There is a rhythm to every neighborhood. When I was younger, I was in too much of a rush to appreciate the quiet rhythms that you find in life. I was so driven to go and get some where that I often failed to notice the beauty around me in the present. Now I make a conscious effort to appreciate the beauty around me.
It took me a while to realize that life is made up of patterns, and that our patterns intersect with each other to form a rhythmic dance that you often have to stop to see. Sometimes you know exactly how your actions affect people, and sometimes they create an undercurrent that bubbles up months or even years later. The seeds you plant bloom at different times.
Patterns fall into routines that you notice when you walk your dogs through your neighborhood. We’ve added a daily walk to our routine, and we take it right around the same time after work. I know laugh. We have become part of the post work routine of our neighborhood.
We walk our little long haired chihuahuas along at a pretty brisk pace, and we have learned to avoid any dog that is twice as big as Coley Bear. He loves to bark and act tough. If he meets a dog his size or smaller, he doesn’t care at all. Too bad he only weighs 7 pounds! If a dog rushes its fence to bark at him and takes him by surprise, he sounds quite ferocious and tough after he finishes his startled jump.
We also have to avoid any furniture that has been set out by the curb for other people to take or before trash day. Monday night we noticed a mattress, box springs, and 2 recliner like chairs had been set out by the road with a sign that said free on them. I noticed the ugly pattern on the cushion of the lounge chair while making sure the dogs didn’t leave any pee-mail behind.
Yesterday I picked up Morgan from school but at a really weird time because she stayed after school briefly to work on her science fair project, so the kids from the neighborhood elementary school were walking home already when it was time to leave. As I was leaving, I saw one of the boys who lives at the end of our street laying on the cushion of the lounge chair in a different neighbor’s yard. By the time I had pulled out of my driveway, he had hopped up and was back to running home with his cushion. Perhaps he was making a fort. I didn’t have time to snap a picture, but I’m sure that there was a story there.
I got back home with Morgan and went back to working in the living room. It’s nice to be able to work from home when you can, and the entire trip to pick her up only took about 10 minutes. The dogs went crazy barking, and I looked out the front window expecting to see salesman canvassing the neighborhood. Across the street was the boy with the cushion’s brother, he was busy dragging the mattress down the sidewalk. He looked like an ant dragging a huge, tasty morsel behind him. He would run about 20 feet or so. Stop to breathe, and then drag the mattress 20 more feet. I just stood there laughing at the sight of him while admiring his determination. The mattress was so much bigger than he was that it could have squashed him flat as a pancake.
We didn’t see their booty outside of their house or across the street from their house in the green space where the teenagers like to hang out. I wondered as we passed by their house on our walk last night where their treasures ended up. I’ll have to remember to look next Monday night when the trash gets put out to see if they show up. The box springs and the shell of the lounge are still sitting sadly in front of the other house just minus the free sign. It went home with the cushion and an enterprising boy who wouldn’t quit.