I’ve had a hard time writing lately. This is extremely unusual for me, and I’m primarily blaming the ubiquitous block on a busy mind and low carb intake. Or possibly it’s the economy. Or Carrot Top. Freak. In any event, my mind is disseminated. Also unusual. And frankly, I’m a bit out of my element here.
I just keep thinking about this one really hot Texas summer evening in approximately 1977. I was on a walk home with my very elderly but sprightly grandfather. We were probably only about 800 steps from his house, but it seemed like miles and miles that would melt me into exhausted nothingness right after my six-year-old legs fell off. I started complaining. And whining. And cursing the day I ever let him talk me into walking with him anywhere. And why the hell wouldn’t he carry me?! My fit is legendary.
But he just kept going.
Then he turned around to my three-foot self and said, “Look, you can flail about all you want, but it’s not going to change anything. The only way home is to keep walking down the path.”
Now where the hell is the path?
*Photo was taken two blocks from my front door.