It wasn’t a proud moment, the day I lost my temper with the 84 year old lady that lives on 15th Place.
(She started it). Her name is Phyllis.
My dog-walk-route has been the same for years. I serpentine through the neighborhood hitting 14th Place, 15th Street and 15th Place where Phyllis lives in the cute, blue house with the outdoor cats in the carport. She also has a dog. It’s a small, wiener-type-thing which barks every time we walk by them causing Phyllis to repeatedly yell “no” at the dog which hasn’t been effective yet. Meanwhile, though hard to believe, my dogs are well behaved on walks. They don’t bark at other dogs and they don’t spin around on their leashes. They just walk....probably because there’s nothing of mine for them to chew.
One particular day, we walked past Phyllis like we’ve done many times before and her dog barked at us, as usual. “Good morning”, I said to her while trying to get past her as quickly as possible for her dog’s sake. Exasperated by her dog’s behavior, she shouted “MAYBE YOU SHOULD WALK YOUR DOGS DOWN A DIFFERENT STREET!”
I looked over my shoulder at her and without hesitation fired back, “Maybe give your dog some training!!!”
Ugh.
I have avoided Phyllis ever since. I only walk down her street if she isn’t out walking her dog. If she is, I backtrack to 15th Street to avoid drama. But this particular day, instead of backtracking, I continued east to 16th Street, a main artery that borders my neighborhood.
Once there, my environment changed from the manicured lawns and flower beds of the neighborhood to one with a filthy bus stop and shredded grocery bags tangled in nearly every oleander tree lining the road. Crumpled up Walgreens store receipts, styrofoam to-go containers, empty liquor bottles, and cigarette butts were strewn across the ground and the traffic pollution was deafening. My mood took a nose dive. Cinnamon was nervous about the cars whizzing by and I felt badly for her. I was also stressed from keeping Clove from eating discarded chicken wing bones mixed with broken glass on the sidewalk. I felt depressed and agitated.
16th Street is a detour I won’t take again. It was messy. It made me feel messy. And, I felt uneasy that the stench and unsightly garbage resided just on the other side of contentment...so close I can touch it, smell it and taste it in a moments notice. So vivid I can conjure it up with a snap of my finger...seeing in my mind’s eye the shattered glass, wasteland of paper debris and the ragged plastic grocery bags being pulled and lured by the wind but held captive by the oleander’s grip.
16th Street could get cleaned up but the road will always be there....the memory of how it looked that day when I walked my dogs down the sidewalk doesn’t disappear. I became grateful that morning for the reminder that while 16th Street is just a stone’s throw away, I can choose the other streets. I can walk among the immensely tall trees that fill the neighborhood...some which were surely planted nearly five decades ago. There’s a certain way the sunlight hits the leaves in the early morning, seemingly waking the birds who have a song in their heart. Thank you, Phyllis. Thank you for the reminder that though 16th Street remains, I must always seek the beauty that exists all around me.
