The balmy November weather has kept the colorful leaves hanging on the trees a bit longer, and I'm still slipping into flip flops rather than furry clogs for my morning Starbucks run. And the biker guys have not yet retreated indoors; they still swarm in wildly colored spandex and oddly shaped helmets outside my pre-dawn haven, clicking in like an army of alien tap dancers and marching up to the counter like they own the place. Welcome to our planet, fellas, but go find your own Starbucks.
Yipes, how inhospitable of me; they're just men of a certain age (I'm guessing right around mine) searching for the meaning of life. So what if they wear silly outfits? I'm committed to being kinder, particularly after I received so many lovely birthday wishes from people much more thoughtful than I tend to be. There were, of course, the wonderful meals with close friends -- the usual suspects, but there were also countless Facebook well wishers, people from my past and present whom I rarely or never see, taking the time to acknowledge the day. Contrary to popular belief, the social network is not just a forum for underage drinkers and under dressed college girls to flaunt their stuff. It's all about connection, however fleeting, and it might just help keep a reclusive crankosaurus like me from falling off the face of the earth.
There were two pleasantly surprising phone calls from old friends. First, there was the call from my childhood pal, the one with whom I enjoyed breakfast on a recent visit to New York (back when I was still a fledgling blogger trying to figure out whether I really was a narcissist). The other was from from my law school buddy, the one person I still keep in touch with from those days (unless you count my husband). That is if you can call a once a year quick lunch on the day before Thanksgiving, when I blow briefly into New York, keeping in touch. They are both lifelong New Yorkers, and share an accent that makes me nostalgic for my formative years out east. Hearing from them was as comforting as sitting down to a bowl of my grandmother's chicken soup with rock hard matzoh balls, followed by a plate of her spectacular stuffed cabbage.
Both phone calls were relatively brief; we didn't spend too much time catching up on the minutiae of our lives, or our kids' lives. Nevertheless, it was obvious that they, as I am, are still searching for answers that eluded us when we were young. They, as I am, are sensing the new adventure that lies ahead as the kids leave the nest (the eagle's nest, of course), and are beginning to flex their aging wings. Getting ready for take-off. Okay, maybe there will be more limping than soaring at first, but the eagle image is my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Even limping is okay, as long as you move forward. I actually went for a bike ride the other day, determined to enjoy the unseasonable weather and, who knows, maybe search for the meaning of life. Call me vain, but you will never see me in wildly colored spandex of the sort worn by the Starbucks extraterrestrials, and I shun helmets because they always seem to slip off my head and start to strangle me. Asphyxiation strikes me as more of a threat than a spinal injury. And the clip-on bike shoes? After several near death experiences, I reserve those for indoor spinning, and would rather risk having the laces of my running shoes get caught in the gears than ever again experience the panic of going over with my feet still stuck to the bike.
Something appears to have happened to my bike since I last rode it over the summer. I can't possibly be as out of shape as I felt; I could barely pedal the damn thing. I must have been too distracted by my search for the meaning of life to feel the strong winds in my face, or notice the flattened tires, or smell the molasses somebody obviously spooned into the gears. But I limped on, arriving home alive, if just a bit breathless. (Aim low; you don't get disappointed.) And, throughout the ordeal, I always moved forward, never backwards (although I must admit I did make a complete circle).
Today, another balmy one, I thought maybe I'd wash the molasses out of the gears and fill up the tires (they don't seem flat but I'm probably not squeezing hard enough), and go for another spin. But baby birds need their rest, and learning to take flight takes time. I decided to put the bike away until next spring, and went to have a talon-icure instead.
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