A Walk In The Park

The snow was slick, smoothed into the pathway by a thousand pairs of
feet. Tire marks suggesting the remnants of early morning bike rides.
Here and there the tracks of animals; dogs, squirrels, ducks, crossing
and merging into a 5 mile under- foot quilt. For the twentieth time
that day, I slipped on the frozen walkway, and so decided on a safer
route.

It was much easier than I thought it would be, to push the stroller
across the field. The snow had melted somewhat here, leaving blades of
frosty grass peeping out from under its' frozen blanket. I smiled at
the tracks I was now leaving. Four pairs of wheels cutting their way
across the playing fields. I was the first to have come here, at least
since the snow fall a few days ago. There was something satisfying, in
this knowledge. I was making my mark. If not on paper, on Gods canvas.
It's a shame he wasn't paying me for it.

I grimaced at that thought. Coming over the park was supposed to be my
escape for the day. An hours peace. Away from the cacophony of
different voices in my mind. Polite voices. Demanding voices. Angry
voices. "But you borrowed the money Mrs Levi," "Payment was due 60 days
ago Mrs Levi," "Have you not received our correspondence?" "We shall
have to take this to court Mrs Levi."

It's Levy.

Oh so simple for them all. Just a job to do, and then they return home
to their families, happy in the knowledge that they had had a good days
work. They had made a difference. At least in their lives.

I was miserable. I was broke. I was guilty. I'd been reckless yet
again. Should have used the money to pay the credit cards. Should have
delayed the vacation. Should have found a decent job. Should have been
someone. Should BE someone. Where on earth was I anyway? Who stole the
self assured, vivacious, life-loving, God-loving person that was here
once, and replaced her with this dowdy housewife?

A loud yelp broke through my self-pity. Sydney, our Irish Setter was
bouncing wantonly through the snow, followed by a yellow Lab. Each
rejoicing in their freedom, and their luck on being able to play with a
mutual friend.

"Sorry about that," the Lab's owner offered as she tried to reluctantly
retrieve him, from Sydneys neck. "They just love this snow."

"Yes, don't they," I quipped, while willing her to go away and leave me
to my self inflicted misery.

"Oh, what a cute baby." These yanks are a friendly bunch.

"Thank you." And I am an ungrateful, self pitying, miserable old
bag.

"You're very lucky to be able to look after her all day. Do you not
work?"

"I work for the local newspaper."

"Wow, that's great. What do you do?"

"I'm a writer." O.k, so that was a tiny lie. But I DO work for the
local newspaper, except that I deliver it to peoples homes at 2am, 7
days a week. And I AM a writer, although not quite so accomplished as
this last remark had implied.

"Really? That's so great. I work for the city magazine, and right now
we're looking for more international writers." So she had picked up on
the accent. "Would you be interested in working for us too, or will
they not let you?"

Uh oh! "Ummmmm. Actually I free-lance, so I can pretty much work for
whoever I want." And 'they' would never have heard of me anyway, I'm
thinking silently.

"Great! We're having a meeting tomorrow, so I'll talk it over with my
colleagues, and give you a call back later in the day. Scribble your
number on here for me."

"O.k...." Am I hearing right? Has this woman just offered me a job, on
the basis of meeting me in the park, without even looking at an
article? Oh, of course, I work for the local newspaper.

"Great. Well it was wonderful talking with you. I'll call you tomorrow
then."

"O.k." Wow, what a professional I am.

We head our separate ways. She to her million dollar house, bordering
the park. I to my car waiting precariously by the edge of the lake. A
sitting target for geese. Literally. It would be a half an hour drive,
back to the warmth of my small yet cozy apartment. I had cleaned,
cooked and vacuumed this morning, before coming here. And now the dog
was walked. All there was to do, would be iron my husbands clothes for
tomorrow. He has other clothes.

Glancing down, I note that there are now 2 tracks in the snow.

Pulling up outside our home, my husbands truck was already in the
driveway.

"Hey babe, been up to anything fun?" he asks as he looks up from the
paper. Delivered meticulously, in the early hours of the morning, by a
very professional carrier.

"Just over the park."

"Bet that was fun," he quips with a suggestion of sarcasm.

"Great." Hey look at that, for the first time in a long while, I had
actually used the term 'great', without meaning otherwise.I plonk
myself down in front of the computer. I have work to do. Maybe tomorrow
I'll be able to think about those credit card bills, with an inkling of
hope. Another idea flashes through.

"Honey? Can you write me a reference from the newspaper. I think I'm a
writer."

"What???"

And so it begins.....