January. I love walking to work in the mornings. Even on cold days when I find myself stalling and scheming to get a ride, I realize that once I am out the door and on my way, I am in therapy. My immediate neighborhood is characterized by the working sorts, some with families, some single, some with dogs and pets. There are also an increasing number of retirees who are fighting to hold onto what they have. In the fall the air is crisp, and the leaves lend a gentle amber glow that soothes the soul. In the winter the cold, biting frost tends to make the branches fuzzy with crystals. Internally I yell "bastards" every time I encounter an icy sidewalk and have to tightrope walk. Sometimes the song on my MP3 player just guides me through and I realize I am nearly to my job at the hospital and have not really processed anything on the way. In the spring, I can gauge the earth's progressive warming by judging the stage of the magnolia blossoms on the trees, and in the summer I can predict the day's coming heat by feeling the level of humidity as it curls my hair. There are certain people I tend to encounter in transient ways, like the donut-lady, for instance. She obviously must live in a house that is within walking distance from the hospital, and she must work the night shift either in housekeeping or in dietary at University Hospitals. She must get off work sometime between 7:30 and 8:00 am. Years ago, she would nearly always stop by Melrose Market and get a donut or sweet roll, and by the time we passed she had munched about half of it away. Then there was that sad interlude when the market closed and when we passed, she would have a forlorn expression. No treats for you today! Soon after that, I noted the treats were back, and surmised that an alternate location popped up. (The hospital cafeteria, no doubt). This person is so steady, so routinized that I surmise she has a mild developmental disability. She never appears to recognize me, never acknowledges our now 10-year relationship, in spite of my smiles of greeting. There is the couple who live up the street. Some days they will have begun their journey just minutes before I did, but I come upon them and usually pass them. They are the sweetest. I have met them at neighborhood picnics, but only in passing. In my mind, (perhaps there is merit to this) he is a professor who works with trees, the earth, or some sort of earth-related field. She is "the rat" lady. I don't know for sure, but I think her specialty is in a lab and I love to think she is hot on the trail of a cancer cure, but most likely she is more mundane. I know she had some sort of orthopedic issue a few years back as she walked with a cane and looked very frail. Now, however she appears to be as hale and strong. He has a German accent, is slight in stature, but wiry and European in nature. This year there have been some new, younger faces. A family of children who live on Melrose, I believe. The girls are so full of spirit, and they dress in very trendy, ethnic clothes--must be in the upper unit at Horn Elementary. They have a little brother who knows my son Connor and his name is Dante. Connor and Dante gave a presentation this fall and I think they worked well together. I try to get Connor to invite him over, but he resists. Finally, there is the lady I call the ChataOOkwa (Chautauqua) lady. My version of her includes that she is a vital, integral person to the Iowa City culture. Her house is a Cape-Cod/bungalow style house, and she and the love of her life meet there to plan their next social justice campaign. Many mornings I see her in her driveway talking to her love (in my version--what if he is her brother for God's sake?), as he is stopping by to visit her in the morning so they can plan their day. What makes her get out of bed on those cold mornings and stand there in the drive talking to him with such enthusiasm? Is it their love, their passion for justice? I take a silent vow to be like that someday, as I walk the last block to work.
About the author:I'm 45, a wife and mother of three, just finished my PhD in Speech and Hearing Science and I do research with Deaf children who use Cochlear Implants. I love Prairie Home Companion and was VERY excited this February when an ice storm knocked out our electricity and the kids and I could just listen to Garrison on our battery-powered radio.
First Person ArchiveMost recent:Untitled (08/22/07)Belly Dancing on the Broadkill River (08/22/07)2007AugustJulyJuneMayAprilMarchFebruaryJanuary2006DecemberSeptember
