

Discover more from Release McCracken
In the 60s this morning, packs of runners in Zilker Park. I am not like thee, I thought at them: who wants to be so close to other people’s elbows, their hot breath, their swinging ponytails? It took me a full minute of standing in the pool to fully submerge, enjoying my own company in the dark.
Ordinarily I swim beneath the diving board, because of the lack of pre-dawn diving-boarders and because I am comforted by repetition. This week, however, the diving board is popular before sunrise, lines of leapers. This irritated me—everything unexpected at the pool irritates me—though yesterday when it was light enough I saw that some of the leapers were children: parents had brought their kids for an early morning leap & I entirely approved (though they don’t need my approval).
I don’t write an entry here every time I swim. Here are the Egyptian geese with their adolescent goslings (one was still in the water). Two mornings ago I watched a young man chase one of the goose parents along the deck, in a strange and mocking way, flapping his arms and honking and laughing. I wanted to intervene but didn’t, equally nervous about being a meddling middle-aged woman and meeting the gun a young man in Texas might keep in the car.
I have apologized to the geese.
Goose, Geese, Gosling
Elizabeth,
I so enjoy your sass and attitude! And I think often about your book because I had a mother who, while devoutly religious, refused to talk about/plan for her death. She just wouldn't. I found forms all over the place titled 'What I want for my funeral'. Blank, everyone. I puzzle over this often and wonder what she was thinking.
Vivian Jones