I got Wonder Mutt to go on what used to be her regular morning walk. In the past couple of months, her willingness to do it has waned considerably. She's getting old. Her original (benign) tumor is substantially larger. Pete says if you look at her from behind, she looks like an American football player with a ball tucked under her arm. And not one of those Brady-wobbly-filled balls, either.
But today I tricked her by taking the regular walk in the opposite direction. She's my walking buddy. I need her up and about twice a day if I'm ever going to make my 14,000-step goal in any given day. So, yay, 4,000 steps already. Thanks, Corrie!
Today's Springsteen music was "The Rising." That's not necessarily relevant to whatever direction this post ends up going. I'm just setting the scene.
I didn't have this blog way back then, during that period of time that centers on the events of 9-11. (Is it because it's September 1 that my mind carries me there or is it just "The Rising"?) I had the added bonus of being about two-months pregnant with Youngest. And by "added bonus," let's just say there was a lot of shit going on for me personally. It was all just such a cluster fuck.
So is this post going to bring me to today? Like I realize that I should never say, "This is the worst ever," because the world will say right back, "You ain't seen nothing yet." Or, as the great Homer says, "So far."
Nope. I think this post is about the walks I do with the mutt or on my own, when I just listen to (and, yes, dance and sing to along the way) whatever Springsteen album I play. If it's a song I'm really into, my mind focuses on the song in all its glory -- the words, the music, the voice, the memories of when heard in concert. When it's just my usual soundtrack of Bruce, my mind wanders and I dwell on minutiae and gigantically big deals and everything in between.
I'll take my walks either way.