palimpsest

November 22, 2024

A cold but calm morning for a forty five minute walk with a dear friend, Tripp. Our journey began at 5:30 AM, but it almost did not start on time. Relying on my 2014 Garmin I managed to pass my destination several times as the soft spoken woman inside the device decided to send me through a loop into several Roundabouts. Tripp could see my headlights as I missed his house on each pass. Most of the time she gets me where I need to go, but there are times like these when my instinct is to toss the device out the window. “Use Google Maps” is the rallying cry from everyone who hears this. What can I say, I have some poorly developed attachment to the contraption.

We started walking at five thirty. My partner in strides came prepared for the early morning hours wearing a headlamp and a vest with blinking lights on the front and back with an eerie green glow. Me, I am less prepared and more like bumper bait for the infrequent, fast passing vehicles. After several cars have passed us on the way I am instructed to stay on the inside lane where I am in less danger.

After the first five minutes I am longing for some kind of face covering or a knit cap. All I have is my baseball cap. But, as the conversation develops, I no longer notice my numb face. The cold and early hours remind me of delivering papers, so we started on that subject. As I am describing a rather harrowing incident I learn Tripp was a fellow paper boy. Now, for those who do not recognize that moniker it was one many of us wear with pride. We were the team who made sure your Times Dispatch was on the porch when you sought to retrieve it, coffee cup in hand.

Paperboys were an elite group, especially if you delivered the morning paper. And, no, I am not apprehensive about using the term paperboy. It was rare to even hear mention of a papergirl. There were a few, I met one once, but they were not common enough to change the title to paperperson; heck, even spell check did not like that term. Paperboys were up at three-thirty AM heading to their drop spot to pick up their papers and hit the route. We did this seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, no matter what the weather. Pouring down rain, thirty mile an hour winds, ice and snow, Sunday editions that were heavier than a phone book (look it up), we were out there delivering the news to those who paid for it. Tripp and I both agreed that it is a shame that the job of paperboy has faded into history for the most part. More youth these days need to experience the challenge and commitment.

As many great conversations do, ours bounced around a lot. Next thing you know we are discussing plane travel, exercise, medicine, Tripp’s son in decision mode for his future. Great subjects, great company, and a heart pumping walk. As the walk neared an end Tripp thanked me for joining him and we both agreed it was a great time, despite that morning being the coldest of the season to date. Many others are participating, all in support of Tripp getting in a good morning walk. I have another morning scheduled soon and I am looking forward to whatever conversation finds us.