Further Park Hopping

This has to be the longest break in my blogging, the last one being on April 12. Well, such is the life in the private practice, the work load kind of peaking seasonally. And this week and the past happened to be the high-demand phase, several deadlines came into congruence. Nevertheless, it's still no excuse. I just have to manage my time better. As they say, you will do it if it's important to you. And blogging is important to me: creating a space where I can unwind, and unload my impressions of life in general. Human beings need to share thoughts. And that's how we have progressed so far, not by keeping things to ourselves.

Having released the philosophical bent in me, let's get back to my park-hopping itinerary. The existence of the next park was alluded to us when we met Mark at the Lettuce Lake Park on one fine Sunday: the Flatwoods Park.

Flatwoods Park is one of the five parks making up the so called wilderness park complex that spans between Bruce B. Down Blvd and Morris Bridge Road, the eastward extension of Fletcher beyond I-75. With the help of Mapquest, we decided to drive in through the Morris Bridge entrance where the main facility is located.

Cruising along on the crisp morning of April 12, we passed by Morris Bridge Memorial Park, one of the five parks in the wilderness park complex, on our left on our way there. And we made a mental note to visit it on our way back.

Arriving at Flatwoods Park, first thing we noticed was its quiet, and that only a few cars parked at the main facility. Driving along the tree-lined paved road that runs through it, we got as far as vehicular transport is permitted, ending at some picnic places. Along the way, several trails lead away into the park areas on both sides. We were hesitant to walk along the trails, prompted perhaps by the absence of human forms doing so. There were sporadic sightings of cyclists here and there, including a pair who seemed to have just completed their arduous ride along the paved loop track.

This view is almost uniform along the drive, staight up tree trunks greeting us on both sides, the sunlight carving out numerous swaths of light bands through the trees.

We concluded that Flatwoods Park is more for cycling enthusiasts and does not seem to be a popular spot for families out for a leisurely walk in the park.

Morris Bridge Memorial Park, our destination on the return leg, is a compact park tucked between the road and the Hillsborough River. Like Lettuce Lake Park, it features boardwalks, one of which goes under the road bridge. But we did not advance far along this route, simply because it traverses across a shallow depression which was submerged then. But we did complete the other loop, walking briskly through swamp forest without seeing another soul along the route lest we encounter something unexpected along the way, until toward the end where a family walked by from the opposite direction, much to our relief [I guess we are really not the outdoor type]. Other than that, we did enjoy the natural scenery, albeit a rather “woody” one as revealed pictorially below.

The park entrance, the signs beckoning at the rowing and bird watching enthusiasts.

A pontoon-supported jetty next to the boat ramp (not seen) so that it can rise and fall with the water stage.

A mushroom "infested" tree branch. It seems these would be the edible kind due to their lack of bright colors.

The remnant of a tree trunk, its roots having been swallowed by the widening river, cutting an image of destitution accompanied only by its ghostly reflection.


Ha! Something I can relate to in my professional capacity: a river stage automatic recorder, usually affixed to the side of a bridge, its owner's name, USGS, vaguely seen.

Wify leaning against a wooden railing on one of the several crossings in the park, the bare branches behind her in imminent blooming, flower that is.

The green carpet-like surface plant meadow, but its constituents are larger than the one seen here.

A surprisingly thriving tree in the middle of the channel, resisting the embrace of the watery grave.

The Continuing Saga of Randy Pausch

Randy Pausch, the indefatigable free spirit whose publicized scorn for life's adversity has made him a household name via his last lecture delivered at Carnegie Mellon University on September 18, 2007 (which I blogged here), continues his inspiring crusade to instill in all of us the love for life. After appearing on Oprah Winfrey's show, he was interviewed by Diane Sawyer at ABC on April 9 (Thanks, Mary, for the lead).

In five clips, readers can catch more than a glimpse of the personal side of Randy, the family support, the coterie of friends and colleagues who have helped mold him to what a delightfully wonderful person that he has become and whose exuberance for life in turn has rubbed on them. The background music was appropriate, played to just the right tempo as the story of his love life with life itself unfolded.

Then he was featured in the May 2008 issue of Reader's Digest, entitled A Father's Farewell, Interview by Jess Kornbluth, on pg. 188-196.

I got most of the message, especially this one, “It's not the years. Its the milege.” But I don't seem to get the humor in “When I went scuba diving with friends, one of them said, “Don't bother putting sunscreen on Randy.”

Obviously when you dive, you don't need sunscreen (right?). So, does that imply that Randy would have no time for any above water activity when he goes for a diving expedition, an euphemism for his single-track mission-oriented focus on the task at hand? Doesn't sound like the Randy that is portrayed as a fun loving guy. Help!

And then there is his book, entitled simply, the Last Lecture. And an excerpt of the book also appeared in the same issue of Reader's Digest (pg. 197 – 199). Entitled Many Happy Returns, it recounted the first day of his wedding, the newlyweds ascending into the clouds on a hot-air balloon. And what an adventurous ride it turned out to be, as if Randy the love your life guy had scripted it. Nothing is ever a dull moment. Quiet, reflecting, cogitating, yes, but never dull.

Just to demonstrate what a stickler for time management guy that he is, Randy said in the Readers' Digest interview on how he finished the book:

“I had to ride my bike for an hour everyday. As I rode, I would talk on my helmet-mounted cell phone to Jeffrey Zaslow [co-author] and tell him stories of my life. Fifty-three bike rides and I was done.”

Evening walks: Exercising, Exploring, and Communing

We have been taking evening walks around the neighborhood lately, again. The last time we did the same was when we first moved in last year as a way to get familiar with the neighborhood. This time though, the efforts also double as an opportunity to exercise, to burn up some accumulated calories.

So we circled the neighborhood in the clockwise direction one evening. And we reversed the direction on the following evening. Then it was time to venture across to the USF campus, stopping at times to watch people (students mostly I think) playing soccer, throwing frisbees. And there was this one guy who was practicing some penalty shots on his own, overshooting the crossbar and booming the ball over the fence onto the road. The poor guy had to ease through a gaping hole in the fence to run after the loose ball.

While the scene in front of our complex was a picture of bustling activity, it being facing a main road, the walk through the neighborhood behind our complex was very quiet, not a single soul on the road. I guess all must be enjoying their dinner after a hard day's work. What a contrast!

Each walk consumed about 30 minutes or so of our evening time, not enough for us to break into a sweat but the chance to commute with nature and at the same time spending some quality time with loved ones were rewarding nonetheless. Here then, are some shots taken along our evening trails.

Sun setting below the Sun Dome, USF, casting multi-layers of horizontal bands of pink in the sky.

This is the boardwalk next to the Hillsborough River, about 10 minutes drive away. It was a perfect setting for a perfect reflection, the two parts joining seamlessly at the water surface.

This little critter was actually within feet from us, a habit borne out of familiarity with the human sight, sound, and scent, as if daring me to "shoot" it. And I obliged. Wify likes the bushy tail extending upright from behind, much like the plummage of a peacock.

Sunset over the Hillsborough River, imprinting a golden halo around it, albeit ephemeral.

This was just outside the USF baseball stadium. A game between USF and Louisville was going on. Notice the USF mascot, the Bull (you can tell by the horns), sitting idly by a tableful of green souvenirs. But a little while later we saw him moving his body with the music being blared out over the PA system (the USF Fight song?).

A Drum-ful Evening

And I mean that literally.

I have not seen so many drums in one room the size of a normal cafe, let alone where they were all drummed in unison. Let me start from the beginning.

Mrs. Fan, wify's Arts teacher, had informed us sometime ago about this interactive facilitated drum circle to be conducted by her erstwhile drum teacher at a cafe in our neighborhood today. The event, free to all interested, was scheduled to start at 6.00pm.

In the morning, we checked out the venue, Kili Cafe, the cyber way. We learned that the cafe serves a range of home-roasted and brewed coffee, just wify's cup of tea (there is indeed a tea drink on the menu). In the afternoon, we checked out the Cafe again, this time physically, to make sure that we know the easiest way to get there.

When we arrived sometime before 6.00pm, Jana, the instructor, was already there. After ordering our respective beverages, mine being tea, we all helped out in clearing the central area, and arranged the chairs in a circle.

People continued to walk in, filling up the seats, drums between their legs (like the one to the right, but some without the furry rim as seen here). I respectfully declined the offer from Jana to take up a seat, telling her that wify was the musically inclined in the family. As to my request to take pictures of the group activity, she motioned me to go ahead, adding, “people do that all the time.”

Thus endorsed, I just clicked away, and would let the pictures speak for themselves here of the contagious fun that everybody had, connected through the synchronous drumbeat, well, almost, led by the able Jana who knew just how to get all to let their hair down, and fired up too, for the evening.

This was the scene outside the cafe when we arrived, the trailer-ful (we would soon find out later) of drums in tow.

Wify, sitting directly below a steaming cup of coffee, and Mrs. Fan waiting for their order. The displays to the left comprise memorabilia from Africa, a testimony to the African roots of the proprietor.

A picture typical of an African scene and reminiscent of the safari there adorns the wall further into the cafe. The tree canopy kind of reminded me of a scene from the Lion King, a Walt Disney cartoon blockbuster sometime back.

Wify trying her hands on the drum while Mrs. Fan looked on expectantly, all awaiting the cue from Jana.

Let the drums roll. And my heart pounded in rhythm with the drumbeat.

The group drumming from another angle. Both Jana and her assistant (I think that's who he is) had their drums on slings, strapped over their shoulders, and inserted, at an inclination, between their legs, like so.

Notice that in this picture only wify's hands seemed to be in striking motion while the rest had them either on their knees or just resting on the drum. This was one of the variations of Jana's repertoire to get the group involved individually, a session I call "in the spotlight". First she would get a fellow participant's consent to go solo. Then she would do a quick countdown, signally the beginning of the solo drumming, and everybody else to stop simultaneously. Here it was wify's turn, despite this being her first contact with a drum, let alone making sound from it. I would say she managed to render some rhythm to her improvisation, confirming that my decision to defer to her for the evening activity was a wise one indeed.

This was another variation where Jana invited a young conductor to come forth to direct the loudness (increasing when their hands were raised and vice versa) and the spatial distribution of the drumbeat following the cue of their hands, resulting in alternating crescendo from different sections of the group much like a human wave seen in a stadium.

And the inside of the trailer, stockful of drums. As for the drumming experience, the display on the side says it all.

And at the end of it all, we took home a CD, on purchase, to remember the occasion by. Thanks Jana, Mrs. Fan, and you fellow drummers, young and old alike, for a drum-ful evening.

A Tale of Two Parks

Over two days. And both within minutes from our home. Yesterday evening we dropped by the Lettuce Lake Park for a change of scenery during a different time of the day (the previous visit was at noon). Mark was nowhere to be seen, but armed with our newly acquired knowledge, thanks to Mark, we set out on our own.

We had better luck this time though, spotting a young gator lazing on a small log. We would have missed it if not for a couple training their eyes in a certain direction, the male through a long-lens camera. So instinct told me that it had to be something unique. I was able to locate the alligator while wify needed some guidance before the outline of the alligator was reflected into her retina which the brain then interpreted, after scourging through the stored images including those of Alberto and Alberta (the UF mascots), as a close cousin of the crocodile, with a different shape of the snout.

Then there was the blue heron (or was it the snowy egret? We could not be sure as we could not see its legs clearly). However, the evening scenery was as panoramic as the noon's.

The observation tower in the distance, framed within the branches draped all over by spanish moss.

The young gator, motionless, oblivious to the attention it had attracted. When we doubled back about half an hour later, it was in about the same posture. Talk about the ability to maintain stillness, the very best candidate for a meditation stance. The slightly blurred image is the result of extending the optical zoom (3X) on our Nikon Colorpix L6, so I reasoned.

The first time we spotted the blue heron, roosting on a shallow shoal.

The same blue heron from a different part of the walkway. Look at the near perfect reflection of the blue sky above, and the reflected image of the head of the blue heron, as if it had just emerged from the tree canopy.

The eagle has landed. No, it's the same blue heron, exercising its ability to fly, perched on a branch amidst the leaves, and playing hide and seek with me.

Today, we decided to drop by USF, just across the street from us. The place we visited faces the Psychology Building, where we know there is a lake from our prior visit to the campus. The time was evening too. However, instead of a multitude of wildlife like in Lettuce Lake Park, this lake setting is dominated by monoculture: ducks. There were everywhere, in the lake, in the air (ducks do fly), on the bank, up on the pavement, and even on a bridge railing. Also, they get close to the human species, of which there were many then, people like us yearning for some quiet solace in an urban setting.

We sauntered twice over the looped paved walkway, enjoying the cool breeze brushing by, the sun setting in the distance. Further afield at the Music Building, several people were seen hurrying toward it, each lugging a piece of musical instrument. We also heard several musical notes emitting from the Building, disrupting the stillness, the otherwise quiet save for the birds squawking. “A musical performance may be slotted for the night,” wify commented.

At first, we thought this could just be a nameless place of quiet refuge for USF students to seek communion with nature, giving the mind a well-earned rest from the seemingly incessant book cramming in order to stay afloat in the academic setting. Then we passed by a monument, declaring this to be the Simmons Park, dedicated to the memory of Ellsworth G. Simmons, a Tampa civic leader.

Hence, a tale of two parks, at close proximity but different in all other aspects. It's our good fortune that we live close to them, by design of sort but gradually discovering the locational advantage of our chosen residence, a time-lapsed unveiling process that guarantees more pleasant surprises to come.

A panaromic view of the USF lake, colonized by ducks only.

The denizens of the lake, one of which was standing on the bank nearby as if on sentinel duty, giving me a "Don't mess with me" look when I approached.

Wify standing on one of the two bridge crossings, with the fountain as the backdrop.

A duck on a railing, a proof that this duck flies. It obviously can't climb with its webbed feet.

Wify standing next to the Maple tree, a bit of deduction on my part from its distintive leaf shape. Scroll down for the next image for a closeup.

The sharp pointed leaves characteristic of maple leaves, as seen here, the branches seemingly ensnarling a jumbo, a photographic trick applied just in time by yours truly, after mentally calculating the relative position of the plane, allowing for its forward speed, with respect to my ground position vis-a-vis the stationary tree on the fly ... Just kidding.

An urban sunset, the sun as if escaping from the out-stretched booms of the two tower cranes while the ducks seemingly scuttling away from its reflection on the lake resulting in tiny wave crests rippling across the lake surface.

And Finally, there is one ...

Just like March 8 would go down in the history of Malaysia as a watershed year marked by a swift change in the political landscape described as tsunami-like, March 22 holds a similar significance for the people of Taiwan too. In the local parlance, the blue sky has prevailed, blue being the official color of the Nationalist (KuoMing) Party, which would assume the helm of the island state after a hiatus of eight years in the political wilderness, so to speak.

It was a decidedly clear victory, epitomizing the power of the people to collectively decide their political future, democracy at work.

Any transition is always tough, let alone a political one where political patronage sometimes outweighs the caliber of the political appointees in putting national interests ahead of personal gains, a reward system that has yet to be replaced, only the imbalance diminished.

Sometimes a new guy at the helm may be overzealous in finding faults of the previous administration rather than embarking on planning anew. After all burying the hatchet and letting bygone be bygone are easier said than done. But a forward looking stance they must embrace, for that's what they venture into the political arena for (I might be guilty of naivete here), to carve out a bright future for their countryfolks.

I just learned that the winner of the presidential race in Taiwan will take his office on May 20, exactly three months after the election. In the meantime, the incumbent, Mr. Chen, is still addressed as the President. However, in Malaysia, the transition of the political helm takes immediate effect. But the actual handing over will likely stretch over several days.

Consequently, there were reports of the winning parties guarding the government offices lest the losers cart away important sensitive documents that would ostensibly implicate the previous administration of any wrongdoing. In Penang where the ruling parties lost, the Chief Minister was seen packing his things on the very day, thus effecting a smooth transition to the incoming Chief Minister.

That leaves US in my trilogy of Elections 2008. The democrats are still mired in a long-drawn tussle to nominate their presidential candidate. I read of another possibility to the projection that the Republicans, having settled on their candidate, can turn to the important task of winning the race and gaining a vital headstart over the Democrats in the race that counts. That is, so much attention has been focused on the daily exchanges between the two Democrats camps that the Republicans are forced to watch at the sideline, unable to attract the news media who thrive on antagonism that sustains the feeding frenzy of the public at large.

The latest development seems to swing toward Obama, after garnering pledges of support from several super-delegates, despite the furor over the fiery speeches from his priest-cum-mentor. Increasingly strident calls for Hillary to throw in the tower have also surfaced. Some have even claimed she was merely clinging to her fast dwindling hope out of pride.

Such is life in the political arena, which is akin to Jiang Wu, a Chinese street-wise term used in martial arts novels and movies to mean the jungle out there where only the fittest survive, as opposed to the neatly circumscribed world of the government sector that features another rule of survival dictated by tradition laden hierarchy. I was reminded of the term when I was watching a rerun of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon directed by Ang Lee (the movie image is taken from here). (A worthy note here is that the heroine was played by Michelle Yeoh, a former Miss Malaysia-turned-kungfu actress from Malaysia). The hero wanted to wash his hands of the worldly affairs, to hang up his sword as a symbol of quitting Jiang Wu as the saying goes. But the Jiang Wu just would not let him. Hence, the refrain: Once in Jiang Wu, your movement is no more yours to decide.
Isn't that an apt description of a politician?

A Body and Mind Workout Day at the Park

Lettuce Lake Park, that is. Wify has been clamoring to take a long overdue walk in that park as part of our exercise routine. In fact, that is the only one for me, other than the morning lifting-the-sky exercise taught by WJ. Yesterday was a total washout. But today was your typical day after the deluge: crisp with azure sky. So we drove to the park around noon, half expecting that it might be close for the Easter Holiday, a prognostication based on our last experience on last Christmas eve. But it was open, many visitors capitalizing on the balmy weather to hold family picnics. (The top image was a drawing of an osprey done by wify just for this occasion, based on an image taken from here).

As usual, we took the boardwalk that skirts along the lake, wify walking briskly in front, me trailing, our Nikon ColorPix L6 in hand, ready to capture and shoot the teeming life there, digitally. And boy did I have a field day, my only miss was the young water duck that did a Houdini on me, diving and swimming away under the green carpet (you'll soon see what I mean from the images below) while I was fumbling with my camera to get the right setting.

We greeted everyone who came our way, and the favors returned, as enthusiastically. We ascended onto the top of the tower (the right image is scanned from the brochure Lettuce Lake Boardwalk Guide, which is shot from the lake side and is much more than I can do humanly, being not ready to dive into the lake) and met (by chance of course) our designated bird guide of the day, whom we shall address as Mark here. Mark had a telescope set up with tripod and all with the lens pointing at the tree line across the lake. He motioned to wify to look through the lens. At what? Apparently, it was an osprey's nest, nestled high up on the tree. He offered the telescopic view to any visitor who came by, at the same time fielding questions from them. I too succumbed to the looks of amazement on those who had seen the light, so to speak. Through the lens, at about 40X (that's magnification) according to Mark, I could see the mother's head swiveling and bobbing up and down at the nest line. The Dad was perched on a tree branch in the vicinity, like a sentinel scanning for threats.

Just like a human family too, the male and the female adults playing their respective roles in a household, separately in charge of matters without and within the home. Nowadays this rigid familial role compartmentalization has largely blurred as evidenced by the moniker, stay-home dad. [At home, I suddenly realized what I had heard here that the Chinese character for peace and safety is a combination of a roof over a female. How uncanny!]

Ospreys have these talons on their feet which they catch their prey, meaning fish, with in a swooping motion. Then swish, it's out of the water. Eh, do they eat other smaller birds or maybe rodents? That's me asking the seemingly dumb questions. No, as a rule, no, unless they are hungry and there happens to be a bird or rodent, frozen into inaction nearby (OK, I get the drift). That's why there are also known as fish hawks. Oh, I see (only after the fact). And no, they are not wintering birds that migrate over great distances but stay pretty much within about 100 sq. miles.

In the midst of the ornithological Q&A, Mark was seeking help as to the English word that means characterizing the animal behavior in human terms. He qualified by saying that being a math grad, he was not expected to know (sound like a cope out to me). I ventured “personify”, but he just shook his head. The couple next to us tried to help, but the word just escaped them (yeah right). At the end, they settled that by agreeing that mutually they knew what each other meant, and that's that.

As a parting shot, I said I would google it. But Mark was quite lukewarm to my sudden flash of ingenuity. Being a man of my word, I googled it dutifully, the first thing I did upon reaching home, and it only returned “humanizing”. I doubted that's the right word as it would apply to inanimate objects as well, not just animals. Then a flash went through my head. I typed in “humanizing animal behavior” and Voila, the very first return read “Naturalizing Anthropomorphism: Behavioral Prompts to Our ...”. On opening the document, right there staring into my face was the very first sentence in the Abstract: Anthropomorphism is the use of human characteristics to describe or explain nonhuman animals.

When I announced to the family that Dad has done it again, CE chipped in by saying that that was what she was looking for. Too late, pal, the glory is all mine. Just kidding. What happened was I posed the question to our resident English expert, CE (the other itinerary one is way across the continental divide and unavailable at such short notice).

She countered with the term, animorphism, that she has found on the Net. But apparently it has something to do with computer software (animation?). Undaunted, my google trip (my first quest using my favourite online dictionary did not list this as a word) led to this statement: animorphism, or people projecting their wants and needs onto animals. See how my family tackles things together. Nothing is too small to invoke the mighty Lee famly resources.

Anyway, back to the Park. Mark also serves as the resource guide in the Audubon Resource Center at the Park's Visitors Center (we located it later) and has been birding for quite a long while. He said there are more than 120 bird species in the Park, on a year round basis. He can identify the birds by their calls like Oh, that's the limpkin (we later found out what it is on a display board erected on another part of the boardwalk, see image below).

The second bird from the right on the top row is a limpkin. No osprey here since it is not a wading bird.

As we were doubling back from one end of the Boardwalk to head the other way, Mark had descended too and pointed out some others bird species for our benefit. The white bird there is the Blue Heron, even though it's white in color. The Snowy Egret resembles it too, except that the Egret has yellow-colored feet. Oh, the green carpet-like stuff on the water surface? They are the lettuces (huh? Maybe I did not get the spelling right. Then, Oh Oh, there's where the name comes from. And I was wondering where is the lettuce. You know, the one we see in Publix. That's another belated realization but at home).

Yes, they are floating plants, just like lilypads and water hyacinth (At this point I wanted to jump in and shared my knowledge of water hyacinth in Malaysia, specifically on the Muar River, that moves up and down the river with tide like a huge green barge. Too much of one-sided exchange is not too good for anyone's intellect. But I can't seem to be able to interject during his continuous delivery). But sometimes, the water hyacinth anchor themselves on the bottom too. You know, further east of here there is the Flatwoods Park with a loop trail (or was it boardwalk? I found out later that it's a 7-mile paved trail) several miles long winding through the park. A certain lady would cycle round the trail to keep a record of these small wooden tree houses affixed to the tree trunks sporadically (or maybe not) ever so often and then send the records to the Florida Chapter which in turn will forward it to the National Headquarters ... Like a bird census, you know? (The last part was mine). I once encountered a 300 strong colony of Robins at the Everglades and at another time I was the only one who spotted a Robin in another bird count down in Miami (or did I get the places reversed?).

We could only nod in unison, marveling at his recall of information at will, at least as far as birds are concerned. And we thought math and bird don't mix.

When we returned to the car park, it was almost an hour later. So we had a good workout (despite the constant walking and stopping to capture the Kodak moments, I did sweat, or rather feel the sweating). So did our brain, thanks to Mark, whoever you are. (As it turned out, I googled some of his "claims" and they checked out.)

Enjoy the fruits of my shootout (you know, shooting, outside, get it?)! If these images seem amateurish to you (my only defense is that the camera's resolution is only 6.0 megapiexels. Not the reason? OK, I'm just a point and shoot guy, satisfied?), read here, with lots of closeups.


The breathtaking vista that greets a visitor on any given day, especially today.

An osprey's hunting for food in action. We were too far to actually know whether that was a fruitful attempt. But it continued to circle above the water and made several subsequent forays.

Our friend with a bushy tail, a squirrel. Squirrels are ubiquitous here. Everyday while on the way to work, I have yet to fail to chance upon a high wire act by these furry critters, darting between telephone poles with nary a halt.

A turtle poking its head through the water to savor the spring in the air. Those white streaks at the top are the ripples of waves called wakes generated by their swimming.

A majestic cypress tree rising above the rest to take its place amidst the azure sky, the boardwalk seemingly going through it.

The carpet-like meadow making its way into ... Gotcha. These are the mats of tiny lettuces covering the water surface.

A blue heron on a food drive. It turns white when it reaches the adult stage, but still a blue heron nonetheless.

The casual wear of wify, spotting sunglasses, bears testimony to the glorious weather.