Parakeets and Other Fowl Provide Answer

All writers need inspiration when trying to find their niche. A couple days ago I asked for divine help on topics for my daily writing.

The Lord came through with flying colors, literally.

Yesterday, I became discouraged after searching online job boards, so I went down by the lake for a quick workout. While walking at a brisk pace, I had an emotional moment and needed to stop. I wanted to know about my future, what else I could possibly do regarding my job search or my writing.

Old gnarled tree roots that had pushed their way up out of the ground near the water’s edge looked inviting, so I sat on one. The cool breeze coming off the lake prompted me to zip up my jacket. The sound of waves lapping at the shoreline calmed me… somewhat. My gaze fell upon the expanse of lake before me.

As tears brimmed, all I wanted at that moment was to make sense of my current situation.

My eye caught movement in my peripheral vision. A mallard and his mate paddled toward me. They came searching for bread crumbs I did not have.

The answers I was searching for didn’t come either, so I got up and resumed my trek. I had covered quite a distance when I stopped at a cove. A swan skimming slowly across the surface of the water added serenity to the scenic view.

Answers. Where were the answers I so desperately wanted?

I usually find such guidance when I feel closer to God, and I usually get there by first listening to worship music. So, I inserted my earbuds and raised my face toward the warmth of the sun. My soul found peace 15 minutes later even though I still had no answers. I turned off the music and headed home.

The sound of small birds flitting about in some bushes caught my attention. I paused and remembered the scripture about God taking care of these creatures. Even though birds don’t sow, reap, or store food in barns, God feeds them. (Matt 6:26).

I asked myself a question that sounded a lot like the one at the end of that scripture: Doesn’t God promise to take care of me just like He does those birds?

Yes, He does. There was a definite spring in my step as I continued onward.

And then it happened. Fodder for my writing that day.

As I approached the old Filter House, I heard squawking in the treetops and stopped to observe.

Could it be?

I read about a colony of these winged creatures living at White Rock Lake and always wondered if it was an urban legend. Yet, here they were in all their green, beautiful splendor. Monk parakeets!

Out came my iPhone. Click, click, click. I had real proof I’d seen them.

Who would have ever thought of birds? The writing material I had been hunting for came in the form of the avian species. A duck and his mate. A swan. Small birds in bushes. Wild parakeets.

Not only will God take care of me as he does these feathered friends, but I believe He also provided them as my first writing topic after I asked Him for daily themes.

Now that’s something to write about.

Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life….  Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? (Matthew 6:25-26)

Local Physician Voted Instructor of the Year

My most recent article highlights local vascular surgeon who mentors high school students. The students voted him "Instructor of the Year" for 2012. Click here to read in the White Rock Lake Weekly.

Naaman Forest teacher Debra Campbell presents honor to Dr. James Kohn.

 

The Orange Koi and Albino Turtle

Have your legs ever turned cold from sitting too long? Even in the middle of summer?

That’s what happened to me earlier today. And although the temperature outside is in the mid 90s, the Dallas heat does nothing to ward off the chill. That’s because since early this morning, I’ve been sitting inside my apartment doing stuff online. Granted, I haven’t moved around in the last hour, but having the thermostat set at 68 degrees doesn’t help my chilled extremities.

So, I do what any writer who sits too long does. I go for a walk.

As I make my way to White Rock Lake, my skin soaks up the warmth of the sun, helping my legs to thaw.

I live near the spillway on the south side, so in five minutes I’m on the path that circles around the lake. I head up another sidewalk sandwiched between the spillway and an old fish hatchery—most Dallasites don’t even know it exists.

Finally, I arrive at the top of the dam and take in the view across the lake. I pick up my pace and veer left toward the Old Filter House on the far side of the levee.

Turtle heads the size a human thumbs stick-up out of the water. Looking down from my vantage point, I see their Frisbee-size shells beneath the water’s surface and surmise they only like sunning their skulls. Not far from where their heads bob up and down, grayish-color fish feed on the algae at the base of the dam.

An orange movement beside them catches my eye. A kind of translucent, tangerine hue. The only place I’ve ever seen fish that color, size and shape are in garden ponds. You know the kind of pond you linger by outside a Japanese restaurant?

As I continue my walk, I wonder if someone released their aquarium pet into this reservoir. My mind imagines that over time, an ugly gray fish “mated” with a beauty just like the one I saw. Could it be the offspring of such a spawn? Hmm.

Twenty minutes into my exercise, I reach the end of the levee and pivot to retrace my steps. A cyclist is stopped 50 yards ahead peering into the lake. I know he’s looking at the orange fish. He resumes his bike trek toward me. As we meet, I ask if he saw them. He tells me they are Koi, a species of carp. The man isn’t sure how they ended up in the lake either. We say our farewells and I continue on my way.

Another unusual sight stops me in my tracks. One of the bobbing turtle heads is a milky color. Unless this is part of the reptile molting his skin, I believe I’ve just encountered an albino turtle. I stare, amazed. Where is my smart phone when I need it? Quickly, the little guy dives deep, out of sight.

I never see such things when riding my bike around the path. Pedaling at a faster pace leaves no chance of catching those rare flashes of orange. Or albino white. Today God blessed me with nature’s oddities.

But then, maybe those aquatic creatures think I’m the oddball. Walking on a hot Texas day at three o’clock in the afternoon. In 95-degree weather no less. With a toddler-size, pink backpack strapped across my shoulders.

I sure do wish I had a picture of that turtle, but at least my legs aren’t cold anymore.

Don’t ask if my smart phone was in the backpack.

Octogenarian’s Funny Bone

Octogenarian's Funny Bone will bring a smile to your lips.

This is my most recent article posted on Doctors Hospital's website (my byline will appear if it goes to print and is posted online for a local newspaper).

Joggers Couldn't Slow My Pace

I didn’t stick to the plan. What plan is that you might ask? The one I blogged about earlier this month. Let me tell both new and previous visitors why I didn’t adhere to it.

I avoid riding my bike around White Rock Lake on Saturday mornings. The crowds won’t allow for a steady pace at that time of day. My aim is to ride only on weekdays, but I missed the last couple of days and just had to get back out there. Besides, I needed to work off the calories I consumed in the last 48 hours. I surmised that beginning my ride at 6 a.m. would be better than starting off two hours later.

By a fluke, I woke up at 4:30 this Saturday morning. However, I got sidetracked and didn’t leave my place until 6:45. As I rode, I encountered a few walkers, runners and cyclists. My heart rate increased as I pedaled uphill within the first five minutes. I felt exhilaration.

A fisherman stood in his boat flicking his line, his silhouette beautiful against the backdrop of ripples glistening on the water. The morning sun cast a serene glow across the lake as the surrounding landscape slowly came to life. My soul was at peace.

I followed the path around to where it borders the Dallas Arboretum. Botanical scents mingled with the gentle breeze. Aah. What could be more rejuvenating than exercising in such a perfect setting?

Then it happened, suddenly. Joggers appeared out of nowhere in abundance.

No matter what direction you’re headed on the path, you follow the normal flow of traffic in the right lane. Many of the oncoming runners were in their left lane. From my vantage point, that’s their wrong side and my right side!

I weaved in and out of the pedestrians and other cyclists as I pedaled toward the Bath House Cultural Center. At one point, a group of joggers spanned the entire width of the bike path. Did they not read the signs detailing the proper etiquette while using the path? Flinging up my arm, I hoped they would see I was exasperated. Thankfully, they parted like the Red Sea, allowing me to pass through.

The bike path doubles as a seldom-used road near the Bath House. As I approached that Dallas landmark, cars lined both sides of the street. Banners showcasing the name of an athletic retailer alerted me I was in the midst of some sort of group race or run.

I resumed my pace after passing the Bath House crowd and knew I’d meet up with the runners en masse again. Sure enough, the head of the pack came into view near the Mount Vernon mansion. However, this time I avoided the swarm by biking on the street that runs parallel to the path.

I’m grateful there were no collisions. And despite the running event, I made it around the lake in 45 minutes—faster than my last time. That speed is slow in comparison to the pace of the cyclists who race. But, hey, I’m building up my endurance. I’ll get there one day.

Bikers and Critters and Gnats, Oh My!

Pedaling my bike around White Rock Lake is so much better at sunrise than it is at sunset. At the break of dawn, there are very few, if any, swarms of insects that collide with your sunglasses. And you don’t have to worry about gagging since those pesky gnats aren’t around to be sucked in your mouth.

And in case you didn’t know, speeding through a puddle isn’t a bright idea. Water streams off the front tire and hits you smack-dab in the face. Not a pretty sight. Not at all. Avoid the puddles.

Another thing I enjoy about riding in the early hours is the cooler temperature. Even the animals seem to prefer that time of the day. A squirrel on the concrete surely saw me coming toward him this morning. But the little guy held his ground no more than three feet from my tires as I zoomed by. He was more interested in gnawing on a nut than in a bike barreling down on him. And a mallard and his mate a few inches off the path didn’t blink an eye as they rested in nesting positions. Their feathers didn’t even get ruffled as I whizzed by.

I like also that the bike path is not as crowded on a weekday morning as it is on the weekend. Not as many spandex-clad cyclists hunched over racing at breakneck speed, and not as many pedestrians strolling in the middle of the pathway. That combination on any given Saturday morning is an accident

Saying good-bye to my forest friends

Today is my final day to be in this place I have called home for the last four years. Grapevine, my suburban community, could be mistaken for a frontier wilderness with all the wildlife one sees. Just last night I saw another fox, the second one within a month. And here I thought only armadillos, possums, and raccoons visited from the riverbanks and wooded areas!

My new urban apartment is within walking distance of White Rock Lake. Now I’ll have water fowl living nearby as well as four-footed critters.

And I’m excited about the 10-mile bike path that circles the lake. My silver and blue mountain bike has sat idle for too, too long.

Look out, Dallas, here I come!