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11/18/2003: "Hiatus"

I like to walk to the store every morning; it's a little luxury I have gotten used to the past few years. After I've had just enough coffee to get me going, I have about an hour to kill before I have to be at work. This is enough time to walk to the store, buy a few things for the day, and get home and put them away. I must have started doing it after mom's death, when I walked a lot anyway, and was released from the necessity of constant proximity. Now it's part of my wake-up routine; the other day I suddenly realized that other people, with families, don't have this quiet time in the morning. But most people won't walk somewhere a mile away, if they can drive. Most people sleep later in the morning so they can stay up later at night. They're missing something, an extended period of detachment from the world, the march as retreat, perhaps; but I'm missing something too -- maybe there's a core of serenity in the turbulence of a life full of family, pets, and activity.