It came to me the other morning, on a walk, poor as I am, in need of burrito money, gas money, going to the movies money, insurance money, CD money, used book money, even – perish the thought – Match.com money, that as long as my knees and hips and ankles and these 10 toes still work as well as they do, I get to take these walks. And the experience for me is breathtaking, all of my sense material blown wide open, the day seen from the corners of my vision like beyond what seems possible, with the peripheral. Hearing all of it, feeling the breeze, feeling the bumps in the tar of the streets, long overdue for a brand new coat. Pebbles. Lingering jasmine nose. Chestnuts falling, squirrel tag residue, right past my head. Whoosh.
I told my son Cameron as long as I get to do that, it’s all great. And it’s one reason why I keep adding parameters, perhaps detours, to the work search experience – how many hours, how many days, what the interviews are gonna look like. All of it. Days without a time card. Here is me, perspective employers. Stripped down.
I’m hanging my art in the Starbucks at 15th and Fremont – home away from home – for the month of September. I’m hanging the weirdest pieces, because that’s who and how and why and what I am today. And who knows, maybe on some wild smidge of good fortune someone will offer me money for one of my paintings. Maybe even two.
Maybe Mama knew. I just never seem to.
from a mountain bench 
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