| So Long a Journey |
| Written by Mike Burnside | ||||||
 He put down his book and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His pipe had gone out and he laid it on top of the book with a sigh. He felt… old. He watched a thin wisp of smoke curl gently in the morning light from the window, then closed his eyes.It seemed like a moment later when he felt Mary tap him on his shoulder; time for their daily walk. She was insistent about getting enough exercise, and he had to admit he enjoyed their walks. They almost always took the same route- left at the sidewalk, the long way around the block to the little café, a delightful little place named Something Special. Mary had herbal tea and he had coffee with an always exquisite pastry. He read the newspaper while she scanned the regulars, occasionally joining in a conversation. Refreshed, they resumed their walk and stopped at the flower shop, where he bought her a single rose. “Yes Mary, I know I don’t have to buy you a rose every day, but it pleases me,” he said. Then around by the old school with the quote from Carlyle chiseled in the granite plinth beside the entrance: The human creature needs first of all to be educated not that he may speak, but that he may have something weighty and valuable to say. He had never noticed it the entire time he was attending the school, but then he supposed most of the students didn’t, and even if they had, it wouldn’t have meant much to them. At about the half-way point in the walk, they entered the old graveyard through the back gate and then proceeded out the front, turning right in front of the church. Sometimes they’d go in and light a candle and drop a dollar in the alms box. Then they turned left on the avenue and headed for home, stopping off at the drug store if he needed some tobacco or the grocery store if something was needed for dinner. They had measured the walk once, when he was still driving, at just over two miles. Returning home in early afternoon, Mary made a light lunch and then puttered around the house or in the garden while he took a little cat nap before helping her with whatever chores needed to be done. In the evening, after supper, they’d put on some music and play Scrabble, and maybe one of the kids would call. He awoke with a start, checked his watch, stood up, and stretched. He picked up his pipe and relit it, stopped in the hall closet for a light jacket, and went out the door, turning left at the sidewalk. “You’re a bit late today,” the proprietor of the café greeted him with her usual winning smile. “And with good reason,” he responded. “I’m reading a good book.” They chatted awhile as he enjoyed his usual snack, then he went on his way, stopping to buy a rose, as usual, before proceeding to the churchyard. There he laid the rose on a grave, picked up the one from the previous day, and dropped it into the waste basket as he went into the church to light a candle and drop a dollar in the box. He passed by the drug and grocery stores, needing nothing, and arrived home in good time and feeling refreshed. He worked in the garden a bit, pulling weeds. He skipped lunch, having had a late snack, but had an early dinner. His daughter called to check up on him just as he was washing up the few dishes. “Well, it sounds like you had a nice day, Dad. Glad to hear you’re feeling well and getting out. Mom would approve.” “She would indeed, Peach. She would indeed.” After the call, he decided it was warm enough to sit on the porch, so he took a cup of coffee and his book out to the rocking chair, lit a pipe and opened his book, pausing to look for a moment at the picture of Mary that served as his bookmark. “It’s been a good day, Sweetheart. And with a good book, all’s right with the world.” Bookmark with:
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