There are several things I will never understand:
How a crazy man (it takes one to know one) was elected president
Who shot JR
Why people pick up after their dogs but cast aside the bags of dog shit
Early in very weekend morning walk, before sun up, I purposely cross Sharon View Road to pay a momentary visit to the neighborhood eucalyptus tree.
My brief stop is to pluck one of the roundish, fragrant leaves. I crumple and mash the lone leaf between my fingers to release its aromatic oils then hold the residue to my nose. The scent is utterly divine.
Alas, the sweet scent fades away all too quickly as other less-desirable things are handled.
But there are a few rank-smelling items even I refuse to retrieve. Among them are poopy baby diapers – and bags of dog shit found along sidewalks. It can’t be sugar coated: it’s plain dog shit in a plastic bag. I come across new bags every day. I just won’t pick those up. I refuse to.
For the life of me, how is it that owners pick up after their pets but then proceed to throw the bags aside? Can’t you hold onto it for a another few minutes to dispose of properly? It’s one thing to leave stinky organic residue in the grass but it’s entirely another to introduce plastic to the environment. These castoff bags drive me utterly insane. Stop it, people. Stop it.
One of the upsides to my daily constitutionals is finding stuff I can ‘recycle’ for personal use.
My eyes-to-the-ground surveillance has yielded all manner of hand tools, bundles of zip ties, 16 oz. beer mugs, coins (including occasional folding money), a perfectly intact step ladder, packing tape dispensers, et al. I mean, you do this long enough and you’re bound to come across a lot of reusable things.
I am now in possession of a diamond ear stud. Both the setting and the clasp are of the high-end variety. The gem did scratch glass at first swipe. In some ways it would be nice to find the owner but how could that possibly be done? So the sparkly bauble will be taken into a jewelry store to be appraised. I dunno, if it is indeed the Real McCoy, maybe it will partially fund another fishing foray down to Bowens Island or my summer trek to the Bridger Wilderness in Wyoming.
Sometimes I forget I’m walking next to busy streets.
I apparently was lost in my own little world this morning as I stepped out to cross Sharon Road south of Fairview a block or so.
In an instant, a car’s horn blared as a Mercedes nimbly veered to miss me by three feet at most. I’ve gotta pay closer attention. Coffee isn’t the only thing that works as a waker-upper.