Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

mosquito fish swim against the tide of moussakka

I slept this morning until 10:30, which is something I rarely do. I like to be up and about early on Saturday morning, which I see a as a special, fun time. Today, though, I rolled into my office a few moments after 11 and worked until 3:00, doing organizational things. Then I stopped off for a quick bite of Long John Silver fish and chips, very flavorful if entirely bad for me, and then headed up to Spring Creek Trail. Spring Creek Trail is in Richardson, only 15 to 20 minutes south of my house, but I had never been on it before. It is one of those sidewalks through deep woods suburban park areas, for walkers and bikers. Though the day was a season in a southern-fried Texas hell, the shade
of the woods growing around Spring Creek made the walk entirely pleasurable. There were lots of cool understory trees and bushes, and sound of "critters" rustling in the background were everywhere, blended in with cicada song. I only saw one real critter, though, a blue jay flying up a tree, if we don't count the mosquito fish. I always count mosquito fish, on the other hand, who are little native livebearers (gambusia affinis) who swam in the little 3 inches of depth to which the creek has fallen. They looked so brave, somehow, swimming against a strong current, in an algae filled and yet somehow beautiful sprig of water. I walked for only a short while, and yet this type of walk completely restores to me humanity I lose each day, each hour.
I do not know why my mind responds so well to a bit of greenery and bird and insect song, but I am glad it does.

When I got home, a mail artist named flypapermemoir from TN had sent me her poetry notebook exchange. We each exchanged blank notebooks to decorate and fill with poetry. I had festooned hers with modeling clay and rather good poems. She festooned mine with
a simply amazing bit of paint and attachment and really heartfelt poems. It was a good exchange, and I'm glad we did it. I picked up more scrapbooks today, as one more person wants to exchange dolls for my scrapbooks. I asked for something "odd and wonderful", not dolls specifically, but apparently dolls are odd and wonderful. Dolls certainly seem "odd and wonderful" to me.
My wife asked me what I shall do with the dolls I receive, as she knows I am not at heart very doll-ish. Maybe I can start the Nervous Mail Art Doll Museum. People are so talented. They all deserve at least scrapbooks full of bad art, bad poetry and bad photos, and they all shall get them. "Linus" on nervousness is going to exchange crayon drawings of flowers with me, and I think that is very cool indeed.

We went to dinner at a new Mexican place near our home; the food was so good and so quickly served. The restaurant needs a bit of sound buffering to eliminate a mild echo; acoustics do make a difference on a Saturday evening in a toddler filled cafe. We will return, but I hope that when we return, the corners are buffered. The carne asada was grand, not the "this is fancy sirloin, how would you like it cooked" carne asada, but the "we are glad you came to Matamoros, here is your wonderful steak" border carne asada. I want my platos to be somewhat tipico, so that suits me fine.

We went to the fancy newish 24plex movie house in the upscale Stonebriar Mall in Frisco, where a computer took my credit card number but did not exchange tickets with me. I would have settled for even a doll, but all I got was squiggly lines. I had to go the old fashioned ticket booth route instead, and now will have to see if I was charged for tickets I didn't get. I love technology, but only when it works.

We saw "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". It was adorable. We both laughed, and felt good, and left a week of cares behind. I love
seeing small films that make us feel good. We both like to see them, and they are such fun! What a grand day, though nothing happened. But nothing happened in such a nice way.

Now it's quite early, but I'm ready for bed. I hope I can awake at a decent hour tomorrow and take in more nature.

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