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| Walking Music |  |
I have some lung problems and I can’t run and I had to give up bike riding. I can swim but not well and doing laps while floating on your back is generally not considered aerobic. So, I walk. I see a lot of interesting things you might miss if you were traveling at a faster speed. For example, one neighbor has meticulously set out drip-irrigation lines all over his yard. There’s a main line with smaller hoses branching out to encircle choice plants. In the middle of one of those circles is not a lovely shrubbery or fragrant rose bush; it is a dandelion. I do not think that was the desired plant to occupy that spot. But I’m rooting for the dandelion and am cheered by its determination. At another corner, six houses went on the market around the same time. In this area, that means about 40-50% of the houses. Why? Did they have a massive brawl over a garage sale? Did a “key” party go horribly wrong? Do they think the world really will end and they want a better seat to watch? Enquiring minds want to know. Thankfully, none of these houses are For Sale By Owner. Due to the careers of both of my parents, Beloved Spouse and myself, I have been involved in the real estate industry for my entire life. I would no more sell my own house than I would perform my own surgery. The old “the defendant who represents himself has a fool for a client” adage applies to many other things. But each of these six houses has different brokers. I have come up with wondrous imaginary debates and conversations that led to this outcome. I am one of the few exercisers who do not wear earbuds. What are they listening to? Richard Simmons screaming, “I KNOW you can run faster! Just TRY!?” While walking, I try to find a rhythm to keep up my pace. I tried listening to music but I like classic rock. Doing the butt dance in the anonymity of your automobile to Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks Like a Lady” is fine but doing it in plain sight where others can see the lower half of your body in its entirety presents problems. Let’s just say it can traumatize children, leave scars on their little psyches and leave you with a lot of explaining to do. My favorite is to “walk” to Smokey Robinson’s “Tears of a Clown.” That just popped into my head one day and it fit so I kept running it. One day I listened to the recorded version to see if I had the words right (I did not) and found out Smokey’s version is at a much slower tempo than mine. Yet another reason not to listen to prerecorded music in my humble opinion. Scooby and I go up and down hills and some of them are quite steep. There is one on my route that proved challenging. The first time I crested the top, my nose exploded. Mucus, blood, nostril hair went flying all o’er the land. However, I have kept at it and now when I reach the top, while I can’t exactly sing the “Hallelujah Chorus” because I don’t know the lyrics, my face does remain intact. Progress! This one hill also has a soundtrack at certain times of the day and it is one you cannot find on any radio station or MP3 player. Scooby and I make quite a bit of noise as we travel. Scooby’s tags ring out a tune and I wheeze. We’re not exactly hobbits silently padding around Middle Earth. We could only sneak up on the Overly Deaf. Dogs, as a rule, are not overly deaf. Particularly this one group of dogs that live near the top of this hill. I cannot see these dogs and they cannot see me. Solid wood fences surround their yards (Yeah, I know...dog owners who keep their dogs inside fenced yard? What a concept.) so this production is one based solely on audio. As we tramp up the hill, you hear us as: jingle, jangle, wheeze. Then, the smallest dogs respond. I can tell they are small by their sound. I’m guessing Yorkshire Terriers or Chihuahuas. So now it’s: jingle, jangle, wheeze, wheeze, yip, yip, yip. That sets off the medium dogs who chime in with ruffs and barks. Jingle, jangle, wheeze, yip, yip, ruff, bark, yip. Now, the big dogs have to contribute their bass notes. WOOF. Big dogs don’t say much but when they do speak, they really mean it. Wheeze, jingle, jangle, yip, yip, ruff, ruff, bark, yip, WOOF, wheeze. The soloist is next. One of these dogs is a hound and I’m guessing it’s a Basset. WHOOOOOoooooooOOOOO. The symphony has almost reached its crescendo with wheeze, jingle, jangle, yip, yip, ruff, ruff, bark, WOOF, WHOOOoooOOOooo. But the baying hurts the ears of the other dogs. They switch over to their own howl but not all at the same time. Wheeze, jingle, yip, WHEE, ruff, RAWoooo, WO-wharooooo. Finally, they are howling but each one is, of course, using a different key. Regardless of how many times I have heard this, it still cracks me up every time. So the coda of the concert piece is: WHOOOOoooooOOOooo, jingle, jangle, wheeze, snerkle, SNORT. Not even Smokey could top this.
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