So,
today I take my first extended walk
in my new neighborhood.
Along with fabulous loose-fitting pants & shirt
of upper-upper-middle age,
I am wearing one of those corporate sacs
offered at mandatory trainings I still attend
to support & enhance the skillsets I have & need
to keep the licenses I have & need
that support my house/car/insurance payments
& the demi-wildish lifestyle
of an intermittently aging hippie
who wants to keep working in the barren fields
of drugs and mental roadblocks
and to nourish her optimistic genes
as she attempts to keep hope & humor genes alive
so others can live weller, as she has
owning some of that history.
I love the bags. Groceries. Books.
Clothes for Goodwill or road trips.
I recognize this rehab emblem.
I have never been there so far,
even for a class. One can only hope.
Anyhow, the bags help me keep my car neat
or file papers I’m not sure about filing
in real-time-space,
and they’re wonderful if/when one has to move.
Always ready for a next time.
Downsize. I think I hate that word
but I’m good at it.

New neighborhoods,
like some new age numbers
mean change. Big ones.
Sometimes Loss.
Choose and throw.
Choose.
Throw.
And storage might need to be introduced.
Or more trash buckets.
And creative-use-of-less
becomes a skillset that earns
ice cream and or fig newtons,
always age appropriate.

I can’t drive today:
one tire has a nail in it and that garish
yellow emergency light goes on if I try,
which spoils any sense of comfort,
and it’s New Year’s Day,
so guess what’s open in a town as big my hand?
Yes, nothing.
So, I am taking a new-neighborhood walkathon
during which I notice I have an odd walk
which I blame on my left hip and leg
which seem to have lives of their own lately.
The hocus-pocus-body-folks would say
my inner Valkyrie female nature is
struggling/stuck/angry,
and it’s time for me to put down my shield and sword
and soak among Epsom salts and soft music
and allow what is nature to be nature.
My inner three-year-old,
who really runs the show is pouty,
and I am reminded that growth
& change happen,
no matter what.
Fig Newtons. Ice Cream.
Always appropriate.

Anyhow,
I realize I walk side-to-side like the local girl
who has the alt mind-set
which she announces at times, in intervals.
We know her and take care of her
(at a safe distance of course).
Sometimes,
she pulls or pushes a multi-purpose grocery cart
as she chatters to who-knows-who.
What is being said by her or heard by her
we are not clear about.
She doesn’t look at any of us. Ever.
Through, around, but never at.
Sometimes she has those big dark glasses on,
the ones used for eye tests.
Like mine.
Is that what people see
when they look at me?

She walks and rolls from side to side,
her feet tilted inward,
so her toes nearly meet.
No one ever wants to be in her way,
although we are not sure she sees us.
She does see something though;
that we know.
She takes right of way.
Local drivers know her; others
figure it out, fast.
That’s how I “met” her.
Coming out of Winn Dixie parking lot.
She walks carefully
through marked parking lot spaces,
always within the lines.
I am impressed with her sense of being.
We do not matter. Also, we behave.
So, is what it takes to survive these times?
I shall keep my odd walk
and see what happens.
I will apply the dark glasses,
the kind used for eye tests.
The big ones.
We shall see.
(That would be I and my psyche.)
A man walked towards me today,
near the turn circle in the new neighborhood,
and smiled, as if to talk. I smiled.
He walked into the park instead.
I suspect it was the glasses.
I might be too oldish.
For what I wondered.

I put the four books
stashed in my impressive green bag
into one of the two neighborhood
donation library boxes
after I checked to see what was inside –
my give-away books
were better than all the rest.
Nothing for me to take away. Today.
This life continues to offer lessons.
Good.
I am still open to change.
Fig Newtons apply.