Notebook: Sketchy Man, Sauntering

I.

 Sunday afternoon: I spotted a sketchy/methy white dude scoping out my front door and well-grown yard.  He had something in his hands--looked like a hammer or a screwdriver to me, definitely not a phone--as he skulked (really) up the short walk.  I was sitting in my study which gives me a clear view of the front yard, and he suddenly realized that I was watching him closely.  He straightened up, guiltily, spun about, and headed on down the road.  

I moved the cat from my lap, picked up my phone as a camera, and popped out the front door.  A block away, Sketchy Man was doing a loose-limbed saunter, head high and not looking back, just a trifle faster than most people walk and faster than his approach to my front yard. 

(I was pulled back to childhood and my own walking guiltily that way from almost being caught eating the neighbor's fruit off the tree, you know?) 

Most benign reading: He was looking for a place to urinate.

More criminal possibility: He saw the pile of mail on the floor (social-distanced, de-Covid-19-ing) through the curtains of the front window--which is what I saw from outside when I was scoping out what he could have been up to--and he figured no one was home and he'd pry the door open.  He had some kind of tool in his hand, after all.

I grew up in a neighborhood where this kind of guy was common enough.  It has been a while since I saw one (probably) in action.

II.

I appreciate the good wishes I received from friends after I described the situation, but the event wasn't really scary. I was secure at home, and the fellow immediately backtracked and moved on. The stereotypical aspects were funny, for if this had been a film, the director would have cautioned the fellow not to overact. As the son of a cop, I tend to see suspicious behavior maybe too much. 

One thought I had was, a home burglary, on a Sunday, during a smoky air emergency, during a pandemic? We're all home!

III.

Lanky dude, white, 25-35, 5'9+, 150, sunburnt/lined face, scraggly blond/brown hair, ripped jeans, bright green t-shirt -- that's my description, but is it really accurate? I have a powerful imagination and I was keyed up just a bit. Also, if he combed his hair, changed his shirt, and stood up straight, would I recognize him? We did look each other eye to eye, but in my mind I keep wondering which actor could play him--so there goes my ID.

IV.

I can imagine, now, the fellow taller or shorter, younger or older, etc. I think my description is accurate for what I thought I was seeing, or think I'm recalling, but at the time the skulking behavior, looking eye to eye, and the bright green shirt kept me from really assessing the man himself. I come from a police family, and so I was raised to observe, but IDs can be tricky certainly.

And I can see how my specificity of recall could be problematic if I were wrong.

V.

The man's memorably bright green shirt, which I laughed to myself about as crazy attire for a criminal (if such he was), now seems almost clever as a distraction from seeing the man himself. "He had a really bright green shirt, officer. It was almost glowing. And something odd in his hands. But the shirt. Find that shirt and you'll find that man."

Gemini X 3 / 5 +9

Charting the passage of time, activities, and identity:

what I do.

There's a lot more humor and a lot less ego involved in the parade of profile pics; at least, that's the way I see it.  (Judge me, if you want, but I don't intend to lose sleep over the matter.)  I have written before of Rembrandt's many selfies and of the third-person would-be objective perspective of mirror-images offered in John Fowles' novel Daniel Martin, an old favorite.  

Tracking my age and how the lines on my face and how the gray or white hairs on my head accumulate can be a sport with different events.  Guessing where the next ache or sore muscle will appear is another such event.  I am not getting younger, right?  

But I am also still paddling and diving and reading around and pursuing other such richly-enlivening activities.  (Man alive, I miss the studio and clay.).   I like to keep track of all those activities I am fortunate enough to pursue -- and keep track of the different people I seem to be and have been: Diver Matt, Kayak Matt, Teacher Matt, Clay Matt, and so forth.  After a long day desk-bound, there's a uplifting joy in checking what I was doing, who I was, in times past.  Sometimes, checking the last trip to Mendocino, for example, can spur me to check the weather and start making plans for the next outing,, however long or far away.  And, if that planning proves merely mental, proves merely daydreaming, that's good too.  I return to the matter at hand at the desk a bit more energized, a bit more ready to dig in.  

What with the pandemic, remote teaching, and reaching 59, I have been feeling reflective.

As a Gemini, I am used to seeing the world and myself through a two-fold lens.  

Here are a few more recent examples.

THE PADDLER:

(A) stern and serious, working at it --

B) Having fun on the water -- salt salvation --

THE VINTAGE LOOK  /  BLACK & WHITE GAMES:

(A) Ducking down an alleyway  -- "Call me Ishmael."          (Thanks, Herman Melville.)

(B) A "Pirate" Looks Toward 60?          (Thanks, Jimmy Buffett)

 

FULL-FRONTAL (portrait-wise):

(A) Post-dive, unmasked: 

red from too much sun and the cold cold water; 

slightly saltdrunk --

(B)  Post-paddle, pandemic ready --

This last shot: that mask gets lots of smiles, lots of laughs, from children and adults alike.  

It's a sea lion mask, technically, but many kids think it's a dog--and why not? 

Sea lions bark too, don't they?

So, I oblige.

Any man who barks in public can't take himself too seriously.