I love to walk with my trusty dog Roxy by my side. We used to cover some serious ground, and yes, I measure these things. Some days, 10,000 steps on our morning walk alone. She is getting older and does not have the endurance she once had. I am still up for the distance but neither one of us can bear the heat long enough to achieve our former stepping glory. Austin has been trapped in a relentless heat wave that has rivaled and may exceed the three torturously hot months of 2011 which are seared into the City’s collective memory.
A gajillion years ago I dated a man who was a homicide detective in the Bronx[1] . It was a known fact in his department that deaths by violence increased exponentially in the months of July and August, which can be scorching and swampy on the East coast. The heat in those months often took temperaments from touchy to terrifying. He worked a lot of overtime in the summer.
I am a pretty buoyant gal and even I have been a bit worn down by it. Not sure if it is the heat itself or the stark reminder it gives us of mankind’s seeming inability to grasp that climate change is real. A real problem that we have very real means of addressing, and yet doing so eludes us year after year and not just in America. The worldwide caterwauling over high gas prices is a case in point. In nation after nation, folks seem incapable of sorting out the source of the problem.
Russia.
Russia and the ridiculous asshat who runs that joint and who, by the way, also has Kompromat on a slew of our politicians. This is making it more difficult to run our joint. I really want to know what on earth he’s got on Lindsay Graham. On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know. I mean ewwwww.
Putin’s Russia is the problem with gas prices. Burning gas is the problem with the heat. This would seem like a perfect time to take a leap in the matter of energy production. A time to punt to the use of the alternative fuels and engines that have been available to us for decades but which for some inexplicable reason we have yet to find our way to.
Deep breaths. We will get there. Somehow.
I am not sure if this is in spite of the heat or because of it but, there are legions of us in Austin setting out for walks in the early hours. I leave the house around 7:30 AM covered head to toe with safari-worthy gear. I am always wearing full trousers, a long-sleeved SPF 50 shirt, gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat. I carry water and an attached bowl for Roxy to drink from in a bag on my shoulder. Around my waist I have strapped a bag-filled with treats, a packet of tissues, hand wipes and five dollars in case I want a taco from the taco stand by the gas station on the corner. In ten years, I have never bought a taco, but I carry the money just in case.
The demographics around me are changing and with them the familiar sights and sounds, the usual hellos that have characterized my forays for years. Many of my new neighbors are pushing strollers, most with the family dog attached. They have a certain swagger, these young folks, and the dogs hold their heads high, especially proud to be guardians of their newly acquired precious cargo. In contrast to my mummy look, these new parents swing down the street dressed in shorts and t-shirts, their heads and limbs bare but for the elaborate tattoo art that adorns them.
Some of the couples are friendly enough, good for a quick wave at least. The single strollers are often engaged in their own worlds through headphones and have no need of neighborliness. I have always walked with my eyes and ears open to my surroundings. I treasure the bird song which draws my sights up into the trees, the revving motor that warns me onto the curb, the oft-heated, always hilarious negotiations with the toddler being dropped off at daycare.
I can imagine that if one is very busy, the chance to catch up on a podcast or an audiobook is dear indeed. Also, I have to admit that my fear of the sun has made me an oddness in appearance, so maybe this cautions them off of any salutations. At any rate, the streets are both livelier and lonelier these days, a comment on our tuned in-tuned out way of life. Even the parents at the park are glued to their phones and devoted to their headsets.
Modern times.
I guess my image of a parent still dates back to the Ozzie and Harriet examples of my youth. I just cannot imagine, say, Opie’s Dad in Mayberry covered in tats. Although there was Grizzly Adams … he sported a beard quite like the ones young men are wearing these days. I am not sure why. Maybe to make the bear feel more comfortable? Was there a bear? Did it talk? I know there was a show with a loquacious equine named Mr. Ed.
I have bounced back to Brookings. Dad has been fitted with a catheter as the cancer has made it impossible for him to pee. He is still going out for lunch, carrying his pee bag along with his cane. I insisted we at least put it in a black shopping bag. He wants to take another bucket list trip, this time to Kentucky. Not sure I’ve got that in me, but Dad is proof that the stubborn refusal to accept one’s fate can actually alter it to some extent.
They have added another dog to the mix. This has relegated the cat to living behind the toilet. The collective dementia has been hell on cats. The last one disappeared.
“Oh, it went back to its other house.” That’s what Dad told me when I asked about it. They got it at the shelter.
Sara his wife, cannot hear. Dad cannot see. My brother told me on the ride from the airport that Elvis is coming back soon … that he has been in a witness protection program all of this time. They have all booked full passage to cuckoo-ville but I love them, so I am here.
When I arrived last night I put a few of my toiletries in a pretty bowl that was newly situated in the guest bathroom. A comb and some hair clips, a travel-size deodorant, and toothpaste. Everything neat and tidy. This morning they were strewn about the countertop. I came out to find Sara emptying Dad’s pee bag into that bowl.
On we go …
You know us British like talking about the weather! Boy have we been talking about it this past week. Highest recorded temp of 40.1C roads melting and trains cancelled. I blame Boris
I'd love to see you in your walking gear. It can't beat what I am imagining. Also, I cannot lift up my chin after reading where the pee bag was emptied.