Two-meat platter: live bait and brisket.
“You wear boots?”
It was a late night question, as I left the BBQ place, me gripping a carton of brisket in one hand and to-go box of brisket (for the cat) in the other hand.
I waved my arms around.
“Boots or sandals, all I’ve got, you’ve seen me in winter wear before?”
Apparently not.
The so-called “Fall Season” has been balmy, to say the very least. Tuesday afternoon, it rained. Then the sun popped back out, and it looked like there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Sitting on the patio, it started to rain a bit and we moved under the shelter of the patio’s cover. Back against the wall, a silent stage at one end, it was story time. Something about growing up in Texas, something about the way a place infects the soul.
“I just can’t live anywhere else,” my buddy was explaining.
The moon was a few degrees away from being full, as I swinging along the trail on the way home. The recent rain left the grass damp, the full moon combined with Austin’s Moon Light Towers cast an eerie glow to the landscape, the water ruffled by the almost standard breeze out of the southeast. I peeled out of my shirt and wrapped it around the bait and brisket.
I first saw this sig file from an Aquarius from Ft. Worth. Might not be original, but that’s the first I saw of it, “Where are we going and what am I doing on hand basket?”
For one, shining moment, someplace on the trail last night, I was so far removed from the problems of the world. Gentle camaraderie, a perky Leo server, decent smoked platter full of tasty bits, life was all right.
Matter of perspective.
Might’ve been that last cup of coffee, too, just up the hill at Bouldin. I requested a little double shot of espresso. I think I got about four shots.
Or it could’ve been the way the Leo served the dessert, heaped with ice cream. Not that I should, but I did do an extra turn on the trail, on the way home.
Two-meat Tuesday ideas
I’ve got two pictures, taken more than a year ago. I don’t know why I took the pictures, I don’t know what motivated me, and I’ve toted these images around for some time.
As I’ve been poking through Neal Stephenson’s System of the World, those images have come back to haunt me. That street, that hill, that alley, plays a part in the novel. I have no idea what the connection is, either. Just images culled from the old hard drive here.
Sunday evening, I was shopping for a particular gift for Pa Wetzel, a rather simplistic piece of electronic gear, and I got sidetracked, looking at digital cameras. The damn phone takes pictures. Plus I’ve got a “disposable” digital camera, bought in the same place I was shopping, and that camera still works. Works flawlessly with a Mac, I might add. Find the right cable, plug it in, and the computer can read just about any camera. That’s cool. So I don’t need another camera, but that one store? It did have a cool, slim, portable, tiny, new camera that was sale-priced at $49.95. Not really much of an improvement over what I’ve got, and to be honest, the best pictures are coming from the phone’s camera, even with its limited ability. No new toys this week. But the idea of new camera? Especially a super-slim one that would fit right in my pocket/ Wait, both of mine do that already. I have to wait until it’s disposed.
The second part of being an online-consumer, I purchased another computer case, in effect, getting ready the winter travel series approaching. Yes, I’m a happy proponent of Timbuk2 baggage/luggage. What sold me was a Leo buddy, Scotsman, and former San Francisco bicycle messenger. At one point, when he wasn’t in jail, he practically lived out of his messenger bag.
It took a couple of tries, but I finally settled on a canvas bag that, as the advertising suggested, has aged gracefully, gently going gray. Since then, the manufacturer has discontinued the heavy canvas. Probably not durable enough in our ultra-high-tech social milieu. So the local DHL service delivered my new laptop tote – to an office down the street.
“Is this Kramer? Good, I’m Steve, and I’m in the mailroom, down the street, and we got a DHL package addressed to you….” East and West. I’m not complaining.
It was easier, and more relaxing, for sure, to walk a few blocks, talk to a security guard, talk to the pert female in shipping and receiving rather than to call up the manufacturer, the carrier, and have them all get worked up. Whip out that tracking number and be a pain. Or, just take a short walk?
I had room for plenty of righteous indignation. I was just my cheerful self, instead. Took a lot less time, and other than the guard? No one was confused.
