The Ostrich: I remember riding in my father’s Fiat wagon around the age of three. My father was driving, my mother was in shotgun, and at least a couple brothers of mine and I were in the back. We were driving on Memorial Drive along the Charles River one weekend morning, most likely on our way to a family reunion in Medford.
The interesting part about that area is that it’s in the middle of an urban setting, but it’s a serene drive. Water to one side (don’t drink it) trees to the other side. The one thing it’s lacking is tranquility. There’s the constant buzzing of cars, and masses of people. It’s like wilderness, only louder. The Charles river is always surrounded by people. It’s a favorite spot for runners, sailors, fishermen, etc. Bustling with city folk looking for that little bit of nature.
All of a sudden, there amongst all the damn humans in the wanna-be nature scene was an Ostrich! “Hey! An ostrich!” I exclaimed with the excitement that only a three year old could muster. I was wrong, of course. There are no ostriches along the Charles, it was a runner who was stretching. She was bent down, with one leg up in the air that I thought was a neck and head.
I don’t remember much else about the ride, but I’m told that I had a good laugh at myself for it. I’ve been amusing myself ever since.