Just the other day while walking the dog, I noticed a clay-colored workman’s boot print on the sidewalk in front of my house. Now, I knew it wasn’t there before. I set foot in this house when it was built in 1996.

The first time the footprint caught my eye, I thought it was recent and someone got his shoe wet leaving a wet print. The temperature was in the 50s, so things didn’t dry quickly.

Since I had a small dog, she and I rarely took many routes because she tired easily especially in the Texas summer. These walks told me stories about our neighborhood’s grass. I discovered and envied one beautiful and pricey golf course-like lawn. Besides, it made picking up after her easy.

Over the past couple of years including last week, I noted several homes changing the grass from Bermuda to St. Augustine especially those with shady trees hovering over their lawns. Bermuda needed sun and the shade killed its blades. So neighbors switched to St. Augustine so they could enjoy feeling green grass on their bare feet instead of colorless sharp grass.

We didn’t plant a tree in our front lawn for many reasons. Despite that, a neighbor’s tree blocked the sun to torture our grass. The grass held up. Thank goodness. I preferred Bermuda’s soft even blades to St. Augustine’s unwieldy blades.

Back to that print. The next day, I walked the dog (my job five days a week — forces me away from the computer) and that irksome boot print stayed put.

Did it annoy me because it marred my little sidewalk space in front of my home? Because I liked a blemish free sidewalk considering the flower bed sucked? Because it didn’t come from someone in my family?

While growing up in Fort Worth, I moseyed along on the streets and rode my bike around the neighborhood memorizing many of its little quirks and signatures where people wrote their name and the year. People left their signatures behind in my current neighborhood. Yet, my family’s signature didn’t appear in either neighborhood. Was that unfair?

But then if I had encountered wet cement, would I make my mark? Or would the fear of violating city property scare me away? The healthy crack-free sidewalk won’t need replacing for years, so that question will linger.

I asked my husband if he noticed the boot print. He didn’t. It didn’t surprise me. I conducted a test early on in our marriage. I found tissue on the bathroom floor. Curious if hubby would notice, I left it there.

Day one. No.

Day two. Nope.

Finally, on day three I had had it and threw it away.

Am I too observant? Too obsessed with neatness and organization? On the other hand, was it a good thing I take the time to notice my surroundings? Showing an appreciation for life and the little things.

Sometimes, I wished I didn’t notice things so they wouldn’t bother me (with three kids, it was impossible to have an impeccable place).

Oh, the house’s floors put up with junk on them more often than not and I accepted that. It bugged me, nonetheless. I reminded myself that I rather spend time with my family than constantly keeping after them to straighten up.

Besides, bedtime outranked cleaning time. A grumpy kid who stayed up later to clean up made for a miserable family as the grumpiness spread.

So this sidewalk scene went from making your mark to noticing things to obsession with organization. These yielded a single theme: valuing life experiences.

You don’t need to make your mark on a sidewalk to be remembered. I think about my dad often without an object inducing the memory.

Noticing the little things shows you have the ability to take in many of life’s moments. Watching my kids play without their knowing lets me experience them enjoying themselves doing little things such as pushing cars and talking to themselves.

Letting go of disarray rewards you with more time to enjoy those you love. Instead of asking my kindergartner to clean up his papers and markers, I toss in another book at reading time so I can revel in his new reading skill.

Parents might say that I’m not doing my kids favors by letting them skip clean up every single day. But to them I say that I will remember the extra time spent reading or playing.

So what “bad behavior” do you indulge in for the greater good? What Have You Learned from Scenes of a Sidewalk? This is a contribution inspired by Middle Zone Musing‘s latest writing project.