Waldo doesn’t spend much time ruminating, as far as I can tell.
There is never enough time to do all the nothing you want.
-Bill Waterson
It feels so good to be out walking in 60℉ weather. Finally, Waldo and I can put in our 6 miles and finish while the temperature is still in the low 70s. Later on in the day, it’s in the low 80s, but by then, we’re inside, chillaxin’.
Apparently, there are quite a few others who feel the same way, because we are not alone. Many of the people and dogs we meet are fellow rail-trail denizens who we are used to meeting later on in the day when things are a bit cooler. That’s not universal – not everyone makes an effort to beat the heat. I’ve driven by the trail when the temps are in the low 90s and seen intrepid beshorted and beteeshirted people out here walking the tarmac. It would be my guess, though, that they’re not going six miles. The wisdom is that people can’t spend very long working in temperatures higher than 90℉. At those temps, humans need to rest and cool down a bit or they get heat stroke. It makes me wonder how southern plantation slaves survived in the cotton fields.
Nothing much has changed since the last blog, except the Canadian geese are nowhere to be seen. But high summer is like that. Like midwinter, things are changing, but only slowly — every day is very much like every other day. In summer, the trees are fully foliated, the weeds are tall and densely packed and the world is soaked in green. That only changes at the pace that grass grows. In the winter, day after day after day, the trees remain barren, the ground is covered in snow and ice and the landscape is painted in dull shades of gray. Oh, there are days, in the summer, when it rains, times when the wind blows in a gale, and weeks of the sun bludgeoning heat down mercilessly. And in the winter, there are periods of frigid, icy temperatures that would freeze the soul and snow storms that bury the world in a thick icy blanket. But in both cases, all that is just background noise to the slowly evolving seasons
In the spring and fall, things can change noticeably from one day to the next. In just a few days, you can see the vernal leaves on the trees spring forth from tiny buds to light green babies, then to jade-colored, mature fully photosynthesizing organs. Six months or so later, in the fall, you can see those same leaves, from day to day, give up their verdure in beautiful patterns of red and yellow, then end up as a soft crunchy carpet covering the ground everywhere. In the spring, I like to follow the different rates of maturation of the different plants – which ones are the first and last to be fully leafed out, for example. In the fall, it’s interesting to watch the growing patterns of color amid the still green trees and think about the causes. Things change with a rapidity that makes it easy to notice and follow.
It occurs to me that my life is like that. For months on end, every day was very much like every other day. I would wake up every morning, roll out of bed and then go about the business of living. Then, sometimes after many years, something would change. I would start school, or get a new job, or get married, buy a new house, or have children. The world would be a different kind of place for a while, then routine would set in, along with a certain amount of monotony. Finally, the kids grow up, they have their own lives, the empty house is sold and I retire. After that, like midsummer and winter, very little changes. Oh, I go on trips and write books that get published, enjoy watching my kids and grandkids lives taking form and shape, but most of my life is set. There no more grand schemes of career planning, no more tall hurdles to leap over.
It’s a quiet time of life, retirement. A lot of time is spent on maintenance, just taking care of what’s required to live in twentieth-century America. The older you get, the more that means medical appointments for this and that minor inconvenience of having a body that is slowly wearing out. Everything else has a tendency to be entertainment. Stuff like traveling, writing and even exploring. It’s just a way of filling what time you have left.
I don’t find that at all depressing. It’s just quiet. Like going for a walk with Waldo on the rail trail. The frenetic energy of a working life is gone, but life is still fulfilling. It’s full of love, caring and sharing. And I have plenty of time to revel in the magic of life in all of its countless facets.
And wonder about all that is.
I do think he wonders what I’m doing, though.