Cold Canvas

I downloaded a new weather app this morning though I already knew the weather had changed. The cold snap of autumn had come. In Houston 45 degrees is pretty cold. I put on my woolen undershirt and cold weather leggings and head out for a long walk with Charlie, we call him our feisty terrierist who is so cute people stop on the street just to love on him. People even stop their cars to yell out, “What kinda dog is that?” “He is soooo cute, can he have puppies?” He has a lot of fur, which I love to brush and he hates for me to brush. But, he’s happy to have it today as he trips along. It’s windy and I have to tie up my hoody and pull on mittens. It’s not the usual palette of clouds, but a bright blue sky. The sun doesn’t stand a chance of warming things now for the wind is blowing out of the north.

I use my morning walks to get my head on straight about the day ahead and try to think even further ahead, but I always find that hard. Even though my life has gotten a lot easier since I “retired,” there are still way too many things to do.

Charlie mistakes a skittering branch for a squirrel and darts off after it. Normally he might have looked back at me, sheepishly acknowledging his mistake, but this morning he’s too busy. The smells on every bush intoxicate him. And oh, smell of smells, here is a dead worm! That is Charlie’s parfum extraordinaire. He likes to rub it behind his ears, which takes some contortionist moves on his part as the dead worm is plastered on the sidewalk. After both ears have been liberally greased with the essence, he lies on the carcass remnants for a good back wiggle–wouldn’t want any of it to go to waste. Maybe it’s an odor that repels bad guys. It’s one of Charlie’s secrets.

I have lived in downtown Houston longer than I have lived anywhere except the town where I grew up in California, and now we are moving back there. I just found out that I have to move out to supervise construction of our new house three months earlier than I had planned. So, I’m going to have to start thinking more than a week ahead. The future is starting to reveal itself to me in sudden bursts. For instance, this is the last fall I’ll be here. I like the fall, it feels like Thanksgiving is in the air, pumpkins on doorsteps, leaves turning colors–even in this semi-tropical climate.

The builders are out early today, men in their machines, clearing the land. They are redeveloping the Houston Garden Center with great relish. With great gusto they have gone about the business of removing statuary, pulling up raised beds, knocking down old trees, and removing rose bushes. I bet even the fire ants have noticed. I imagine them being quite perturbed as the earth movers crawl around above, their lights gleaming in the early dawn.

The builders ought to keep a watchful eye on their ankles! We pass the museum and walk into the park proper. Charlie is a good walker, when he’s not stopping to sprinkle a bush. Now he’s moving along at a good clip. When things are going well you can tell. He’s got the cutest little walk with his head turning one way and his little butt going the other. All the while he holds his tail up like a flag.

We walk here every morning. The homeless men and women sleep on the park benches. They are getting their day started too, moving about slowly, heading off to the free showers south of the park. They mingle with the exercise classes running up and down on the park’s one hill, the Miller Amphitheater.

I recognize that I have started my leave-taking, saying goodbye to the things here that I love. We live in a lovely part of town although I didn’t appreciate it when we first moved here. The neighborhood was rough then. Or maybe I was just scared. Now the neighborhood isone of the things I’ll miss the most. I think it’s the prettiest place in all of Houston.

Charlie and I have a routine path. There is enough to do avoiding the cyclists and runners without changing the route. Every morning we run up the stairs to the top of the Sam Houston Monument. Above the arch Sam sits astride his powerful mount, with his disproportionately massive hand pointing to the southeast, toward where he led his troops and followers forward into battle against Santa Ana in the San Jacinto battle for Texas independence. We run down the steps on the other side, no traffic this early in the morning, though there are plenty of cars circling Mecom Fountain ahead. They say it’s one of

the most beautiful urban vistas in the whole USA, three giant rings of water each centered with a plume blowing in the wind. Under the canopy of crepe myrtle and magnolia we trundle on. We emerge at an intersection with a red light for traffic but the Walk sign giving us permission to cross. The train is coming behind to cross with us, I can hear its whistle. Suddenly we are overtaken in the sidewalk by a cyclist, covered from head to foot in stocky knit cap, mittens and knapsack on his back, an intruder masquerading as a pedestrian.  The train shrieks again but this time it’s not the horn, but the sound of its brakes as it tries to stop to avoid the cyclist who jumps the curb onto the sidewalk avoiding the train at the last moment, humans and machines  sharing the same corridor, but not easily, in the big city.

We are moving to a much smaller city where I sometimes worry we might be bored. But, it’s a truly beautiful place. I thought I had lost it when I moved away. Thought I would never live there again. My husband and I bought my mother’s old house after she died, with the idea that one day we would retire there.  We have been working with an architect for the past year or so. During the nine months of construction I’ll be living there by myself – except for Charlie – while my husband stays in Houston until his retirement.

Now we are at the hospital where a young girl in uniform is about to go inside to her warm world of microbes and disease, infirmity and aging. She looks over her shoulder before going up the ramp, and spots Charlie. She bursts into a smile, showing pretty white teeth. Charlie runs up to her, standing up on his back legs, puts his paws on her thigh and licks her hand. She laughs. “He’s very friendly,” I say and smile.

Three blocks from home Charlie spots a real squirrel. He sees him before I do. I know because he stops, suddenly. I have learned over these walks how to hunt with Charlie, or at least not to get so much in the way. It begins with a very slow motion walk with only the feet moving, the body otherwise perfectly still. When the squirrel stops chewing his acorn to look right at us, we stop completely, like statues. Then, squirrel back to his nut, the ballet goes on with a slightly accelerated but seamless pace until we are within striking distance. I have to run with him when he takes off for the final pell-mell assault because otherwise he will hit the end of his tether so hard I fear he’ll break his neck. So I go as fast as I can though I can barely keep up. We missed again! Someday we might catch one and take him and shake him.

Back at home at last. I open the gate to the yard and there is a tremendous racket as pigeons, which had been sheltering in the lowest branch of the oak, flap their wings and fly off. Across the street the seeds atop the Golden Rain Tree have turned a burnt orange color and rustle in the wind like fringe. I will miss this place, it’s been a good home, I have lots of good friends here. But, I’m excited too to start a new chapter in my life.