Lately I have been having an ongoing conversation with a good friend about running and jumping. And... there was also a brief mentioning of flittering through one's day. You know – I am going to run down town or run to the grocery store. Or -- I am going to jump out of bed or jump into the shower -- or flitter from one thing to another. Neither of us has run or jumped for a very long time, although it seems we still flitter a bit now and then. The thing is, I cannot remember the last time I ran -- unless it was after a toddler about 13 years ago (they are amazingly fast for having such short little legs), and as far jumping – vague memories for sure. Come to think of it though as far as jumping goes -- I do remember an unfortunate and pitifully clumsy attempt to clear a hurdle in high school. I got stuck half way over and ended up tipping the whole thing over and picking gravel out of my knees. Never an athlete… never pretended to be. I chalk that up to an inherited klutz factor. I am comfortable with that. It is, however, sort of comforting to think that flittering is still within the realm of possibility and I do that well. At least that involves moving from place to place. Movement is a good thing.
Anyway – the whole running/jumping thing makes me think
of Hopscotch days and polished saddle shoes and Keds. You remember – the days when people used
their brains and counted change back. I
still do that, by the way. And – I
distinctly remember my Dad teaching me how and that such a process was important.
He also taught me that two quarters are of the same value as one
fifty-cent piece and… how to tie shoes.
Next to learning how to type – I have always found those lessons to be of major
importance. Then again -- there is knowing how to
hem using a blind stitch. I learned that skill in a college dorm from one of my suitemates. But I digress…
After careful thought about my movements throughout a
variety of days with a variety of activities, I have decided that the best
descriptor of my movement of late is that I mosey. Isn’t there something soft and comforting
about that word? It implies never
rushing – sort of a less stressful way of moving through one’s day than that of flittering. I mosey in general… most all the time. I mosey along… yep. Perhaps moseying is one of the best
parts of being my age. I am totally
comfortable with that too.
