[A repeat from September 24, 2012] Sidewalks.   We walk on them – they serve their purpose.   Providing a durable and predictable path from Point A to Point B. 

When I walk to and from the train station, I keep an eye on where I’m walking — looking for cracks or holes in the sidewalk.  Or those slightly elevated slabs.   That habit has helped me avoid trips and twisted ankles and to find money, jewelry, wallets and such as I reported in my post of August 2, 2012.  While I walk, I also peruse those permanent stamped impressions identifying the contractor — and the year the sidewalk was laid down.

One stony sidewalk near my home bears the weathered yet clear date “1912.”  Wow!   A century.  As I walk from the train station to my office in downtown Chicago, I pass two such markings which go back decades.  One is 1935 — six years before the U.S. entered World War II.  Another is 1947 — the year I was born.  I think of my trips downtown — with my parents.  Years ago.  I’m sure I walked here.   Then.  My parents and grandparents and even great-grandparents probably walked on these same sidewalks.  And here I am today — sharing the same space.  Walking.  On the sidewalk.