Sunday, August 26, 2012
So this lady walks out of the church service at its completion - thinking. The recessional hymn selected for this Saturday, five-thirty PM service had been, "Go Out and Make a Difference". The collective 'delivery' this evening had seemed marked by unusual gusto, a 'pop' if you are into 'Marthastewartese'. It was pondered with no small amount of serious consideration en route home. Since I was the lady, I can say with authority that my brow was indeed at least as knitted as my sleeve of care. What am I gonna do? Actually, what am I gonna do?
My intentions had been something commensurate with my doctor's orders as they relate to surgery rehabilitation. But living as I do in what will most likely someday be referred too as the eponymous "Armstrong Era", a fact punctuated by the honored astronaut's passing this very day, I was more acutely aware of the insult any activity that lived in the "one small step" box of endeavors would be on this evening. But, ever the pragmatist, I kn ew I daren't even consider anything in the "giant leap" category without a one-way 'ticket-to-ride back to Pittsburgh at the ready.
Go out. . . Make a difference. . . Well, upon our arrival home, I tumbled into the task with all of the color and zeal available to me at the moment. It was 'walk-Bridie-our-beagle's' appointed hour. And as the task by its very nature 'covered' at least half of my hymnal exhortation - 'go out' - I gathered the necessary gear, paged our fearless huntress, ultimately found her and 'coaxed' her from slumber a-sofa and set out to 'make a difference'.
Ere long, she quickened our pace as the pretty people on our first new street were entertaining - not very, in truth - and Bridie is something of a party animal when the theme is barbecue. It was, she was true to her instincts and we were a-stroll then a-stop, perch and turn head to side in that endearing and embarrassingly cute way that silky, long-eared dogs can pull off. Making it quite clear that she was obviously confused as to the 'difference' we were about making, I asserted 'owner/human' authority and yanked her back into a respectable stride.
Eventually, we came upon one of her favorite grounds for investigation - a lovely log cabin-esque small home which was built in our neighborhood several years ago by "Habitat for Humanity". It was here that volunteers had recently re-seeded the small front lawn (and fertilized it sparingly) which seemed to capture Bridie's full attention every evening. Therefore, it was here that she ultimately contributed to the fertilization effort - generously.
Twenty minutes or so later, we reversed course, heading home. Once finally within several homes of our mailbox, we turned the corner that was home to an elderly Greek lady, recently widowed, who has always had a passionate relationship with her garden and grounds. Un fortunately, circumstances and ill health have prevented the care usually lavished upon the lawn of late.
A few gusty Nor'easter had snapped and strewn several errant branches of an old, tall Crepe Myrtle tree which was usually tended with loving care. With a little effort and patience, Bridie gave me permission to drag two of the larger, unsightly twisted pieces of 'lumber Au naturale' to our driveway. There, they joined a growing pile of similarly tossed brethren which we had already stacked at the curb in the sizes dictated by the pretty people who man the neighborhood Civic League.
At peace in the knowledge that our fruits of labor, such as they were, would make muster and be removed by the city's Tuesday Crew dedicated to this task, we climbed the few steps at the end of the driveway, somewhat more comfortable with the notion of having covered the 'Armstrong step' and maybe even put a dent in the beginnings of an 'Armstrong leap' - hardly "giant" - for "mankind". Chuckle you may. I'll wait. Got nothing but time - and a mission. ANY body - ALL bodies - can make a difference. I'm gonna do it. Every little chance I get. I look forward to running into you,
Later, Lorane. . . .