Well, I don’t know what happened to this post. I wrote it yesterday. Saved it. Thought I had posted it. But it didn’t appear this morning and I couldn’t find it in the archives anywhere. That seems about on par with the way things have been going lately. Sigh!
Anyway, I hadn’t meant to leave that post about the 5K run up all week. It looked a little vain of me, and that wasn’t my plan. (After all, it is only 5 kilometers.) But iPhoto continues to perplex me; it will download some photos and won’t download others. Today you get a photo of a pedestrian alley in an old part of Kansas City known as Westport. It’s a funky part of town with what are believed to be the oldest standing buildings in the city. The Santa Fe Trail begins about a block north of where I took this photo. Behind me as I took the shot is a fine Mediterranean restaurant. Libby and I have enjoyed lunch there together on many Saturdays.
So this is the photo that iPhoto allowed me to download.
I haven’t been to Roundrock is two weeks now, and it looks like it may be at least that long before I get down there again. That’s criminal. The heat and the drought have made it a challenging place to relax and certainly to do any chores. But even in this kind of weather, sitting in the comfy chairs on the shady porch overlooking the shrinking lake would be fine. In fact, if the lake gets low enuf I’ll be able to spread the Bentonite it needs in the places where it is needed. I had the chance to do that last fall but failed to do so. I figured I had all winter to get it done. This time around, should the cosmic forces that rule my life allow it, I will use the next chance I get to apply the Bentonite and maybe finally get a better seal on the bottom of that lake of mine.
Of course those cosmic forces may be taunting and teasing me too. According to the NOAA weather site, Roundrock got nearly an inch of rain yesterday. That’s not enuf to refill the lake, especially with how dry the area is — much of the rainfall would get absorbed into the ground rather than run into the lake bed — but it might make the area that needs the love less accessible for someone carrying a fifty-pound bag of pulverized clay on his back. (Or maybe twenty of those bags.)
Such are the troubles in my humble life. Hardly seem like much when I step back and consider them.