I was headed to a meeting of the Lafitte Greenway Steering Advisory Committee this morning. I was riding down Conti, just a block or two from our old house, and I crossed through what appeared to be a small puddle. Mind, it hasn’t rained here in a couple weeks, so this puddle was bubbling up from a broken water main or sewer line of some sort. Midway through the puddle I discovered it was much deeper than it looked. As I lost momentum I had to put my foot down to maintain balance, and found myself up to my ankle.
I rode on a few more blocks and considered going to the meeting with a water-logged shoe, but when I reached Broad I thought better of it. I went back home, changed shoes and pants. I could still have made the tail end of the meeting, but I went to work instead.
By my count, this morning’s meeting is the eighth greenway-related meeting I’ve attended in as many days — or it would have been. I try to delegate, but people seem to want me at everything personally.
My shoe may be wet. My enthusiasm remains undampened. But I don’t feel too bad about missing this morning’s meeting.
C’mon, B.!,
You mean ta tell us, with all yer contemplative meditation and breathing
exercises and propaganda-nanda, you caint jist simply Bilocate yerself and
telekinesis-yer ass to cover all these duties?
What the hell are they teachin’ at these hippie institutes these days?