Once upon a time, I worked right across the street from Al Biernat’s, and I had the privilege of shaking his hand a couple times a week (no one else in town is better at shaking hands). Then the place where I work moved its office to place not so near Al Biernat’s, and I saw him far less frequently. Like, never. Which is entirely my fault. It’s like calling your grandmother. The longer you go between calls, the more you’re racked with guilt, and the harder making that next call becomes.
All of which I offer by way of explanation for this post. Al Biernat sent me a picture he took of some pretty wildflowers in Kiest Park, in Oak Cliff. He said he hoped I could tell people about the flowers. So, filled with guilt, I am. Hey, people, go check out the flowers in Kiest Park. (Al, tell Danny and Jessie and Eduardo that I miss them, too.)
