On walks

Another great thing about walks--apart from the occasional suburban chicken sighting--is how it lets me get out of my usual routine and into a quiet, meditative head space that is rare for me now. Actually, I literally NEVER get the sort of mental solitude afforded by a walk in my usual life. It's too noisy here, even if the noise is usually pleasant little girl voices. There are nearly constant meals and snacks to prepare, even if I love being the cook for our thriving family. My brain fits everything in the day into a sort of puzzle--"I'll take this pile of shoes upstairs now while the baby is sleeping because when she wakes I won't have my hands free. And while I'm up there I'll make the bed and bring the laundry down. Then I better start dinner...." Is this a function of the female, multi-tasking brain? I didn't see it happening. I swear, I used to just be able to relax during a spare moment and think about things....

Anyways. I've been thinking a lot lately about getting old. It's definitely because I'm no longer pro-creating and am now on the path towards death. That sounds grim as hell, no? The less dramatic of you will point out that I've always been on the path towards death, like my sensible Husband did when I said this to him the other day. I know that, but still. If I were more chemically volatile I might be depressed, but instead I'm just feeling thoughtful lately.

On my walks I am, that is. 'Cause right now I've got to watch Bean as she empties the trunk of dress-up clothes in search of the perfect pirate costume...