Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

sand bar days

On Friday night, as I drove through deep woods in Arkansas river bottomland, a large, burly raccoon crossed the road, intact, just ahead of my car. Early Saturday morning I chatted with my nephew about Alaskan salmon and bow and arrow targets while we drove him to rendezvous with his other grandparents. Saturday late morning, my ten year old niece and I went to a lake state park and flew a Star Wars kite, after we stopped to admire the 1930something Austin Opal my father has begun restoring.

We also rode rusted rental bikes past fishing docks which confronted a low-level water-famished lake. We could not rent paddle boats because the wind was up but the water was down. "Maybe in the Spring", the ranger said.

Saturday afternoon, after a nap, my father and I watched on television as the Arkansas Razorbacks defeated the Alabama Crimson Tide in a football game by the closest of overtime scores after a festival of error better suited to a convention of theologians than football. A huge thunderstorm arrived in sheets of rain. At halftime, my niece and I played Go Fish with a deck of cards from years ago in which almost no pairs matched anything.

Saturday evening, my father and his wife took me to The Sand Bar for dinner, where the grilled red snapper was tasty, and our table was beside my eleventh grade English teacher, a good egg I do not know well, who now apparently teaches yoga instead.

Saturday late night we viewed digital pictures of towboats on the Ouachita River and cruises down the Ohio River on a paddle wheeler as well as home tour pictures in period costume. Then I settled in with two books (a science fiction by L.E. Modesitt and the latest paperback 1st Ladies' Detective Agency installment) and electronica on my mp3 player for
a well-deserved rest. On Sunday morning I rose pre-dawn and drove through foggy skies back to Texas.

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