Peckinpah

           

            On the morning of Friday, May 20th, Amarillo went outside for the first time in weeks. I worry about him though, because he’s limping and not in great shape otherwise either.

This was the third week in a row of no students coming to my yoga class. I had seen Anna and Michelle a couple of days earlier while I was riding on Queen. Anna called “Hi” to me but I was on my way to the food bank, so I didn’t stop to chat. I don’t think that PARC is that conducive to yoga. They apparently get a big turnout for the Mindfulness sessions but I think that’s mostly talking with a little meditation thrown in at the end. People like to talk because, unlike yoga, it’s not work.

            In the Healing Centre where I hold my classes there is an old, long, wooden church pew. I stretched out on that for half an hour while waiting for students. I know I dozed a bit because a snore woke me up twice. I left at 15:00, and would have just gone for my bike ride if hadn’t been so hot and sunny. I wanted to change into my shorts for the first time this year, but once I was home I decided that I could decrease my chances of getting sunburn if I slept for a while and went at around 17:30. I tried to sleep but I didn’t feel tired anymore after dozing at PARC.

            I was riding east on Bloor near Dovercourt when I heard a siren. An ambulance was coming in my direction and one could hear it for quite a while. Nonetheless, when it was about to cross Dovercourt, someone carrying a pink yoga mat caused it to stop when she stepped out in front of it to cross the street.

            I had to thread through traffic on the Danforth because it was tied up by having to go around cars stopped on the right side, I suppose while someone or everyone from them ran into stores with quick intentions.

            I rode up Pape to Mortimer and then down Woodcrest. On the way west along Danforth, I stopped at a light behind two other cyclists, when another guy on a bike pulled up to the front beside the first rider. Then he jumped the light just enough to get ahead but then rode so slow that no one could get past. I finally found an opening and passed him, but he tried to do the very same thing at the next light. I was about to pass him again when, without looking back, he started to veer out towards me to get around some parked cars. I had to shout out “Passing!” to get his attention. Fortunately I stayed ahead of him from that point on.

            I only had one pen left and so I stopped at the bank to get some money and then went to Staples to buy a pack of Strata fine point gel pens.

            University Avenue was fragrant with blossoming trees.

            I’m down to just a few more episodes of the first season of Gunsmoke. A handful of the stories were written by Sam Peckinpah, and those all stand apart from the rest as being a little bit quirky. The Peckinpah screenplay I watched on Friday night was called “The Guitar”. A Texas yokel named Weed wanders into Dodge and is befriended by two other Texans until they find out that in the Civil War, Weed fought for the Union army. They decide to hang Weed while Matt Dillon is out of town. Chester stops them. When they hear Weed play his guitar (though one can tell the actor isn’t really playing) the saloon falls in love with him. When Weed goes outside to water his burro though, the same two men smash his guitar. Matt kicks them out of Dodge but they wait for Weed to leave town and then ambush him. The men of Dodge though, unbeknownst to Matt, stop Weed’s hanging and hang the two men instead. Earlier when Matt asked Weed why a Texan would have joined the Union army, he answered, “One army’s pretty much the same as another.”

            Amarillo came home around the time I was getting ready for bed.