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Noticing Canes in the South Bronx

Posted by Anne Born on March 31, 2022
Posted in: Camino de Santiago, MTA Journal, New York, Uncategorized. Tagged: aging, fears, MTA, new_york, walking. Leave a comment

Lately, I’ve been noticing people with canes. I understand how useful they can be if you have injured your foot, your leg, for instance. Use a cane while it heals.

But the canes I have been watching are being used by older people. Typically, they are not pretty or decorated. They look worn and they bow sometimes from supporting the weight of their owner. At every other step, there is something to hang onto, to lean on, to use to keep your balance.

I wonder what the first day is like with a cane.

At my bus stop, there is a wonderful woman who waits for buses with me nearly every morning. We’re both older than most of our compatriots on the bus and like many older people, we worry about tomorrow a lot more than we let on. She and I grouse about the bus drivers and we keep tabs on other regular riders.

Something she said to me once has bothered me since it first came up months ago. We were talking about walking home from the office in a power outage. We agreed it would be an effort to cover this distance on foot and she told me suddenly, “You know, I’d hate to have to start using a cane. I want to hold out to the last minute.”

We both walk now unaided and many days, I will go out of my way to find nice walks because walking clears my head. In fact, I know that I could walk the entire route to my office more often if I had the organizational skills necessary to get out of the house a half hour to forty-five minutes earlier. She, on the other hand, might not be as comfortable, even though she clearly does not need a cane. Today.

But how do you know it’s time?

Is there something that cries out to you that today is the day you surrender to old age and start using a cane? Does a doctor tell you to use one? Or is this something that creeps up where you just don’t remember later how it started, how you found yourself in the store, picking out a cane?

I can’t imagine they would be any harder to get used to than my new hiking poles. I took them out for a spin and had the rhythm down pat in just a few steps. If the height is right and the feel of the handle doesn’t irritate your hand, how difficult would it be to use a cane? It’d be pretty simple, right? Step, cane-step; step, cane-step; step, cane-step. And off you go.

But then, there’s no going back, is there?

Now you are officially a senior citizen, an older American, a what, disabled person? With that one stroke, you would go from being able to disabled, and unlike the ones who use canes

when they have sustained an injury, you will know, deep down, there’s no going back to normal. You don’t get to improve or get better. This is the moment you would have to realize you can only get less better. Today, cane; tomorrow, walker? Then, wheelchair? And those beautiful shiny black hiking poles that were so exciting the first time out, will be left in the closet for someone else to use. Someone younger.

I am not ready to give up hiking just yet. I want to walk unaided and I relish every single chance I get to do so. Of course, I worry this walk today or maybe one tomorrow could be the one where I realize I just can’t do it anymore. It’s too hard or I worry too much that I could fall.

But, I hope it’s not this walk. It’s almost sunset now and the breeze is amazing. I feel it on my face and when I step out, it nudges me forward. I stretch up to my full height at each street corner and I step carefully across all those cracks in the sidewalk. I catch a glimpse of kids on the swings, the men playing dominos at the card tables alongside the vegetable market, and the young girls comparing notes on that boy across the street.

I don’t want to miss any of this – this wonderful and exuberant life of the city – and it’s fabulous that nobody even notices me as I walk by.

Walking into Burgos on the Camino de Santiago, December 2014

As I walk by.

God, I love those words.

The Hermit

Posted by Anne Born on March 30, 2022
Posted in: New York, Poetry, Uncategorized. Tagged: covid19, crochet, lockdown, Poetry, vaccine, variant. 2 Comments

I have become a hermit.

I loved the lockdown, the shelter in place.

I found that masking pleased me,

And avoiding crowded places

Came natural to me.

I’m not much of a baker, so

I started by organizing things.

Like-objects in one place.

All the colorful paper clips,

Empty notebooks, pens

All going the same way in the plastic box,

All my pencils,

Freshly sharpened, of course.

I wanted to be useful, so I learned to crochet,

But it didn’t suit me.

Maybe it was being useful

That didn’t suit me.

I ordered in because

I was comfortable with it, after living in New York.

Every Thursday, a new basket of food.

I even tried senior shopping

But the sight of all those frightened old people

Wasn’t sustainable.

I didn’t go back.

Then I started tidying seriously,

Lingering over the things that used to spark joy

Before throwing them away.

It’s only now I can speak about it.

I’ve become a hermit.

Tidying is a way of life,

A manner of being.

I’ve told everyone

I need to control my environment,

So I stick to my new routine of tidying

And it takes the place of accomplishing.

The dishes are all clean, the yard is all clean,

The garage is all clean,

The basement is all clean.

I’ve cleaned the closets again and again.

I make the bed.

I throw out more paper,

Give more things away.

All of my yarn is sorted by color now,

Like my paper clips.

All the hangers face the same way in the closet,

All the coffee cup handles in the cupboard.

If I sort out the small things,

Maybe the big things will not matter as much.

I’ve found that there are not a lot of big things

To a hermit.

New Book by Loren Rhoads – Death’s Garden Revisited

Posted by Anne Born on March 25, 2022
Posted in: Churches and Cemeteries, Traveling, Uncategorized. Tagged: cemeteries, churches and sanctuary, family, graves, memory. Leave a comment

I am delighted to have an essay included in this exciting new book! To view the Kickstarter page, please click here.

Death’s Garden Revisited Relationships with Cemeteries is an anthology of personal essays about how the authors connect with cemeteries and graveyards.

Contributors are…

Editor Loren Rhoads is the author of 199 Cemeteries to See Before You Die and Wish You Were Here: Adventures in Cemetery Travel. She’s blogged about cemeteries as travel destinations since 2011 at CemeteryTravel.com. She’s also written about cemeteries for Legacy.com, the Daily Beast, Gothic.Net, Gothic Beauty, Mental Floss, the Cemetery Club, the Horror Writers Association, and so much more. She’s been a member of the Association for Gravestone Studies for more than 20 years.

Cemetery writers/Genealogists/Historians: Anne Born, Barbara Baird, Carrie Sessarego, Carole Tyrrell, Erika Mailman, J’aime Rubio, Jo Nell Huff, Joanne M. Austin, Rachelle Meilleur, Sharon Pajka, Trilby Plants

Horror authors: A. M. Muffaz, Angela Yuriko Smith, Christine Sutton, Denise N. Tapscott, E. M. Markoff, Emerian Rich, Frances Lu-Pai Ippolito, Francesca Maria, Greg Roensch, Mary Rajotte, Melodie Bolt, Priscilla Bettis, Rena Mason, Robert Holt, R. L. Merrill, Saraliza Anzaldua, Stephen Mark Rainey, and Trish Wilson.

National Poetry Month Celebration

Posted by Anne Born on March 25, 2022
Posted in: MTA Journal, New York, Poetry, Traveling, Uncategorized. Tagged: family, memory, Michiana, National_Poetry_Month, new_york, Poetry, Pure_Michigan, South_Bend, writing. Leave a comment

Please join us April 14 in South Bend, Indiana, for a celebration of local poets and writing in Michiana.

We will have books for sale from The Backpack Press! Can’t wait? Can’t make it to SB? Look up top – My Bookstore has them all.

“Troubled” Is Up on Global Poemic (by Jerry Johnson)

Posted by Anne Born on January 27, 2021
Posted in: Uncategorized. 2 Comments

My Poem Is Up on Global Poemic Thanks Global Poemic for publishing my poem, Troubled. I will send a thank-you note also youth artist whose art …

My Poem “Troubled” Is Up on Global Poemic

If You Stand Here…

Posted by Anne Born on January 21, 2021
Posted in: Camino de Santiago, Churches and Cemeteries, Spain, Traveling, Uncategorized. Tagged: camino, caminodesantiago, cathedral, santiagodecompostela, Spain. Leave a comment

Available now! Author is available now for book talks and pilgrim association events.

If You Stand Here: A Pilgrim’s Tour of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela
by Amazon.com
Learn more: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08TFW3P26/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_-DAcGb3M74PDJ

#caminodesantiago

#santiagodecompostela

#cathedral

Cabezon by Ken Hartke (LANDMARKS Series)

Posted by Anne Born on July 4, 2020
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Cabezon by Ken Hartke It rises like a ziggurat in the desert. Torn by the wind. Shattered by the elements. Stabbed by blades of ice. Blasted by the …

Cabezon by Ken Hartke (LANDMARKS Series)

Shelter in Place by Lourdes A. Gautier (MY FRONT DOOR Series)

Posted by Anne Born on April 14, 2020
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Shelter in Place by Lourdes A. Gautier I have two front doors. One that limits who enters, can be locked or unlocked with a key and is a perfect …

Shelter in Place by Lourdes A. Gautier (MY FRONT DOOR Series)

My Front Door by Clive Collins (MY FRONT DOOR Series)

Posted by Anne Born on March 29, 2020
Posted in: Uncategorized. 2 Comments

Silver Birch Press

Front Door copyCC

My Front Door
by Clive Collins

The opening and closing of the front door at my childhood home ushered us through our lives. Our house was small, the last one in a nineteenth-century jerry-built terrace – two rooms and a kitchen downstairs, two rooms and a box room up. There was no hallway; the front door in the front room opened directly on the street.
We seldom used that room or its door. The post came through its letterbox three times a day when I was young, the envelopes falling onto the doormat like heavy leaves in a repetitive autumn. Late in the afternoon, later than the day’s last post, the local newspaper arrived, half its rolled-up bulk pushing sinisterly against the door curtain like the barrel of an assassin’s pistol. When people passed in and out of the door there was always a sense of occasion. My father opened…

View original post 303 more words

Crossing the Street Twice

Posted by Anne Born on August 19, 2019
Posted in: Churches and Cemeteries, New York, Uncategorized. Tagged: new_york. 4 Comments

Columbus Circle

There is a man. He wears a suit, he has a mop of grey curly hair, he’s probably in his early 70s or thereabouts. He is in my neighborhood but doesn’t live here. Like so many men in suits and women with their lunch and their shoes in a shoulder bag, he works in the courthouse across the street from me. I see him coming into work on some days and leaving on others.

His most distinguishing feature is not the hair or the suit. He is blind. And my neighborhood does not see many blind people walking nearby.

The first time I helped him cross the street, he chastised me for coming toward him to assist him walking me back where I started. I told him I was just on my way home and that I considered myself lucky I could get him off my conscience and all it meant was I would be walking across the same street twice. I meant what I said, even though it sounds glib to me now that I write this. I never could have known rest if I hadn’t taken his arm and offered him some help.

The next time, I was again walking toward him but I tried to be less chatty, more helpful.

This morning, I saw him again and I realized that it’s not just that he can’t see that makes me want to help him but that he must be new to being blind. He started to cross the street when the light changed but stopped, unsure if it would be safe and then started so tentatively I found myself putting my arm around his shoulder to guide him to the opposite side of the intersection. I told him it was a sunny day but likely to be pretty humid, all in all. He laughed when I said, “But you’ll probably be in air conditioning all day, right?” He smiled and continued on toward the door into the side entrance of the courthouse.

Sight is a damn gift.

I’ve been thinking about this since I learned a few days ago that my most quoted, most important, most looked up to high school teacher is now also blind. I read French because of her. I speak French because of her. I wanted to be a better person because of her and it breaks my heart to learn this, even though I have not seen her in over 50 years. What cruelty the gods dispense.

There is another man that I see at church from time to time. He comes in with his guide dog and sits near me. I watched him struggle to receive communion because of the way the aisles in this church run. They are not straight but they angle to the left at the front and his dog had trouble maneuvering. By the time I realized what was happening, that part of the service had ended. Another woman and I alerted the priest so he could take communion after Mass. Ever since, she and I have smiled and chatted a bit. We both look after him now. He wears a watch.

If I were to lose this damn gift I would lose so much it hurts even to think about it. I would not be able to read, something I do all day. I would not have the courage of either of these men to step outside my house and try to cross the street, let alone work in an office, which my neighborhood friend must be doing, given his clothes and the hours he keeps. I cannot imagine getting on the subway, hailing a cab – I would need you to help me do even the smallest things, like shop for food and cook dinner. Or go to church. And I think of how often I pay no heed to the fact that I do have this damn gift and so many others.

I want to walk for those who cannot, I want to speak out for those who cannot, I want to stand up and hear and see for anyone who cannot or will not. And even though I realize fully I could also lose this gift, I will probably forget to be grateful again tomorrow – until I see this man on his way to the courthouse. This newly blind man. Who is braver than me.

 

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Georgiana Goddard King, pionera del Camino de Santiago

Proyecto de investigación

Ultreya Tours Blog

Welcome to the Camino de Santiago Operator's blog

Discover WordPress

A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

The Backpack Press

Writing about New York and everywhere else

Oh What A Journey

The Semi-Adventurous Travellers

Letters from the Camino de Santiago

A letter you always wanted to write

Jerry T. Johnson, Poet

Poetry and Prose of Jerry T. Johnson, Poet

Amy Abbott Writes

Independent Journalist + Freelance Writer

The Late Orphan Project

Writing about us, after the death of our parents

Nina's Adventures

The Broad Side

Padraig Colman

Rambling ruminations of an Irishman in Sri Lanka

Solo Camino

My solo Camino adventure

Newtown Literary

a journal of fiction, creative non-fiction, and poetry

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Poetry & Prose...from Prompts

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A World of Literary Pieces

tandem trekking

live vicariously

lifeisacelebration

This site chronicles my travels, musings &ramblings as I get busy celebrating life!

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