A Walk

Tab has been in a bad mood this weekend. Yesterday morning he took the boys to a magic show at a church in Lawrenceville. When they returned he reported that the boys had been good at the show; nevertheless, he was short-tempered with them.

Tab was talking to me in the kitchen while I was preparing pasta for lunch. The twins, who were in high spirits, had run upstairs where they were yelling, laughing, and slamming doors.

"Could you take them for a walk or something?" he asked irritably.

"Sure. Can I do it after lunch?"

"They need exercise! Listen to them!"

"Fine. But why not after we eat?"

He stormed off, leaving the boys and me to eat a congenial lunch together. Truthfully, I was relieved not to have his sullen presence at the table. After we ate, the boys and I left for our walk. Tab returned to the house just as we were leaving. He still seemed cross so I decided to make the walk a long one to postpone our return to the house for as long as possible. Besides, the boys and I could use the exercise.

Daniel brought his binoculars along "so I can see birds!" At first there weren't many birds to see, but he used them to watch an airplane and to study an old nest clearly visible in the branches of a small pear tree. Then he spotted a couple of seagulls and peered at them through his binoculars.

"Why are they here?" he asked. "We're not near the ocean."

"They like to hang out near the Farmer's Market. They find scraps of food there," I answered.

While Daniel had his eyes trained skyward, Stephen was looking for treasures on the ground. He often finds pennies on our walks, but today he discovered something better: a pair of children's green plastic sunglasses. He put them on; with the round lenses and funky frames he looked a little like Elton John.

The street we were walking along was quiet. I would have expected more people to be out on such a nice day. Signs of spring are everywhere: Reddish buds on the cherry trees. Dark yellow buds on a forsythia bush. The green spears of crocus leaves poking through the earth. I felt the tension that had lodged in my neck and shoulders draining away as I contemplated these harbingers of my favorite season.

We reached the corner where the bad dogs once terrorized us. An elderly woman who used to live near this corner owned two huge, mixed-breed dogs that often escaped from her fenced-in yard. Once when I was walking with the boys, the dogs bounded toward us. They stood at the opposite side of the street and barked and growled ferociously. The sight and sound of them chilled me; I realized I had no way of protecting my children from them should they decide to attack. I didn't want my sons--or the dogs, either--to see my fear, so I told the boys to turn around and walk slowly back with me. I kept reassuring them that we were OK and that the dogs wouldn't follow us. Fortunately, I was right.

"Thank you for protecting us, Mama," Stephen had said tearfully when we were clear of the dogs.

The woman who owned the dogs had Alzheimer's, which was probably why she didn't seem to know or care that her dogs were escaping and menacing passersby. I called Animal Control and filed a complaint. A few months later the woman was placed in an institution. The dogs disappeared. I don't know what happened to them, but I was glad.

We turned the corner and walked halfway down the block to the alley, then turned right and walked up the alley heading back in the direction of our house. Walking this way, the sun was in our eyes, making Matthew jealous about his twin's good fortune. "Aw, no fair! I want to find sunglasses!" he wailed.

Stephen ignored his brother and dashed ahead to pick up something else he'd spotted.

"Look, Mama, a seagull feather!"

"Aw, how come I didn't find a seagull feather?"

I asked Stephen if he would let Matthew hold the feather, and to my surprise he agreed. Matthew calmed down.

We turned the corner onto the block where Miss Jean lives. Miss Diane's car was parked in front of the house with a bicycle tied on the back of it. She was loading another bike onto her car as we approached.

"This can't be good," I thought to myself. Diane and Jean had lived together for nearly 20 years until Diane left Jean for someone else last summer. Their breakup has been tempestuous. Diane has left and returned and left again perhaps a dozen time in the past few months. It looked like we'd stumbled onto another act in this ongoing drama.

Diane greeted us and went back into the house, saying she'd tell Miss Jean we were here. She emerged carrying their dog Scooter, the custody of which they share. She got into her car and drove off.

Daniel asked, "Where's Scooter going, Miss Jean? I thought he lived here."

"He does live here, honey. Miss Diane's just taking him for a ride," I said.

When the boys weren't listening Miss Jean told me that Diane was taking back the bicycle she'd given Jean several years ago because her new friend wanted to go cycling with her. Jean is justifiably angry. She no longer wants Diane back.

"I held on too long," Jean concluded.

I had thought the same thing several months ago, but had not said so. Jean then filled me in on some health problems she's having.

I shook my head sympathetically. "You're due for some good luck, for a change, Jean."

We said goodbye and walked on.

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