A Walk In The Park...

It's been one of those days when things get a little weird. Not bad weird or good weird, just weird. It'd be easy enough to say what all went on, but it would almost sound whiney, and it really wasn't a bad day. Just...aggrevating and...weird. Let's just say it entailed half-hour long phone calls to walk me through computer stuff while listening to my friend Kevin calling on my cell phone about some weirdness he was going through. Let's face it, when one deals with any kind of government agency, no matter how large or small, and computers and paperwork, it's bound to get weird.

So this afternoon, I decided to go for a walk through the nearby park. My son, J., decided to go, too. He grabed my new cell phone that my daughter, M.H., had gotten for me. It has all sorts of features, one of which makes it great for geocaching, something J. has been interested in for a while.

We got to the park, then started heading off in different directions, he toward the horse trails through the woods that I usually use mainly on my holiday walks, while I headed south along a path that I frequently go on. But at the last minute, I detoured and caught up with J.

Turns out, he wanted to check a few spots that the geocache site said were in the woods. He'd never found any of the stuff from the site, but that hasn't stopped him from checking it out, anyway.

We wandered through the woods, both on and off the path, looking for stuff. "What sort of stuff is used for geocaching?" I asked.

"Just stuff," came his response. Sometimes it's stuff in baggies--a pad of paper and pen, a couple of dime-store toys. Sometimes it's stuff that can fit into a film canister. You just never know. But if you find something, you're supposed to leave it where you found it, then, when you're back on the computer, you check in and report what was found and where.

We wandered around for maybe half an hour before heading back. Since it had rained heavily a few days ago, much of the trail was muddy; some of it had huge puddles stretching across it. We finally had to head back, since we really could go no further.

A little way back, I spotted something just off the path and pointed it out to J. "Could that be something from the geocache site?" He checked the phone's GPS and said that there was something nearby on the site.

Turned out what I saw was simply a discarded food container. But a little farther, we spotted a baggie with a pad of paper, a pen, and a few odds and ends. A waterproof camera sat nearby. We opened the bag, saw that the pad had been signed by quite a few geocachers. We signed it - no real names, of course, but as his geocache name "and friend" (me), as well as the date. We opted out of taking any pictures, though. Long story, but we figured it'd be safer that way.

On the way home, we talked about how cool that was, finding the geocache stuff. "I think I want a cell phone like this," J. told me.

All I know for sure is that after a very weird day, a walk in the park was just what was needed.

Take a Hike...

There was a time when I would manage to get out for a walk or run most mornings. Even when I was in an off mood - or maybe especially if I was in one - I'd lace up my running shoes and head out. It almost always improved my mood.

Unfortunately, as much as I'd sworn I'd get back to walking or running on a daily basis, things (read: life) happens. Jobs come up - definitely a good thing, especially when it comes to paying bills. Weather gets a little dicey. Early morning appointments come up. What was it John Lennon said? Something about, "Life is what happens when we're busy making other plans"?

Yesterday was one of my work days. It's only three hours a day, three days a week, along with an extra hour over the weekend. A few extra hours would help, but I'm sure not knocking it. But then there were a few errands that needed running. J. wanted to come along, but he needed a shower, first. Later, there were problems with M. getting picked up from work and I spent an hour or so attached to the computer and phone, trying to get him picked up. And then...and then...and then...Sound familiar? Yeah, we all have days when we feel like we haven't really gotten anything constructive done, but you blink and think, Geez, where'd the day go?

During the hour or so I was trying to get M.'s ride worked out, several people walked by. Not just aimlessly wandering, but walking for exercise, getting the heart rate up, getting fresh out, out there walking, and it clicked. While I prefer exercising in the morning, I could conceivably get out in the late afternoon. Please keep your Well, duh! comments to yourself; my snarky inner voice is way ahead of you.

After M. finally got home, I grabbed my Converse high tops - not my usual running shoes, but that's fine - and put them on.

"You're going out?" J. asked. "Now?"

"Yup," I replied.

He mulled this over a minute or so before asking, "You were planning on spaghetti tonight, right? I'll put the water on at seven."

I thanked him and headed out.

There's one route I use when time is limited. It's a mile out, a mile back, mostly cross-country. Takes all of maybe a minute or so to get out of the neighborhood and into the back entrance of a local park. Once there, there are any number of directions to go. Heading south along a dirt path, there was a stand of cypress trees to the right. They're in a retention area. Most of the time, the ground is dry, but during Florida's rainy season, the trees are suddenly in a small pond. This time of year, their leaves brown up before falling.





On the left is a drainage ditch, with a stable on the other side of the ditch. For a while, there was one lone horse in this particular stable, though the owners have now rented out all the stalls. It's always interesting to see the activity around the place. Late afternoons and weekends seem to be the busiest times.



After crossing a three-lane street (yes, three lane - one heading west, one east, and the center as a turn lane for either direction), the path shifts a little. The ditch is now on the right, separating the dirt path from the back side of a small community of townhouses, which then ends and another property with stable and horses begins.



On the left are woods, a pond, and a house set far-off-the-beaten-path. Originally built in the early part of the twentieth century, it was moved to its current site maybe 15 years ago, give or take.

This part of the path is great for contemplation: there's very little noise one would associate with heavily populated areas, lots of wind-in-the-tree-type-rustling, birds, an occasional whinny from the nearby horses. Occasionally, I'll even hear the raucous cry from the nearby peacocks that roam the area.

As I walked along, my mind wandered. I even got the chance to try out the camera feature of my new cellphone that my daughter, M.H., had picked up, posting a couple of photos on Facebook.

I finally made it to the far end of the path, where it hit a two-lane road. Turning right or left would have taken me along areas where a few large houses with acres and acres and stables are, while straight ahead would have taken me to a small horse park, replete with wetlands and a boardwalk through the woods. Instead, I turned to head back.

About this time, my cellphone rang. It was J., letting me know that he'd just put the water on for the spaghetti.

"Any idea how long 'til you're home?" I told him where I was and that it'd probably be another fifteen minutes before I'd be there. "I can see a car's headlights in the distance," he told me. "They look like they're from that moved-in house." They were. Someone was just leaving the property.

"I'm about to pass that house," I told him.

We chatted a few minutes before he wandered back inside to deal with fixing dinner.

When I hit the neighborhood again, I saw one of our neighbors. She was walking a small dog that I'd never seen before. Turns out she and her husband had just adopted Gus a month or two ago.

"I've never had a small dog before," she told me. "But when I saw this guy at the pet rescue place, it was love at first site." We talked as we headed north toward our respective homes, with Gus occasionally coming up to me so I could scratch his head. We parted company at our driveways.

By this time, the spaghetti and garlic bread were ready. For some strange reason, I didn't mind washing the dishes afterwards. Somehow, having someone else fix dinner while I'm out walking seemed to help.

I'd try that again this evening, but two nights in a row might be pushing it. But evening walks are definitely something I'll consider when mornings get too hectic.

Double the Fun, or Yes, She Fixed Her Car

My daughter had to replace the handles to her car. The outside door handle on the driver's door broke a while back, followed a few months later, by the other front door handle. One could still open the front doors to the car, it was just a little tricky. M.H. and her husband B. had pretty much mastered the trick of getting into the car, but then, they got enough practice with it. Anyone else (read: friends or certain over-50-year-old relatives) had problems opening the doors.

Recently, M.H. ordered replacement parts for both doors with the idea of fixing the doors herself. While they weren't the right color - the car is white, the handles, black - they were a decent enough price. Add to that the fact that if she did the work herself, it would be a lot cheaper than taking it to a garage to pay for someone else to do the job.

This afternoon, after starting a couple of loads of laundry at my place, we set off to run a couple of errands, then came home, where M.H. announced that she wanted to fix the doors. Today.

This isn't the first time M.H. has had to deal with fixing this car. However, this time, I had nothing to do with jinxing her car. Also, this time was a more do-able fix.

M.H> went online and checked a video on YouTube on how to fix the handle. Seemed pretty straight-forward. Back out at the car, the tool and new car part came out and slowly, painstakingly, the door came apart.

Finally, the only part that needed to come out was the handle itself. This entailed seemily contorting one's hand and/or tools around metal to reach the brackets. At that point, the one tool that M.H. to do this job - the only tool that fit - came apart, with the end falling into the door. Of course, it wasn't the part of the door with the entire panel off, where all she would have had to do was to reach down and pick the part up. Noooo... It fell down into essentially a narrow metal well-like area.

"Really?" M.H. said. "It had to fall there?"

After several minutes of trying to get the part out, J. offered to try his hand at snagging the part. He'd already helped helped get a stubborn bolt that wouldn't budge off. Sure enough, he managed to fish the part out using a flat-head screwdriver.

A side note: There are certain family members who have not been mentioned today who get confused by the terms flat-head screwdriver and Phillips-head screwdriver. While it seems obvious to me which is which (the flat-head one is self-explanatory, while the Phillips one is obviously the other one), this explanation doesn't seem to help. However, if I tell this particular person, "Hand me the minus-sign screwdriver," or "The plus-sign screwdriver is on the desk; could you get it for me?", I'll get the right one. Think about if for a minute...without laughing. I dare you...

So, part restored, M.H. got back to work putting changing the offending door handle before starting to put the door back together.

As she got the handle back into place, the end of the same tool came off again, falling into the same darn metal well!

"No way! You've got to be kidding!" she exclained as we exchanged aggrevated looks. This time, J. couldn't quite reach it. M.H. had no luck, either. She could touch the thing, but not in a way to be able to pull it out. Maybe if she took that part of the door apart again...but she needed that tool to do that.

Suddenly, I got an idea. We'd kicked around the idea of using Sculpey to keep stuff together while working on the door. Sculpey is a type of polymer clay that comes in really cool colors. Once you make something with it, whether beads, mini sculptures, or whatever, you bake it in your oven. Very addicting stuff. And it might just be what could give M.H. enough reach with the right amount of stickiness to snag the part.

Of course, by the time I brought the stuff out, the tool part was out. Fifteen minutes later, the door was back together.

"The other door can wait," M.H. decided. I wasn't going to argue.

We both agreed that the second door should be easier. She'd already stumbled through the first door, and did a decent job, not to mention the money she saved by doing it herself. (I'd changed a starter relay for my last car, a 1986 Crown Vic, by myself and know I saved at least $200 by doing so; you wouldn't believe the nonsense I heard from several mechanics when I asked for a price to change it out.)

Here's hoping it won't need another fix for a while. But at least M.H. knows how to change the door handle. Not too shabby, if you ask me.