The decreasing width of the one way streets due to heavy snowfall is not entirely new, last summer, within six weeks of moving, Hennepin Avenue was torn up for a construction project, and buses were running through Fremont and Girard Avenue one way streets ... that's a full size metro transit bus, between parking on both sides of the street, on a one way, every day, on schedule. Pretty much close to schedule, anyway. So I spent a little more time on NiceRide bicycles, and found their convenience reassuring, if the bus was not on time, there was usually a way to get to where I wanted to be.
I have been trying to swim more and more regularly, struggling to learn how to share a lane with another swimmer - I reflected to somebody once how playing basketball is the closest I can get to role playing as an adult, sometimes putting myself into the character of a player taking a free throw, or lining up a three point shot like Ray Allen, ice cold as the buzzer signals the end of the game. Unflappable.
Nothing makes me flap more than trying to swim in a lane with somebody, and it is not without precedent. I just don't want to be hit, or hit, or be disturbed for the twenty minutes it takes me to swim a half mile.
Sometimes, it is the only twenty minutes in a 24 hour period I can be in motion and not expect somebody to walk in front of me, to drive in front of me, to imperil or inconvenience me with side stepping, back stepping, waltzing to and fro, the tango, the sashay, the "whatever it takes to not get hurt or hurt", the "get out of my way" maneuvers that become a high school student's common practice as he or she makes their way from one class to another.
Who expects that from adulthood?
I aspired to loving, and being loved in return, and instead I have, "worry about being hit or hitting in return."
So anyway, that's what I like about swimming; even if I need to learn how to share a lane, I get those twenty minutes or so of just concentrating on my breathing, the floating and the kinetic drift of my body through the water. It is not a simple thing, despite Michael Phelp's large diet and carefree attitude, it is not at all like that.
Besides that, I got to reading "The Right Stuff" last year, and then watched the movie. I liked the book quite a bit, as it holds true to the essay form Tom Wolfe displayed in "The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test", sometimes interjecting personal opinions and embellishments that may or may not be true but really fill out the images and characters well. My daily efforts at crosswords and sudoku puzzles continue, sometimes to less than commendable results; not inconsequentially, gradually requiring less and less antagonism.
There has been some bike riding and baking so far this year, but more constant priorities have returned, as reliable as the Spring snowstorm that accompanies the Minnesota State Boys Hockey tournament; Will I be able to renew my lease? Will I have a place to live? Can I stay healthy? Is there a reasonable career I can establish for myself in middle age? When and where did all of the time go?
These studded tires are something else.
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| Photo by Jim McKinney |
