The sidewalks are making that awkward transition from winter to spring. The temperature is slowly inching upward and the thaw has begun, but piles of blackened snow still flank the shoveled paths. The ground is an ugly mix of lumps and ruts and ice and muddy puddles laced with wilted blades of grass. The winter, though certainly not as unrelenting as it was last year here, or this year on the East Coast, has turned me into a bit of an ugly mix as well -- of stiff muscles and achy joints and creaky bones. The sound of birds chirping in the morning and the early onset of daylight savings time make me cautiously optimistic, but a healthy dose of ibuprofen remains my breakfast of choice.
Yesterday, fortified with Advil and lulled into an unseasonably sunny disposition by the singing birds and the time change and other minor harbingers of spring -- like grocery store shelves filled with boxes of Matzoh in one aisle and peanut butter and chocolate shaped eggs in another -- I ventured out for an extra long morning walk with Manny the blind dog. We were a sight, I'm sure, with me shuffling along like Tim Conway in an old Carol Burnett Show skit and Manny methodically sniffing his way through the wildly erratic terrain. We both walked gingerly, whatever functioning senses we have on high alert. Still, we each had our share of missteps.
And face plants. Manny is accustomed to bumping his snout into walls and light posts and mounds of snow. Like most dogs, he approaches everything face first, and even a seemingly jarring impact leaves him unfazed. I, on the other hand, not only lack a soft flat snout but am also theoretically possessed of a distinctly human dexterity, both mental and physical, that enables me -- compels me, really -- to brace myself before using my face as a bumper. Theoretically.
Today I'll be attributing my fat lip to a fist fight and the cut on my nose to cheap single-ply tissues, in case anybody asks. For the most part, I'll try to lay low, maybe curl up with Manny between Advil binges and nurse my weary bones while he nurses his digestive issues. With any luck, we will both heal without medical attention.
And the next time we go for a walk, I won't bother to stare down at the ground looking for black ice and I'll just try to rely upon that mental and physical dexterity I'm supposed to have and brace my fall with a more cushioned body part. Caution is not serving me well, whether it is extreme caution while walking or cautious optimism about spring. As it turns out, being too careful can just be a waste of time. If you're going to end up with a face full of snow or a fat lip anyway, raw instinct makes more sense.
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