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April 23, 2000
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easter sunday I slept hard and long again. Earlier in the week I think my poision ivy might have kept me from sleeping too well. I only drank a single beer last night. That's less alcohol than I've had in some time. Finally up, I dress and drink a couple of cups of the wondrous coffee. SuRu phones. By about 8:30, we are off. I tell her that I have devised a track where we will not cover so much familiar ground. And off we go. Certain areas the other side of Burnet. I truly think we walked a couple of streets that we hadn't traversed before. All was pretty quiet. Easter Sunday. I don't think too many people were at church, really. Lots of newspapers were still on sidewalks. There wasn't much traffic and we could cross the busiest streets pretty easily. A woman worked on a bookcase she was building in a garage. East Indian music accompanied her. A shirtless man raked his yard. Salsa music poured out of his house. (Both were White, I'd say, for the census.) By the time we returned, a little after ten, the heat was rising. Chalow panted for thirty minutes after we got home. (And, yes, we gave the dogs water along the way.) We figure we have gone about five miles between yesterday and today. Even Zoey got a little tired. After the walk and a shower, Forrest and I are on our way out when our friend Lori drops by with her sister to tour the garden. "Help yourselves...we are off," I say. Hmm...maybe I should start selling tickets. We took the in-laws to Luby's. They paid, mostly with coupons they've been given. They discuss whether they should pre-pay their funerals. My mother-in-law is practical and figures she can keep earning interest on the money. We don't advise it. My father-in-law imagines a bit of paper trash is a dollar bill and a white spot in the parking lot a dime. "Sometimes I dream about finding money, digging up quarters." Together, my in-laws suffer macular degneration. They tell me a harrowing story about walking between their two banks and that couldn't see the light to tell if it said, "Walk." "We won't do it again," one says. "Oh, we could do it again," the other says. I don't remember who said what. I try to get them to promise to call for a ride, but they don't ever do it. One of the Nancys, the blacksmith Nancy, comes over and works on her husband's WEB page. He reads the paper and Forrest sleeps off his allergies or cold and the medicine. I spent the day just doing what I pleased again. Surfing, reading, playing with my computers. Back to the grind tomorrow with the work week and some important deadlines.
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"The paths of glory lead but to the grave." Thomas Gray, Elegy Written in a Country Church Yard
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cactus bloom
white bunny at house of colors
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