I was so excited to see my prison jumpsuit and handcuffs arrive when I got off work. Even though it’s hot, I’ve done my inaugural walk up and down busy Gregg Avenue. I couldn’t stop laughing because I could see people slowing down. I got a couple of honks.
One of my older neighbors shook his head, laughing. “You’re going to get arrested.”
🙂
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Restless interminable night, but a beautifully still morning. Overcoming my unusual reluctance, I hit the streets early, wandering aimlessly. At its darkest, the night held an unusual number people driving, probably due to ill-advised post graduation celebrations.
On Greenvalley Avenue, I accidentally threw my phone as a large deer ran right past me as I stood taking a picture. It ran down to the intersection and stopped there to watch me. I usually spot them at least a street over near the bottom of what I call dead man’s hill.
Birdsong echoed flatly in the absence of any breeze or wind, creating the perfect introspective atmosphere for anyone out enjoying it.
I walked barefoot for an hour, meandering. Two little chipmunks came out from some fallen trees to say hello. They were camera shy because they hadn’t had time to go to the beauty salon this week. Deep back into the brush and trees, there were some Northern Parulas. (Sounds like a salad topping.) The males were brilliant green and yellow.
It could not have possibly been more beautiful back there. 65°, sunlight breaking through the trees intermittently, and all manner of birds almost entirely hidden -but singing and chirping like 8-year-old girls at their first church recital.
And I can’t write about it without mentioning how brilliant the colors are again for me. Even the 12 different nuances of green.
The creeks are of course colder than an accountant’s heart but the numbness afterward was refreshing.
Lost in color is the best way to describe my early morning. 1000 birds, all of them singing, and two I had never seen before. Waiting for the sunrise and watching the clouds race over me, revealing blues, purples, and infinite variations between. Even my little car, a half-mile away, looked like it had been forged from the blue of a Caribbean Sea.
I wandered down through a culvert that I probably should have left unattended. Once I reached the creek bottom, at least a dozen gray catbirds chirped a symphony for me. Going through the brush that didn’t want to be penetrated, I ran into Pine and Palm warblers. Yellow looked freakishly novel to me.
Suddenly having crystal clear vision has been a knock in the head. I catch myself staring not only at my prisms with new eyes, but shadows and variations that have been lost to me. And yes, I can see the dirt and dust that inevitably accumulates. But who has time for that? You can dust and de-dust without pause, never reaching the end of it. But you can also go out and wander.
Occasionally, there have been sirens wailing in the background, because where there are people, there is turmoil. Even if you do everything right, that same turmoil will frequent your life at random intervals. It shouldn’t push your eyes and ears away from enjoying the stupidly simple things all around you.
But what do I know? I’m just a guy wandering around with soaked feet and a smile on my face.
As the sky darkened and the wind blew, I walked barefoot along the new connecting trail spur that runs north of Lakeside.
It was once an oasis and almost unpassable. It’s a modern convenience. It still holds a sliver of the natural magic it once did, but I can’t appreciate it yet.
The expanse of exotic cattails is fighting back. You can see it on the north side of the paved trail, a boggy mess. When I went through today, I smiled because a few dozen of these alien cattails are growing back fast, after being destroyed.
I watched a giant of a skateboarder roll down the long hill, his lanky arms held horizontal to the ground as if he were flying.
I saw dozens of errant golf balls from the course surrounding the small lake. They look like perfect little eggs, scattered in the grass, rocks, and mud.
As beautiful and relaxing as it was, I still hold a grudge that the unusable natural habitat has been traversed surgically with concrete.
I woke up momentarily confused at 12:21 a.m. Rain was hitting the side of my leg. The tornado siren was going off and the power was out. Even though I woke up 33 times last night because of the clear plastic shield over my eye, that confused me even more.
It was completely surreal and disorienting.
I made cheesecake out of the buttermilk of the situation. I’ve spent a couple of hours out on my landing enjoying the smell, look, and feel of a completely dark neighborhood, experimenting with my newly renewed eyesight.
I hate that my eyes, although blessed with incredibly youthful nerves and venous structure, fell prey to rapid-onset milkiness. I got a new lens in my right eye yesterday. My vision already feels like I’m looking out a recently and perfectly cleaned window, after staring out through dirty glass.
I took a lot of pictures, experimenting with color and perspective. The power is still out but it feels like the last few hours passed in a few seconds.
I’m appreciative of the science that has renewed my eyesight. I’m going to miss the kaleidoscopic rainbows that the defect gave me in the last few weeks.
The wind was my redeemer this morning. This should be the last morning I get to enjoy the deeper colors caused by the juxtaposition of darkness, lights, and the defect in my eyes.
It was a little symphony. The insects, the wind in the trees, even the distant wind chimes crescendoing and fading.
The thousands of steps weren’t enough. I didn’t want it to end. Time always gets the last word.
A preemptive thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes. This picture is from 4 years ago, when I was forced into the role of superhero and shenanigans. Other than not hitting buildings while you’re flying, it’s very important to hydrate.
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
Vonnegut’s warning about adapting and conforming to roles and behaviors is as true today as it was 65 years ago.
It runs in the back of my mind all the time as I watch people sacrifice agency and personality.
If you dehumanize people, convinced you’re doing it for profit, eventually you are not separate from the organization that financially motivates you to do it.
If you spout ideology, whether for entertainment purposes or views, at some point you become your words.
The positive aspect of this is that of course you can become kinder by using habit to constantly reinforce the behavior you want from yourself.
The main focus that runs through my mind is that people are maintaining appearances and adopting personalities that serve them to make a living. Paradoxically, however, they often find themselves becoming what initially was a facade.
One of my favorite wood panels that I’ve made. I made it as a reminder of youth. And to never be the one on the sideline watching other people find a way to get the crayons and stick them out of their nostrils. I’ve not done well with this lately.
Maximum confidence. Minimum information.
People who know the least tend to be the most certain. I see it day in and day out. I modified the original name of this and call it the Dumbass-Keurig effect, because it’s likely you’ll hear the dumbest nonsense when someone’s holding a cup of coffee and giving an opinion, completely oblivious to the fact that you want to put in an MRI order for them just to determine whether there’s a brain in there or not.
As an example, someone close to me recently had to deal with someone calling one of the most knowledgeable, educated people she knew “dumber than a box of rocks.”
It’s a tactic employed by ignorance to dismiss the presence of knowledge and intelligence. It’s corollary is the boring and clichè “no common sense” accusation.
Ignorance is a fixable condition. We’re all ignorant about a variety of things, often including things that deeply affect us. That’s okay, provided that we accept our lack of knowledge and understanding.
Which leads me back to my original point: Don’t leave your fingers inside the door frame when you close the car door.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 