a large road construction spike which imbedded in but did not flatten my left rear tire. Scared the hell out of the dog. So I eventually found myself in town, slightly disoriented buying not one but 3 new car tires. Billing opportunites arise so easily in this economy. I took a walk in Whatcom Falls Park with the dog and a friend to pass the time while the tires were replaced, only they weren't replaced and I had my friend drop me and the dog and my laptop downtown where I met up with the guy who is going to build my new website. Only 2 years in the making people. I had my meeting and then it was time to get back to my car. It was a lovely day so I strapped on all my gear and headed east toward Discount Tire. I had one stop to make on the way which broke up the trip with a bathroom break.

I was surprisingly excited. In 16 years I had never walked in town unless you call walking from the car to the grocery store walking, which I suppose some people do. I walked happily along in the sun with the dog towing me slightly. I felt a bit heavy with all my bags, walking in my Blundstones which I don't normally walk in. So I walked slowly paying attention to everything. Crossing at intersections, I realized I must look a little strange loaded down with stuff being pulled by an exuberant dog. Did I look homeless or just poorly dressed, clearly the dog has a pedigree. I wondered if anyone I knew would pass me by and think I looked a little forlorn and out of my element, obviously missing a key element of my outfit, my car. I got a little lost and pointed in the wrong direction which felt slightly frustrating but it was such a lovely day that I went with it. I ended up in a neighborhood next the freeway walking past houses inhabited by college students and single mothers. Everything was in bloom, neighborhood cats sat on lawns and I let the dog run free when I got tired of being pulled. The good thing about walking instead of driving is that you can cut corners, it's impossible to do this is a car. In a car though you can quickly and easily right yourself when you go off course, the consequences are minor, on foot it's a different story.

I walked for 2 hours on Thursday in total. This is my idea of heaven.

Experimental Walking

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For some time now, I have been waking in the night, disoriented, with the overwhelming feeling that I may be dead. I suspect it is anxiety. About what? I am not sure that even matters. A modern person such as myself has myriad of anxiety sources. These are trying times, these are the times that try men’s souls, in fact. Miraculously and without warning a few days ago I slept through the night without waking up in a full body thrash, heart pounding, senses on high alert, wondering where the fuck I am, WHO the fuck am I, and are the people I love alive or dead or in the next the room. What is happening? As my heart pounds back to a normal state and I once again fall asleep dreaming my confused over populated dreams that I have no recollection of when I finally wake up the following morning. I have had a few such peaceful nights since Monday or so and I am terribly grateful.

On Thursday I took a walk while Pearl participated in her dance recital rehearsal. I set out down a road I had never walked on before unconcerned with where I was going, where I might end up. My gate was unhurried. I had my camera with me and the dog. I stopped often to photograph the bare trees and dead fields that I encountered along the road, enjoying the slow pace. I needed exercise as I had been sitting working at my desk for many consecutive hours over the past several weeks but I also needed meditation as I had been working hard, creating, making things, solving problems.

In the past 12 months my whole way of walking has changed as has the way I am living. I am still goal oriented but am happier to enjoy the small ordinary moments of my life. What else do we have? The past is gone, the future is a dream, why not walk slowly and savor every step.