Tips
One thing that I love on our walks is seeing friends walking their dogs and getting to visit.
It gets me out of myself and reminds me that others are in the world with their own burdens. Things are not always what they appear to be.
That runner who always looks so happy and healthy? He fights depression. Running makes him feel better. He is a recent widower with a teenage son. He is lonely. He likes his job but it is a desk one and he sometimes goes all day only talking to one or two people briefly. He misses his wife. He is thinking about getting a dog. Often on his runs, he imagines what this would be like.
There is Shirley. She comes with her brother. For a long time, I thought this was her husband. But, no. She says that neither of them married, not because they liked singlehood, but because it just never seemed to be in the cards for them. So, when her brother found out that he had Parkinson's, she suggested that he sell his house and move in with her and that is what he did. She laughs. They get along better now than they ever did growing up together. He rarely speaks, just leans down to pet her golden retriever as Shirley and I talk.
There is that onegirl woman who always walks her English bulldog. The dog's name is Artie. Originally, she says it was King Arthur, but she tired of calling a puppy that, so it got shortened to Artie and stuck. She teaches in a nearby high school, just bought a house in the neighborhood. It is her first home. She said that she always thought that she would be married by now, but finally she just figured that she would go on with her life. So, she bought her house and dog. I asked her once if she thought she'd have children. She frowned.
"I think that might just be too much for my parents. It is hard enough that I'm not married yet. They seem to think it is because I don't try hard enough to find a man. But, I mean...what am I supposed to do? I socialize. I tried dating apps. I never met anyone who hadn't lied, so I decided to just let it happen naturally. I am only 32. There is still time. But, a baby? God, my Mother might disown me over that."
There is Padric. He is one of my favorites. He's in his 70's and probably on the autism spectrum. He never bothers with pleasantries. He never says hello, there or asks how things are going with me. He will see me and immediately launch into a diatribe about snakes and uses for snake skin. Or the power of even a weak sun to cause skin damage. He walks because he loves to walk. He walks very quickly with his hands in his pockets. His grey hair flops around. His eyes dart here and there, not missing anything. He is the one who always knew all the scoop on Jeremy the fox before he found a vixen and learned how to be a true fox, thus incognito. Padric knows where their den is but he isn't telling. I like that about Padric.
There is the young lesbian couple. They look to be in their early 20's and are obviously in love. They hold hands and laugh a lot. They only really have eyes for each other. I envy them. When I was their age, I wouldn't have dared that behavior. It could have gotten me killed, raped, or at least chastised. Whenever I see them, I have this crazy urge to go up to them and ask them if they know how many women had to work so hard to pave the way for them. But, I don't. I am very cognizant of the world we live in now and how things can easily slide backwards into darkness if we aren't vigilant.
There is the fisherman. He is older and obviously knows what he is doing. I mean, he has gear and knows how to use it. He fly fishes sometimes, other times not. He continually pulls shimmery silver fish out of the water. He carefully checks their size. If they are big, he puts them neatly in his bucket. If they are small, he gently pries the lure out of their mouths and tosses them back, saying, "Back to Mama, little one."
There is the guy with the red MAGA hat. I cautioned myself not to pre-judge him, but he made it easy for me. He is mean to his dog, a small white mutt. He sometimes lets it off leash. Once it saw a frog or something and jumped into the water in its excitement. He dragged it out, screeching at it in this high womanly voice that I found offensive. A man and woman strolling a baby were close to him and the man walked over and made a show of petting the dog, obviously trying to diffuse the man's anger. It worked, or maybe it didn't. Maybe he was mean to it when he got back home. I'll never know. I just know that when he looked up and saw this big black man approaching him, he looked like a cornered, scared rat and stopped screaming at his dog. When the man gently pet the dog, he looked uneasy but relieved.
There are more old than young in my park. I like it that way. Things move at a slower pace. Some don't really like to visit. They are at the park to get their daily constitutional or to walk their dogs. They nod and I nod. It is enough for both of us.
I was sitting on a bench once and an older man with two very old dogs came to sit next to me and let his dogs rest. He and I were both drinking cups of coffee from Starbucks. We told each other what we were drinking and the man told me that he shook Ceylon Cinnamon into his drink before he sipped it.
"I have cancer," he told me. "Ceylon cinnamon is good for me."
I told him that I had cancer, too, but shook Vietnamese cinnamon into my drink for the same reason. He said he'd buy some Vietnamese and try it. I said I'd buy some Ceylon and try it.
So, I even get good cancer tips in the park. Mostly, like my friend, though, I come to this park to engage with nature. Padric assures me that the trees are sentient and enjoy hugs. I shared this with my cinnamon tip new acquaintance and a few days later, I sat on my bench and watched him slowly walking his dogs.
He was patting trees from time to time.
You can get good tips in a park.
Or from blogs.
The next time you see a tree?
Give it a little pat. Pass it on.
It gets me out of myself and reminds me that others are in the world with their own burdens. Things are not always what they appear to be.
That runner who always looks so happy and healthy? He fights depression. Running makes him feel better. He is a recent widower with a teenage son. He is lonely. He likes his job but it is a desk one and he sometimes goes all day only talking to one or two people briefly. He misses his wife. He is thinking about getting a dog. Often on his runs, he imagines what this would be like.
There is Shirley. She comes with her brother. For a long time, I thought this was her husband. But, no. She says that neither of them married, not because they liked singlehood, but because it just never seemed to be in the cards for them. So, when her brother found out that he had Parkinson's, she suggested that he sell his house and move in with her and that is what he did. She laughs. They get along better now than they ever did growing up together. He rarely speaks, just leans down to pet her golden retriever as Shirley and I talk.
There is that one
"I think that might just be too much for my parents. It is hard enough that I'm not married yet. They seem to think it is because I don't try hard enough to find a man. But, I mean...what am I supposed to do? I socialize. I tried dating apps. I never met anyone who hadn't lied, so I decided to just let it happen naturally. I am only 32. There is still time. But, a baby? God, my Mother might disown me over that."
There is Padric. He is one of my favorites. He's in his 70's and probably on the autism spectrum. He never bothers with pleasantries. He never says hello, there or asks how things are going with me. He will see me and immediately launch into a diatribe about snakes and uses for snake skin. Or the power of even a weak sun to cause skin damage. He walks because he loves to walk. He walks very quickly with his hands in his pockets. His grey hair flops around. His eyes dart here and there, not missing anything. He is the one who always knew all the scoop on Jeremy the fox before he found a vixen and learned how to be a true fox, thus incognito. Padric knows where their den is but he isn't telling. I like that about Padric.
There is the young lesbian couple. They look to be in their early 20's and are obviously in love. They hold hands and laugh a lot. They only really have eyes for each other. I envy them. When I was their age, I wouldn't have dared that behavior. It could have gotten me killed, raped, or at least chastised. Whenever I see them, I have this crazy urge to go up to them and ask them if they know how many women had to work so hard to pave the way for them. But, I don't. I am very cognizant of the world we live in now and how things can easily slide backwards into darkness if we aren't vigilant.
There is the fisherman. He is older and obviously knows what he is doing. I mean, he has gear and knows how to use it. He fly fishes sometimes, other times not. He continually pulls shimmery silver fish out of the water. He carefully checks their size. If they are big, he puts them neatly in his bucket. If they are small, he gently pries the lure out of their mouths and tosses them back, saying, "Back to Mama, little one."
There is the guy with the red MAGA hat. I cautioned myself not to pre-judge him, but he made it easy for me. He is mean to his dog, a small white mutt. He sometimes lets it off leash. Once it saw a frog or something and jumped into the water in its excitement. He dragged it out, screeching at it in this high womanly voice that I found offensive. A man and woman strolling a baby were close to him and the man walked over and made a show of petting the dog, obviously trying to diffuse the man's anger. It worked, or maybe it didn't. Maybe he was mean to it when he got back home. I'll never know. I just know that when he looked up and saw this big black man approaching him, he looked like a cornered, scared rat and stopped screaming at his dog. When the man gently pet the dog, he looked uneasy but relieved.
There are more old than young in my park. I like it that way. Things move at a slower pace. Some don't really like to visit. They are at the park to get their daily constitutional or to walk their dogs. They nod and I nod. It is enough for both of us.
I was sitting on a bench once and an older man with two very old dogs came to sit next to me and let his dogs rest. He and I were both drinking cups of coffee from Starbucks. We told each other what we were drinking and the man told me that he shook Ceylon Cinnamon into his drink before he sipped it.
"I have cancer," he told me. "Ceylon cinnamon is good for me."
I told him that I had cancer, too, but shook Vietnamese cinnamon into my drink for the same reason. He said he'd buy some Vietnamese and try it. I said I'd buy some Ceylon and try it.
So, I even get good cancer tips in the park. Mostly, like my friend, though, I come to this park to engage with nature. Padric assures me that the trees are sentient and enjoy hugs. I shared this with my cinnamon tip new acquaintance and a few days later, I sat on my bench and watched him slowly walking his dogs.
He was patting trees from time to time.
You can get good tips in a park.
Or from blogs.
The next time you see a tree?
Give it a little pat. Pass it on.
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