Morning window post

It was a truly splendid morning for a walk. No wind. That's all I ask most of the time, here in Kansas. Just give us a morning without wind.

Ollie treed a young -- just past kittenhood -- cat and got himself thoroughly revved in the process. Nothing makes his day like a close encounter with a member of the feline class. God knows, if he ever caught one it would probably kill him. God knows but Ollie doesn't. So he keeps trying. The cat business took place early in the walk so he was chocked full of Airedale energy all the rest of the way.

We took one of our normal routes, winding around 7 or 8 blocks, dodging cars driven by folks off to work (work! I remember work!) and counting political yard signs. Looks good for Obama in my neighborhood. One of the things I always do is check out the (non-political) window signs at this one corner house. An older lady resides there and I believe I heard that she was a retired elementary school teacher. She obviously misses the days of having a roomful of little ones to instruct. Now she puts these little signs in her windows, I'm betting they were once put up daily in her classroom, which are riddles aimed at the younger set. Usually she puts the question on one window and the answer in the next. Today's: How do you fix a broken pumpkin? With a PUMPKIN PATCH!

The first few times I noticed these riddles I was slightly taken aback. What the heck is this? Why would anyone do a weird thing like that? Must be a little "titched in the head!" But with time I've come to appreciate them, look forward to them and enjoy them. It's an unusual idea, to entertain passersby, and there's something sweet about it. Probably no more than 8 or 10 folks a day even see the little notices, maybe less. Still she posts them regularly all through the year. It's not really so different from putting up posts in a blog -- a small audience but somehow fulfilling all the same. If I could draw large enough I'd consider posting the occasional editorial cartoon in my window.

Eventually Ollie and I ended up back at our grove of cottonwoods where I like to sit a bit and practice not thinking. Not thinking is harder than you might, well, think it is. We all think all of the time, practically, and most of our thoughts are repetitious and unnecessary. I buy into the view that I'd be better off if I could relax my mind enough to get in touch with my true self, the one that's connected to things like cottonwoods, cats and elderly retired schoolteachers. Ollie's already there but I have a ways to go. Most of the time my true self is treed by my incessantly barking ego.

Then again, there are worse places to be cornered than up in a tree.