Gunther walks in the park, and other matters.

March 5, 2024

The problem: my muse is an asshole.  There.  I’ve said it.  I’ll dork around without inspiration.  Nonetheless, I’ll tell my story, which is, frankly, dull. Well, depending on your interests.  I am keenly interested in Gunther’s bowel movements (always in a wholesome way).  See, we worry about the little fellow’s quality of life.  That’s why we took him on a walk today to Riverfront Park, here in Billings.  I love the parks here.  Billings may have a dozen parks nearby, some with miles of trails. Sometimes wildlife.

P. drove us to Riverfront about 8 this morning, earlier than usual.  Frost on the car. Snow gone.  Morning traffic.  We drove downtown first to mail a bunch of my books to Todd, who paid for the last printing.  I sent another book to my late cousin Dick’s son, who lives in Tacoma.  I was the only customer in the post office.  I folded my receipt. Postal receipts, these days, print the address you’re sending to. I like that.

Anyway, Riverfront was quiet, except one man whistled for his dog and a flock of Canada geese took wing when Gunther trotted toward them.  Mallards, probably 10-15, swimming east.  Some of the lake was frozen.  We hiked between several ponds with lots of cattails and rushes, but heard no redwing blackbirds.  I heard a familiar bird, though, but I can’t name it.  No robins. No deer.  A man with a dog.  Gunther and the dog drew close, but the other dog was larger than Gunther, and he shied, ran away.  The old man with the dog said nothing, and neither did I, but I think both of us were glad the dogs had a sociable episode.  Circling the lake, we walked about a mile and a third.

It’s been a quiet day. I napped and P. baked bread. About five we opened the 4th Avenue door of the First United Methodist Church, to put homeless families up for the night. It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that, but we do help shelter families who would otherwise have to sleep in their cars. Many nights this week P. sleeps at the Methodist church as a chaperone. I spent a night there too. Several good friends from the nearby First Congregational Church have also volunteered to sleep over as chaperones. I must hastily add that we strictly avoid any proselytizing, or even any mention of religion, icon, writing, symbol, grail, shroud, or temple. Instead, we talk about writing, poetry, jobs, transportation, literature, basketball, military service, and stuff like that.

Last night, I was in the church kitchenette, I think you’d call it, and speaking with Paolo and Nancy. A youngster darted in and out. I mentioned how pleased I was with the youngster because he could “climb around the stair banister and railing like a monkey!”

Paolo smiled. “I delivered him a few years ago, you know.” In fact he is an OB-GYN and Nancy is an OB nurse.