Good things
Posted on | August 3, 2005 |
The kids who run the skateboard shop down by the waterfront, grow radishes, sunflowers, tomatoes and cucumbers in their graffiti covered store window boxes.
Our neighbor knocked on our door yesterday in the early afternoon. She’d brought us spanikopita she’d made from scratch. We’ve barely met, and talked less than a half dozen times. THIS is what neighbors should be like.
Our other neighbor, across the street, works at the bike store we frequent. He gave us a 10% discount from the first time we shopped there, just for living across the street from him. Of course, we now swap power tools, gruesome bike stories, and sidewalk conversation.
Everyone smiles here, and they act like they really mean it. Like they’re smiling because they love their lives, not because it’s the polite thing to do.
Almost everyone rides a bike here. I’ve seen every type of person riding a bike into town, along the bike path, or on the highway. I’ve seen punked out, goth teenagers on bikes, with more metal in their ears than I have in my silverware drawer. I’ve seen pro BMXers and cyclists going the distance. I’ve seen retirees, riding cushy up-right bikes with padded seats. I’ve seen ladies in skirts. A man riding a lady’s bike with a bell and a basket. A hard-core chica riding a tricked out mountain bike, and the scars to prove she’s worth it.
People have nice dogs here. And other people–store keepers especially–are nice to them. There are bowls of water on the street, and sometimes baskets of dog biscuits too. A town with happy dogs is a happy town, in my opinion.
Kids and adults play in the big fountain at the top of the main pedestrian only street downtown. Invariably, there are little ones squealing and soaking wet—but there are also happy young couples, kissing with their toes in the water. Or, like this morning, an old biddy of a lady with white flyaway hair and a flowered dress, who washed her flip flops off in the fountain, and then lingered there for a moment, barefoot.
People in cars slow down for pedestrians here, instead of speeding up. Even when they have the green light. And people on the sidewalks step to the side for baby strollers, and say nice things like, “Take your time, any time. Enjoy your evening,” if they catch you rushing to get out of the way.
Ben & Jerry’s has a weekly outdoor movie night—where they project a film onto a screen in the middle of the pedestrian walk and people bring chairs and hang out together and laugh.
The farmer’s market is heaven. Taking up almost a block, booths are filled with fresh veggies, soaps, meats, and handcrafts, and everyone offers free samples. We always buy fresh flowers and a weeks worth of greens.
One-liner good things:
There is a wood-fired bagel bakery within walking distance.
There are four bakeries within walking distance from our house.
The girl in the local coffee shop already knows our drinks.
People smile at our baby.
Moms breastfeed here, in public, without making a scene. And nobody makes a scene!
The sunsets. Over the lake. Sheer beauty.
There are more than 20 miles of bike path around the city.
You can walk to a wetland from downtown and see beavers.
Live music outdoors all summer. On the street.
Sidewalk sales!
Street festivals.
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August 21st, 2005 @ 1:36 pm
I asked a good friend and teacher of mine “Do you believe in God?” At the time (the tender age of 16), she was the most qualified and most readily available resource to help me sort through my recent breakup with Catholicism. She was also the most exotic person that I knew. She followed someone named “His Holiness the Dali Lama”, had survived a severe case of The Bends which ended her professional diving career, and insisted that all of the pictures in her house be at her eye level (she was 4ft8in) about 2 ft below where most people hung them. It was clear to me that if she couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer to that question then I shouldn’t even bother trying.
“My dear,” she said, “you study biology.” “Every time I need to find evidence of God I walk into my garden and look at a flower or weed, anything that I’ve watched spring out of the ground. There is so much power in the simple brave act of growth. That dynamic, energetic process is the same in every living form and yet it gives rise to so much diversity. That force can be seen everywhere, it’s persistence can be felt. That is God for me, and I swim through this heavenly place everyday.”
I don’t have a garden, and due to the nature of New England winters there are usually months were I forget what the color green looks like. But living in the city there are always people. The constant hum of humanity passing by on buses, shouting out windows, running after dogs or away from heart disease, buying groceries and trying to have some fun and make money. In the winter I always marvel at how many different color and style combinations there are of the basic hat, scarf, coat, and gloves ensemble and how that expresses personality, life experience and mood of each stranger. Just as you described in your piece, it is this individually and pervasive spunk that makes me think that life is good. Spending a few hours marveling at the circus of humanity is all I need to be reminded of my deepest spiritual beliefs. Much better then spending an hour in church…
August 21st, 2005 @ 6:22 pm
Jess… I love your writing. Thanks for sharing it… and for your awesome friendship. You rock!!!