Childhood reversed
—“76 years I been on this planet, and only now am I learning women are much more fun to talk to.”
I said that to a girl walking her dog with me. We were at her turn-around.
“Men are always pulling that macho crap on you,” I said.
She apologized for enlisting me as her training partner. I was being walked by Killian, and she was trying to train her dog to heel.
Killian was a distraction, but is more a hunter. He’s also a people dog, and is leery of other dogs.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to try Ontario Pathways. An entire walk is slightly more than three miles: I bit much for someone 76 years old, but I thought I could do it. Priorities man. Killian loves walkies.
My walk became an adventure, with 3-to-4 unexpected pleasantries.
Pleasantry number one:
—Ontario Pathways is the old Pennsylvania Railroad branch into Canandaigua. It’s abandoned of course, converted to a rail-trail.
Its trailhead is in Canandaigua, next to an actual railroad. It’s New York Central’s old “Auburn Road,” some of which is also abandoned. The actual railroad is Finger-Lakes Railway, a shortline. It delivers grain hoppers to Constellation Brands in Canandaigua.
I’ve hiked Ontario Pathways many times, but never saw a Finger Lakes train. (I’m a railfan.)
This time I did. That would be my first pleasantry.
Pleasantry number two:
—My second was meeting another hiker. “All the way to the Fairgrounds?” I asked.
Strike up a conversation, I learned. You’ll likely be glad you did.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. We stood and talked maybe five minutes.
“Was that you back there at the trailhead?” He asked.
“Yep,” I said.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. Then “Have a pleasant afternoon.”
And he looked like a Trumpster.
Pleasantry number three:
—Then I encountered a lady walking her dog at the Outlet Bridge. Pennsy crossed Canandaigua Outlet, and Ontario Pathways built a new bridge on the old stone abutments.
Whoa! Stop! “Oh what a beautiful dog. What’s his name?”
“Killian,” I said; “as in ‘Killian-Irish-red’.” (He’s an Irish-Setter.)
Yada-yada-yada-yada. We talked at least 25 minutes.
“Don’t you wanna leave?” I kept thinking to myself.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. Her name was “Carrie.” “Carey?” I asked.
“Where you from?” she asked. “You have an accent.”
“South Jersey,” I said; “the dumping-ground for Philadelphia.”
She smiled and smiled and smiled. The worst thing a pretty lady can do for me is smile. Do that and I melt.
I kept throwing gibberish at her, since it seemed she didn’t want me to stop.
Finally I gave ourselves an out. “I’m gonna blog this,” I said; “but I never name anyone.”
“You can give my name,” she said.
“But I don’t want some creep stalking you,” I said.
We finally parted, both of us flushed, I think. You can usually tell if a lady is worried.
We met again, both of us returning to our start locations.
She said she had errands, so couldn’t talk, but to me she felt guilty she enjoyed our talking so much she felt unfair to her husband. Her smile gave her away.
“I only have one thing to say,” I said. “76 years etc. etc.”
Strike up a conversation. You’ll probably be glad you did.
—My fourth and final pleasantry along Ontario Pathways was that girl trying to teach her dog to heel.
Not as pretty or smile-prone as the previous lady, but a smiler.
“You probably oughta go on ahead,” I told her. “I’m kinna slow.”
“NOPE!” She’d rather hang around. Apparently she enjoyed my company.
“I’m not used to this. “NO PRETTY LADY WILL TALK TO YOU!” That’s the infamous Hilda Q. Walton, my hyper-religious neighbor Sunday-School superintendent, who together with my similarly hyper-religious parents, convinced me all males, including me at age 5, were SCUM. (“Rebellious” to my parents.)
The girl would hang back, then pass me and Killian, advance ahead 20-25 feet, then stop to let us pass. Not as pretty as the other lady, but so what? She’s a smiler, and seems to want my company.
Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada.
“Nice day for a walk,” she said. “Laundry when raining.”
I told her I was the laundry-person since my wife died eight years ago.
“I’m sorry,” she said. I also told her Killian was Irish-Setter number seven.
“So you’re all Irish-Setters?”
“Ever since the 70s,” I said.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. Topics galore. “You’re interested in this stuff?” “Tell me about it!” She’d say.
“NO GIRL WILL TALK TO YOU!” Versus she keeps talking to me.
So the long tangent back into Canandaigua passed in no time.
Finally we got to East Street, where she would turn back. I had to continue, but “it sure was pleasant talking to you!”
She smiled.
“76 years, etc, etc.” and “Men are always pulling that macho crap on you.”
Only recently have I got the hang of telling a lady I enjoyed her company. 70 years late, readers!
“NO PRETTY LADY WILL SMILE AT YOU!” Versus make ‘em smile = make ‘em feel good. Persish-the-thought, that makes me feel good too.
—There was a fifth pleasantry, but not on Ontario Pathways.
Returning home I pass the kennel that boards my dog when I go away.
It’s co-owned by two ladies, both of whom I’ve become friends with. One is rather cute, the other is divorced, but both are great fun to talk to.
I decided to drop in — the cute one’s car was in the parking lot.
One more pleasantry, mayhap?
“Just a visit,” I said to their cute new hire, college age. The co-owners are middle 40s.
Usually I daycare my dog there for grocery shopping, appointments, whatever. But just a visit this time. “So come inside,” the new hire said.
They all were there. “Just visiting,” I said.
“Well I’m glad you stopped,” the cute one exclaimed.
“I saw your car out there!” I said.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. The wisecracks and laughing began.
“Here, lemme take your picture,” the cute one said, unholstering her Smartphone.
“It’s Santy Claus!” I was the only one wearing a mask, but thanks to COVID-19 I’m also turning into the Abominable Snowman.
Ker-Snap! “I’m gonna frame this picture and put it on the wall,” she said.
“Ho ho ho,” I said; “Merry Christmas!” (It’s the beard, readers.)
Slam-dunk number-five. Lawn goes unmowed, and necessities get delayed.
But talking and laughing with women is more fun.
• My hike on Ontario Pathways is trailhead to the Ontario County Fairgrounds, and then back.
• Canandaigua Outlet is the small river into which Canandaigua Lake drains.
• That one kennel-co-owner is very cute, but I also think she smokes. No way in a million years……
I said that to a girl walking her dog with me. We were at her turn-around.
“Men are always pulling that macho crap on you,” I said.
She apologized for enlisting me as her training partner. I was being walked by Killian, and she was trying to train her dog to heel.
Killian was a distraction, but is more a hunter. He’s also a people dog, and is leery of other dogs.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to try Ontario Pathways. An entire walk is slightly more than three miles: I bit much for someone 76 years old, but I thought I could do it. Priorities man. Killian loves walkies.
My walk became an adventure, with 3-to-4 unexpected pleasantries.
Pleasantry number one:
—Ontario Pathways is the old Pennsylvania Railroad branch into Canandaigua. It’s abandoned of course, converted to a rail-trail.
Its trailhead is in Canandaigua, next to an actual railroad. It’s New York Central’s old “Auburn Road,” some of which is also abandoned. The actual railroad is Finger-Lakes Railway, a shortline. It delivers grain hoppers to Constellation Brands in Canandaigua.
I’ve hiked Ontario Pathways many times, but never saw a Finger Lakes train. (I’m a railfan.)
This time I did. That would be my first pleasantry.
Pleasantry number two:
—My second was meeting another hiker. “All the way to the Fairgrounds?” I asked.
Strike up a conversation, I learned. You’ll likely be glad you did.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. We stood and talked maybe five minutes.
“Was that you back there at the trailhead?” He asked.
“Yep,” I said.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. Then “Have a pleasant afternoon.”
And he looked like a Trumpster.
Pleasantry number three:
—Then I encountered a lady walking her dog at the Outlet Bridge. Pennsy crossed Canandaigua Outlet, and Ontario Pathways built a new bridge on the old stone abutments.
Whoa! Stop! “Oh what a beautiful dog. What’s his name?”
“Killian,” I said; “as in ‘Killian-Irish-red’.” (He’s an Irish-Setter.)
Yada-yada-yada-yada. We talked at least 25 minutes.
“Don’t you wanna leave?” I kept thinking to myself.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. Her name was “Carrie.” “Carey?” I asked.
“Where you from?” she asked. “You have an accent.”
“South Jersey,” I said; “the dumping-ground for Philadelphia.”
She smiled and smiled and smiled. The worst thing a pretty lady can do for me is smile. Do that and I melt.
I kept throwing gibberish at her, since it seemed she didn’t want me to stop.
Finally I gave ourselves an out. “I’m gonna blog this,” I said; “but I never name anyone.”
“You can give my name,” she said.
“But I don’t want some creep stalking you,” I said.
We finally parted, both of us flushed, I think. You can usually tell if a lady is worried.
We met again, both of us returning to our start locations.
She said she had errands, so couldn’t talk, but to me she felt guilty she enjoyed our talking so much she felt unfair to her husband. Her smile gave her away.
“I only have one thing to say,” I said. “76 years etc. etc.”
Strike up a conversation. You’ll probably be glad you did.
—My fourth and final pleasantry along Ontario Pathways was that girl trying to teach her dog to heel.
Not as pretty or smile-prone as the previous lady, but a smiler.
“You probably oughta go on ahead,” I told her. “I’m kinna slow.”
“NOPE!” She’d rather hang around. Apparently she enjoyed my company.
“I’m not used to this. “NO PRETTY LADY WILL TALK TO YOU!” That’s the infamous Hilda Q. Walton, my hyper-religious neighbor Sunday-School superintendent, who together with my similarly hyper-religious parents, convinced me all males, including me at age 5, were SCUM. (“Rebellious” to my parents.)
The girl would hang back, then pass me and Killian, advance ahead 20-25 feet, then stop to let us pass. Not as pretty as the other lady, but so what? She’s a smiler, and seems to want my company.
Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada.
“Nice day for a walk,” she said. “Laundry when raining.”
I told her I was the laundry-person since my wife died eight years ago.
“I’m sorry,” she said. I also told her Killian was Irish-Setter number seven.
“So you’re all Irish-Setters?”
“Ever since the 70s,” I said.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. Topics galore. “You’re interested in this stuff?” “Tell me about it!” She’d say.
“NO GIRL WILL TALK TO YOU!” Versus she keeps talking to me.
So the long tangent back into Canandaigua passed in no time.
Finally we got to East Street, where she would turn back. I had to continue, but “it sure was pleasant talking to you!”
She smiled.
“76 years, etc, etc.” and “Men are always pulling that macho crap on you.”
Only recently have I got the hang of telling a lady I enjoyed her company. 70 years late, readers!
“NO PRETTY LADY WILL SMILE AT YOU!” Versus make ‘em smile = make ‘em feel good. Persish-the-thought, that makes me feel good too.
—There was a fifth pleasantry, but not on Ontario Pathways.
Returning home I pass the kennel that boards my dog when I go away.
It’s co-owned by two ladies, both of whom I’ve become friends with. One is rather cute, the other is divorced, but both are great fun to talk to.
I decided to drop in — the cute one’s car was in the parking lot.
One more pleasantry, mayhap?
“Just a visit,” I said to their cute new hire, college age. The co-owners are middle 40s.
Usually I daycare my dog there for grocery shopping, appointments, whatever. But just a visit this time. “So come inside,” the new hire said.
They all were there. “Just visiting,” I said.
“Well I’m glad you stopped,” the cute one exclaimed.
“I saw your car out there!” I said.
Yada-yada-yada-yada. The wisecracks and laughing began.
“Here, lemme take your picture,” the cute one said, unholstering her Smartphone.
“It’s Santy Claus!” I was the only one wearing a mask, but thanks to COVID-19 I’m also turning into the Abominable Snowman.
Ker-Snap! “I’m gonna frame this picture and put it on the wall,” she said.
“Ho ho ho,” I said; “Merry Christmas!” (It’s the beard, readers.)
Slam-dunk number-five. Lawn goes unmowed, and necessities get delayed.
But talking and laughing with women is more fun.
• My hike on Ontario Pathways is trailhead to the Ontario County Fairgrounds, and then back.
• Canandaigua Outlet is the small river into which Canandaigua Lake drains.
• That one kennel-co-owner is very cute, but I also think she smokes. No way in a million years……
Labels: Relations with the opposite sex
posted by BobbaLew at 4:04 PM
1 Comments:
I always prefer women to men. That good-old-boys-club is too gay for me. Just avoid the lecherous old-man routine and women routinely accept male friendship.
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