duck pride

All spring, I'd been wondering where the baby ducks were. I kept scouring the pond, looking for signs of females and their babies, but no luck.

About three weeks ago I finally gave up on the ducklings, figured maybe it was just too lean of a year. . . but then today! Two mother ducks swam in formation with nine adorable ducklings around the fountains of the pond.

Today was also the pride festival in Albany. Guess the ducks were finally ready to come out. . .

the muskrat waddle of shame

Saw a muskrat by the river trail yesterday. He was fine until I slowed down-- I think my staring made him uncomfortable. He waddled away in a way that made it seem he could stand to lose a few pounds, but I guess that awkwardness just comes with being a muskrat. All the substance of the beaver without the glory of the tail.. .

(on second glance, though, looks like a few muskrats have shed their humble beginnings)

just plane fun.

one kid to another while traveling: "why you always crying? you miss everything!"

man next to me, who was from montreal: "when my kids were little, we stopped in albany all the time. we ate at that place-- crossgates? yeah, the mall! oh yeah, albany's a great place." 

Trains, Planes, and Zoning Out

I think part of what's freeing about travel is the lack of to-dos. Sure, there are the preparatory tasks of booking the trip, ensuring that your boarding passes are printed and the luggage properly stowed, but the time of travel itself-- waiting for the plane or train, then sitting on it-- has already been budgeted for travel. Simply sitting in your seat marks an accomplishment-- check! You're traveling!

I feel most fulfilled during travel when I set my mind to what the trip has freed me to pursue: Nothing. A blank stare, soaking in new surroundings, letting my mind lapse into its own subconscious. . . In non-travel times, I too often only welcome this passive meditation on life during long runs or bike rides. Travel is their equivalent, the calm exception to my constantly swirling thoughts.

Yet, it's in these times of stillness that my mind moves the most, leapfrogging problems and exposing the fluidity of obstacles I'd always assumed solid. Travel's waiting periods are for the impatient a time of forced meditation. Makes you wonder, what's so bad about waiting after all?

sleepy drift of autumn

I like how we fall asleep in fall. Not Rip van Winkle style, but not that familiar nightly sleepiness either; rather, we slowly drift off to a slower pace of life.
I love that. As leaves and plants die around us, as bugs go dormant and squirrels search for sustenance to bury in their secret stashes, and as the warm air rushes out to make wind for the cold and leaves blustery days in its wake, we all retreat into our shells of indoor shelter, family time, and a slower, more carefree sense of self.

Every season has its own stresses and releases. Summer is warm, lets you blow off steam outside, and remains synonymous(often ironically, sadly) with "vacation." Yet, those hot days bring with them bugs that sting and bite, hot weather that suffocates even the most fervent outdoor enthusiast, and wet, wet, wet weather (here in the Northeast of course-- obviously not so much of a factor in other regions).

But fall! The weather is often wet, yes, but only temporarily so. The cold air refuses to hold the heavy moisture that tugs down the droopy summer air. We are left with crisp, even if wet, days that beckon even the most content coach potato to wander outside, even if the weather harbors menacing intentions. . . for instance, we had dinner with friends last night and mentioned how beautiful the day was. They stared in disbelief. Apparently, one town over, it thunderstormed all day. The sunny, breezy, perfect fall weather that lured us and our bicycles outside didn't shine 20 minutes away from us.

And this, despite its unfairness, is the beauty of fall. For every time that we end up under the rainclouds, we end up another time in the sun. While those stormy days might seem a waste in a summertime full of planed outdoor fun, those cloudy days invite a certain sleepiness of the season in the fall. I welcome the dreariness. It's somehow becoming to the character of the season.

I'm lost, full of dry color, in an autumnal drift. . .

Unpave the Parking Lot

On my walk to school, I pass through a strip mall. It's between one of Albany's main roads (four whole lanes! I love small cities), and the university, so walking through it helps keep my vulnerable pedestrian self away from main thoroughfares.

A friend of mine who actually grew up in Albany (I'm a newcomer) pointed out to me one day this spring that this strip mall-- excuse me, "shopping plaza"-- is one of the more uppity strip malls in the area.

Once I gave up trying to understand the the compatibility of "upscale" and "strip mall," I moved on to the sadness of this reality. A "trendy" place for people in the area to visit, complete with local bakeries, restaurants, grocers, and even a non-local Starbucks, was a U-shaped, fifty year-old strip mall whose fancy stores enclosed a massive parking lot.

The buildings themselves are not the problems; walking beneath the awnings is pleasant and comfortable, glancing at fellow shoppers/eaters/wanderers gains you greetings, often from familiar faces.

It's that massive parking lot, that center of the community that we are supposed to overlook, but that seems to swallow your consciousness as you sit in the outdoor seating of these quaint shops. Cars and buses drive by, and by, and by; the parking lots spaces fill and empty, fill and empty, and your lunchtime view becomes awashed with bright sunlight reflecting off car windows (or, more often, a mural of rained upon automobiles).

I complain not to snottily snub cars, but to suggest an alternative. This ample parking space could be minimized; there is office parking behind the U-shaped plaza that never fills, and the massive lot could bear a reduction in size, as well.

If, in place of this parking lot, we tore up the asphalt and re-planted grass and flowers, the Strip Mall-- sorry, Plaza -- would seem much more like a plaza than the car-centric current parking-lot-surrounded-by-shops.

Children, families, college students and the elderly could romp, walk, or play in the new tranquil green space. Those dining in the out-of-doors could look onto this peaceful green environment in the summertime, or onto the pure, silent snow during winter months. Businesses would not suffer from the reduced parking thanks to the aesthetic pleasure the shopping center would now provide.

Buses would still service the Plaza, with enhanced ridership due to the minimal parking. Locals, as well as students at the nearby university would hop on the transit rather than drive themselves, not motivated to deal with the headache of parking.

Now a park and a shopping area, the Plaza could become a real community center, complete with a natural respite from the city like the European plazas of yore. The neighboring mega-mall would suffer from the increased visitation to this locally-run, locally-shopped mall-- which would now be a "mall" in the open-air, communal gathering space sense of the term (think D.C).

If we "paved paradise and put up a parking lot" in the 1950s and 1960s, can't we at least think about re-planting paradise now? Let's start by transitioning to greenspace facilities that already exist.

Yet another reason why grist is amazing.

Devastation photos from this week's earthquake:
http://www.grist.org/list/2011-08-23-photos-of-devastation-from-the-east-coast-earthquake