Friday, November 19. The Manresa Stress Test. We awakened to an overcast sky. Scrambled eggs, grits and biscuits for breakfast, then a walk to the northernmost reaches of Manresa's immense pie slice of land. All along the Mississippi River, the land surveys of two centuries ago (or more) set property lines perpendicular to the river. Since the river curves--dramaticallly, in front of Manresa--most parcels look like either wedges or fans. The upstream and downstream boundaries of Manresa converge forty arpents from the river--about a mile and a half into the woods. Three well-maintained trails come together at that point. Two of them were impassable after Hurricane Gustav two years ago, but all were easily walkable today. The dew in the grass soaked my shoes and made the bottoms of my pants legs look as if I'd stepped into the river, but who cares.
Lunch: fried catfish. Until this year, it was our Friday dinner, with seafood gumbo for lunch. But I guess too many of us old guys with digestive issues complained about eating fried food before bedtime. It's too good to pass up, though. So now we eat it earlier.
The clouds cleared away as we went through the crisp, cornmeal-coated fillets. It was perfect walking weather as I set out downriver on the levee, to a spot marked only in my mind. Once a navigation light on a tower stood here, but it was torn down over a decade ago. The levee there faces a vast sugar cane plantation. In that patch of clover and lush grass, both my mind and the environment are deliciously quiet. It's among my five or so favorite places on earth.
But this tranquillity was disturbed. A fellow on a bicycle rode past on River Road. He waved at me. I waved back. In any past time, I'd consider this another nice moment. But back in February, in Belize City, I was physically attacked by a mugger on a bicycle during another solo walk. That memory turned this friendly guy into a suspicious character. I kept my eye on him until he disappeared down the road. And I started wondering whether it was such a good idea to be this far out, alone. (We are not allowed to walk in groups at Manresa.) But this is not Belize. Oh, no. . . am I turning into a paranoid old person?
This six-mile round-trip walk is my Manresa Stress Test. As long as I can make it in the two and a half hours the schedule allows me, I confirm that I'm okay. I was dragging as I made it back. An ache in my left big toe (it started in my twenties) comes on after walking this far. But no worse than any past year.
The crab and shrimp gumbo at dinner was delicious as usual. I was pretty tired, but still took my walk in the dark to the levee. In between, I dug into Boundaries In Marriage. I don't think it's brilliant, but its basic premise is sound: you have to set reasonable limits on what you will do for and with your spouse, and allow her to also do so. This is a useful concept for my own marriage, and gave me something to think about as I ambled through these magnificently relaxing environs.
