Come walk with me. It’s not urgent. It’s not the-dog-needs-to-go-NOW kind of walk although I’ve been on many of those. Where shall we go? What should we see? Should we stop at the bakery? Well then, let’s count our steps. This can be our exercise for the day. I have so much work to do. And I think I saw a feral dog on the loose. Come to think of it, my shoe rubs the inside of my left heel. Not to mention that it’s really cold outside. Better yet, let’s not go.
Taking a walk is like a quest, the hero’s journey. The big, bad unpredictable is at the door: Voldermort, Pa wants to kill the runt pig, or simply fresh air. Do you dare open the door? Certainly not alone. You have help, but it’s from the wimpiest of sources: a 10-year-old boy with a scar on his forehead, a spider named Charlotte, or your own two feet and a friend.
Ok, I’ll put a band-aid on my foot and let’s walk in the opposite direction of the neighbor with the perfect house. Are you with me? You don’t have time? I know you are under a lot of stress. We all are. And you lost your earmuffs. Well, you can borrow my hat. Let’s just go around the block. Then we can both get back to all that we have to do.
We decide to step outside. The fresh air gushes around us. It looks like it’s going to rain. This was probably a bad idea. Let’s just get this walk over with. We look at our feet. There’s trash so deeply embedded into the ground: bottle caps, bits of paper, crumbs. You would need tweezers and all day to clear the ground. Hey, it looks like you have comfortable shoes, the kind that don’t bother your feet.
You think my hat is warm? Thank you. It’s from my mom. We went to visit her at Easter and it was snowing. My daughter needed the hat just for the visit, but my mom insisted that we keep the hat, forever. My mom needs that hat more than us but that’s how she is my mom.
I feel drizzle. A car is driving dangerously too close to a mud puddle that could splash us. Thanks so much for humoring me with this walk. Tell me about your job and family. The houses pass with a gentile blur. Some have two windows upstairs like eyes and a door-nose in the middle, others in profile with the door-nose to the side. There are trees like skeletons, not a leaf in sight, branches calling out for warmer weather.
I listen to you and all that you have to say. You do the same for me, and we walk on. The wind pushes my hair into my face. My split ends poke my eyes. We synchronize our steps and walk faster. There’s beauty around us, at least I think so. The pine trees in the distance are permanently clothed in green, no need for spring. They are like cartoon characters who always wear the same thing, like road construction workers in blaze orange, stability and hope for better things to come. I tell you all this without speaking and you agree.
Despite our best efforts, we end up in front of the perfect house. The neighbor is working in the yard despite the bad weather. We were so wrapped up in our walk, we lost our way. What to do? What to say? The weight of life was lifting with you next to me, but now it feels heavy again. I need to hurry home. I must clean and work. Remember you have lots to do, too.
But you stop and make eye-contact with the neighbor. Let’s go. You smile and say hello. I try to dash out of sight but she looks up.
We look at each other for the first time, that perfect neighbor and me, and we wave.
Thank you for taking this walk with me. Life is better with you in it.
Happy holidays 2023,
Cherie, Pierre, Marcel, Daphné, Jamie, and Luna
Frozen Ocean Mom 