Beauty

I cry pretty much every time I take a walk.  Not necessarily every time I take a short walk to the library, but pretty much any time I take a longer one.

Sometimes it's blossoms.  Sometimes it's crocuses.  Sometimes it's just that the sun is out, or it's warm enough to walk without a jacket.

It's hard to say why I cry when I'm out walking.  Walking wasn't something that Gloria and I were able to do together in recent years.  At one point, after a surgery, years ago, the doctor had wanted her to walk, and we did try, but, at that point, she was only able to go for a block or so, even leaning on me.  Of course, at that point she was fairly slow, so we did spend some time together walking, even if we didn't go much distance together.

But in recent years, Gloria wasn't able to walk more than about fifty feet without someone or something to lean on, and that distance got much shorter in the past year.  So walking was mostly something I did alone.  (Of course, maybe I walk because it *wasn't* something Gloria and I did together, and it's less lonely than sitting within the four walls that still have the same furniture but no Gloria.)

So I think it's mostly what I see when I'm out walking.  Gloria would have liked that flower.  I could have told Gloria about the number of Teslas on the road, or the rain gardens that have been built in this area.

I don't cry at "home."  (Unless I'm writing up blog postings about Gloria.)  There isn't anything terribly interesting to say about the apartment.  How do I like my new place?  Why should I like it?  It's chores and taxes and death admin and trying to make meals out of fruits and vegetables so that I lose some of the excess weight.  (Why am I trying to lose weight?  That'll only improve my health, which means I'll live longer.  Who wants that?)

But when I'm out walking sometimes I just start crying.  Then I'll tell Gloria that, really, I'm OK.  I'll be fine.  (Which is redundant, because she's now in a position to know how I'm doing better than I do.)  I know how to do the chores, and I'm setting up reminders to pay the rent and wash the sheets, so I'll be OK.

There's no beauty at "home" anymore.  But sometimes there is when I'm out walking.  If all this walking means I'm going to hurt my hips or knees, and then I won't be able to walk, I'll really be in trouble.