Locomotion

I love to go a-wandering,
along the mountain track,
and as I go, I love to sing,
my knapsack on my back.

Oh, may I go a-wandering
until the day I die!
Oh, may I always laugh and sing,
Beneath God's clear blue sky!

        -- The Happy Wanderer

Whitby, Ontario is in a major metropolitan area – it’s really part of an international metropolis – and yet my cell phone nearly is beeping almost constantly to remind me that I’m “roaming.”

Well, I’ve been a bit offended by the term – ignorantly, as usual; so I decided to look it up on this quiet, rainy Sunday afternoon.

It turns out that the definition for roaming is nearly identical to – actually indistinguishable from – that of “wandering.”

And that has me even more offended.

If I thought I’d be spending a whole year just roaming, I might well have stood at home.

Making matters worse, I find a host of even more synonyms. Among these is “meandering.”

Puh-leeze! My movements are much too purposeful to be undignified by such a term. I never lose sight of my objectives – which can’t be measured by how well I may have stayed on a fixed course or how many notches I have on my camera (indicating “major attractions” I have bagged, digitally).

“Rambling,” seems less offensive, though it implies to me a rather constant amount of momentum and constant movement. I not only stop to smell the roses, I stop for just about anything. Only my brain synapses remain in constant motion.

I’m disqualifying “rove” outright. Not only does it seem to me to lack any sort of purpose or benefit, it’s also a word associated with a living human with whom I’d just as soon not become associated.

A movement to add the verb, “to Rove,” to the dictionary will gain my full support, however. The word could be defined as “causing a person to become elected despite their complete lack of training, experience, judgment or other relevant qualifications.”

There are a few words that I really don’t need to address. Nobody, for example, would want to be accused of “straying.” And no matter what adjectives one might apply, who would want to be labeled a “gadabout.”

Folks do seem to want to put us in a cubbyhole. Unusual behavior must be categorized. It’s not normal behavior – in our culture, at least – and must be put in perspective.

As for me, I relish the idea of being place in the same file folder with The Happy Wanderer and with Ben Rumson – the 19th-century miner portrayed by Lee Marvin in “Paint your Wagon.”

I love the changing landscape as it appears through my windshield. But, as has been said, I never saw a town that didn’t look better through my rear-view mirror.

Now, don’t take that personally. And, for heaven’s sake, please don’t accuse me of gallivanting!