Charlie and me were taking a Sunday morning walk, just the two of us. Scamp doesn’t really do walks anymore. We take him out in the yard, where he pees, then stands and sniffs the air for about five minutes not willing to go any further. Guess he’s deciding whether or not he has to poop. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t. 50/50 chance on those mornings when doesn’t go outside, he realizes later he had to go after all, and leaves a little deposit or two around the house. More times than not in the bathroom, if you can believe it. He’s always been a smart little fella.
Anyhoo, Charlie and me were out walking, trying to keep ourselves moving without the motivation of Scamp. Truth be told, we were hoping work off some of the bacon and Break and Bake Cinnamon
Rolls we had for breakfast. So, we’re walking ‘round our neighborhood, past a little wooded lot, when Orrin Libby pops out from behind some trees. Orrin must be in his late seventies, I’m guessing, and he has the walking thing down. He takes a jaunt downtown, about three miles ‘round trip, every morning to pick up the paper. Rain, snow, hot or cold, he’s out there hoofin’ it.
“Holy cow, Orrin!” I says. “Where’d you come from?”
He’s got this big, gruff voice. “Doctor put me on a diuretic. Not used to it. Keep getting caught short.”
“I hear you,” Charlie says. “I keep a “range extender” in my truck, you know, just in case.”
“Range extender” is what Charlie calls his plastic bottle for emergencies. He needs it not ‘cause he’s on a diuretic, but because of poor planning. As the Women Who Run with the Moose say, “Carpee Pee-um.” Meaning, if you have a chance to go, go! You never know when the next bathroom opportunity might present itself.” See, men have an easier time of it and my theory is they get lazy.
Orrin goes, “Ever since my heart incident last November, things have been all screwed up. Mary’s finally letting me walk downtown unsupervised, so that’s something.”
“I heard about your setback, Orrin,” Charlie says. “How you doing?”
“Well, you know, more tired than usual. I’m having a hard time getting motivated. Wish they had a pill for that.”
“A pill to get motivated. That’s a brilliant idea! I’d buy a bottle!”
“Me, too,” Charlie agrees.
“Well, nice talking, but I gotta get going. If I’m gone too long, Mary’ll send out the cavalry.”
“Oh, you don’t want that! You take care, Orrin. Glad you’re on the mend.”
Orrin goes his way and Charlie and me go ours. “Speaking of getting motivated, what’s on your agenda today, Charlie.”
“Well, sweetheart, I don’t know if you can hear it, but my Barcalounger is calling. You know, that game won’t watch itself.”
“I know. It’s hard work, but somebody’s got to do it.”
“How ‘bout you, Ida?”
“Well, I should straighten out my craft room. Been putting that off. But truth be told, the new Oprah magazine just came, and that needs reading. Before I settle down with that, though, I better make some more icing for the left over cinnamon rolls. The one packet they give you is fine for breakfast, but I think we’re gonna need little extra frosting to get us through the day, don’t you?”
“You’re singing my song. Just the thought of them cinnamon rolls is motivating me to walk faster. Is there any leftover bacon?”
“There is. Thought I’d crunch it up and sprinkle it on top of the frosting. Hey, Charlie, slow down!
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: A Pill to Get Motivated