Why a Stranger Isn’t That Strange to Me

First, we acknowledge each other as we walk by. Then, we smile and wish each other a good day. Next, we share a few comments about the weather, finally introduce ourselves, and begin to make small talk. This is how my relationships began with my walking friends; strangers that I’ve met while walking the same route each day to work, back when I lived in Chicago.

It was the colorful set of keys hanging from her belt that sparked our initial conversation. The young woman had decided to leave the corporate world to become a dog walker. Her mother, who initially left the room crying when she announced her career change, now introduces her as her successful entrepreneur daughter. Because she was out in all kinds of weather, she was tuned in to the National Weather Advisory 24/7 and became my personal weather forecaster.

Then, there was the striking, older couple who would take their morning constitutional; she, always wearing a stylish hat, and he, looking like Santa Claus and sporting a carved cane, but only for effect, his wife would say.

After running into them at a couple of charity events throughout the city, I would instinctively look for a lovely hat whenever I’d enter a venue. I never knew when they would pop into my life next, surprised to see him on a local TV station interview. It turns out he was a famous Chicago-area writer.

The neighbor who would be up so early walking his dog was always so cheery that I’d find myself smiling and continuing my route with a newfound spring in my step. After a chat one day, we were surprised to find out that his daughter and my son were the same age. This led to us comparing notes and swapping Millennial one-liners. A chance meeting in our neighborhood with our spouses led to a wonderful friendship.

A stranger is just a person that you haven’t gotten to know yet; take Miss Rye Bread. Once, when my son was a little boy, we were walking back from the grocery store and decided to stop at Woolworth’s. One of the cashiers, a young Filipino woman who seemed a bit stern at first, noticed our loaded cart and cheerfully said, “Why don’t you leave your cart here? Don’t worry, I’ll watch your rye bread,” noticing the loaf balanced at the top.

For years, we would say hello to “Miss Rye Bread” on the street, visit her in whatever area store she was working in, and never failed to surprise her with our rendition of ‘Happy Birthday” on her special day.

Nowadays, it’s not that strange to interact with strangers. Thanks to the internet, we date them, room with them, vacation in their homes, stay in their spare bedrooms, sleep on their sofas, rent their cars, and pay them to host us for dinner, along with other guests, who are also strangers.

As a child, I remember being told never to get into a car with a stranger. Then, Uber and Lyft came along, and I became totally confused. Now, companies have developed new technology whereby cars drive themselves. That means that when you’re picked up, there won’t even be a stranger in the car with you. Now, that’s strange!

As a self-taught expert in “strangerology,” I have found that it’s the age of the passerby and not the size of the city that dictates the level of eye contact. The younger the passerby, the more likely they are to be tuning out the world, either by wearing earphones or by walking, head down, transfixed by some form of social media. Please note: the latter technique should not be attempted by amateurs.

Next time you’re walking down the street, try smiling at a stranger as you pass them by and see their countenance change, as if by magic. That little flash of a human connection will change their day and will make yours!

Author’s Note:
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to like it and share it.
Don’t forget to go to the Home Page to follow me and receive monthly posts via email.

The Three Amigos Brighten My Mornings

Photo Three Amigos Blog Brt

The Three Amigos ham it up for passersby

“Top of the morning!” You can’t help but smile when the three older gentlemen, who grace our community’s walking path with their presence every day, welcome fellow walkers with their signature greeting. Allen, Dennis and Bobby met six years ago on the path and have been walking together ever since. 

The path mirrors the set of “Cheers,” the television show where “everybody knows your name” as passersby are welcomed on a first name basis. Then, it quickly morphs into a segment of “Hee Haw,” the television show known for its country music interspersed with one-liners, as jokes bounce back and forth between the three friends. 

“We’re the three wise men,” laughs Dennis. “More like the three stooges,” quips Bobby. “Hey, what has hairy legs and likes aunts?” asks Allen to anyone that might be listening, “Uncles!” “You’re looking particularly fluffy today,” Bobby jibes Allen as they saunter on. 

Allen, the jokester of the group, who says he’s built for comfort, not speed, always has his dog, Hammer, at his side. “I’m going to change Hammer’s name to Five Miles, so when I’m asked what I did today I can say I walked Five Miles.” Allen, who was born in the area, remembers riding his horse through what is now the path as a child. 

Tall and lanky, Dennis is the polite sidekick. Golf lured him to the area, as he and his wife were traveling through. He’s been trying to teach Allen how to play, but says “So far, it’s down spiraled from a novel to a short story.”

Then, there’s Bobby. The senior member of the group, he’s always nattily attired in dress pants, a long-sleeved shirt and cowboy hat with never a drip of sweat to be seen. Some say he’s heading right to a country western dance after his daily walk. He’s been unanimously voted best dressed on the walking path and holds his own, trading wisecracks with his pals. 

As they travel on, you can hear the muffled sounds of chatter and laughter and sense that the more they tease each other, the fonder the three seem to grow of each other. “It’s amazing how something as simple as a walk could develop into such friendships,” notes Allen, “The three of us have been privileged to meet so many wonderful people each day.” 

Likewise, their fellow walkers have been thoroughly entertained, leaving the path with a smile and a spring in their step at a time when they need it the most. Personally, all I know is that when my boys tell me “You’re looking as cute as a little mud turtle today”, I’m pretty sure that it’s going to be a great day.  

Sole Searching

Photo HIking Boots

Me and my Merrell Moab Ventilators in Villafranca del Bierzo, Spain

Let’s just say that I am not known for my sports prowess and leave it at that. It wasn’t until 2016 that I finally found my sport; walking! Standing at the top of that mountain, after trying on my first hiking boots gave me a wonderful sense of exhilaration. And as I stepped down from the four-foot, plaster mountain in the shoe department of the REI store, I felt downright giddy.

Thus, began an intimate relationship with my hiking boots. I remember those first few awkward days as we got to know each other. I’d tie them over and over, trying for a not too tight, but not too loose a fit. I broke them in, walking the city streets of Chicago. Little did they know that they were soon destined to walk 500 miles through Spain on the Camino de Santiago, the 1000- year-old route to the Shrine of the Apostle St. James in northern Spain’s medieval city of Santiago de Compostela.

Skittish at first of the uphills, downhills, rocky terrain and water crossings, I finally settled into a rhythm whereby my boots seemed to be leading me. They helped me to define my comfort zone. I likened this to a car with new tires and the confidence you feel as their traction assists you in navigating the road.

If those boots could talk! They’ve staggered through rainstorms, forced to listen to us taking turns singing Broadway show tunes to pass the time, then left overnight, stuffed fat with newspaper. They’ve been caked in mud and sat alone, not allowed entry into our hotel room. Regardless, they always know that once they arrive home, they will be well scrubbed and placed on their side in their original shoebox, toe to heel, until their next adventure.

Lately, circumstances have dictated that those boots become a basic necessity, once again, as I walk miles each day. Whatever the weather (or my temperament), as soon as I fit my foot snugly into each one, I feel a sudden sense of exhilaration. It’s amazing what can go on while your feet are moving. The recurring sound of my boots hitting the pavement, crunching leaves or trudging through dirt paths, creates a Zen backdrop.

Ever the shoe lover, I must confess that even the pride and joy of my collection, my Allen Edmonds brown and white spectators, don’t give me the lift that my boots do. My hiking boots may seem like the ugly duckling compared to their classic elegance, but they serve their purpose and serve it well.

Thankful that I have finally outgrown my 30 years of clumsiness, I welcome this new phase of my life, resigned to let my feet lead the way and take one step at a time.

 

Author’s Note:
If you enjoyed this post, please scroll down and like it and feel free to share it!