Clear As Mud

The water flowing from the Central Canal into 

the White River looks as crystalline as one might want, 

but as the sign a few feet away advises, 

looks are deceiving. 

Portrait of a Bus Driver: About the Sixth

I spent Monday at workshops meant to assist me 

to develop my job hunting skills.

The first had one sentence of value to me,

the second was of more use. The work force in this

city is geared more towards the insurance, medical,

technical businesses. My skills are more specialized, 

meant more as support for all of the above -

design for advertising and promotional pieces,

so work is going to be more difficult to find.

I finished the first workshop, then took a bus

back into town to get lunch. 

The bus driver was a picture of concentration 

as she wove through the work day traffic.

Earlier that morning I'd stood at the corner 

of 10th Street and White River Parkway 

to make the connection to get to the workshops.

The structures are storage silos for grain 

storage, specifically corn that the farmers bring

to be dried. On some days the breeze smells like

popcorn, wafting across the river and through

the neighborhoods.

I Lichen Moss

The buses were on detour this morning. 

I missed my connection to make it to swimming practice 

at the Riviera Club, so spent the morning downtown, 

walking along the Canal and River Walk.

Of course, I took a gazillion pictures; I particularly

wanted some of turtles, but except for one determined

fella, there were neither turtles nor herons in sight.

The colors of the lichen and mosses on the

trees and limestone along River Walk

seemed subtle, complimenting each other in

a range of color that reminded me more 

of Fall than of late summer.

But then, autumn is just about a month away.

More from the Canal

The water feature at the end of the Central Canal, 

where the water drains into the White River, is a beautiful place 

on its own. I think I want to go down one day, 

just to sit and watch it change color and character 

as the sun passes over it.

Swimming ...

This photo was taken Thursday evening at about 8 PM 

as my bus traveled west over the White River Bridge at 10th Street.

After I'd completed work I went to the Natatorium to swim for

an hour. Last week, my swimming didn't go as well as I'd

have liked; I couldn't get my stroke co-ordinated or complete

a lap without pausing to reconnoiter my position, so to speak,

and have been a bit discouraged and depressed as a result.
After I told my coach about my difficulties and concerns,
he assigned me to swim 1200 meters, in 100 meter increments.

This is not a difficult task for an experienced swimmer,
but it was new territory for me. He set my interval times then sent
me off and I spent the rest of the hour swimming up and down 
the length of the pool, catching my breath after each completed lap,
then doing it over again. At the end of the evening,
I'd completed about three-quarters of a mile.
I was tired, but the man I'd given permission to kill me
in sixty minute sessions did not do that. 
Instead, he'd asked me to stretch myself a bit, to have
a bit of confidence in myself, and to just ... keep going.