A Confident Gait

"You have kind of a mosey," he said, having recognized me from the opposite end of a very long hallway. "You know, it's confident." He bounced his head slowly and relaxed his shoulders to demonstrate, smiling.

So I smiled. And, hopefully without sounding too self-deprecating, mentioned that I didn't generally think of myself as a confident fellow.

I don't know. Maybe moseying uses all my confidence up. Burns through it like fuel. So there isn't much left over for more important things.

Of course, if I think about that mosey of mine too much while in mid-stride... well, I might just tumble over.

Enid Caldwell, 1926-2003

If Heaven exists, I wonder if Enid Caldwell ever looks down from it at the park bench dedicated to her memory—the one by the Spy Pond in Arlington, Massachusetts, near the drinking fountain, next to the rocks jutting out into the water—and ponders the inscription:

"A tireless bulb planter and clean-up organizer who loved this pond and all its beauty."

Is she proud and pleased by it? Has some critical detail been forever left out? Is she irked for all eternity?

Either way, I think—and I'm sure you'll agree—that it's a lovely inscription. I think that after I'm gone, I'd be very fortunate to be remembered for such lovely things... or to have such a pleasant object dedicated to my memory.

We'll see.