I live in a village, an old and very small village. It was settled in the 1700\u2019s. My house was built in 1805 and has the expected imperfections of a house of that vintage. It\u2019s perfect for me, an old coot, also with expected imperfections.<\/p>\n
Sidewalks border most every street – some are concrete, some are slate, but they all present a challenge to those of us who aren\u2019t paying attention and stumble when confronted with an edge that has been pushed up by a tree root. No matter, many of us travel the walkways. <\/span><\/p>\n You would be hard pressed to take a stroll and not meet a person coming the other way, or in my case, catching up and passing by as I do the Tim Conway slow step down the street.<\/p>\n The first time I walked through town, long before I moved there, I was impressed by how friendly everyone was. Quite different from my previous walking experiences, where passerby\u2019s generally avoided eye contact and rarely spoke.<\/p>\n The first few times you pass by a person in our village, you\u2019re met with a smile or a nod and, more often, a \u201cGood morning.\u201d The more you see a person, the more you interact, converse about the weather, or some other form of small talk. <\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWho was that,\u201d a walking companion might ask. \u201cI don\u2019t know; we\u2019re walking acquaintances, not acquaintance, acquaintances?\u201d We haven\u2019t reached the point of exchanging names, maybe we never will. <\/p>\n