This Petty Pace

December 29, 2016

I am not much to look at. You could walk by me on a crowded street, or even one not so crowded, and you might not take notice of me at all.
My hair is greying/whitening, getting a little sparse in the typical hereditary spots, yet I still need haircuts unless I want to be mistaken for a homeless man. No offense to homeless men who, when it probably becomes a choice between haircut or food, food probably wins every time.
I may walk a little slow at times, usually when there is no place I have to be at no special time or if I am early getting somewhere and the leisurely pace suits me. At the present time there are no physical infirmities which dictate my pace but I am quite sure that time will someday change things.
When, and if I leave the comforts of home, it is usually for the necessities-food, fuel, haircuts, family gatherings, and preventative doctor visits. Fuel, food for myself, and for my precious MINI which carts this boney ass around when destinations are out of walking range. Living out in a rural area of Central New York pretty much guarantees all destinations outside walking range. But, if push came to shove I could make do. There happens to be a market just down the road well within healthy exercise range but on the edge of being able to physically carry, without discomfort, too much weight back home. I know from experience.
Interaction with other living humans is not one of my limited fortes. When I am indeed out and about in my small pond of humanity, it is also for food, though of two different sorts, physical and for thought. I do like a good breakfast, usually around brunch time. I have yet to find the perfect spot that not only serves up eggs, toast, hash browns and a good cup of coffee or juice to my hard to please expectations but also has comfortable seating, pleasant, attentive staff, an interesting view and at least a few people to watch when/if I am not engrossed in the latest novel by one of authors whose hardback books line the shelves at home.
All in all it is a good life. I might, at some point, consider trading it in on a new life but the new life would have to be way, way more better. Comfort being what it is, at least known comfort, compared to expectation. And then again would I even recognize a better life if I stepped into it tomorrow. One can hope. One can hope.

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