commuting to work

Every morning as I walk to work I pass a white standard poodle of undetermined sex. It has a stereotypical cut and could easily fit in a Disney cartoon. Every day it barks at me and I'm surprised by its deep real dog voice. I always expect a cartoon yip.

A few houses past Monsieur Woof I start to hear the squawk of a large bird. I imagine it's a parrot doing alarm clock duty. I always think of Dee and Jim when I hear it.

I play a game of "read the headline" on my way to work. I read the newspapers lying on the driveways. The Signal has never been a journalistic masterpiece, but it is home. I can only read half of each headline because the papers are folded. The "rules" say I can't flip a paper over to see the rest of the headline so I try to imagine the other half. Yesterday I read Michael Jackson died from a drug overdose. Wow, that's news.

Just before the final turn I pass the house with flamingos. There is also a frog that quietly sits hoping for a kiss. This is just before the house with three Astro vans of varying vintage. Why?

On my way home from work I get a different perspective on the same route. There is a house that is always decorated to the extreme for the holidays. Now in August, month of nothing, the house is pretty plain. Today though the garage door was open and I could see Rudolph and his team flying in the corner champing at the bit for the day after Thanksgiving when they would once again headline.

As I walk passed Crazy Lady's house I cross my fingers that she is inside and not waiting to waylay any passing neighbor. I toy with feeling guilty for avoiding her and calling her Crazy Lady. Then I think of all the encounters I've had with her and cross my toes as well.

My own dogs bark as I approach my driveway. I stride to the door and sigh with relief that I'm finally done for another day.