Sunday, 10/1. This morning I headed west in the car on Lombard meaning to treat my pooches to our favorite walk next to the airport, starting next to the intersection of 33rd N.E and N. E. Marine Drive. I had forgotten that to get to 33rd N.E., one must go first to Columbia Avenue. Realizing that there had been an odd smell in the car, I drove on to the Space Age gas station on Martin Luther King and Columbia, and purchased gas and oil for the car--the engine being 2 quarts low on oil. Dangerous! I'll have to pay more attention to my car.

Arriving at the parking lot below 33rd N. E., Tiger was as usual ready to bolt from the car in undisciplined enthusiasm. It's a guiet area, so I didn't fret too much. Zeno, the "good child" started with the leash, but soon enough he was free on the path! Emerging from the underpass, a more lovely scene couldn't be found anywhere. The low morning sun threw backlight on wildflowers of every color, the blues of bachelor buttons, white of Queen Ann's lace, yellow of Scott's broom glowing against the bleached yellow backdrop of grasses. The sky a pale blue with threads of white clouds stretching from side to side. I took some deep breaths of cool fall air, as we settled into the rhythm of our morning walk. Tiger was a bundle of action, bounding around on either side of the path, sometimes burrowing her head into a hole as if she could catch something.

Across the meadow, on the other side of Marine Drive, I notice the gay sign for Tyee Yacht Club, sporting an anchor painted white, with a chain soldered into an undulating wave pattern. Further along in our walk, the homey aroma of baking bread drifted over from Marine, from the Sextant Bar and Grill. Perhaps baking dinner rolls for later in the day. Now Tiger is on the path ahead of me, and another far less savory aroma drifts in my direction. Yes! She has rolled in a nasty smell again! Damn! I plan to dunk her (head first, preferably!) as soon as we reach the Columbia. Soon after this, a pretty young woman with an Rhodesian Razorback dog passes us.

Soon we are drawing even with the airport's control tower, California grasses as tall as I am line either side of our path. There is a large Canadian thistle among the grasses, and I step through the grasses to get closer. Canadian thistles are another of our famous noxious plants in the Northwest. At home, we are obliged to remove them from our yards, but this noble plant freely beckoned me as I freely walked. The blackish seeds, tinged with a little of the purble of the flower petals, still stuck to the pod. Perhaps the dew from the surrounding grasses caused these seeds to clump up, instead of lightly blowing away, as thistle seeds usually do. One new lavender colored thistle flower is still blooming.

After allowing Zeno and Tiger a good splash and play in the Columbia (Broughton Beach,) we headed back up the beach to start the trek back to the car. Sunlight splashing on the sand catches tiny pieces of the glassy sand as we walk. When we reach the top of the beach, the same young woman with the Rhodesian Razorback who had passed me earlier, greets me, with a little panic in her voice. "You haven't seen any car keys have you?" She has lost her keys somewhere here on the beach. Also, she has an appointment for a job interview at 11:00 a.m. Asking for a description, I tell her I'll help look for the keys. A single Volvo key with black plastic head, also with lock release device, atached to a ring.

We head back along the beach. She knows about where she headed down to the sand, so we start there. She walks quickly down to the west along the beach. I walk more slowly down to the water. I decide to make close switchbacks for a methodical search. It's my first switch back, approaching the path above the sand, looking a little ahead--there in the sand is a key on ring with release device also. I call to this sweet young blonde-haired lady--and she comes running back--she can't believe I've found the keys. We walk back to the cross-walk together. To keep her appointment she must run ahead. As she runs ahead, I watch thinking that here is the energy and will-power of youth.

I am reminded of a line from an old hymn: " . . . how can I keep from singing?"