Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
America's Most Wanted Pelican
This morning as I watched the pelicans glide past on their morning jaunt, one of the ferry employees, a gnarled white-haired older gent with a twinkle in his eye, came over to me and said “They don’t make good pets, you know. They’re real grumpy!” To which I replied, “What if they’re flying by saying the same thing about you right now?!”
“I AM grumpy!” said Mr. A. “I’m an old man!”
He continued, “But these pelicans is truly grumpy. One morning we pulled up to the dock and one of them sits on the ramp and won’t move. The cars can’t get off the boat cause that pelican, he won’t budge. So we called the cops on ‘im! And the cop shows up and he says, ‘you want me to do what now?’ and so he goes over to the pelican, who’s just sittin’ pretty on the ramp and he says, ‘Hey pelican! Get outta here! Go on and move now!’ But the pelican WON’T MOVE! We sat there for maybe 10 minutes just scratching our heads and finally that pelican, he spreads his wings and he just glides off. I think these pelicans come from Myrtle Beach, so I imagine that pelican was just tired and he needed to rest a little bit and ain’t nobody was gonna get him to move til he was good and ready.”
“I AM grumpy!” said Mr. A. “I’m an old man!”
He continued, “But these pelicans is truly grumpy. One morning we pulled up to the dock and one of them sits on the ramp and won’t move. The cars can’t get off the boat cause that pelican, he won’t budge. So we called the cops on ‘im! And the cop shows up and he says, ‘you want me to do what now?’ and so he goes over to the pelican, who’s just sittin’ pretty on the ramp and he says, ‘Hey pelican! Get outta here! Go on and move now!’ But the pelican WON’T MOVE! We sat there for maybe 10 minutes just scratching our heads and finally that pelican, he spreads his wings and he just glides off. I think these pelicans come from Myrtle Beach, so I imagine that pelican was just tired and he needed to rest a little bit and ain’t nobody was gonna get him to move til he was good and ready.”
Friday, December 16, 2011
Yeah, you're so pelican fly. Uh-huh.
I wonder what it would be like to eat by diving face-first into your food.
Lately I haven’t spent a lot of my time people watching because I have fallen in love with a pelican I call Peter. Peter must live close to the ferry and he spars with it most mornings and afternoons, playing a pelican version of chicken, swooping in close to the rails, then landing with a web-footed splash into the river, letting the current carry him quickly downstream until a signal that I can’t recognize summons Peter to once again heave his mighty wings and flap back to the ferry, coming in close again, always eluding the lens of my camera in the process. A couple of days ago, Peter was simultaneously buzzing the boat and fishing. He’s a good multi-tasker, that Peter. And guess what? He got one! I spied from the railing and was close enough to see him swallow whatever it was in 2 gulps. I wonder what it would be like to eat by diving face-first into your food. Peter seems to be pretty satisfied with the set-up.
Until yesterday, Peter always seemed to be alone. But then, yesterday, while the morning fog was still rising from the river and the air was cool and smelled only faintly of diesel and garbage truck, I looked up and suddenly there were two! They took turns flying in close to the rails, then plopped down in the water with the bridge behind them, content, at least to my eyes. The second pelican is, of course, Paula.
Have you ever noticed that pelicans look like they are smiling while in flight? Not a grin, but more of a subtle, Mona Lisa smile that seems to say, “yeah, I’m flying, I’m gliding, I’m totally zen. I can see the whole world from here.”
Then I started to think that maybe I’ve finally gone off the deep end and that pelicans say nothing of the sort when they fly past me. So I of course turned to Google, typing in “pelican smile flying”. Here’s what came up:
"Super Bass"
by Nicki Minaj
...I said, excuse me, you're a hell of a dime
I mean my, my, my, you're like pelican fly
I mean, you're so shy and I'm loving your smile
You're like slicker than the girl with the thing on his eye, oh
Yes I did, yes I did, somebody please tell him who the F I is.
T.D.F mack them chicks up, back coupes up, and chuck the deuce up
I have no idea what that means. I assume someone who is pelican fly is awesome, right?
So much for Google. And the future of pop music.
Lately I haven’t spent a lot of my time people watching because I have fallen in love with a pelican I call Peter. Peter must live close to the ferry and he spars with it most mornings and afternoons, playing a pelican version of chicken, swooping in close to the rails, then landing with a web-footed splash into the river, letting the current carry him quickly downstream until a signal that I can’t recognize summons Peter to once again heave his mighty wings and flap back to the ferry, coming in close again, always eluding the lens of my camera in the process. A couple of days ago, Peter was simultaneously buzzing the boat and fishing. He’s a good multi-tasker, that Peter. And guess what? He got one! I spied from the railing and was close enough to see him swallow whatever it was in 2 gulps. I wonder what it would be like to eat by diving face-first into your food. Peter seems to be pretty satisfied with the set-up.
Until yesterday, Peter always seemed to be alone. But then, yesterday, while the morning fog was still rising from the river and the air was cool and smelled only faintly of diesel and garbage truck, I looked up and suddenly there were two! They took turns flying in close to the rails, then plopped down in the water with the bridge behind them, content, at least to my eyes. The second pelican is, of course, Paula.
Have you ever noticed that pelicans look like they are smiling while in flight? Not a grin, but more of a subtle, Mona Lisa smile that seems to say, “yeah, I’m flying, I’m gliding, I’m totally zen. I can see the whole world from here.”
Then I started to think that maybe I’ve finally gone off the deep end and that pelicans say nothing of the sort when they fly past me. So I of course turned to Google, typing in “pelican smile flying”. Here’s what came up:
"Super Bass"
by Nicki Minaj
...I said, excuse me, you're a hell of a dime
I mean my, my, my, you're like pelican fly
I mean, you're so shy and I'm loving your smile
You're like slicker than the girl with the thing on his eye, oh
Yes I did, yes I did, somebody please tell him who the F I is.
T.D.F mack them chicks up, back coupes up, and chuck the deuce up
I have no idea what that means. I assume someone who is pelican fly is awesome, right?
So much for Google. And the future of pop music.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Waldo is on the West Bank
Sometimes I wonder if riding the ferry is like standing in an elevator or peeing at a urinal (I'm using this particular example based on heresay, mind you) -- maybe people just don't like to talk on the ferry. Oh, if you say hi and strike up a conversation, most people are happy to chat, but for the most part, the regular biking crowd that I see every morning and afternoon mostly passes their ferry time tapping away on their phones. Now, I am a smart phone geek myself, but I don't allow the phone to come out on the ferry. I suppose I can't fault people for not using the ride as an experiment in observation. (Or maybe one day I will come across a blog with a post about a really annoying talkative chick on the ferry. )
It's their loss. I wonder if anyone saw the pigeon that flew on at Algiers this morning and hitched a ride all the way across the river, walking on the deck and pecking at crumbs. I wonder if anyone noticed how the waves on the water this evening consisted of perfect undulating ripples as if the Mississippi was made of twilight silk. I wonder if anyone else was elated to realize upon seeing the man with a long coat, big black glasses and a pointed red knit cap that they had, in fact, finally found Waldo.
It's their loss. I wonder if anyone saw the pigeon that flew on at Algiers this morning and hitched a ride all the way across the river, walking on the deck and pecking at crumbs. I wonder if anyone noticed how the waves on the water this evening consisted of perfect undulating ripples as if the Mississippi was made of twilight silk. I wonder if anyone else was elated to realize upon seeing the man with a long coat, big black glasses and a pointed red knit cap that they had, in fact, finally found Waldo.
Monday, November 28, 2011
What the yak scarf told me
Today was the first really cold day of fall. The sky was overcast and grey, the wind whipped through the trees and the thin walls of my house, and my body refused to get out from under the warm covers in a timely manner. As I got ready for work, I paid special attention to my layers. I wanted to be warm on the bike and ferry, of course, but not dressed to the point that I would swelter all day in the office. I settled on a big turquoise knit hat and a pink and purple scarf. As soon as I pulled them out for their New Orleans debut, I was swept up in memories. Isn’t it wonderful how a simple object can transport you to another place?
The last time I wore my floppy hat was at the kick-off for an oyster reef project last January. It was freezing and I dressed in 32 layers of sweaters, long johns, vests and my floppy knit hat. The hat reminds me of that day because I had it on my head before I gave an interview and a thoughtful colleague told me to remove it immediately—I guess I do look silly in it but it is so soft and warm and happy and floppy! Putting it on this morning the emotions and stress of that day came rushing back. It was and probably will remain one of the most wonderful days of my career. Schlepping in the mud and cold with 600 of my closest friends all working together to build something lasting out of the tragedy of the oil spill is something I will never forget. It made me happy to remember that day and the people who made it special.
The scarf is an altogether different story. I’d actually never worn it before today. It is a pink and purple floating piece of art made of yak wool. Yes, yak. A former colleague brought it back from a trip to India. It kept my neck perfectly cozy and warm on the deck of the ferry as it made its way across the Mississippi. Do you think the person who made the scarf ever imagined where it would end up?
Life is so strange, isn’t it? When my co-worker gave me that beautiful scarf last year, I had no clue. No clue that I would done it for the first time in a completely new city, at a new job with new adventures and new people. I couldn’t have imagined it if you’d asked me.
And so these were the thoughts that I pondered on the boat today.
No matter what, in your wildest dreams, you can’t imagine what your life will be like even one year from now. What new people will appear in your life and become dear to you. What people who are dear to you now may not be with you when the next November 28 rolls around. The future is completely unwritten. And that is a wonderful and scary thought.
The conclusion I came to with my hat and my scarf is that a wise person looks to the past to determine what is most meaningful in life, what really made an impact, and plans for a future that allows space for more of what mattered before with a little room for what you can’t yet imagine. That being said, looking backwards is a waste and looking forward is folly if it doesn’t make your present a wonderful place to be. And right now, on this boat, in my ridiculous hat and so soft scarf, with the wind stinging my eyes and the sun sinking behind me, I am perfectly content to be just where I am.
The last time I wore my floppy hat was at the kick-off for an oyster reef project last January. It was freezing and I dressed in 32 layers of sweaters, long johns, vests and my floppy knit hat. The hat reminds me of that day because I had it on my head before I gave an interview and a thoughtful colleague told me to remove it immediately—I guess I do look silly in it but it is so soft and warm and happy and floppy! Putting it on this morning the emotions and stress of that day came rushing back. It was and probably will remain one of the most wonderful days of my career. Schlepping in the mud and cold with 600 of my closest friends all working together to build something lasting out of the tragedy of the oil spill is something I will never forget. It made me happy to remember that day and the people who made it special.
The scarf is an altogether different story. I’d actually never worn it before today. It is a pink and purple floating piece of art made of yak wool. Yes, yak. A former colleague brought it back from a trip to India. It kept my neck perfectly cozy and warm on the deck of the ferry as it made its way across the Mississippi. Do you think the person who made the scarf ever imagined where it would end up?
Life is so strange, isn’t it? When my co-worker gave me that beautiful scarf last year, I had no clue. No clue that I would done it for the first time in a completely new city, at a new job with new adventures and new people. I couldn’t have imagined it if you’d asked me.
And so these were the thoughts that I pondered on the boat today.
No matter what, in your wildest dreams, you can’t imagine what your life will be like even one year from now. What new people will appear in your life and become dear to you. What people who are dear to you now may not be with you when the next November 28 rolls around. The future is completely unwritten. And that is a wonderful and scary thought.
The conclusion I came to with my hat and my scarf is that a wise person looks to the past to determine what is most meaningful in life, what really made an impact, and plans for a future that allows space for more of what mattered before with a little room for what you can’t yet imagine. That being said, looking backwards is a waste and looking forward is folly if it doesn’t make your present a wonderful place to be. And right now, on this boat, in my ridiculous hat and so soft scarf, with the wind stinging my eyes and the sun sinking behind me, I am perfectly content to be just where I am.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
The river keeps many secrets
Yesterday afternoon I watched a piece of driftwood bob in the brown green water from the rail of the ferry. It moved away from me swiftly and I was astounded once again, reminded of how powerful this river is. From the bank, it looks deceptively calm, and when Moby and I walk along the levy in the morning, it is hard not to give in to his obvious desire to be let off the leash so he could run down the embankment, building momentum to leap into the water like he loves to do in every other river we have ever come across together. But I know that the soft waves that lap the shore can carry off dogs and people as easily as they do driftwood and so we stay on top of the levy, grudgingly.
Watching the water take the wood to a final resting place, the location of which can only be guessed at with any level of accuracy by pointing south, I thought about how many logs, people and dogs this river must have claimed for its own.
This is going to sound macabre, but I was intrigued by this thought and later that evening I googled "suicides Mississppi River". The singer Jeff Buckley came up, of course. But technically he drowned in the Wolf River, I think. And technically it wasn't a suicide. We think.
The poet John Berryman committed suicide by leaping from a bridge into the river in 1972. According to some reports, he waved at onlookers on the way down.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn, ...
But the result that turned up that I couldn't get out of my mind was the story of two young lovers who flung themselves, hands clasped, from a bridge in Alexandria, MO in 1909.
I thought about Herman and Belva all night. What happened that night to make them jump? I looked and looked but I couldn't find any other information about the couple except for a short notice in another paper that they had been found 3 days later on the bank several miles downriver, arms still entwined. It made me sad. There is so much life to live, and so much gets wasted. What if this is the only chance we get?
This afternoon I got off work early and headed home on a much earlier ferry than usual. As I wheeled my bike off the ferry and rode the first curve that would take me towards home, I looked to my right and saw a young couple walking down the hill toward the Algiers Courthouse. He had a bushy beard and a dark suit on. She was wearing red flats, a knee-length white dress and a short veil. They were holding hands, and I smiled at them without thinking. They waved in return. They looked so beautiful walking in the sunlight.
I wonder. Do you?
Watching the water take the wood to a final resting place, the location of which can only be guessed at with any level of accuracy by pointing south, I thought about how many logs, people and dogs this river must have claimed for its own.
This is going to sound macabre, but I was intrigued by this thought and later that evening I googled "suicides Mississppi River". The singer Jeff Buckley came up, of course. But technically he drowned in the Wolf River, I think. And technically it wasn't a suicide. We think.
The poet John Berryman committed suicide by leaping from a bridge into the river in 1972. According to some reports, he waved at onlookers on the way down.
Dream Song 14
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn, ...
But the result that turned up that I couldn't get out of my mind was the story of two young lovers who flung themselves, hands clasped, from a bridge in Alexandria, MO in 1909.
I thought about Herman and Belva all night. What happened that night to make them jump? I looked and looked but I couldn't find any other information about the couple except for a short notice in another paper that they had been found 3 days later on the bank several miles downriver, arms still entwined. It made me sad. There is so much life to live, and so much gets wasted. What if this is the only chance we get?
This afternoon I got off work early and headed home on a much earlier ferry than usual. As I wheeled my bike off the ferry and rode the first curve that would take me towards home, I looked to my right and saw a young couple walking down the hill toward the Algiers Courthouse. He had a bushy beard and a dark suit on. She was wearing red flats, a knee-length white dress and a short veil. They were holding hands, and I smiled at them without thinking. They waved in return. They looked so beautiful walking in the sunlight.
I wonder. Do you?
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Where I been, what I seen
I've been running around of late and haven't been riding the ferry as much as I would have liked, but I have been collecting snippets of fun here and there.
Since last we spoke...
I went to the National Aquarium and saw a cool jellyfish exhibit!
And I splashed in the Gulf of Mexico!
And I saw a ton of beautiful things and people on the ferry when I wasn't gawking at jellyfish or getting my toes wet.
Like a man with an iguana on his back. He rode in with the nimble lizard on his head but I couldn't sneak a pic then!
And I saw a pair of perfect rainbow shoes!
Which reminds me, I ALSO saw a perfect rainbow from my office window!
I watched the night roll in with an inky purple that made sky and water indistinguishable.
Then I saw the City come alive in lights.
I watched a huge orange bullet streak across the water.
I finally learned what a Pelican State is.
So, yes. It's been a good couple of weeks.
Since last we spoke...
I went to the National Aquarium and saw a cool jellyfish exhibit!
And I splashed in the Gulf of Mexico!
And I saw a ton of beautiful things and people on the ferry when I wasn't gawking at jellyfish or getting my toes wet.
Like a man with an iguana on his back. He rode in with the nimble lizard on his head but I couldn't sneak a pic then!
And I saw a pair of perfect rainbow shoes!
Which reminds me, I ALSO saw a perfect rainbow from my office window!
I watched the night roll in with an inky purple that made sky and water indistinguishable.
Then I saw the City come alive in lights.
I watched a huge orange bullet streak across the water.
I finally learned what a Pelican State is.
So, yes. It's been a good couple of weeks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)