Comfort

They come tumbling out onto the sidewalk from an open gate, 3 little mutts, shaking and yapping, tails wagging, sausage bodies wriggling. “Oh! How cute!” I exclaim, stopping under one of the giant fern trees that grow lushly at this corner house at Roosevelt and 31^st street. Ian grins. “C’mere pups!” He bends down. The pups approach cautiously.

            Attached to their leashes are two Neighborhood Ladies. I may have seen them around, though frankly I couldn’t describe them for you now. They’re that generic, middle aged, white lady brand—grey hair, big hats, baggy pants, Birkenstocks.

            But they know me!

            “You walk a LOT!” one of them exclaims as the pooches continue to explore Ian’s outstretched hand after asking if it was okay to pet them—"Oh, sure, of course," one of the ladies chuckles. 

            “Yes, I do,” I grin. “I used to swim, but now since that’s off the table, I’m walking. Twice a day.”

            The Ladies beam at me as one of the dogs backs away, growling lowly. “Charlotte! Stop that! Sorry, she’s a little shy.”

            I laugh, thinking it’s funny how dogs are like people. Some will come at you, wagging their tails while others will back away, snarling.

            These two ladies are tail waggers, obviously, as they continue to gush about my walking. “We see you walking every day. It’s such a Comfort,” one exclaims.

            I nod, not quite sure how to respond. What does she mean by this? That my walking routine is a comfort to her? Ummmmm……is it that she looks out her window every morning, spies me briskly marching past her house at about the same time every day, and so she knows that all is right with the world. The Lady with the Turquoise Hat and Red Ear Muffs is alive and well. Therefore, the world will go on for another day?

            This is interesting to me. That complete strangers can find comfort in another stranger’s routine. And maybe this is especially true right now. Everything is so uncertain. No one knows what’s going to happen day to day. Yesterday, one of the women from my Feminine Instinct Creativity Group was talking about her days as a health care worker and how each day was so uncertain. That one day her bosses said, come on in. Work with patients. Then the next day, it was stay home and call patients on the phone. And then the following week, the patients didn’t answer calls…..it was a perfect illustration of how uncertain everything was and still is during this pandemic.

            So, maybe these women, when they see me walking past their homes every morning, find comfort in my consistency. I am still walking. Every morning. And so, at least one person is keeping to her schedule in spite of the coronavirus.

            It’s true. I have developed a schedule over the last few weeks. I’m naturally inclined to create a routine, even when I’m not working, I’ll fall into a structure:  Get up. Make coffee. Read the paper. Go for a walk. Practice the piano. Take a shower. Write a journal story. Read a book. Take a nap. Go for another walk.

            It’s my nature. While one of the other women in The Femstincters said that she’s had a really hard time motivating herself to work at home. That she needs someone to impose a schedule on her. That she needs someone to tell her what to do.

            Not me. Don’t tell me what to do! I won’t take kindly to this. I mean, if I’m at a job and my boss tells me to do something, I will. I am a good worker. But frankly, I prefer to be my own boss. I have no trouble at all telling myself what to do!

            One of the dogs starts to strain at her leash. I tell the women that my mom just got a little dog, a Rat Terrier, Butterscotch, and these dogs looked similar.

Butterscotch

            “Oh, one of these might have some Rat Terrier in her. This one has some Fox Terrier. And that one,” she points to the growly little sausage, “she has some Chihuahua.” The dog yaps at us, backing away.

            “I think she needs to be on with her walk,” I observe, laughing.

            The Two Ladies join me in my mirth. Mr. Ian doesn’t want them to go. He loves animals, and one of the dogs has taken to him.

            “C’mon, Honey,” I take his arm. “Let’s let these ladies and their fur friends get on with their walk.”

            He comes with me, reluctantly. The ladies hold the dogs at bay so we can continue our walk while maintaining social distance.

            I feel the ladies watching me, walking. And smile to myself knowing that I somehow bring comfort to total strangers just be virtue of my routine. How strange. How marvelous. How unexpected.

            And in these times of uncertainty, walking is my one constant.

            What a comfort as I lead Mr. Ian up 31st street, the wild Richmond wind at our backs and the patter of little paws echoing in our ears.