This morning I got my ass up at 5:30, downed a pot of coffee, stuffed my face with cream of wheat, grabbed my camera and binoculars and was out the door just as the sun hit the horizon.
I was inspired to search for baseballs. In plan words… eagle watching. It's getting late in the season and there was no time to waste.
I had an absolutely blissful and meditative morning scanning treetops and watching old Baldy rip the hell out of yummy fishes. In all honesty, being on the river alone with those incredible birds is inspiring and feels like a distinct privilege.
It also helps to be wrapped up to your ears in layers of warm clothes. I got caught in snow bursts. Ever hear of a snow burst? Me either, but the eagles and I hunkered in close to the trunks until the fitful five minute blizzards were over. It was a bonding experience.
Around noon I crossed the river and headed downtown. I had to pick something up and even though it was President's day, parking sucked around Memorial Drive.
I was waiting for the light to change so that I could make another run up around the courthouse. Just as it changed and I hit the gas, I did a double take at the man I'd just passed. The man that I'd seen in my peripheral was a monk, a Buddhist monk and from the maroon robe and gold monk bag, Tibetan at that.
I was too far passed him with cars crawling up my trunk, so I couldn't stop. I only knew of one monk that might be in town, Lama Lobsong, who I haven't seen for more than a year. I decided to go around the block and see if I could offer whoever he was a ride.
When I came back around, he was gone. I don't know where he went, but he was quick. I drove around a bit more, just in case he might emerge from some secret passage. He was gone. Gone to his warm destination, I hope.
It isn't every day that I pass a Tibetan monk on the streets of St. Louis. For me, that's about as likely as a bald eagle landing next to me and offering me a fish.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
A community of one? I doubt that!
The Internet is the wide, wide world of information. I love to ask it questions and dig up information. I cast my line today and got a big fat goose egg. The more I think about this, the more aggravated I am.
Guess who doesn't have 2,500 websites devoted to them in the divorce end of the Internet pool? Women who initiate the divorce and don't have a kid, that's who. Apparently, we have all the answers and never look for each other.
Let's discuss what I reeled in—divorce assistance for women, how to survive the anger, how to be single again. If I got dumped and have a kid, I can choose from an absolute plethora of articles with 10 ways to survive the devastation. WTF?
I hate to be the barer of bad news, World, but sometimes women aren't the victims. Sometimes, we're the ones who pack up and move on. Apparently, I have better odds at being hit by lightening than by meeting another mutant fish like myself.
Guess who doesn't have 2,500 websites devoted to them in the divorce end of the Internet pool? Women who initiate the divorce and don't have a kid, that's who. Apparently, we have all the answers and never look for each other.
Let's discuss what I reeled in—divorce assistance for women, how to survive the anger, how to be single again. If I got dumped and have a kid, I can choose from an absolute plethora of articles with 10 ways to survive the devastation. WTF?
I hate to be the barer of bad news, World, but sometimes women aren't the victims. Sometimes, we're the ones who pack up and move on. Apparently, I have better odds at being hit by lightening than by meeting another mutant fish like myself.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Not your average girl...
No, I'm not your everyday girl. At 5:15 one day a year, all the errands are run, the cat and bird are fed, the laundry is done and folded. I'm in my favorite chair with my pop and crunchy Cheetos, laptop charged and rabbit ears precariously balanced, the door is locked and the phones are off. It's time for the Superbowl
The crash of helmets, the strategy of the line, the rumble of the crowd, baseball may be America's past time, but football has my heart. I'm all for the underdog, which makes me a Giants fan this year. I've got a deep distaste for Belichick and I never, ever root for the Pats. But, truth be told, I don't care who wins. It's all good.
After the reading of the Declaration of Independence and the Star-Spangled Banner, it's kick off--the meeting of the modern gladiators. This is the one day that I forgive the NFL, the politicians and even my mom. I'll buy what your selling be it patriotism or a Ford truck. However, if you want my attention, I hope it's to high five me for a Brady interception.
At half time, I might even drink that beer my neighbor brought me when I moved in 10 months ago. Luckily, nearly everyone in my building is gone. I have been known to get a little loud and take out lighting fixtures in my exuberance.
The crash of helmets, the strategy of the line, the rumble of the crowd, baseball may be America's past time, but football has my heart. I'm all for the underdog, which makes me a Giants fan this year. I've got a deep distaste for Belichick and I never, ever root for the Pats. But, truth be told, I don't care who wins. It's all good.
After the reading of the Declaration of Independence and the Star-Spangled Banner, it's kick off--the meeting of the modern gladiators. This is the one day that I forgive the NFL, the politicians and even my mom. I'll buy what your selling be it patriotism or a Ford truck. However, if you want my attention, I hope it's to high five me for a Brady interception.
At half time, I might even drink that beer my neighbor brought me when I moved in 10 months ago. Luckily, nearly everyone in my building is gone. I have been known to get a little loud and take out lighting fixtures in my exuberance.
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