My parents lied to me when I was a boy. I lied to my daughter. Everyone lies to the little ones they love. Not to be hurtful. To make life easier. To save children from the horrors of life they will eventually have to face. But not yet.
A dog approaches me on the trail. He swaggers. A dog who knows his strength. He leans in and I scratch him behind the ears. His owner apologizes, but there is nothing for which to apologize. There was a moment there between man and dog.
My taste buds have not grown back. Most food tastes bland and there is no joy in eating. But the fruit filled Jello, now that was something. It tasted like diesel.
Dipping my feet into Trout Creek, I think of the time I nearly drowned in a tiny whirlpool below a dam, my fingers inches from salvation, giving one final effort before my lungs gave out and finally getting a fingertip on the edge of a rock.
A memory of the Mexican snorkeling guide who found me courageous in hiking alone in grizzly bear country. But you swim in shark-infested waters, I said. Sharks? Oh, they are nothing to fear. But bears, such courage.
A butterfly dances among the plants along the tree line. A swallowtail to be sure. I try to follow it through my binoculars, but I can’t identify the species precisely. There are seven species of swallowtails in my guidebook, and they all look the same.
I have been reading about why people work. Money, meaningful purpose, opportunity to learn and grow, social engagement, autonomy over one’s tasks. But money was not the primary reason people work. Money came third in the survey.
My Kelly, my quirky Kelly, what are you up to these days? I am thinking of you.
Hot, dry day. It’s pushing 30 degrees already. Bleached stones bear the brunt of the sun’s rays. Uncomplaining, stoic, fulfilling their purpose.
I have been playing with the idea of naming my baseball, the one I caught at the Sky Dome back in ’91 when the Blue Jays played the Orioles. Cal Ripken Jr. hit a foul ball down the first base line and I caught it. It has been on my shelf these many years and seems to have grown a personality. But what to name it? Speedy? Knuckles? Cal the third?
There was a time in my youth when I could send and receive Morse code at 35 words per minute, which was about how quickly I could type too. I would send my mother letters written in Morse code. But now, I search my memory and cannot recall the code for each of the letters in the alphabet.
I have a painting of a Paris scene, with the Eiffel Tower in the background. But I never enjoyed Paris for some reason. My best memory is of cars driving around a large traffic circle.
Do you remember the movie, Lobster? How single people were taken to a hotel and if they were unable to find a romantic partner within 45 days, they were turned into an animal of their choice? I would have chosen to be turned into a squirrel. I’ve read that they nap several times during the day.
I once climbed Acatenango, a dormant volcano in Guatemala, just to sit on the rim to watch nearby Fuego volcano erupt. I think of that moment from time to time, but more often, I think of how the cloud-covered sky was pierced by a succession of volcano tops, all the way north to Honduras, like inverted ice cream cones poking up through a field of melted marshmallows.
My Kelly, my quirky Kelly, what are you up to these days? I am thinking of you.
