Some say that the best plan is not having a plan at all. Hmmmm….
My plan for Friday morning “me time” was to ride my mountain bike somewhere. That soon morphed into me riding dirt roads. Then, somehow, I found myself balls deep in cleaning the kitchen before being drawn to The Bed of Torment to stare at the ceiling and field texts from Wifey, who was left alone in a doctor’s exam room for over half an hour with nothing but her phone, nervous lady bits, an ill-fitting gown, and an eager speculum mocking her from its home next to the cotton balls and tongue depressors.
As I laid in bed, texting my support with Lysol scented sausage fingers, I could feel the want to ride my bike draining from me like life’s last turd. I quickly rolled over, out of bed, and onto my feet with a new plan: I would head to the woods of the Hall’s Lake Natural area with my camera.
Four dumps, a wish for a bidet, and a quick drive later, I was in the parking area of Hall’s spraying down with DEET as the warm mid-morning sun pierced through the trees.
I walked, I tried a few shots, had a few shots fail, and struggled to find anything to grab my attention. As I walked the trails, I scanned the ground for flowers, snakes, frogs, turtles, and bugs. Sadly, all I found were ear-buzzing mosquitos, a bashful spider’s web, and one or two robins diving through the trees trying to be interesting.
I was pretty frustrated. It’s not often that I go into a preserve like Hall’s and don’t see a single critter. The swamps along the trail have turned to lifeless mud pits pockmarked with hoof and paw prints. The ferns are slowly browning, and the wildflowers of spring and early summer have bloomed and gone to wherever they go for the eight months.
Eventually, I headed to the car and home. As I started out, I saw a painted turtle about to complete its slow journey across the road, so I stopped and took a few photos of it. It appeared to be less than thrilled with me thwarting its journey but cooperated well enough and allowed me some one on one critter time (not code for sex).
I headed home, listening to whatever brilliance came out of the Pushkin Industries studios this week, and made a mental note to think about making a plan for Saturday. A mental note that would evaporate a few hours later in a blissful haze mind-numbing substances, the Europa League final, FIFA 20 on the Xbox, and vegan Mexican food. Aside from the day’s subpar photos, Abort the Plan Friday worked out swell.
Like some dead Pope once said, “Who needs a fucking plan?”1.