Oops! It's easy to remember to forget things when you're an old guy. I distinctly remembered placing the bottle of vitamins on the counter, and after I'd paid for my order, I picked up the prescription bag, and walked away! Well, no wonder the load I rode home with was so light! The bottle of vitamins probably weighed almost as much as the prescriptions combined (about six or seven ounces).
I road back up the trail this morning, and got my vitamins, which I'd already paid for the previous day. In addition, my wife had asked that I check the bank balance while I was in the area, and so I did.
I decided to explore a subdivision directly behind the bank, and came to the realization that this upscale (by today's measure) subdivision was probably where the bronzed blond bikini hiker, known to a few Flickrs, but maybe not to the general public, must live. It's easy to imagine that someone starting from this cluster if "nice" houses could easily walk a short distance through the woods, and connect with the north shore leg of the Loop Trail, and therefore to the lake.
An eventful morning, so far, and on the way home, my mind was wandering around a letter I'd read in the Kiddierag this morning:
The trouble with labels
Re: May 31 column by Arnold García Jr., "The convenient distraction of claiming Cardozo was Hispanic."
I agree that the meaning of the term Hispanic is slippery. I am an Italian. My father immigrated to the United States.
When I came to Texas, I learned that many Italians immigrated to Mexico. They assimilated with the Mexican culture, and their descendants are as Mexican today as any native born. Even though they have Italian surnames, they are classified as Hispanic. I am not.
Is an Italian a Latino, since the Italian language is derived from the original Latin? Given that description, Italians, French, Spanish, Portuguese and Romanians all would be Latinos.
That's the problem with labels. I remember the uproar when Robert Barnstone, whose mother was Hispanic, ran for the Austin City Council. As he used to say, "Ya basta." Enough.
I had frequently and repeatedly related to my younger co-workers that Hispanics didn't have their own race when I was growing up, and they couldn't quite understand what I was talking about.
As it turns out, according to the United States Census, they still don't have a race, and on reading this letter, it's fairly easy to understand why. My mind was still concentrating on this when I passed a serious power walker who was swinging down the trail with a water bottle in each of her hands, and right before me, was a couple of walkers with a dog approaching with the sun behind them. The dog and his man were already behind me when the lady cheerfully called out, "How ARE you?", at which time I thought I'd probably just snubbed some people I knew, but was already well beyond them. Wondering briefly if it would be prudent to turn around and overtake them, I opted to go on home........and that's the it was, on the RiverTrail this morning.