DUCK TAILS - Amsterdam Canal

San Francisco

22 October, 2014

"Lost in Amsterdam? No problem! Just follow this canal to the tram line, turn right, walk until you get to another canal..."
Such are directions, for it seems as though just about everything is located on or near one of those canals.

One day, many years ago, while walking along a canal in Amsterdam, I came upon a couple of discarded loaves of Turkish bread lying on the bank. I spied some ducks swimming nearby and decided to pass the time by giving the bread to them and seeing the pieces fall into the canal, they all flocked to me without my making a sound. 

I began to make a quacking noise while they were feeding, just for fun. (I am quite easily amused…)

I still had plenty bread left, so I began to stroll further along the canal, bread in hand. 

As I walked, I noticed the ducks swimming along behind me in a line, and here and there others joined the flock. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was the bread I carried with me - not my silly quacking, my charming personality nor wit that lured these creatures ever onward. 

The Leprechaun that surely is my alter ego could not resist some shenanigans - all in good fun, don't you know! 

As I strolled along leading my new-found friends, and gaining new ones all the while, I again proceeded to quack away as happy as you please! The scene was reminiscent of the Pied Piper - with a few minor changes having been made to the story.

As merrily I did gang "along the banks of the Royal Canal" I realized that I was not alone in my mirth, for as my web-footed friends sought to keep me company all on the one side, along the other, in the cobblestone street that ran along the canal, a line of cars with some mystified occupants, plus a few curious walkers and lasses on their bicycles did a;so follow along, smiling all the while.
They waved and likewise I waved back, "the day being pleasant and charming."

I thought about how political movements had, from time to time during our history, arisen from one person having an idea, others following blindly not because of the idea, but for what each could get out of it. And still others blindly followed along behind them simply for the amusement and pleasure of the association. 

All you need is one person who thinks he understands life - or says he does - and others will quickly follow - yet they know not nor care why.

By the time I arrived at my hotel, I found I had but the smallest crumb left, which I tossed to my web-footed friends as a token of parting. There being no more bread and the journey across the city completed, I left the ducks where I found them, the traffic of onlookers disbursed, and the lovely Dutch girls on their bicycles likewise pressed on, no doubt amused at the spectacle. 

The stroll along the canal that day could have been just a mere walk, and I would have arrived at my destination just as quickly, but I chose - I chose to make it an event - bizarre though it may have been.

If by doing so two pieces of bio-degradable litter got recycled, some ducks got fed, and I brought a smile to a few of the townspeople with my frivolity, then so be it. If I left that fair city for just a few brief moments an ever so slightly happier place than when first I found it, then that makes me all the gladder I came.   

Remember, it's not the destination… it's the journey! 

Pointe d'Eglise Stopover

October 16, 2014
Houston, TX


Nearly forty years ago, I had a job which required me to make sales calls throughout the entire state of Louisiana, as well as Southern Mississippi.

I began to work in my territory, getting to know the state one small town at a time. My first few weeks I worked in what is known as "Cajun Country." This consists of a number of counties - called Parishes, whose predominant ethnic group consists of people who claim ancestry in a faraway place called Acadie, in present-day Nova Scotia, Canada.

I was excited to get acquainted with these folks, whom I had only read about in books. I knew they spoke French, and so did I, so I figured we'd get along just fine. I'd show up at a lumber company early in the morning, and sit and have a cup of nice, hot, strong coffee and listen to those old guys speak a dialect of French that hasn't been heard in its mother country in nearly 300 years! It was a pleasure to hear it. However, by the time 9am rolled around, these men were gone off to work, and it was English-only for the rest of the day. The city of Lafayette had become a predominantly English-speaking city.

One day much later, I ventured deeper into the area, and went to a place called Church Point, also known by locals as Pointe d'Eglise. I called on a company called Evangeline Brokerage.  Everybody there spoke French, but the man I needed to see, a Mr. Brouillette, was not there. So I sat down and wrote him a note, IN FRENCH, saying I was sorry to have missed him, and if he didn't mind, I'd be passing that way in a few weeks and I'd like to see him.

Well, I was true to my word, and when I walked in, the ladies all remembered me. They smiled and one of them got up. She returned a few minutes later with an older, well-dressed gentleman, who came up to me, and with a smile on his face as big as Texas, extended his hand and gave me a firm, honest handshake - the kind I rarely got out in the business world. We exchanged pleasantries, and he stopped and excused himself for a moment, then returned with a piece of paper in his hand; it was my note.

That mile-wide smile came across his face once again, and he asked: "Before we continue, could you tell me what you wrote here?"

I was stymied. "Well, just what it says." I replied, matter-of-factly.

"Would you mind reading it to me?"

I agreed, and did so.

"Ah, HAH!" he exclaimed, chuckling a bit.

"I don't understand..." I commented, as I saw a look of great satisfaction come across the gentleman's face.

"You know," he explained, "my mother tongue is French. But, " he added, "we were never taught to read or write it. We were only taught to read and write English. So when I saw this note, well, I just didn't know what to make of it! I had no idea what it was all about until you read it to me just now."

We had a nice conversation, that old gentleman and I. He told me that when he was a boy, it used to take a whole day to get from where the Interstate Highway runs to where his place of business stands. That trip took me only ten minutes. To hear him talk, well, it was just like being there in those long-ago days.

The business concluded, it was time for me to go, and that was the last time I was ever in that town.
I don't know - or remember the man's first name, but I do have some very pleasant memories of a man whose smile was wide, whose handshake was firm, and whose character as honest as can be found anywhere.

They don't make people like that any more.

Moonrise Over San Francisco

San Francisco

8 October, 2014

"Au Clair de la lune… 

…je suis dans mon lit..."

Dark came over San Francisco, or at least the dark of night, but the lights of the buildings, streets, and cars all fight back, and together produce an incandescent glow that is reflected by nearby clouds.

The TV was blaring - droning on and on. Tiring of the same things being said over and over, I glanced out of my hotel window onto the city as it spread before me. 

     But tonight I noticed a light coming from amid the skyscrapers - a light that was not there before. 

I watched as it grew in size and intensity, and at the same time moving out from among the concrete and glass towers to finally reveal itself: it was the full moon rising!

The perfect roundness of the huge orange disk was a sight to behold. 

I wasted no time. I quickly turned off the television and lamps in the room, and watched this nighttime spectacle unfold.

Then, from over the waters nearby, a thick fog formed a blanket slowly covering the moon - until the bright orb disappeared from view. It reappeared, then just as quickly disappeared again. 

For a few brief seconds, the clouds began to swirl, forming a ring around the moon - like some giant eye in the sky, gazing down on the earth. 

The restless clouds continued to grow thicker and thicker, eventually enveloping parts of the city. 

All this I saw while I lay down on my bed, tired from a long flight. 

I tried to take a picture of this magnificent sight, but, alas, what came out was just a blur. 

So this is my word-picture of a moonrise over San Francisco.