I almost didn't take my walk this morning. Not only is it still in the low 20s out there, when I looked out the window at 8:20, my usual walking time, I could see the wind rattling the trees. I don't mind the cold--I've got lots of winter gear from my days in the mountains--but I can't abide the winter wind. Who can?
So I headed up stairs to make beds and plow a path through Will's room. I put on a sweater and my fuzzy leopard-skin slippers and braved the attic to store some miscellaneous Christmas stuff.
I did my best to ignore Travis the Dog, who whined at me from the bottom of the stairs. It was time for his walk, and he wanted to know what the hold up was. He cares not a whit about the wind. He has territory to mark, dog leavings to sniff out, and by jiminy, he needs me to get him out and about on his rounds.
Normally I'm pretty good at avoiding the guilt trips my dog tries to lay on me (I'm less successful when it comes to my children, sadly). But I could feel the slightest edge of morning anxiety poking its finger at my side, and that's finally what got me headed out the door, wind or no wind.
Morning anxiety is my family's stock and trade. I suppose it's just a chemical imbalance we've been saddled with, but my father, my brothers and I all have it. Exercise and dog ownership have gone a long way to eradicate mine, but over Christmas I went almost three weeks without a walk, and by the end of last week, I could feel the anxiety creeping back in.
So off Travis and I went, and as I write this my ears are still cold. But my soul is well, and my dog is happy. My ears will just have to suffer.
I'm a writer and a stay-at-home mom who keeps meaning to mop the floors because I think it would make me happy if I did. I love books and music and writing, spend entirely too much time in the dentist's chair (I bet I have more crowns than you do), and used to think I was sort of bohemian, but now I wonder. No tattoos. Minivan. That story.