This morning I realized that sometimes even taking a bad photograph takes time. I wanted to show what I mean by “Walking the Bear” and repeatedly missed the mark.
Occasionally I encounter a day that is filled with projects right from the time I get up. Not that most of the things I do are terribly important at the time, but they have to be done. And so I device shortcuts, tricks that make it possible to multitask. One of my daily musts is walking. Walking to keep the pounds away, to keep cholesterol and blood pressure down, to get out of the house and into a “social environment.” You know what they say about the elderly; they tell us that we need to stay connected. And so my daily schedule usually contains at least one social “event” (event used as psychological term, not as big production); it might be a handshake with the man sitting on his stoop down the street, a few words to the checkout-clerk at the grocery store, a lunch with a friend, a conversation with the garden expert at Home Depot. While some of these are merely tokens, others become friendly exchanges of experiences. The other day a stranger asked if I minded that she sit at the same table with me at my favorite outdoors Barnes & Noble store. We spent at least half an hour discussing travel, art, languages, books, the countries we came from. We told each other how pleasant it had been to meet, and then we parted, made a little richer by the other one’s knowledge, yet unencumbered by the promise to send emails, visit again, or in any way continue the conversation.
But today, I reasoned as I got up, is not a day for leisurely encounters. Too much on my list of things to do. I had to combine walking with something. If I walk to the grocery store I only end up with sore arms, because I have to buy more than I can carry comfortably. Walking along the creek and knitting, I know from experience, is at best clumsy. I might trip. People might stare a hole into me. My ball of yarn might roll down the hill and I would have to pull and pull until a big tangle would pile up in front of me. I’ve given up walking and knitting in public. Only one thing left - walking and knitting in the house. Normally this is a rainy day activity. This morning it was a time saver. I walked for an hour. Knitted one Bear leg and two arms. Ran into the bedroom door twice before I taped it to the wall. Had to make ten minutes of thirteen pace circuits with the telephone propped between neck and ear. Accomplished almost three miles.
I couldn’t resist taking a photo to show the contraption I use to walk and knit. A plastic bag attached to the edge of my t-shirt with a clothespin. It is a lousy picture, one of the ten I had to shoot to cover bag and Bear all at once. Anyway, I saved an hour by walking and knitting and talking on the phone. Unfortunately I just spent this saved hour taking/uploading/editing pictures and writing about the experience. Now off to the garden to water tomatoes and flowers. Maybe I could read two chapters for my book group while I let the hose spray aimlessly into the morning sky.
Occasionally I encounter a day that is filled with projects right from the time I get up. Not that most of the things I do are terribly important at the time, but they have to be done. And so I device shortcuts, tricks that make it possible to multitask. One of my daily musts is walking. Walking to keep the pounds away, to keep cholesterol and blood pressure down, to get out of the house and into a “social environment.” You know what they say about the elderly; they tell us that we need to stay connected. And so my daily schedule usually contains at least one social “event” (event used as psychological term, not as big production); it might be a handshake with the man sitting on his stoop down the street, a few words to the checkout-clerk at the grocery store, a lunch with a friend, a conversation with the garden expert at Home Depot. While some of these are merely tokens, others become friendly exchanges of experiences. The other day a stranger asked if I minded that she sit at the same table with me at my favorite outdoors Barnes & Noble store. We spent at least half an hour discussing travel, art, languages, books, the countries we came from. We told each other how pleasant it had been to meet, and then we parted, made a little richer by the other one’s knowledge, yet unencumbered by the promise to send emails, visit again, or in any way continue the conversation.
But today, I reasoned as I got up, is not a day for leisurely encounters. Too much on my list of things to do. I had to combine walking with something. If I walk to the grocery store I only end up with sore arms, because I have to buy more than I can carry comfortably. Walking along the creek and knitting, I know from experience, is at best clumsy. I might trip. People might stare a hole into me. My ball of yarn might roll down the hill and I would have to pull and pull until a big tangle would pile up in front of me. I’ve given up walking and knitting in public. Only one thing left - walking and knitting in the house. Normally this is a rainy day activity. This morning it was a time saver. I walked for an hour. Knitted one Bear leg and two arms. Ran into the bedroom door twice before I taped it to the wall. Had to make ten minutes of thirteen pace circuits with the telephone propped between neck and ear. Accomplished almost three miles.
I couldn’t resist taking a photo to show the contraption I use to walk and knit. A plastic bag attached to the edge of my t-shirt with a clothespin. It is a lousy picture, one of the ten I had to shoot to cover bag and Bear all at once. Anyway, I saved an hour by walking and knitting and talking on the phone. Unfortunately I just spent this saved hour taking/uploading/editing pictures and writing about the experience. Now off to the garden to water tomatoes and flowers. Maybe I could read two chapters for my book group while I let the hose spray aimlessly into the morning sky.
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