Passing the Passeggiata

As you might recall, I have been lately responsible for the walking of the dog that lives at my house.

Some days, this is a more pleasant task than others. I’ve been trying to make the best of these trips, and over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing with you some of my collected observations of meandering about the neighborhood behind the leash of a tiny white dog.

First, there is a game I like to play called “Architectural Forensics,” which, at the very least, probably sounds nothing like a game at all to most of you, and at the most doesn’t even sound like an amusement of any sort.

For those that chimed in that “it sounds nothing like a game,” you would be correct. It’s nothing like a game. I just call it that for lack of a more efficient noun.

Actually, I lied.

I don’t call it a game in my head, because, until I decided to share it with you, it only existed in my head, and I wasn’t anticipating sharing it with anyone, so, I didn’t call it anything, I just amused myself with it.

This thing I’ve been building up for three paragraphs as a “game,” will never live up to the preceding paragraphs, and once I’ve actually shared with you what it is, you’ll probably roll your eyes and proclaim it not worth wading through the tedious introductory paragraphs. Sorry about that.

Anyway, now that I’ve named it to tell you about it, “architectural forensics” is where I pay careful attention to the buildings in my ‘hood and try to figure out which are the oldest homes. I live in one of Denver’s oldest neighborhoods, officially the city’s first “streetcar suburb,” which means that the oldest homes were built in the late 19th century. I look for the tell-tale signs of chimneys in places that have changed to vinyl siding from wood, or brick houses that hint to a different era from the old Victorians or “Queen Anne revival” numbers. Then there are the ones like my own, that were built in the 1940s as duplexes. Many of those have since been made into single homes (mine is still a duplex). I ponder their histories and wonder who lived in them when they were new.

Now that you’ve all made mental notes to “just say no,” if I ever invite you over for “entertainment,” I will concede that after a few weeks of this and pretty much running out of “new” houses to assess on any of the various routes, this stopped being a way to pass the time.

Instead, I have taken to some composing.

Like, I imagine encountering someone who thinks I’ve allowed the dog to eliminate her solid waste matter without cleaning up after her, and then I indignantly wave the collection bag at them and say “This isn’t a bag of Hershey’s miniatures!”

I’ve worked on perfecting this for longer than I’d care to admit, and naturally, this line has never been used. It started out as “cracker jack,” but that didn’t last long, opting for the more juvenile implications of chocolate colored candies.

This “composing” time has not been wasted, as now I’ve shared it with you. You might not be thanking me.

Tune in next week for another glimpse into my “Walking World.”

Oh, and hey…
Remember that thing I was starting in January? It’s still going on. You can catch-up with it here: SHUSH Museum.