It started as a need to walk anywhere besides the square. I love the square, but I still have issues that I have to come to terms with, and my emotional Irish blood takes time to settle. So, I girded myself up for a stroll not down the hill to Delta, but up the hill to Stanley.
I was going to Alms Park. Don't know why I needed to go there, but it was one of those "you have to" things. And all up hill. And I needed some exercise.
So, I turned left out of my front door and not right. And as I walked, I called my grandmother.
I have been doing that for a couple of weeks now. I call her every Sunday, just to say hello and talk about whatever we feel like talking about. There is a weird history with my kinship with my family. And right before my grandfather died last year, I was not necessarily the most communicative of family members. I have a strong belief in family, but I believe I was selfish at that time. My life and my friends and living a partying life were all that were really important to me.
And with the mix of overdosing on acting over the past few months, and recently experiencing a little pain and sorrow that forced me to look at myself, I felt there were people that I needed to turn to and be there for. My grandmother is one of those people.
So, we talked. I wheezed trodding up the hills. And the conversation was different, like the last two weeks have been. We talked about homes. Not as a grandmother and grandson, but as two people who have a bond and are sharing their experiences about realty. She is selling her house, and I am looking to buy one. She is nervous about leaving her home of over 40 years, and I am nervous about starting one for the very first time. She was proud of me, and I of her, and it was a beautiful talk.
And as we finished, and I became more increasingly out of breath (it really is almost all up hill to Alms from Kroger Avenue), I turned and began the hardest incline yet. To my left, the beautiful cornerstone marker that is your greeting to the park. To my right, a police radar machine that tells you how fast you are going. It did not bother to tell me how fast I was going. But the minivan passing me apparently was going 18 mile per hour.
Alms Park is an amazing experience to enter by foot. By the time you reach the fork in the road, you are getting the most of a cardio-vascular experience. And no matter which road to you take to the park, you still have to keep climbing. One is less of an incline, but longer to get where your are going. The other is shorter, but much steeper.
I turn right, figuring "in for a penny...". And it is as you turn the corner that you realize the extra push is worth it. All of the adrenaline and hormones you have worked up as you reach the top provide a sense of small euphoria when the pavement levels out and you see a small arcadian scene around you.
A little boy stands next to a greening statue of a serious looking man looking out away from the park. He is in deep conversation with his adult keeper who reclines on their elbows looking at the little boy. And because of the elements, perhaps, you can see the inner adult in that little boy that will come out someday.
The opening in the trees off to your right, you see down to a wooden and concrete structure that maintains some sense of chaos and order and provides a large group of children with an overlook to the river and Kentucky beyond.
The centerpiece stone structure to your left. You walk up and you can pretty much all of what you want to see of the park. The sun is warm, the breeze is cool, and the ledge is sized just right to lean against and catch your breath.
I tried to call my mother. But, Alms Park would not let me get a reception. And that is okay. I can call her later. Right now, I am still taking it all in.
Walking back down the steps to the park proper, more life comes rushing at me. A little girl is tormenting her little brother by basically trying to keep him from exploring too far away from the main group back at the swings. He is frustrated that his excursion is being hampered and he then becomes completely focused on one thing only. Getting away from his sister at all costs. She shows a calm maturity that amazes me.
He starts to go for the road, and at a certain point, I begin to just keep an eye on the road around me. I do not want to interfere in this scene. But, I need to be prepared if he gets out of her grasp and bolts in to the street. I watch for cars. He gets one foot on the paved macadam and I speak up, trying not to sound like some weird stranger. I say, "Careful about the road, guys." The little girl looks up and sees me. And, I could swear this still, there is no fear of a stranger in her eyes. Just the general appreciation at finding an ally in her task for keeping her brother safe. And then, with strength that amazes me, she scoops up her charge who is not too smaller than her and carts him up the hill.
I walk on.
The road begins to bend past the picnic lunches to the left and to the right I see a couple quietly sitting on a blanket where the hill begins to go down to the river. He looks forward with a thoughtful silence. She looks at him silently with a comfortable enjoyment of his presence. She touches the back of his head and strokes his hair a little before returning back to staring out to whereever he is looking. He lets her do this with a comfortable acceptance that he is with her. No words are ever said.
Trees open up off to the right, and I see an airplane take off from Lunken Airport. I can see the whole airport. It is a smaller airport but it dominates the view from here. I look down and I wonder which of those buildings Nicole works in. I think that I need to see if Peter is doing any more flying in the near future. I suddenly have an urge to fly.
I look down and an older gentleman sits on the grass of the hill and watches the airport. He looks patiently at it as if he is psychicly providing air traffic control.
I smile and move on. The road bends again to the left and back down the hill to out of the park. I realize that my jaunt here today is as visitor, not as temporary resident. So, I keep walking and observing.
To my right, the grass is not high, but wild all the same. A beautiful butterfly hops from small flower to small flower. It is the master of the domain right now. It seems to move with the confidence of residency. As I move closer, its sense of invasion changes the butterfly's behaviour and it moves off to another place of domain. Or maybe just waiting for the invader to clear out, so it can come back and own its patch of wild land.
I'm over halfway down my exit out of the park, and I am beginning to think that I have to write a story. No blog. A story of my imagination. That I have to come back here on a good day and do it. As I do, I pass an entrance grate off to my left that sends my imagination flying. It is dark grey against the bright green of the hill. There is a metal gate preventing others from entering. Its structure is utilitarian but old enough that it both stands out and melds with the scenery.
My imagination flares and wants to fly. Right now, the structure is the centerpiece of a small idea I have. But another pops up and wants it to serve as a pivotal point for the story, but not its main focus.
I keep walking downward to the exit and back on my journey through a beautiful day. And as I start to turn right, out of the park, and my footsteps away again make no register on the radar device, I realize that I will be back soon.
Today I entered as a visitor. Someday soon, I will return. I will take up temporary residence on the steplike stone pattern of that dark grey entrance to who knows where.
And I will write.
