Speeding

We elders are accused of slow thinking or worse. This, one assumes, means that we don't think fast enough. Or we don't think as quickly as those who have not yet reached their potential in life. Speed is not a big issue when you are over the hill. You've already climbed up the darn thing as fast as you could for all of your life, and now you want to coast down the other side. A well earned break from the rat race. But still society continues to push for fast thinking as well as "fast" everything else. I am retired from all that and it doesn't matter a fig to me if I solve the crossword, play Bridge or Scrabble or unload my shopping cart at warp speed. It's the same with walking. The other day I strolled along the sea walk at my favorite pace. Slow and gazing. The day was sunny, the breeze gentle and the trees along the seawall, green and fragrant. Coming at me and past me were others crashing along in their slashy skin tights, ear buds blooming and big plastic clompers, thumping. As they whizzed and dodged past or darted among the people on the pathway who were trying to enjoy the pleasant ambiance, their eyes were focused not on the beauty they were passing through, but on some other goal in some other place. I wondered why they bothered to clutter up the seawalk when for them, a concrete tunnel would have been just as appropriate as long as they could receive a signal in its depths. For those who are plugged in, and often jabbering into their mikes, a nature event has no place. Perhaps that's why, when it rains, they spend a lot of time running on a machine going to absolutely nowhere, fast and furiously. They don't look happy this balmy summer day. They seem annoyed that there are other folks wanting simply, to take in the ocean waves, to hear the gulls calling and to savor the blueness of the waters. Before one enters the beach walkway, there are little sidewalk symbols directing bicycles certain ways and those with pets another, but there is one missing. Runners should have their very own lane, one on which they can speed, chatline, text, and ear bud their rock and rap. It would avoid having them brush up against your sleeves with their sweaty spandex. Exercise is wonderful and might even be healthful, but it has no appeal to me at this stage, nor do lauded ninety year old fools who are "wonderful" physical examples. Be honest; they're lovely freaks, not the norm. Speaking of which, I need to sit down and rest my trotters. I am more than full of fresh air and sunshine. Where is that nice, little sea-side cafe that serves iced tea?