Walking The Walk

I am blessed with a doctor who prescribes a twenty minute walk in the morning to ease night-time leg cramps, and general malaise.

Do you mean that walking up and down stairs several times a day, pacing between the computer/office and kitchen, doing laundry and gardening, mowing the grass, washing windows, and looking after nine animals is not Enough?

Well. Yes. Not enough.

So the leg stretches on the edge of a stair (who cannot spare 10 seconds for this?) a few times a day, and resuming walking (before the temperature reaches 90ºF), are back into the schedule.

I love common sense. Many people don’t have it, being so entrenched in electronics and other sources telling them what to do. And when I lose mine somewhere between the car and the litter box, I am grateful that there is someone to remind me of it.

This morning’s walk was a flashback to what is good and not so good in the neighborhood. We, at least one dog and I, start out on a journey that will peak our various interests. The dogs go for the smells. I look for trash. The difficulty comes when one of the cats wants to follow us. Even though it is a country road, there is traffic, and most of the vehicles, with the possible exception of tractors, drive faster than the posted speed limits.

Known locally as the Bag Lady, I always have a bag with me for picking up trash. All that bending and stooping is good for me. Often, I carry a light weight shillelagh, not so much as a threat to speeding cars, although I’m sure the impression counts, but as a tool to retrieve trash from underbrush.

This was today’s collection:


I have a number of unflattering terms for people who leave these things on or near the road. Amongst the worst are the people who toss their debris into a pile of poison ivy.


Others include those who toss their butts, to be washed into the creek and kill the fish. Why can’t they take their butts home with them?

And then there are those who willfully smash bottles onto the rocks, shards awaiting an unsuspecting foot. Why don’t they just go bowling?

On the good side, besides the exercise for me and the dogs, is a renewal of connection with my extraordinarily quiet and clean neighbors. And yes, my neighbors are (still) pigs.


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