“Mushrooms were the roses in the garden of that unseen world, because the real mushroom plant was underground. The parts you could see – what most people called a mushroom – was just a brief apparition. A cloud flower.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Year of the Flood
Mushrooms along the creek in back of my house.
When I was a little kid, my parents had a friend that knew what eatable mushrooms looked like, in contrast with poisonous ones. We lived next to a golf course and I remember him coming over with some others, they woke me up at four in the morning and we headed out to the golf course with flashlights and little plastic buckets. I’m not sure why (or even if I remember this accurately) but there were mushrooms everywhere. I didn’t even need my flashlight – it was if they glowed in the moonlight. We filled up our buckets and headed home. The expert examined the pile… one by one, to insure we all had “good” mushrooms.
What an odd memory. Maybe it never even happened… but I hope it did. I don’t remember eating the mushrooms… but back in those days the adults kept the delicacies for themselves.
“We can’t be afraid of change. You may feel very secure in the pond that you are in, but if you never venture out of it, you will never know that there is such a thing as an ocean, a sea. Holding onto something that is good for you now, may be the very reason why you don’t have something better.”
― C. JoyBell C.
Pond at the end of my block, Huffhines Park, Richardson, Texas
I’ve been working hard, riding my bicycle from five to ten miles every day. It’s getting really hot, but luckily, you make your own breeze on the bike and it’s possible to get some riding done in the heat. Staying hydrated is the key. I carry two water bottles and a big liter container full of iced water in a bag and that helps. As the summer gets worse, I’ll start wearing a hydration pack – though the thing is a pain to fill and to keep clean.
What I do when it gets hot is to ride a bit, then stop, rest, drink some water and maybe read some on my Kindle. Ten miles and three short stories seems to be a nice bit of morning’s work.
I still feel stupid riding around, but I’m getting used to that. Feel stupid, look stupid – after a while it’s all the same – you have to do what you have to do. It’s more a matter of survival than of vanity.
Sometimes I carry a small point-and-shoot along with me, though I don’t see much worth pointing at or shooting. I did run across this car. I’m not a car expert or a connoisseur of automobiles but this one looks pretty darn cool.
If it has the original engine inside – it’s the same age as the one on my bicycle.
Off to the side of the Dallas Farmer’s Market is a store that I am very familiar with. It sits on a sharp corner and has a tin-roofed building and high rows of steel shelving outside. It’s a Mexican import extravaganza called Amigos Pottery. They have a factory in Mexico and produce a bewildering array of artwork and such – pottery, statuary, chimeneas, wall hangings, welded steel, fountains, and mixed combinations of all of these.
Long ago I bought a chimenea there – I’ve bought some planters, and we’ve purchased a bunch of decorative stuff over the years. Today, my friend and I wandered around with our cameras – shooting in the cramped aisles full of… all sorts of stuff.
Big digital SLRs always attract attention and a guy working there asked me for copies of my photos for his website.
I’ll send him an email as soon as I can find what I did with his business card.