Whiff of a Resolution

At this time of year ought we to be skeptical of the new behaviors we see in others? Was it my imagination or did the energetic jogger I noticed on the street the other day look down a bit sheepishly? Did he realize what I was thinking, that I was wondering whether he'll be running this time next month?

And to use myself as an example, will the perennial "don't worry, be happy" resolution prompt people to think "Hmmmm .... she sure seems cheerful ... there's a whiff of a resolution about her?" Probably not, of course. People aren't thinking about much other than their own concerns, understandably.

If resolutions are even made anymore, then this time of year ought to witness some of the kindest and gentlest of interactions, both in person and in traffic. With the exception of the dieters, of course. They are allowed to be cranky.

For us resolution-makers whose earnest attempts invite knowing smiles or arched eyebrows, let's just plow on. Yes, there may be whiff of a resolution about us ... but that's just the aroma of change.

Walking on Air

I have a new walking companion, always willing to take a stroll or a hike. She lives in the basement—and I have no idea what she does in her hours off.

It's mind-altering to have her here. It means I can walk early in the morning or late at night. It means I can walk forward or (ouch!) backward. It means I can walk up hills or take the straightaway; can push hard or take a more leisurely approach.

She won't stand in the way of an outside amble, but she's ready to go in any weather.

Using my new elliptical—it's like walking on air!

Eight Candles

Today A Walker in the Suburbs celebrates its eighth birthday. This is hard to imagine — that for eight years I've been writing posts at least every weekday and often more. But I need no better reminder than the one starting this weekend. The blog's beginnings are entwined with the vast snowfall we had that winter and watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics on the TV in the basement (when there was still a futon down there).

I've been reading some of my earlier birthday posts and thinking about how important it is to keep things fresh. A blog facelift is definitely in the works (at least in my own mind if not yet in code) and the writing itself can always be liberated.

How easy it is to get boxed in, both in life and in blogging, and if there's one thing I don't want for A Walker, it's limitations.

Eight-year-olds are full of life — skinned knees and messy projects. And so I hope it is for this eight-year-old. And with that, I raise a glass (actually a cup of tea) to say, "Happy Birthday, Blog!"

(Photo: notonthehighstreet.com)

Dim and Quiet

It's taken a while for the morning to gather itself. Clouds linger; fog does, too. Only a few lights are on in the building across the street.

A train chugs by and sounds its low, mournful horn. Air moves through the building with a presence less notable than its absence.

Inside, the overhead lights remain off for a few more blessed minutes.  

It's a dim, quiet start to the day.

A Walker Continues

The snow has clung to every available surface. The most spindly branches of the forsythia have “Vs” of snow, and I can imagine the accumulation, patient and slow, crystal attracting crystal until little pockets formed. I hope this blog will be the same, a slow, patient accumulation of words. 

Four years ago today I started this blog with a post entitled "A Walker Begins." Since then, there has been a "slow, patient accumulation" of at least 20,000 words. Other than that, "Walker" hasn't changed much, other than my learning how to make the photos larger. One of these days I'll figure out how to switch templates, which will make it easier to follow and comment.

Otherwise, I imagine I'll keep plugging away as I always do: walking, thinking, noticing.

Writing about the world in an attempt to make some sense of it — though not too much, of course.

Graduation Day

All you really need is a camera and some tissues. At this point the graduate will take care of everything else. Processing in, taking a seat and, when her name is called, shaking hands and receiving her high school diploma. But to get to this point has been a group effort. It always is.

When I graduated from high school I didn't understand what the fuss was about. Celia is probably feeling the same way. Milestones don't mean as much when the years they mark are so few that they  get along fine without them.

But parents of graduates know better. They know that rituals take us from one place to another. They know there are few moments when you can say that one thing has clearly ended and another has clearly begun.

High school graduation is such a moment.

So, hats off to the graduates ... and (if I may say so) to their parents, too!

New Look

Today I met Blogger's "new look." This is disconcerting for a creature of timid technological habits. I have my tiny little comfort zone. Ask me to move beyond it and I flail about like a new swimmer in the deep end.

Still, I recognize that we either move ahead or fall behind. Treading water only works for a while.

So I plunge in, click on the tutorial and somehow, in the course of figuring out how to write this morning's post, turn on my iTunes account and a song called "To the Morning" by Dan Fogelberg.  I don't know how I did this. It reveals my technological ignorance in all its glory. But it was a strangely satisfying choice.

"There's really no way to say no to the morning," is the song's key lyric.

There's no way to say no to the future, either.

Promise

March came in like a lamb and is going out like one, too. I raise a silent cheer for lambs, then, and for spring green, pileated woodpeckers (just saw a huge one on our wood pile), fresh mint (sprouting in our garden) and a backyard still in progress.

The double-barreled tree trunk by the fence, it can still be turned into a funky water feature. And the day lilies we transplanted, they may still bloom. Springtime has many charms, but chief among them is potential, the light and the growing season that lie ahead of us. Would that I could always feel the promise of each day.

1/1/11

I look for fresh starts throughout the year, so when I'm handed one as obvious as New Year's Day I'd rather downplay the thing. It's hard to this year, however, with such a splendid date to contemplate — this string of ones, nice tidy digits, straight arrows pointing us toward the future.

And that's what today is about, of course — the future, moving ahead whether we're ready to or not. Moving ahead with optimism and purpose, with a list of resolutions tattered from folding and unfolding, one we drag out every year and check off an item or two a year if we're lucky.

10/10/10

A brief post on numerology: There are scads more weddings today than there were on this equivalent Sunday last year. The reason, of course, is the date -- 10/10/10. Not only a "perfect 10," but when the digits are added up (1+0+1+0+2+0+1+0), they equal 5, which stands for love.

But don't believe me. Consult any numerologist. I heard a numerologist interviewed on the "Today Show," which I watched this morning to see my friend Carla interviewed about hypochondria and her book Phantom Illness. (Go, Carla!)

The numerologist was on earlier in the show and she suggested that on this auspicious day, we should light a white candle and meditate on what we still hope to achieve this year.

I have a stub of a white candle on my kitchen table. I think I'll give it a try.

Starting Over

Maybe it's just the optimist in me, but I relish every fresh start I'm given. The first entry in a new journal or the first day of a new month. Finding an excuse is easy; cultivating enthusiasm is hard.

September has seemed longer than usual this year. I've been waiting for days to flip the calendar. Now that a new month is here, I feel the faintly anxious drumbeat of opportunity. There's a magazine to finalize, essays to write, books to read and closets to clean. But right now, there is just the first day of a new month and a blank page before me.

The Beginning of Things

"It's a great way to celebrate the beginning of things." So goes a line (as well as I can remember it) from one of my favorite movies, "A Thousand Clowns." Murray and Sandra are throwing confetti to pretend friends on an ocean liner (shouting "Bon Voyage, Charlie, have a wonderful time") to celebrate their new romance, a romance that (among other things) will eventually lead Murray to re-enter the 9-5 world he loathes. ("You've got to live in the real world," says another character to Murray. His response? "I'll only go as a tourist.")

While beginnings seem to belong more to the crisp days of fall than the swelter of mid-summer, there are exceptions to the rule. Many fiscal years begin tomorrow; medical residencies, too. And here at Georgetown Law, where I edit the alumni magazine, we meet our new dean today. So this is a beginning, pure and true. But even if it wasn't, it could be a day to celebrate. I take beginnings wherever I can find them.