Mast-Head Watch: Not a Whale in Sight

I nearly posted a link to a Garmin map that tracks the walk I took tonight.  It took quite a bit of time to figure out a way to post it, then I thought…do I really want to post a map showing where I walk?  Hell, why not!

Actually, I have decided against it.  A moment ago I deleted the post.  And now I feel grumpy.  Tired.  Disappointed.  All too familiar.

This was a typical walk-along-the-lake-and-into-the-woods kind of post.  I have a few dozen posted here already, I am sure.  And my photos were not quite as good as others.  I am afraid my camera phone is growing tired.  Focus is not one of its strong suits any longer and light exposure is all fuddled up.

It was a nice walk, though.  I did see a doe and two fawns and I wrote about that.  Sounds dull, I’m sure, but I did a good job.  (You see I discovered this gap in the fence where the deer crouch down and scoot under the chain link…I watched two go through while the third seemed a bit confused and lost…he eventually found his way to the other side.  Happy reunion.  Drama worthy of a book about a white whale, of which I have read very little today.)

I took pictures of mushrooms and roses.  I commented on the compost at the rose garden.  (It smells like a mix of tobacco and plums, not an unpleasant scent at all.)  I took pictures of artists painting in the park.

And I complained about the heat.   I complained about the heat a lot and wondered if whiskey might make it better.  Oh, my writing about this was especially good!  I can’t recall what I wrote, but I can tell you what inspires me.

When I think of awful heat and smothering humidity, I think of old southern men, Depression era, of course; old southern men sweating in seersucker suits, poorly tied ties, and Panama hats.   And I think of whiskey.

Perhaps it is unfair to whiskey — or maybe the old men — but sticky heat is old man whiskey weather in my mind and I think it might be time to see how they mix, if they do.  Of course Minneapolis is a city where it is tough to have a good time.  You can’t stroll the parks with a flask of whiskey, for example, but you can always carry some in your stomach.  So I have decided that one of these hot steamy nights I’ll have a shot or two and go for a walk.

I might take a chance and put a small flask in my pocket, too.  What harm can a guy do taking a nip in the bird sanctuary?  Maybe the shadows will speak to me differently if I do.

That will have to be another day.  It is quite late now.  I do feel a bit better having taken a few minutes to write something.  It is a recovery of sorts, a recovery from a lost post.  It was the map that had troubled me in that post.  Nothing more.  I had my story all laid out along the Garmin track.  I shouldn’t have been so quick to trash it.  I didn’t feel right putting my map on the table, however.

Plus there is something about the map that is especially interesting to me in a strange, taunting sort of way.  I uploaded the map of tonight’s walk and at the end my route, the track jumps down the block and ends in a place which is not mine.  When I saw where it landed, I smiled and felt a little sad at the same time. True to Freud, this strange glitch truly touches the uncanny.  (You’ll have to trust me.)

It has been a very still, quiet week.  Maybe the heat has something to do with it.  Nothing seems to stir, but everything is hot to the touch.


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