When you come to a fork in the road . . . . take it!
That was my father's advice.
Yesterday, just at the fork in the road was a 98 year old woman with a shovel and an ice breaker, working away at the snow which had been packed in a corner of her driveway by a heedless snowplow. She was clearing a space for the new high tech trash barrels that the City of Newton had supplied its citizens over the summer.
And watching her were her neighbors, two young men standing strong and tall on the porch in front of their rented house, smoking, relieving their boredom.
Taking the fork in the road, I hurried home to get my own shovel, and returning on foot to help the old lady, shovel in hand, I passed the two on the porch. Come on and help. . . no answer; come on, you're not going to watch an old lady shovel without offering her help. . . no answer. What good are your muscles and your youth? Said the one, I'm going somewhere. . . And I knew exactly where he and his pal would be going, though I didn't tell them. And anyway, I thought with guilty satisfaction, they would be getting there much sooner than they thought. After all, they were smoking.