Lunch chat

My dining neighbor to the left at our weekly civic club lunch: “We [the organization he works for] have about seven thousand acres. Wildlife preserve.”

“Wow!” I say. Because: that sounds like a whole lot. I consider telling him that we had a donor give my organization a duck hunting paradise, but it was a measly five thousand acres. That translates to 1,500 football fields less.

Ok, then.

My neighbor to the right pipes up.

“What kind of wildlife you got out there?”

Left-hand neighbor: “Axis, whitetail, [and a third creature that sounded like pronghorn].”

“Oh!” Right-Hand neighbor. “My son shot a pronghorn last week.”

Left-hand neighbor continues talking with right-hand neighbor.

I retreat into my processed chicken.



The western sky yesterday from the Loop 534 bridge. And, no, I should not have been taking this while driving.

As you’ve no doubt seen from past posts, which may have featured a photo of it as mere eye candy, the sky here is dramatic. It plays the lead, not a supporting, role. Its soliloquies — torrential rain, blood-orange sunsets, glowering clouds — are heard as baritone declarations and soprano descants.