Some thoughts on my Sunday morning bike ride:

At 75, it was a few degrees warmer than yesterday morning with a marked bump in the humidity, too, but pleasant for riding.

There was a thumping bass coming through the back walls of the strip mall near the LaGrange library. It is Sunday morning at the local satellite branch of a “mega-church.”

There were a few flocks of geese in their familiar V shape formation. Most of the geese around here are permanent residents. They were born here and this is their home. I did note that they were all, coincidentally, flying south which brought forth some late summer longings for fall.

I am getting the hang of which type of fellow exerciser on the trail welcomes a smile or a “Good morning,” although the runners with a face that says “I am in hell right now. Leave me alone!” get nothing from me. Kids are usually friendly even with parents who are not. Guess they haven’t yet learned to scowl and avoid eye contact. What’s wrong with these people? Do they think I’m going to ask them for money? (Is my fly open? Better check. No, no, no – not NOW Brown!)

The police post at the state prison is not too far from my bike trail – about a mile as the goose flies. When I first started riding in the spring my interest in all things radio led me to notice their red and white tower was visible over the trees. It had been there on Highway 146 as long as I can remember. Today it was gone. CORRECTION! 8/19/19 – Your friendly blogger was looking from the wrong perspective. The tower stands as usual! This is why I would never have made a good reporter OR the guy who calls in bombing strikes.

As I left the library parking lot for home I noticed I had picked up a bright green hitchhiker on my truck windshield. A Katydid was firmly planted on the glass. How firmly? I wondered. 25 mph was nothing to Katy. When the speed limit picked up to 35 I expected her to pop right off. Just past the Circle K store the speed picks up to 55. Get ready to say goodbye, Katy! Nope. She turned into the wind and crouched into an aerodynamic shape. Let’s see what 60 will do. I’ll risk going a little over the limit – for science! Her wings fluttered and she waved her legs in the air like she was swimming underwater. Whatever it is on the bottom of her feet that holds her to slick glass in gale force winds is simply amazing. So, she has left her home in LaGrange and is now a resident of our wooded ridge. Hope she likes it here. We do.

All of this transpired with Beethoven’s Symphony #6, “Pastoral” playing from the speaker strapped to the crossbar of my bike. The host of the classical music channel introduced the piece with this Beethoven quote:

“How happy I am to be able to wander among bushes and herbs, under trees and over rocks; no man can love the country as I love it. Woods, trees and rocks send back the echo that man desires.”

They won’t be playing this at the mega-church, but they should.

There are times when you just want to scrawl on a wall the way you feel about certain things. I guess that is why blogs and journals are so popular. Not because they are widely read but because they give satisfaction to the writer.

At times like those I sometimes think of the granite monument in Grant County, Kentucky erected by Curtis G. Lloyd. One side reads “Curtis G. Lloyd Monument – Erected in 1922 by himself for himself during his life to gratify his own vanity.”

I do not expect anyone to agree with me. This is purely personal. Before I start, I want to state that I can hear my daughter’s voices in my head saying “Wow, Dad. That’s random!” Yes it is, but I must write it.

I love classical music, but I don’t love ALL classical music.

I dislike most organ pieces, the majority of choral works and I particularly dislike the genre described as “Americana” – written to evoke images of Huck Finn, The Old South, Ma Kettle or dancing cowboys.

I also tune away from “American In Paris,” “On The Town,” and Mozart’s twelve variations on “Ah vous dirai-je, Maman” (also adapted into Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Baa Baa Black Sheep, The Alphabet Song etcetera, etcetera.)

I loathe “Peter And The Wolf,” “Amahl And The Night Visitors,” and nearly any oboe solo.

So, there. Got that off my chest. It serves no purpose except for my own gratification – but there it is. Put that in granite.

Thought:

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“The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star-by-star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?” 

Oscar Wilde

Thought of the day provided by Thomas Brown – Madwillow Creekhouse.