Like Saturday, yesterday was an irresistible, sunny, 76-degree day for walking around the college lake. Others thought so, too.
Three young mothers, one pushing a baby stroller designed to hold two babies, walked briskly and talked about the advantages and disadvantages of hybrid automobiles and alternative fuels.
A man fished unsuccessfully from the bank, casting, moving on, casting again, and moving on again, as he made his way around the lake.
A baby, about a year old, sat on her mother's lap wailing and clinging to her for safety from advancing ducks.
An older woman in a lawn chair helped her granddaughter bait a pink Barbie fishing rod.
A middle-aged woman in shorts and t-shirt jogged past us several times in her quarter-mile rounds on the paved path.
A student sat on a large rock doing homework.
A huge white and orange carp lazily floated close to the surface near the bank.
A large turtle, head pointed skyward, basked on a tree stump in the lake.
After a couple of rounds, Mother was ready to sit in the van while I walked a couple of more rounds at a faster pace. When I arrived at the van, I saw that the young women were packing the stroller into a car trunk while continuing to chatter.
They paid no attention to me as I slipped past them and opened the van door. Where was Mother? She wasn't in the van. Maybe the van was too warm and she'd gotten out. But the windows were down. Wait. I hadn't rolled the windows down, and Mother couldn't have, because I had the keys in my pocket. What's that on the seat? Literature to a church I don't belong to. Whoa!! This wasn't my van!
Profuse apologizing to the young women. Although I had no trouble observing everything else on my walk around the lake, apparently I couldn't recognize my own van.
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