Being without a car does have its advantages.

OK, so it sucks most of the time!

There have been three straight days in a row I have been stuck without a ride to work and have had to resort to the old foot leather to get part of the way. I live 7 miles from work. There is a combination of public transit systems between the two counties between me and the office which, in theory, should be able to get me to and from on a regular basis. However, one of these systems is an “on demand” service which does not have any buses in my area early enough to get me to meet the other bus to take me right to the office. (More on this later) So, I have been walking 5 miles to meet with the one bus which can get me there. It has been cool enough and the sun just comes up as I walk out the door at 6:15 AM. Taking into consideration that 6 months ago I couldn’t make it more than 20 paces without getting winded I consider this a great accomplishment!

The 90-minute walk has given me time to listen to a Stephen King novel on tape and listen to one of my favorite morning syndicated radio shows. (The Bob and Tom Show, by the way!) I also get to ponder as I walk. Part of my route is along railroad tracks. Since I am technically trespassing and for safety sake I do not wear the headphones during this part of my walk. I am able to let my mind wander and wrestle with problems of the day as I listen to the gravel crunch beneath me feet, the birds wake and sing, the wind blow through the trees and make certain I do not hear the approach of a train engine or deputy cruiser.

As I was sitting outside of the local library waiting for it to open I simply sat, enjoyed the breeze and watched the slow dance of the clouds. I don’t think I’ve taken that kind of time just to be in a moment. It would have been so much easier, with a car, to leave my house 5 minutes before the library opened and to be there just as the key turned in the lock. This time I was able to wait and let each of the 35 minutes I was there pass in slow, easy succession.

A mother and little girl came up about 15 minutes before the door opened. The adult read the sign and turned the girl back to the car explaining the situation. A look of utter despair and exhaustion came over the child's ’ace. At her age 15 minutes was an eternity. That same amount of time meant different things to her and I.

To her it was an eternity. There were a million and one things that could be done in that amount of time and she wanted to be in the library NOW.

To me it was an endless parade of moments to be savored. A parade of which could have gone on forever. And that would have been just fine by me.