Friday!
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Made a 90 on my psych exam last night. I’d have done better, but the prof threw a lot of biographical stuff at us. He even warned us in the review. Still I didn’t go over that stuff much. I don’t care who was born in Austria (that’d be half the guys in the book, actually) or was the youngest of six children. So… those were most of the questions I missed.
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I dreamed that I found a way to talk to my grandfather, who passed not long ago. There was a place on his old property where, if I cocked my head just right and spoke in the right direction, we could exchange a few words. He was planting flowers, then headed across the street to eat some barbecue.
Sounds like Heaven to me.
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I think about him, and people from previous generations, sometimes, like during our house hunt. JJ Briscoe lived in a two-bedroom house he built on a few acres of land he cleared by hand with my Dad in Brazoria, TX. Heavily wooded place with aggressive mosquitoes, and there weren’t any chainsaws. Dad spent the first 11 years of his life sleeping in the same room as his folks; his older sister Lynda had her own room.
JJ had some tough jobs in his career. He worked in a sulfur plant for a while. Big vats of liquid sulfur had catwalks over them, a dangerous setup. Once in a while a man would fall in. He’d manage to swim a few strokes, but that’s about it. Liquid sulfur… bad stuff.
He also worked in an ice plant. Some machine in there caused him to lose a substantial portion of his hearing. Seems the lever snapped out of position unexpectedly, catching him flush in the side of the head. It broke some of the bones in his middle ear.
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He wrapped up his career working for Brazoria County Mosquito Control. In a mosquito-infested area like that, the county has an entire workforce dedicated to dealing with them. Trucks drive around spraying insecticide all the time.
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I was staying at his house once when I was a young boy. I slept on the couch. He got up and went to work before sunrise. I watched his silhouette go past the window, and a second later the silhouette of an owl swooped past the window behind him.
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So… when I feel like I MUST have a two-car garage and three bedrooms and more than 2000 square feet and central AC… I have to stop and remind myself just how good I have it.
Hell, I sit in an office so well air-conditioned that I sometimes wear a fleece jacket. I drink coffee all morning. I listen to streaming music.
This life ain’t rough at all.
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Owls. I love them. There’s one in our neighborhood, a young one. Spotted him at dusk once when I wondered what the heck the mockingbirds were screeching about. They were doing their best to swoop at him and give him hell, and he didn’t care, didn’t budge.
Saw him a few nights ago, and he was watching Oreo. Hmm…
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An owl was perched in the trees outside our apartment in Austin years ago, which made him barely above eye level. Oreo spotted him too, and went into predator behavior.
Oreo, my friend… I don’t think you had an accurate idea of just who was the predator in that scenario.
We brought the cat inside.
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My sister’s dog Louie was chained up outside a few years ago. He’s a miniature greyhound, a wiry little guy who’s maybe 11-12 pounds tops. He started barking and yelping and whining. They rushed outside to find a huge gash in his side, which required veterinary attention.
They didn’t see what he tangled with, but my theory was that it was likely an owl. Being chained up may have saved the little guy. I don’t know what else has the capability to do that much damage that fast that’d be likely to show up in a Lake Jackson back yard. I guess a raccoon is a possibility too. I didn’t see his wounds.
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A guy at Starbucks this morning was sweetening his venti sized coffee beside me. My venti iced coffee gets on Equal. His took about six.
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Rangers shortstop Mike Young and his wife just had a baby, a son named Mateo. Interesting name. I’m really curious as to why they went with that one.
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Okay okay… I’ll get to work.
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1 comment:
What a coincidence that you mentioned our grandparents. I paid a visit to them yesterday in the Brazoria cemetary while Aaron was at his appointment. I sat and looked at all the names and dates and thought about them. I realized that Dad was only 11 years old when his Pawpaw died. But he still has a lifetime of memories.
Louie is a legend in our neighborhood. I run into people who say, "oh, YOU'RE the one with the little dog who got attacked. A friend recently told me she was walking over here and stopped to talk to some folks. Somehow it came up. She realized who they were talking about. Legend here says a big red hawk was the culprit.
A.
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