A Walk Downtown

Today is Christmas, time for a walk.

I take the commercial strip that leads to downtown. Empty residential areas we call quiet, but the word for an empty American street of drive-throughs, auto-parts stores, and credit unions is, broken. Today what few cars are out appear to be driverless. To American eyes, commerce paused is a horror.

I loop around downtown and walk to the path that follows the river. More people here. On days like this, it's the destination-less passages that people seek.

My neighborhood has an area of old homes that have become charming, and an area of newer homes that have grown old and not become charming.

The cheaply constructed duplexes attempt to recover their dignity by projecting a minimalism that doesn't fool anyone.

Unlike the sturdy old Craftsman homes with basements and garages, the evidence of utilitarian lives sits out in full view on the front porches.

"The step ladder and the buckets are from when we tried to paint the ceilings, and the grill, well, you can get a lot of joy from chicken if you have the good barbecue sauce. See man, there's no place else to put these things."

Both the old homes and the new have Christmas lights hanging in the windows.