My daily hour spent in the park is one of serenity. I don’t even use my iPod these days, preferring the birdsong I’m grateful can still hear.
Nature has a way of restoring all that’s lagging in spirit and attitude, the smallest observance tweaking one’s outlook, free of charge…
like today, when I saw a baby raccoon sitting in a tree eating, what looked like an apple.
So when I encounter that Upper East Side woman, clad in spandex, two bottles of Evian strapped to her waist like .38s glued to her phone, I’m more than a little perplexed.
She’s on full speed, her voice loud and harsh, speaking of nothing as she pretends to power walk. I can’t help noticing the outfit since Spanx, in all its lauded splendor, congeals more than conceals. That extra tummy showing its hand looking like cold consommé jiggling on the kitchen counter. What’s the purpose of wearing a fabric that neither breathes nor masks?
One of many of life’s unsolved mysteries.
Sidling beside her, not by choice, I can’t help but to sneer at her avid unconsciousness oblivious to how she’s polluting the peace of the park.
Why is tranquility so underrated?
We need those few moments to pull ourselves together, doesn’t matter who we are. I remember Jackie gracing the reservoir now named after her, in gray sweats and a matching hoodie, her big glasses the only thing giving her away. She saw the value of silence taking in the charms of Central Park having a view for over 30 years that even God would have been envious of.
I didn’t say anything to this woman, but did whisper to whomever into the ethers…
there’s more to be had at 6 a.m. than, where should we meet for drinks, then dinner a good 14 hours away.
And like Teddy said, “There’s a delight in the hardy life of the open,” if one is open enough to see it, that is.
This is dedicated to my friend Venita, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.