Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

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In the waning moments, while the tall grass sings "mow me!"

The weather is so southern California here in north Texas. Cool, placid nights, nice 60s mornings, pleasant high 70s afternoons.
The only divergence is the appearance of thunderstorms, which
virtually never came to our home in La Crescenta. I love the deep black and blue thunderclouds, even when they muddy things up.

I luxuriated almost all the morning, watching part of Audrey Hepburn in Serendipity. I must admit her screen personae utterly captivate me, rendering me a prisoner of the old time Hollywood daydreams. Finally, I broke away and headed to the office. I stopped on the way for Indian lunch buffet at Rasoi, in Richardson. The taste of carrot halwa is a delight in the back of my mind even as I type this hours later.

I made a great deal of progress with the boxes. I had hoped to have all my announcements printed today as well, but these things will happen at a deliberate pace, but a pace nonetheless.
I left the office feeling good. When I got home, my wife was gone to a pre-arranged "dog walk" with her coworker R. and R.'s large dog Abby. Our dogs, being lhasas are "lowriders" (R.'s term), while Abby is apparently a spirited "highrider". Still a good time was apparently had by all.

Meanwhile, I took the propane tank to the U-Haul in nearby Plano
for fresh gas in anticipation of company coming next weekend.
I missed the place's close date by five minutes. While I was
driving back home, listening to "selected shorts" on NPR, and in particular a short story about a non-sighted man who sang gospel and blues, I saw I was crossing the Chisholm Trail. Now this "Chisholm Trail" is not the "real" Chisholm Trail of the fabled cowboy cattle runs (although a few streets over, another famous 'move along little dogie' trail does run). It's instead a charming sidewalked creekside trail.

I took the old Mohrson binoculars I bought from ebay for roughly seven dollars, and headed down the trail. I saw tons of sparrows, in particular the ubiquitous house sparrow, with his black crested throat, and lots of crows, grackles and martins, all black birds, who should be "of a feather" on optics alone, but who in fact spend a great deal grousing at one another.

At one deeper section of the pond, I saw numerous small fish
swimming. They were all just inches in length, very conscious of me passing by and heading to inconspicuous places. I used the binoculars to peer down into water that was a bit yellow-brown tinged but largely clear and easy to see into. I finally was able to detect that I was viewing the charming little green sunfish.
I did not have a perfect vantage point, but the green coloration really made a nice combination with the ambient yellow colors in the water. I wandered up and down the creek, viewing several with what I've come to call 'the cheap French binoculars'. I walked on by "coach pitch" baseball teams, in which younger children play a variant of baseball in which the team's own coach pitches to each batter, minimizing "hit by pitch" fiascoes and maximizing base hits. I saw a blooper ground ball hit turn into a base hit with run batted in. I saw a fairly routine ball pass the short stop and turn into a home run. I wondered how the inning ever ended, what with it being impossible for anyone to actually field at that level, when the umpire announced that the side had reached the maximum runs allowed per inning. My own 6 year old baseball seasons as a child--punctuated with incredible chili hot dogs
from the concession stand--did not feature "coach pitch" or its
even more protective cousin "t ball" (where the ball is placed on a shoulder-high metal "tee" rather than pitched). I remembered my fear at facing "older kid" friend of mine Ricky, who had a fast ball that clocked in at untold tens of miles an hour, when it was not going astray and clocking into the batter. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself--and Ricky Wilson's wild pitching.
I'm glad things are a bit more ordered now.

On the way to the car, I saw a red breasted robin doing what the Robins in the story always do--pulling an earthworm from the ground. Then I came home, listened to some wonderful music by
ambient artist Diatonis, and came to steal a moment in my journal before I do the week's quick bout of yard work.
I intend to focus my next few weeks on pitching straight and true, and living my life as if only a pair of cheap French binoculars
stand between myself and new discoveries.
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