The shape was tiny but unmistakable to anyone who has spent years watching for turtles while driving.
Somewhere, deep in a box someplace, I have an original, unused ticket for all three days of the “Woodstock Music & Art Fair,” held 40 years ago this coming weekend. I think I still have it, though I haven’t seen it for years. I hope I do, because I paid for it.
Every so often it seems as if the universe is sending a little message. You never know when it will happen, nor is it easy at first to recognize. In my case, it all began last week when the car started malfunctioning.
From time to time it is claimed in connection with an event — usually a demonstration of some sort — that “the whole world is watching.” Practically always, the whole world isn’t. But the whole world certainly was watching 40 years ago this week.
The roadside memorial always takes me back to that day. It was a Monday, four years ago, a very hot day. The dew point that afternoon was 81 degrees. Anything above 70 is thought to be — and my experience confirms it — uncomfortable. The air was saturated. Just walking to the mailbox and back left me soaked in sweat.
Every so often, the death of a famous person touches one in an unexpected way. That happened to me a little more than a week ago. A true cultural icon, someone who in his small way redefined our lives, had died unexpectedly. He was only 50. His passing left a void that will not soon be filled.
I’m pretty sure that grass isn’t supposed to be brown. But it’s been so long since it was any other color, I’m not quite sure.
The electrical distribution system has always been a mystery to me, but it is capable of becoming even more mysterious.
It looks to me as if this is going to be a banner year for wasps. I’m no expert, but the population of paper wasps seemed higher the first few warm days than it was any time last year. And this year they seem kind of berserk.
One thing the flatlanders have on us is thunderstorms. Not that we don’t have them, but the hills keep us from enjoying them as much. And as a thing of beauty, a good, big, hot-day thunderstorm is without parallel.