Plum Island

I awoke today, a special day, a bike ride day.  I packed some snacks, bundled up, and headed downstairs to find the following special autumn surprise in the basket of my bicycle.

We had several diversions along the way.  Inflating the tires, stopping for a sandwich/banana bread, etc. What we'd hoped would be a 10:00 am departure time became a 12:00 noon departure - OH WELL WORSE THINGS HAVE HAPPENED.

In the car, we talked about weighty matters, such as which colors of leaves were our favorites.  Orange was the clear winner.  At one point, were so engrossed in the leaf conversation that we completely missed our turn.  We continued down the little country road for a way in hopes that we hadn't, but it became clear that we were not in the vicinity of the nature reserve.

However, we did NOT miss the charming roadside farm stand selling pumpkins.

We chatted with the farmers, posed with the tractor, and each purchased a pumpkin. They threw in a couple of squash into the deal. After some directions from the friendly farmers, we were on our way again. 

Plum Island is a barrier island...

...with the Atlantic Ocean on the east...

...dunes and forests in the middle...

...and marshes along the protected channel to the west. 

 What do you see Kaci?

'This:'

All in all, a pretty fun day.  We stopped for french fries and fried clams on the way home and got back pretty late and exhausted.

More photos, for your enjoyment.

 Windblown pups.  

 Footprints, human and gull.  

Skinny! Legs! 

 

 Gone fishing. 

'All animals have a comfort zone.  If an animal moves away 

from you, you are too close'.  Good advice for humans too. 

 A lot of linear feet of boardwalk. 

 It was chilly by the water.

The 'plums' for which the island was named. 

Brisk

The air outside is brisk.  Today's bike ride warrants the wearing of the formerly ubiquitous rainbow vest, I think.

Past, Present, Future

No, as far as these things are concerned, there is just today, beautiful, perfectly, joyfully, tragically unfolding, however it may.  Everything else - yesterday, tomorrow - is simply a story we tell ourselves.  They are powerful stories, to be certain, stories which inform our choices and our emotion and awareness, but really the only thing that truly exists is this moment we've been given. 

From my journal Monday 5 October 2009. 

The end of that journal got really spastic.  As in, of the last five entries, I wrote the word UGH at least eight times.  The final entry even consisted of only that single word, 31 December 2009: UGH, and then nothing else for the rest of the book.  I had to move on to the next notebook with seven blank pages remaining, just because I needed a fresh start (and what a coincidence it aligned perfectly with the calendar year this time!).  Anyway, though, I was looking back through for something profound that somebody had said that I thought I'd recorded, but I didn't find the profound statement.  Instead I came across the above little nugget, which is also profound, in its way.  It is nice to go back and re-read and surprise yourself that maybe you can sometimes write things that are a little bit wise or beautiful, even if you have pages and pages filled with UGH UGH UGH in large childish scrawl. 

Like Ju-Ju Pup always has at the bottom of her emails, that uniquely human marriage of the infinite and the mundane within each of us...

I just got to inquire

My sister and I went to sushi down the road several stops and were waiting to catch the trolley home. The stop is a small one, and at that part the road is pretty wide and dark and is flanked only by the semi-vacant stares of apartment buildings, no stores or restaurants. The street lights are dim and spaced further apart. When we arrived, there was nobody even there waiting. After a couple minutes a man and his little daughter had also arrived to wait.

We heard yelling and saw two men toss a third one out the front door of their apartment building onto the pavement and start beating him up. He tried to get up and they threw him back down.

I looked at Beth to see what we should do, but she did not know either.

The man called out to the father to help, but what could the father do? He had a daughter.

My sister and I and the father and the daughter all got on the train and left the man there to get beat up because we did not know what else we even could do except call the police. We arrived home to our apartment pretty shaken.

We had never known something like that to happen in our neighborhood.

***

The next evening I am running a little behind.

Even though you aren't supposed to do it, I am picking my way across the ballast, stepping over both sets of darkened trolley tracks. Avoiding headlights, I cross the main road, the narrow traffic island, then the parking/access street, finally reaching the far sidewalk, where I exchange brief grins with a somewhat older gentleman who ends up walking a couple paces behind me.

Up a few yards ahead, the shops are glowing, but here it is still a bit darker. I am a little nervous recalling the events of the previous night, nervous and - I am ashamed to admit - suddenly suspicious of this man whom I do not know.

I will definitely be fine in a couple moments, I remind myself.

Mid-whistle, I gasp. I hear the sound of something scrabbling, coming suddenly closer from behind. It is not the man, though, it is a rabid animal, a salivating raccoon ready to tear at my jugular with its tiny razor teeth and wild, wild eyes.

No, actually it is neither a man nor a beast. It is just a little punk-ass kid zipping by on a bicycle.

"Too fast" the man mutters, mostly to himself.

I resume walking and whistling, willing my heart to slow to its normal rhythm.

"Excuse me miss," I look over my shoulder. It is still that same man. "Excuse me miss, but I just got to inquire. What's got you whistlin' Dixie?"

"Ohhh... I don't know, I guess it was stuck in my head."

"I thought you must have had the most fantastic day or something."

"No my day wasn't really fantastic, just regular. It was pretty good. I was just whistling." Although it's pretty fantastic now.

A few more steps we go, past the Chinese food place with children's drawings papering the wall, not sure if we should put this conversation to rest. "Well you have a good night."

"Thanks. You too." He keeps going straight, but I have to turn the corner.

The experience the night before had me feeling a little worried, but now I remember that most of the people you will ever meet are actually really nice and good people and that most of the time I am just so glad to get the chance to talk to them or see them, even for only a couple minutes.


I just got to inquire!

Yo I'm on Fire!!!

Dude, let's all take a moment appreciate Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Especially that fourth movement. And while we're at it, let's appreciate these beautiful lyrics based from the poem by Friedrich Schiller:

Freude, schöner Götterfunken (Joy, beauteous spark of divinity)
Tochter aus Elysium, (Daughter of Elysium)
Wir betreten feuertrunken, (We enter drunk with fire)
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum! (Heavenly One, your sanctuary!)

Deine Zauber binden wieder (Thy magic power reunites)
Was die Mode streng geteilt; (All that custom has strictly divided)
Alle menschen werden Brüder, (All men become brothers)
Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt. (Where your gentle wing abides.)

A Very Bad Idea:

Putting an opened can of Sprite in the water bottle holder on my bicycle.

Sans Training Wheels - II

While we're on the subject of my bicycle, I would like to write a bit of an ode, since it has now been my companion for almost ten years.

To my bicycle:

I think we both remember that one spring day in 7th grade, that day I confidently made the trip to the bicycle store with my parents. After test-driving several different models I finally decided upon a black hybrid Specialized bicycle. You had an adjustable seat, thick air-filled tires, and amazingly awesome grip shifters. You glided effortlessly across the pavement. Each stride with my feet sent us sailing down the street, together. I descended hills like a breeze and could climb them again almost as easily. I was so pleased, so proud to be seen with you, and I imagine you felt the same about me.

However, I don't think you remember what life was like before I found you. With six of us kids under one roof and my mother possessing [u]naturally frugal tendencies, we never had new bicycles. As I recall, my first bike ever was a hand-me-down that my dad fixed up and spray-painted magenta at my request. That hot-pink beast was so old that it had solid rubber wheels instead of the typical pneumatic tires one usually sees. Likewise, it had a metal cover over the chain mechanism so I wouldn't scrape my little calves and a hole at the end of each handle where the previous owner had plucked the plastic streamers. I fell off that bicycle often, but each time I climbed back up and eventually learned to balance on my own.

I loved my bikes. Each one slightly bigger than the previous, procured from a family friend or "roadside recycling." I loved the thrill of pedaling full speed down the hill in front of my parents' house. But I dreamed of the day I would have a REAL bicycle with handle breaks and gears. Yes. Gears. Or at least gear changers. At the time I didn't really understand the purpose of these integral bicycle components, but I assumed they had something to do with that sophisticated clicking noise that the bikes of more mature people made (now that I am older and wiser, of course, I realize that the clicking comes from the ratchet in the rear wheel, not the gears at all). But that sound is still just as lovely --- if not lovelier, with you --- as we soar down hills.

Anyways, as soon as I was old enough, I started babysitting with vigor (although why parents trusted their precious children to my eleven-year-old care is a bit baffling... and probably a whole other story). I saved all of my earnings and... well you know the rest.

But today, as we were riding back to my apartment from the Student Union, I realized that the years have not been so kind to you. Yes it is possible I may have mistreated you a bit. Okay, let's admit it, you are in pretty crappy shape. The chain grinds and clatters against the gears, and your paint is chipping in many locations. The rubber on your grip shifters is beginning to tear. And your seat has seen better days, mainly due to the befuddled neighborhood squirrels who have an appetite for synthetic leather and worn yellow foam cushion.

But, to be honest, you do the trick. I don't race; I don't try to maneuver over boulders and roots on mountain trails. I take you to class or the train station or occasionally to make the trek up the hill to the supermarket. I don't need any other bike than you. And through it all, you have been faithful, loyal, dependable. I couldn't ask for anything more. I love you, bicycle!

Sincerely,

Katie

Here you are, in all your glory:

Sans Training Wheels

I had a dream the other night that I went to the bike store to get some replacement parts for my bicycle bell which broke last summer.

(The bell itself is actually really cool. It is shiny and metal and has a turtle sticker on the top. However, I guess it wasn’t assembled very securely because I went over a tremendous pothole (granted they are huge where I live) and the whole thing exploded… sending gears and screws and other pieces in every direction. I gathered up the top cover and as many parts as I could find but could not locate the two plastic gears or the black lever you press with your thumb to actually make it ring.)

So in my dream, I went to the store in hopes that I could purchase those missing components. The old man at the counter gestured to a dusty cardboard box in the corner by the window. I peered into the depths and saw that there were only intact bicycle bells, no parts at all. I picked up one; it was heavy and chunky and cost $20.00! I dusted off another, and another… they were all in the same size and price range. Dude, no way was I paying thirty bucks for any of that junk!

And then there was that one rectangular white one that looked like an old-school cassette player. I read on the scratched plastic wrapper about how this one possessed a motion-sensor. You didn't need to do anything; it could sense if people were in your way and would emit a signal. I pressed one of the buttons and it produced a series of whining beeps.

???

The World of Newt

Tonight is my team’s fourth intramural soccer game of the season. We’ve never won or even played a match with a full team. The first one was canceled because the goals were filled with snow (from the giant plow that cleared off the turf field). The second took place in a blizzard, the third in rain so heavy that puddles formed on the field.
Winning… what is that? Scoring on your own goalie… passing to the other team… falling for no reason, with no one pressuring you… that is what I’m talking about. Basically what I am trying to say is I am looking forward to a fun time tonight.

Regarding the traffic light analysis: it did do me good. But not because of the signal colors. Here's a summary of lovely details from today that made me smile:

• The man with the curly ponytail and earphones dressed as Statue of Liberty. He’s always standing in front of Liberty Income Tax, waving and grinning (I can only imagine because he is rocking out to Led Zeppelin or Hillary Duff) as all of the cars speed up the hill towards Vermont.
• Sitting on a concrete stump with my bicycle next to me and a small notebook, collecting information about the intersection across from Liberty Income Tax.
• Waving back at Statue of Liberty man.
• The kid with a sparkly blue bike helmet and mint colored wrist pads who has been cycling all over creation. I must have seen her at least five times today alone.
• My pink sweatshirt that used to be E’s.
• Nerdlings who shyly and awkwardly ask what I am doing.
• The itty bitty dog on a leash skittering alongside a jogging girl in yoga pants.
• Crocuses!
• Looking at all of the garbage along the side of the road (i.e. rusted metal wheel, puzzle piece, torn plastic lei) and imagining stories of former lives.
• Another girl with TWO itty bitty dogs on leashes (this is almost too much for me).
• The fact that I figured out the cycle times and phases of all of my assigned intersections.