Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Walking Slow - the reprise (Plus Living the Jethro Tull Life)
In my rich repertoire of recurring themes, slow-walkers was one I didn’t expect to come back. I guess it’s just one more example of how little I know even about my own life, writerly and otherwise. Slow walking is in the ‘hood, homies and homettes, and I’d be derelict in my essay-ism if I didn’t make with the run-on sentences and tortured modifiers about it.
NeoSlow Walker No. 1 is seriously slow, every time I see him, and I’ve been seeing him about once a week for a few months now already. He’s a black dude, medium height, medium build, hair naturally nappy and trimmed to a decent ‘fro… His face is wide, friendly and unblemished, and his smile often shines through his tidy moustache/beard combo. He wears slacks and a midweight brown jacket in all weather, whether too hot or too cold, the jacket now fading from incessant exposure to our occasional SF sun. He is shod in brown leather loafers that remain in surprisingly decent shape, considering the amount of use they get. He’s on them constantly. Then again, maybe they don’t cover too much ground.
Whenever I see him he’s up to the very same thing: he’s got his hands in his pockets, his back curled gently forward, and his eyes pitched a few sidewalk squares ahead. He’ll stand there, foot poised, ankle flexed, grinning expectantly for a minute or so, well thirty or forty-five seconds anyway but that’s a damn long time to be standing still while ostensibly walking, and then he’ll slide the lifted foot forward with a short gentle movement, toe out, ankle drop, heel-ball change, like he’s doing a tiny one-step dance to a song that’s playing just for him, so sweetly he just can’t help but move to the beat. By which I mean, he moves one foot forward, about one inch. At most. Then he waits again, smiling quietly, waiting for the next moment to perfect itself in which to repeat the motion with the other foot.
It’s almost painful, how slow he goes, until you check his face and see how so perfectly satisfied he seems with his progress. He’s grinning, and nodding his head gently, and looking ahead with an easy gaze. And yes, he’s slowly bleaching out in the sun and fog; and yes, he’s slim as a whip and seems lost in the middle of a neighborhood he ever strolls and never leaves.... but maybe for him, that’s all okay. Maybe I’m a speed demon, but maybe we needn’t all be.
NeoSlow Walker No. 2 is a real old-timer. For as long as I’ve ridden the 38, I’ve seen him out in the mornings, trudging along with grim determination. He’s an older guy, face deeply tanned and craggy, a bulbous nose, brillo hair brushed back and trimmed conservatively. His body is stocky, not tall, not tight, but compact and seemingly strong with that puissant “old man strength” that begs no assistance and brooks no impediment: - big shoulders, heavy hands, a barrel for a torso and tree trunks for legs.
He wears a consistent uniform: a knit cap that rides high on his grizzled brow, a heavy sweatshirt, a bright orange safety singlet like those worn by street crews working in traffic, sturdy track shoes, baggy shorts, and a velcro knee brace that fails utterly to conceal a huge brutal scar enveloping one leg. It honestly looks like he got operated on with a can opener - and not one of those nice fancy ones, either. The tissue is dark and gnarled and just plain angry-looking.
It’s almost enough to make me wonder how he could even move the leg, much less walk on it. But walk he did, and walk he does - rain or shine, heat or cold, week in and week out, the scarified man makes his gritty way up the sidewalk, jaws clenched and eyes locked forward.
For years, his pace was measured. Let’s be honest: he was slow. He limped heavily, favoring the damaged joint, almost dragging it along behind him like a ham hock or a sack of recyclables. It looked really tough. Then again, so did he. And maybe he wasn’t going too quickly, but then again, he never slowed down. He just kept on walking. Every day. For years.
Years now have passed, and brought us all to the present day. Old Scarleg is still making his heavy limping way down our sidewalks, his cap high on his boulder of a head, his legs inexorably exchanging places with each other, the one thick and robust, the other chewed up like it got jumped by a garden weasel. But he’s moving steady and God love him he’s picked up some speed over the years. I wouldn’t say he’s walking fast, but he’s faster than he used to be. He’s barely even slow anymore. And on those days his path crosses mine as I wait at the bus stop, he now sometimes glances up from his efforts, catches my eye, and smiles. He may not be as fast as he’d like to be, but step by step, he is getting faster.
In the extended entry: my life, an interview composed entirely of Jethro Tull song titles. Because sometimes Facebook isn’t enough all by itself.
Basic memey rules: consider doing this project yourself and posting the results; tag me back so I can see what you’ve come up with. The idea is this: pick a musical artist and then answer the following questions using only song titles by that artist. IT IS AS EASY AS PIE. Nuclear pie.
So, my artist of choice is Jethro Tull, and here’s the standard questions and my answers:
Are you male or female? * Son.
Describe yourself. * One White Duck (on the wall)
How do you feel? * Thick as a Brick.
Describe where you currently live. * Back to the Family
If you could go anywhere, where would you go? * Up the ‘Pool
What’s your favorite form of transportation? * Skating Away (on the thin ice of a new day)
Your best friend is: * Teacher
You and your friends are: * Serenade to a Cuckoo
What’s the Weather Like? * Cold Wind to Valhalla
What’s your favorite time of day? * Fire at Midnight
If your life was a television show, it would be called: * Living in the Past
What is life to you? (quite the existential question to be answered in this format, eh?) * Life is a Long Song
Current Relationship: * Reasons for Waiting
Your greatest fear: * Zero to the Power of 10 = nothing at all
Best Advice You Have to Give: Nothing’s Easy
Thought for the Day: * Someday the Sun Won’t Shine For You
How would you like to die? * Too Old to Rock and Roll; Too Young to Die
What is the present condition of your soul? (okay forget the prior question for being existential and bizarre. Condition of my soul? In a Jethro Tull song title?) The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles. (o that wasn’t so hard after all.)
Give it a try! It’s painful and will shorten your life, but why should I have all the fun?
