Gene Autry crooned of being “back in the saddle again” and now it’s a relatable term. A bothersome knee has slowly returned to form, and I can finally resume my nightly and weekend walks to clean my pathway of trash. I’ve hummed/sang under my breath Autry’s genial tune a couple of times and it seemed pretty apt at the moment. Otherwise unknowing passersby would likely have been thankful I spared them the louder – and harsher – oral version. If only they knew.
Not that I have ever burned it up, but the resumed walks have so far been more plodding than fast paced. It feels good to be hitting the bricks – er, concrete – again regardless of speed. The knee has taken longer than expected to reach a useable status (there’s no structural damage) and my cadence is more accurately described as a noticeable limp than anything else. Festus from Gunsmoke would have had nothing on me in a head-to-head gimp-a-thon.
As you might expect, the first few laps resulted in one full bag after another. We’re talking very large, very full bags. Yet during my convalescence, the down time for healing meant more time for junk to accumulate. That was hugely disappointing to see. Piece after piece was noticeable up as I drove the streets that form my path. I itched to get out there but wisdom was the better part of valor when it comes to injured knees. This is when I needed a surrogate picker-upper to take over my rounds as I healed.
But a replacement wasn’t forthcoming, and now the treks have resumed and all is right with the world. Well, perhaps that’s not true. Even minor amounts of litter aren’t anything to really feel good about. And for the unwitting victims who might have heard me butcher Gene’s music, my caroling wouldn’t be anything to feel good about, either.
I’m back in the saddle again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly Jimson weed
Back in the saddle again