Two circumstances converged yesterday to provide an opportunity for carless transportation. 1: Anne's artwork was selected by her teacher to appear in the annual school-district art show at our local museum, located about four blocks from our home. 2: A young friend (1st grade boy, "C") spent the day with us in order that his mother could attend a class. She's a dear friend who's similarly helped us many times before.
The obvious choice: walk. On opening day, parking at our house might be about the best we could do anyway. Honestly, our walking adventures so consumed us, I have no idea what parking ever ended up looking like.
With kiddos ready to head out before the grown-ups, I asked them to wait outside (they politely looked very board waiting for our shoes to go on). Happy screams announced their snowball fight. Harold and I took as long as possible donning our outdoor gear, watching and listening to their happy spirits.
The moment all four of us hit the sidewalk, "C" began to drag his feet through the snow-covered grass for an entire block. Anne very neatly kept to the shovelled pavers, glancing at him furtively. Harold and I shared a few silent, very wide grins at their contrast.
After restraining themselves for almost a block-and-a-half, good-natured snow-ball-tossing resumed. Anne still kept to dry places, while "C" became braver. In addition to snow, he now stomped in slosh, and jumped in puddles. Happy screams bursting out of them, as snow landed on warm dry skin, accompanied our party the entire rest of the way.
Anne seemed almost bored at her own show, as did "C". Except for the cookie at the end, they both looked impatient to get back into snow the entire time. Maybe it was my imagination, and yet, when we emerged from the museum, the predictable occurred. Until we got to the Fire Station Museum. "C" wanted in, so in we went.
Had we been driving, the opportunity would've remained unnoticed. Once in, we fell into the wanting heart of a retired fireman just waiting to share the story of his brethren. 45 minutes later, and over-heated, we emerged. Happily snow still graced the path home. I found myself pre-emptorally apologizing to strangers at intersections, in case they got hit with stray bits of the cold stuff. They smiled wistfully, seeming to enjoy the kids' playfulness as much as Harold and me.
The rest of the way home Harold and I held hands, and each other's hearts. This was what the good times would maybe look like, had we been able to bring more children into the world. The kids called "COLD!" time-outs, whenever their little fingers needed a break. Love, joy, regret, comingled, and because it all felt so palpably real, I think I'd take that walk again, 100 times over.
The kids made a memory. Strangers smiled. We hopefully helped improve the day of a retired public servant. Anne got her 15 minutes of fame. Our little guest enjoyed himself. Mostly all attributable to our choice to walk. Reflecting back on the whole gratifying experience just makes the entire weekend a deeply more positive, vital experience.
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