I used to live under a rock.

Then that area was developed. It’s now a high-class rock pile.

It was cozy, living under a rock. Then I became a married man and moved into a pile of sticks. But even during those cold and clammy days of living under a rock, I needed to eat.

My hunger rolls around faster than my paycheck.

I’d spent time before daylight made the scene with my toaster. That’s quality time. I’d enjoyed peanut butter on toast. Just the right amount. If I eat too much peanut butter, I chase squirrels.

I looked up a number in a phonebook. That book is getting thinner each year. I remember when short drivers used phonebooks to help them sit higher in the seat. That wouldn’t be much help today. The phonebook would make a great diet for those hoping to slim down. Then I sneezed three times. I told myself “Salude.” “Dinero.” “Amore.” Each one a replacement for “Gesundheit.” I still sneezed again. I needed to walk the sneezes away. “Move aside, big rig coming through,” I muttered as I stepped outside. I’ve always loved to walk. Sometimes I have to walk. Big stores and busy shopping malls make me antsy. That causes me to walk instead of taking it easy by sitting comfortably on a geezer bench.

My steps brought Sir William Osler to mind. He suggested that not all plans for the future need to be bold when he said, “Think not of the amount to be accomplished, the difficulties to be overcome, or the end to be attained, but set earnestly at the little task at your elbow, letting that be sufficient for the day.”

Walking is great. One foot in front of the other. A little task. That’s all there is to it. That and remembering to not fall down.

Later that day, I was on the road when I became eager to eat. I was rushed, so I decided to stop at the first food factory I encountered.

Time makes for strange mealfellows.

I entered a restaurant near my car. I ordered poutine. I have no reason why I did that other than hunger.

Some of you might be wondering, “What in tarnation is poutine?”

Or maybe you’re more of a “What in the Sam Hill is poutine?”

I’m glad you asked. In school, my teachers insisted on asking me questions for which I had no answer other than, “I don’t know.” There is nothing wrong with a good mystery, but it’s nice to get a question that I know the answer to. After I tell you what poutine is, please feel free to respond with the traditional, “That beats everything.”

Poutine is a delicious Canadian dish made from a tasty trinity of wholesome ingredients-french fries, cheese curds and gravy. That’s right-french fries, cheese curds and gravy.  That’s a list of all the things that are good for us. The only thing missing is kale. I ate the Minnesota version of poutine as if I’d eaten before. I’d eaten it once in Canada and was told that it would make me say “eh” often. Nearly every major fast food chain in Canada serves poutine.

After eating it, my happy stomach told my brain that it should feel guilty. My brain thinks it’s the boss of me, so it sentenced me to exercise. I needed to walk off the poutine.

I walked all the way from the eatery to my car parked in the restaurant’s lot. It wasn’t an easy journey. I had to walk around a sticky spill left by someone who had dropped an ice cream cone. There were ants stuck in the mess.

I spoke at the Chautauqua in Waseca recently. It’s a wonderful celebration that combines history and the present. The audience was wonderful. There wasn’t a mosquito in the crowd.

After my talk had been completed, I visited with one of my wife’s cousins. She told me of starting a walk in Anchorage when she was 57 years old. She walked because it seemed like something she should do. It was something she wanted to do. The walk covered 2,500 miles and lasted 5 1/2 months. She wore out five pairs of shoes. She tramped across uneven land littered with bears, moose and insects. She had to keep walking to keep from being an easy target. A great tale of the trail.

I didn’t tell her about my walk to the car after eating poutine.

I didn’t want to diminish her accomplishment.

 

Al Batt’s columns appear in the Tribune every Wednesday and Sunday.