I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m turning into my dad.
I saw myself on the treadmill at the gym the other day, in the mirror they have for guys who lift weights. I was pushing up a treadmill hill, walking not running, and all of a sudden, there was Dad. Bending slightly forward, determined. It threw me.
Sometimes I see him in my brothers. But I’m the girl! Aside from my fair skin and red in my hair, this is the first time I saw a physical resemblance to my dad.
He’s eighty seven and walks three miles a day. He’s always walked: to the post office, to the store. To the library. I’m the same – I have to walk. When I don’t walk, I can’t think.
That’s been one of the hardest things about the snow. It’s banked up along the sides of the road and walking has been dangerous – there’s nowhere to go when the trucks and cars come flying along. The sidewalks on Main Street are a patchwork of slush and ice and rock salt. I haven’t been able to move, except at the gym, or back and forth behind the bar, but that’s not the same.
Yesterday, finally, it started warming up. Eric and I took a walk in the sunshine. Then he left for a show in Cambridge. He took the van, and I walked again in a light rain. I felt my brain firing up again. I admit I was walking to the liquor store. I think my dad has done that once in a while, too. But like me, he’s a disciplined drinker.
I’m getting the house ready for another Homemade Aeroplane tomorrow. It looks like it’ll be a less than full flight, and we’re going to be a skeleton crew without an air hostess. But our special guests are arriving soon, all the way from east Tennessee, and I’m excited to play their cool songs, and look forward to playing and singing with Eric again. It’s another form of motion I miss when I don’t do it for a little while.
Got to start corralling the passenger seats. Maybe make a pot of chili. But first I have to walk to the post office, and the library.
Somewhere south of Pittsburgh, a man climbs a hill.