Today I was reminded of the so-called halcyon days of summer, you know, full of childish ebullience and mangled grammar?
While running errands via bike, I was audience to a number of delightful people-watching opportunities. First, a porch baby. You know, the baby on the porch whose parents are nowhere to be seen? He was babbling to his mailbox and looking suspiciously at me over his shoulder. Good for him.
Another memorable character was a young boy sitting on the curb of a low-traffic neighborhood street.
Ahead of me a car rolled by and the boy started shouting excited, incomprehensible words; victorious in tone.
As I approached on my bike he yelled, “Hey, run my can over!” But he was not really saying it to me. It was as if he was calling out to the Gods of Running Over Cans to send a willing participant. I looked to my left to see a squashed generic cola can. He looked at me excitedly, eyebrows raised over his perfectly round little-kid glasses. He also had a side part.
I half-smiled, kept rolling by, and did not veer towards the can. He seemed unaffected, confident another passerby would be more enthusiastic about his game.
Turning the corner I saw my least favorite group of society: unsupervised adolescent boy gangs. There is something so unappealing about this group, at this age. Their awkwardness, their bizarre behavior. They are like puppies with energy, eyes, and feet too big to fit their bodies. As a result they always give me the uncomfortable impression they are dizzy and about to fall down.
Ahead of me a car rolled by and the boy started shouting excited, incomprehensible words; victorious in tone.
As I approached on my bike he yelled, “Hey, run my can over!” But he was not really saying it to me. It was as if he was calling out to the Gods of Running Over Cans to send a willing participant. I looked to my left to see a squashed generic cola can. He looked at me excitedly, eyebrows raised over his perfectly round little-kid glasses. He also had a side part.
I half-smiled, kept rolling by, and did not veer towards the can. He seemed unaffected, confident another passerby would be more enthusiastic about his game.
Turning the corner I saw my least favorite group of society: unsupervised adolescent boy gangs. There is something so unappealing about this group, at this age. Their awkwardness, their bizarre behavior. They are like puppies with energy, eyes, and feet too big to fit their bodies. As a result they always give me the uncomfortable impression they are dizzy and about to fall down.
They are also unfortunately hormonal, with all the accompanying traits and behaviors. They refuse to get a normal haircut, wear clothing that fits, or censor a word that comes out of their mouths. Most gratefully, turning 29 has officially placed me in Ma'am territory, so anyone under 18 is reluctant to shout obscene advances since they are worried I could be their new homeroom teacher.
I pass the gang without incident.
I also had a brief encounter with an old man lacking peripheral vision and adequate hearing, who, despite my numerous attempts to maneuver around him with proper notice, was unable to sense my presence. I eventually had to rudely cut him off.
These scenes have been playing themselves out forever.
For some reason this felt extremely reassuring to me. For some reason it made me feel like my life is just like the lives of the vegetables, fruits, and flowers I planted in my garden this summer: beautiful, purposeful, and finite.
1 Comments:
Nice post: pleasant reminder that life does indeed exist outside of blogs,twitter,email and the office.life goes on and on, yet as excited as we get about change and the next "new" thing we often forget simple pleasures, present most often all around us but out of our field of vision, blinded as we are by networks, feeds and a flickering monitor. Sweet.
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