Walkin and thinkin

[Duckslayer100]

Yesterday it was dry. Cold, but dry. Today, the dogs collect snow on their backs while my old, cracked Sorels gingerly navigate the spring snow. Light flakes now, but soon enough they'll grow thick and heavy.

This is no April Fool's joke. Ma nature has a sense of humor, and she's the only one laughing.

I trudge along the sidewalks, which are mostly untouched by shovels. I believe people are remaining blissfully ignorant of their obligations to clear them, given the time of year. But in technical terms, Fargo has a case of the fuck-its.

The geese aren't on the golf course today, which is under a blanket of white. But the river is open, and for a moment I wonder if the catfish would take a swipe at some chunks of sucker. No, on second thought, slip-sliding down a shit-slick bank into barely above-freezing water sounds like a recipe for the leading story of the six-o-clock news. Better to play it safe.

As if on cue, my next step hits a greasy ice spot, goes askew, and I wind up kiddy-wompus on the ground. Zeke enjoys this playful pose, and pounces on my chest, expelling the remainder of what wind is left in my lungs in a pathetic whisper of vapor.

The gray sky is momentarily blocked by a happy brown head and silly grin. He licks my face.

"Good boy," I gasp, feeling the new wonderful aches and pains I'm sure will expand in the days to come. "I appreciate your positivity."

After I dust myself off, we continue, taking a bit more care to avoid any more precarious slip-and-slides.

This weekend is Easter, and we've already cancelled plans with family. Three days of snow and blizzard conditions do not bode well for travel. Besides, the kids enjoy finding eggs hidden at home, and the snow is going to make little bunny Foo-Foo's job a helluva lot easier. He may even enjoy an extra large cocktail Saturday night to celebrate, without worrying about missing his delivery.

Which reminds me, we're out of brandy. Every kid knows you leave deer summer sausage and brandy-Cokes out for the Easter Bunny.

It's tradition.

Another tradition this year will be a slow-smoked pork shoulder in lieu of honey ham. I enjoy the process, they almost always turn out sublime, and the flavor improves greatly when accompanied with midday beers.

Which, are a perfect accompaniment to the aforementioned brandy-Cokes.

And if the Easter Bunny is really lucky, the Mrs. may just let him hide his easter basket in her garden tonight.

Then again, I think, as a sharp spasm of pain shoots up my spine from stem to stern, she may have to do the hiding herself.

I guess there's really not a downside.

Happy Easter NDA!

 

[guywhofishes]

hitting the brandy-Cokes a little early this year?

 

[measure-it]

Me thinks the Duck just took a literary advance class!

 

[svnmag]

Can resist no more:

 

[Duckslayer100]

I went for a run today. Trying to get back at it. Age, and sloth, have led to a spongier body than I intended. What took 6 months to gain, is going to take at least that to lose. And with the biological clock ticking, I imagine I may never get back to the way I was.

But we went, because it's good for us. That is, Zeke and I. He needs the run as much as I do. Burn off some steam and calm the nerves. Forget about the chaos for a while (work for me, squirrels for him) and just zen out.

I once had an acquaintance jokingly respond to a Facebok post I'd made, a picture my wife took of me grinning like an idiot while running a half marathon.

"I don't think we can be friends if you find running fun," he quipped.

Running used to be a lot more fun. Think opening the throttle on an outboard and finally getting off plane. That smooth, crisp feeling of locomotive motion. When I was good, it felt endless.

That's the crux of being a runner who has gotten out of shape. You can remember how it used to be. And it's frustrating because now is nowhere close to back then.

When I first started running, it was also because of a dog; my first one, Remy, who I decided needed more exercise than fetching could satisfy. So I'd laced up some tenners ,stuck him on a leash, and we slogged out the front door and straight into a crisp winter afternoon.

Getting eyes and cheeks and lungs blasted with sub-freezing air was riveting. It kind of reminded me of jumping in the lake and grandpa's cabin after taking a sauna. My wife thought I was crazy, but it was like a drug. I couldn't stop. And besides, Remy needed the exercise! Me getting in shape was simply serendipitous.

But that was nigh 20 years ago. Kids are here, and time feels extremely condensed. We rush from one thing to another, the hours and days and months slipping through my grip like a slimy pike. Fitting in a run, which used to be as natural as waking up and making a pot of coffee, seems daunting.

These are all excuses, I tell myself, sweat pouring down my face and stinging my eyes. The sun is high and hot today, the wind like a hairdryer on full blast. It may surpass 80 today, they say. I can feel it with every thump of my heart and gasp of breath.

At one point, I let the hound jump in the river for a quick drink and cool down. The water is just about perfect for bank fishing. If this weather can hold, the kitties will be on the feedbags soon enough.

The daydreams of lazy afternoons and heavy poles in murky water continue while we make our way home. If there's one thing runs are good for -- aside from exercising the dog, and myself by happenstance -- is they're good for dreaming. And thinking. And forgetting the chaos for just a bit.

Work-wise. Or squirrel-wise.