Everyone is a Writer, Family Writing Part 7
Wellington Cramer
Here’s the last of walking the bent horseshoe from my dad: engineer, poet, naturalist, philosopher, and spiritually awake.
The landscape in the front of The Seasons includes a semi-concentric concrete sidewalk, which can be described as laid out in the shape of a bent horseshoe. I walk that sidewalk each morning and evening. I have mentally calculated that circumnavigation three-and-a-half times covers a quarter of a mile. I think in eights and quarters because the sidewalk at Goddard Beach is exactly one-eight of a mile, which I have covered many times. In fact, on the treadmill in the Wellness room, which I use each early afternoon, I cover according to the measurement gauge a quarter of a mile. So be it for the mileage data, it is time to describe the walking part.
I generally equip my feet for the morning walk with a pair of heavy-duty Caterpillar work shoes with which with good shoelace binding the ankle is well supported. It also equals an equivalent of a five-pound weight on each foot. If there is bright sunshine the eyes are protected with a pair of wraparound dark glasses. I generally carry a cane as a balancing tool but also as a mental reminder of which trip I am on while circumnavigating the horseshoe. First time around in the left hand and starting the second trip I switch to the right hand and maintain this switching technique so as so provide an adding machine to keep track of which lap I am on.
Yes, the idea is to obtain leg, knee, and hip exercise the natural way. Just do it at whatever pace the rest of the structure decides to support, at this particular time. For some unknown reason the structure can vary in its output of energy but no matter what the pace the distance must be met.
To this point I have been overly technical in the mechanics involved and all the input would be of lesser value if one did not report on what was seen, heard, and smelled during this short physical travel period. First is the wind, is it cool, cold, hot, or humid, and at what force does it greet you? The flag on the pole supplies the direction and speed of the morning air but the real answer is the feel on the face. The sensation of air just brushing the face or driving over it produces a feeling of dry washing, the sound of the air movement supplies the ears with motion, and if listened to closely one can detect a discreet melody, which varies with the intensity of the wind’s energy. Next comes smell, which can be good or bad, which can be of perfume quality, or it can be clean and invigorating. Time of year can be a large factor with this quality plus varieties that come from fog or rain, or winter snow.
Now, we come to the things we see as we walk. In this small well-grassed enclosure there is much to be seen. It is well landscaped with a television advertiser’s superior lawn. The year round bushes provide backdrop and enclosed areas; seasonally there are flowers of good beauty and variety. There is a minimum of concrete statuary but it is well placed. Above all this, the landscape is well tended. Young trees exist but will offer future background and vertical size during their growing lifetime. They will be the precursor to the fall season when they shed their leaves. They will early in the late winter announce the coming of spring with bulging buds of new growth.
What other sights does one encounter. Now we are introduced to momentary art that comes only naturally. Many conditions must coincide to produce this art. Let me describe a recent only-for-a-moment scene. As I walked out the side door the sun was about twenty degrees above the horizon with a bright, clear background. The bright rays spread across the ground and ignited millions of miniature, transparent glass balls on each blade of grass. The grass had been mowed two days before, leaving blades of good height to support the heavy dew forming the cylindrical spheres. In looking at the blanket of a million glass balls, I saw a moment of art, which was visible for only a short time as the rising sun soon dried out their glory. It was my privilege to be there at the moment when nature painted is own art with its own techniques.
A further form of art, [was] using my walking structure with the rising sun in the East painting continuous shadows on the ground and on the sides of the building. My shadow gained great height as my position to the sun changed as I walked—I grew tall in shadow swinging the cane and then changed rapidly to a normal size as I distanced myself from the sun. At first the shadow was laid on the ground, and then it climbed the sides of the building, always mimicking me as to size and motion. I immediately played the game of Me and My Shadow as I made different moves to provide the scenic shadow with differing motions.
The need was for exercise but look what I encountered. Fresh puffs of air on my face, the sounds of the air as it crossed my ears, the many smells of damp ground and the perfume of cut grass, and being at one of nature’s art exhibitions—all of this just for a moment.
Yes, I received my exercise and the freedom of body movement is it own reward, but the extras that come for only a moment were more than equal in value to socialize with the grandeur of the happenings that I was allowed to participate in.
August 9, 2004
My realization is “The voice of those we’ve loved may reach us and teach us years beyond their actual voices. Even as we, by a few written pieces, may teach what may have not been known about us at the time, delighting a future relative with uncovered details.”