Today in Beagle Park: Lytton tries to study. And fails.
Spring has finally come to Germany and since I have an important paper to finish, I decided to go to Beagle Park (also known as my outdoor living-room across the street) because very much like the library, the park has no TV, washing machine (I love doing laundry, I really do) and phone to distract me. So me and a huge stack of paper went across the street and settled comfortably on my favourite bench.
How big a stack of papers?
Something like this:
And I was like:
So I sat there and began to read, favourite pink marker in one, coffee in the other hand, and people, it was bliss. Pure bliss. The sun was shining on my face, but not into my eyes, the coffee was lovely, and the articles surprisingly well-written.
But of course, Beagle Park has its name for a reason.
So many cute dogs! But with the deadline looming, I knew I had to persevere, and I think you will be proud of me because I actually refrained from petting every dog that walked by and instead stuck my nose right back into the article I was reading.
Then my neighbour walked by.
The guy lives in the building next to mine, and always tries to chat me up. Just no. He's over forty, his head barely reaches my shoulder and he has ignored all subtle and not-so subtle hints I dropped about Lyttonboy's existence in the four years of us being neighbours. The hints were many. So were the bad pick-up lines. So were Lyttonboy's friendly greetings when we ran into the neighbour after our Saturday grocery round. But I digress.
The neighbour and I had an awkward ten minute conversation that covered the following ground: the many places he's seen me over town, how he will shout at me if he sees on my bike the next time so that we can have coffee together (yes, really, shout) and how his flat is too big for himself.
Finally, through much manic paper waving and pained smiles, I conveyed that I had to continue working and yes, do have a nice day, I will see you around. Unfortunately.
Neighbour and his admittably very cute dog then walked away and I was once again busy reading. The sun had moved a bit south, so that it was still shining on my face, but more and warmer, and still not into my eyes. I think that was the universe saying /hai there gurl u doing fine keep on studyin'/.
And when the universe tells you something, you better do it. So I did.
With newfound determination, I ignored all dogs and parrots and children and just read. People, unicorns could have walked by (and we all know how I feel about unicorns), and I would have just frowned and said: "Sorry, busy reading about Sudan. Try again later." The unusual but very welcome focus on my reading led to this:
But every time I get a little too self-congratulatory, things go awry.
How could things go wrong now, you may ask, what with the whole universe being on my side! Well, the answer is as shocking as it is simple. I said that Beagle Park is my outdoor living room. That I stand by. I may have omitted that it is a community outdoor living room (shocker, isn't it) and during lunch time, I share it with The Old Smoking Ladies Who Walk Their Dogs. The OSLWWTD, as they shall be called from here-on, are special little cookies. They walk one round through the upper part of Beagle Park (which is not that large, so it takes about fifteen minutes tops) and then spend the next two hours smoking and sitting on a low wall near the ping pong table. Which happens to be right across from my bench.
And if you want a mental picture of the OSLWWTD, let me help you out here. I'd say the accuracy is about 81%. Obviously, the hair colour is all wrong, but other than that...
The dogs would really like to walk more and sit less, but then the OSLWWTD give them doggie biscuits (and the OSLWWTD are very fair: one cigarette per human equals one biscuit per dog) or throw balls, so I think from a dog's perspective, life with the OSLWWTD is good. There's also lots of behind the ear-scratching and seriously, who doesn't like that? I'm not even a dog and I like that.
But the best (and most detrimental as far as my concentration is concerned) thing about The Old Smoking Ladies Who Walk Their Dogs is what they talk about, which is to say:
Today's subjects included an animated discussion of The One and Only Way to Grow Azaleas (which was very much reminiscent of My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, damn right, it's better than yours only about flowers and not sex and can you seriously blame me for forgetting I was there to read at this point?), shortly followed by Do you Need the -Tsu in Tsunami or is Nami okay too (no consensus was reached), and ending on the high note of How the Owner of the Biggest Brothel in Town must be a Nice Guy Because he gives Money to Charities for Suffering Children, his hookers have throw pillows and his alcoholic Father killed his Mother so This Explains It All.
I do not make this stuff up.
I have now retreated back into my flat to eat, and will maybe venture out again when the OSLWWTD meet for their evening round. After all, azaleas and pimps are two subjects one can never know too much about.
How big a stack of papers?
Something like this:
And I was like:
So I sat there and began to read, favourite pink marker in one, coffee in the other hand, and people, it was bliss. Pure bliss. The sun was shining on my face, but not into my eyes, the coffee was lovely, and the articles surprisingly well-written.
But of course, Beagle Park has its name for a reason.
So many cute dogs! But with the deadline looming, I knew I had to persevere, and I think you will be proud of me because I actually refrained from petting every dog that walked by and instead stuck my nose right back into the article I was reading.
Then my neighbour walked by.
The guy lives in the building next to mine, and always tries to chat me up. Just no. He's over forty, his head barely reaches my shoulder and he has ignored all subtle and not-so subtle hints I dropped about Lyttonboy's existence in the four years of us being neighbours. The hints were many. So were the bad pick-up lines. So were Lyttonboy's friendly greetings when we ran into the neighbour after our Saturday grocery round. But I digress.
The neighbour and I had an awkward ten minute conversation that covered the following ground: the many places he's seen me over town, how he will shout at me if he sees on my bike the next time so that we can have coffee together (yes, really, shout) and how his flat is too big for himself.
Finally, through much manic paper waving and pained smiles, I conveyed that I had to continue working and yes, do have a nice day, I will see you around. Unfortunately.
Neighbour and his admittably very cute dog then walked away and I was once again busy reading. The sun had moved a bit south, so that it was still shining on my face, but more and warmer, and still not into my eyes. I think that was the universe saying /hai there gurl u doing fine keep on studyin'/.
And when the universe tells you something, you better do it. So I did.
With newfound determination, I ignored all dogs and parrots and children and just read. People, unicorns could have walked by (and we all know how I feel about unicorns), and I would have just frowned and said: "Sorry, busy reading about Sudan. Try again later." The unusual but very welcome focus on my reading led to this:
But every time I get a little too self-congratulatory, things go awry.
How could things go wrong now, you may ask, what with the whole universe being on my side! Well, the answer is as shocking as it is simple. I said that Beagle Park is my outdoor living room. That I stand by. I may have omitted that it is a community outdoor living room (shocker, isn't it) and during lunch time, I share it with The Old Smoking Ladies Who Walk Their Dogs. The OSLWWTD, as they shall be called from here-on, are special little cookies. They walk one round through the upper part of Beagle Park (which is not that large, so it takes about fifteen minutes tops) and then spend the next two hours smoking and sitting on a low wall near the ping pong table. Which happens to be right across from my bench.
And if you want a mental picture of the OSLWWTD, let me help you out here. I'd say the accuracy is about 81%. Obviously, the hair colour is all wrong, but other than that...
The dogs would really like to walk more and sit less, but then the OSLWWTD give them doggie biscuits (and the OSLWWTD are very fair: one cigarette per human equals one biscuit per dog) or throw balls, so I think from a dog's perspective, life with the OSLWWTD is good. There's also lots of behind the ear-scratching and seriously, who doesn't like that? I'm not even a dog and I like that.
But the best (and most detrimental as far as my concentration is concerned) thing about The Old Smoking Ladies Who Walk Their Dogs is what they talk about, which is to say:
Today's subjects included an animated discussion of The One and Only Way to Grow Azaleas (which was very much reminiscent of My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, damn right, it's better than yours only about flowers and not sex and can you seriously blame me for forgetting I was there to read at this point?), shortly followed by Do you Need the -Tsu in Tsunami or is Nami okay too (no consensus was reached), and ending on the high note of How the Owner of the Biggest Brothel in Town must be a Nice Guy Because he gives Money to Charities for Suffering Children, his hookers have throw pillows and his alcoholic Father killed his Mother so This Explains It All.
I do not make this stuff up.
I have now retreated back into my flat to eat, and will maybe venture out again when the OSLWWTD meet for their evening round. After all, azaleas and pimps are two subjects one can never know too much about.