I took advantage of that run of glorious weather we had from the week leading up to Memorial Day to break in my most recent purchase of sneakers and enjoy the sunny side of the streets of Norwich. I see/hear and experience things walking at the speed of thought that just do not register when I'm behind the wheel driving somewhere.
And the great thing about my walks is I have no destinations and no time constraints. I can dilly-dally, meander, perambulate purposefully (double word score in Scrabble), turn cartwheels on the sidewalk (a boy can dream), admire someone's flowers or landscaping, and not worry if I'm running ahead or falling behind. I have nothing to do and all the time I require to do it in.
I see people and situations around me that I may have overlooked or underappreciated a previous time. While I, too, believe no one steps into the same river twice because both they and the river have changed, I've learned to accept those changes as perhaps the only constants we have, and to savor the opportunity to celebrate what seem to be random acts of kindness that only add to the richness of the experience.
I witnessed a somber moment at the Memorial Day Remembrance at Chelsea Parade that had nothing to do with the events being presented, rather, watching as the ceremonies progressed as someone carrying a large American flag made his way, from marker to marker in the area of the monuments, paused with head bowed for a moment at each one and then drew himself to attention and rendered a hand salute to honor the fallen before executing a turn and striding to the next where he repeated his tribute.
He spoke to me after the ceremony and explained this was his way of remembering two friends who had died during the Vietnam War and I, who had lost a prep school classmate in that same war, thanked him for the reminder and, by extension, letting me share in his recognition and remembrance of those lives.
And then the day following that, just before noon, while building up my step count walking around Chelsea Parade I spied a woman (I think, I was too far away to get a good look so that career in surreptitious surveillance is out of reach) adding fresh live flowering plants to that beautiful old stone fountain from another time and place in Norwich history. You know the one that sits at the very tip of Chelsea Parade at the intersection of Broadway and Washington Street?
Thousands of cars and trucks race by that spot every day, mine often among them, and I suspect very few of us ever notice the flowers or the fountain, but there they are and the person responsible for them doesn't do it for our gratitude or notice.
Still enjoying the sun, I passed a couple with a young child, four or five years old I'm guessing, walking in the opposite direction from mine and as they approached I could see the child, perhaps drawing his energy and enthusiasm from the cloudless blue skies above, racing in front of them, weaving between the trees that line that grow parallel to the sidewalk at Chelsea Parade. He was singing I have no idea what song, and I'm not sure he did either, as he scampered and skipped always looking back over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't too far ahead of his parents.
He was, with all due respect to my Latin teacher, carpeing the heqq out of that diem, let me tell you, and it made my day brighter just watching him enjoy his. I cannot remember the last time I saw anyone at any age enjoy green grass, blue skies, and bright sunshine quite as much as that young person.
And I wondered what happens to all that joy as we grow older? Why can't we be enthusiastic beginners at thirty, or sixty, or whatever age we are? Trading maturity for the joy of living doesn't strike me as a particularly good bargain, so if you don't mind, I'll lace up my sneakers and keep walking.
-bill kenny
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