Morning Walk

This morning I walked with Blondie the cocker spaniel and also with my cane. Unfortunately I have to learn that small things can become challenges, like doing some toe raises to strengthen my calf muscles and discovering the next day (this actually happened last week) that I have probably given myself the third case of plantar fasciitis (left foot) in my lifetime and the first instance that did not occur while I was running.  So Blondie and I slowly made the circuit of the small park a half block up the street from us and just in front of the school named for Evo Morales' birthday.

School is in session for a few more weeks before the winter break. As usual, each morning women set up various carts and tarps to sell food and school supplies. At the crosswalk I waited until the student traffic guards gave me the nod to cross the street.  I was glad to see this because one of the consequences of paving the barrio streets is vehicles traveling at higher speed. The traffic guards were a community response to this, a good one, I think, because many of these students are in the primary grades and probably do not think that much about watching for speeding vehicles.  It is also good to see parents and grandparents walking hand-in-hand with children on the way to school. The traffic guards greeted us, and one asked if we had heard from the Cuthberts, the family of Maryknoll missioners who lived in the barrio for 6 years and returned to the US in January 2011.  I said we had not heard from them but would tell them hello if we did.  This was a comfortable encounter.  I felt like we were accepted as part of the barrio. 

Blondie was finding much to inspect as we circled homeward—calling cards from the street dogs (they are all wearing collars of yellow plastic tape, proof of recent vaccination against rabies) and lots of plastic litter. The sun topped the ridge an hour ago, and the pavement not blocked by the school building was warm. Walking away from the school, we crossed the street and came to the opposite corner.  This corner looked clean and new from all the changes: paving the street, replacing the outside adobe wall with brick and cement, planting several flowering bushes and then surrounding them with branches cut from thorn bushes to keep the street dogs from over-watering them.


Against the wall a large rock sat on the sidewalk.  It had been one of many before the construction began. Now it seemed out of place.  I wondered why it was still there. Then I remembered: a tiny old Quechua woman usually sits on it in the morning, warming herself in the sunshine, silent to me except for a good morning as I pass.  I had not seen her for the last two or three mornings and wondered if she were ill, or maybe away visiting family or friends,  or maybe sleeping in. The air was still cool, but the sunlight was warm.  I stood with my eyes closed. The sun was on my face. I had a day to get on with, but this moment opened up and welcomed me in.  I thought about sitting on the rock, but that would have been trespassing.  This was still her rock. It was enough to appreciate why she might sit there, watching a generation of children pass by, getting warm in the sun.