Meanderings on a morning walk
A morning walk, they told me, would do worlds of good for my overwrought soul. So how come I arrive home each morning with more questions than I had when I set out? Questions such as:
— How come those tennis shoes I see along the road, which once were almost exclusively black tennis shoes, now are dominated by white shoes? Most experts now acknowledge that we never will know the source of these shoes. Do they fall off feet that are stuck from windows on hot days? Does a religious sect require its adherents to leave their shoes on a roadside as a sign that they are leaving worldly goods behind? Why does one find only a single shoe, and never a pair? No one knows.
The mystery deepens, however, as the black shoes are replaced by white shoes. What does this mean for American society? What does it portend for the Republican Party in the gubernatorial race? You can be assured that some Sacramento-based consultant soon will charge three-figure fees to provide the answers, but the truth is that we’ll never get to the bottom of this mystery. It’s all very upsetting.
— Are people who drive cars allowed on the streets before 7 a.m., or are these hours reserved for guys in big ol’ pickup trucks? Do people who own cars always sleep later than people who own pickup trucks?
— Why are there so many empty cans of Ultra Slim-Fast along the roadsides? I can understand the prevalence of beer cans. After a couple of beers, one’s moral sense has deteriorated to the place that tossing an empty can is an acceptable act. But why Ultra Slim-Fast?
We are left with the mental picture of cars filled with hefty people, music (polkas, perhaps?) blaring through the windows as the vehicles careen through the night. And as someone pops a fresh one, an empty can of Ultra Slim-Fast sails into the dark.
— What’s the story behind that guy I saw one Saturday walking down the street at 6:30 a.m., barefoot and wearing only his pajamas, telling his pal, “Wow! That was a night!” Share! Share!
— A Saturn with Nevada plates cruised through town the other morning. Doesn’t a Saturn with Nevada plates shatter the demographic profile both of Saturn owners and Nevada residents?
— What is one supposed to do when he spots a bunch of geese flying the wrong direction – north in the fall, south in the spring? I’d hop up and shout, “Go back! Go back!” but I worry about waking the neighborhood. I guess I should just let them go. Maybe these wrong-way geese know where they’re headed – a place where they can get the cheap off-season rates.
John Seelmeyer is editor of The Union, and his column appears on Saturday.
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