As I was walking to the train station this morning, I thought about how hard it really is to be a blogger. Especially now, with my car still in the shop, I’m not listening to the news during the commute, not finding out about someone’s finger in the soup and what have you that is happening in the world.
I walk under the walnut trees, with their sickeningly sweet walnut fruits rotting under them, trying to come up with something exciting to write, incorporating the walnut allergy I have. I try, and come up with nothing.
I just spend the weekend in Phoenix. I flew in, and arrived at the hotel just after 11:00 am on Friday morning. It was “downtown.” Between Central Station and Chase Field. I was struck by how empty the streets were. Empty. Bare. The streets in our city are more crowded at 2:00 am than the streets of Phoenix at high noon. Maybe it was the fact that there were no Diamondback games, basketball season hasn’t yet started, there was no hockey, and there was no football for another two days. Maybe. Maybe no one wants to go outside in the hot summer sun. Don’t know, but it was sure good to come home.
I think about the pennies, discarded on the streets that I stoop to pick up. Each penny is a month’s worth of interest on a dollar. Well, depending on your rate, it might be a month’s interest on $4. Old Ben Franklin said, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” Old Ben Kenobi said, “This was your father’s light sabre.” I say, “A penny found is a penny earned tax free.”
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This post was tagged with allergy, BART, car, penny, Phoenix, pie hole, walnut.
