Thursday, May 9, 2013

MORT’s meanderings

After dinner walk.
This evening, Mrs. MORT’s meanderings suggested that following dinner, we should  take a walk in the neighborhood.  Sounded like a reasonable and workable idea and so I concurred (caved), as is my long-established habit, calculated to maintain a semblance of peace as we enter the twilight of our time here in La La Land.  
After a nice dinner at home, we prepared to set off on our perambulatory tour.  Normally, when out for such a stroll, I would select a walking stick to add a touch of bon vivant swagger to the adventure.
However, about two years ago, my entire collection of canes, shillelaghs and walking sticks, and the rococo ceramic umbrella stand that contained it, became noticeable by its absence.  At the time, when I questioned Mrs. Meanderings about it, she informed me that I never used those sticks and she’d given them to her Son, who sold things at Flea Markets. Three days passed before I could once again breath normally.  That was just about the same time my voice returned.  At that juncture, while it seemed to make sense to commence breathing again, I made a conscious decision not to speak. It was the right decision.  
So, sans an exotic stick with which to aid my swagger and to possibly provide a weapon for use  against the odd, unleashed mongrel,  I reached for my Metric stick.  I like to keep up with  technology and so several years ago, I replaced our faithful old Yard stick (36’ long) with a Metric stick (39” long).  Ready, set, go.
We set off to circumnavigate our block, clockwise.  We’d barely traversed a hundred yards  when both  Mrs. Meanderings and I simultaneously, began to chant litanies of our individual  aches & pains -  both direct and referred, strange tweaks & twinges being experienced in our  lower extremities and unabashed admissions from each of us concerning  our frailties & fatigues that heretofore, had rarely if ever been mentioned..
There was mutual agreement that a turn of 180 degrees was in order.  So we made that turn and hobbled on down the home stretch toward the finish line.
As we approached Kuff’s Kozy Kourtyard, we both agreed that the next time we decided to take a walk after dinner, we’d take the car.  
MORT KUFF  © 5-6-2013

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