Friday, March 12, 2010

Walking and reading is not a winter activity. In the 3+ years since Jackson was born, reading has hardly been an activity at all, unless I am walking. Mornings are for early-risers, days are for the kids or for the store, and evenings, well, evenings are for doing all the other work that you will regret not having done, when awoken too early the next morning. Laundry, dishes, sweep, scrub.
Night is for painting.
Reading is for the in-between time, walking from the corner of South Huntington and Huntington, under the bridge, through the traffic, across the D line, through Brookline Village, winding kind of parallel to Harvard on smaller roads and through backyards, playgrounds and driveways until I'm in Coolidge Corner, slowing my pace so that the chapter ends as I reach for the door handle.
You keep your book high, your eyes flick from the page pretty easy once you get the knack, and you train yourself to walk toe first. Your toes do the navigating, and the rhythm of walking matches itself to the rhythm of reading.
As my son would say:
try it, you might like it.

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