It’s been a long day, and my challenge –to learn how to hula hoop at long last– was completely thwarted by the fact that the only hula hoop in the house, the one that I’ve tried and failed many times to hula with, was apparently constructed for a toddler.
When I went to research the art of hula hooping this morning, preparatory to mastering it, I immediately ran across a website run by a very stern woman who informed me that it’s essential to buy the right size hula hoop, and that “the kind of hula hoops you can buy at Target” are way too small. Oops.
Who knew that I was supposed to have a hula hoop that, when stood on its side, comes up above my belly button? Not me. And I didn’t feel like heading out and trying to procure a regulation-size hula hoop today.
So the dog and I have just returned from a long walk, during which I was determined to do something new. There was a trail of brightly-colored gummy worms all the way down Dupont Avenue, and I thought of photographing them, but that seemed lame.
I’m tired. Sometimes you just don’t want to do anything new, you know? Sometimes you just want to go lie on your couch and listen to music and try once again to get into Wolf Hall, the novel that everyone but you seems to have no problem not only getting into but understanding without a flow chart. Nay, not only understanding without a flow chart, but loving to obsession.
The dog and I were only a few blocks from home, getting ready to cross the street, when we saw a nun on the other side of Dupont about a block away. There was something about this nun that gave me the willies. I don’t have anything against nuns, nor against clowns for that matter (why does everyone hate clowns these days), but my radar went up.
As the nun got closer I saw that she wasn’t a nun. She was a woman with long black hair wearing a pitch-black, long, swirling cape-robe. It’s close to 90 degrees out, but there she was, walking down the street with a big black bag clutched to her side.
And I’m ashamed to admit this, but all I could think of was that movie theater in Aurora and that high school in Columbine, and the black-robed gunmen. I told myself not to be ridiculous, that my neighborhood is full of people who wear anything they want and that’s part of the reason why I love it.
But still, I stood there watching the woman in the swirling black robe. Crossing the street would have meant walking right past her.
I didn’t cross the street. I turned and walked in the other direction. And so far as I can remember, that’s the first time I’ve done something like that.