Time slows down on the bike. Today I started the day with sewing machine loaded up in the trailer and lengths of fabric, heading off to my mom’s to sew on a quilt (for my son’s school’s yearly auction). She and I set up in the kitchen and talked and hummed along on our two machines, taking breaks for coffee and to steam-press newly-sewn seams before sitting back down for another round of stitching. Nels joined us after preschool and happily retired to the living room to help Grandpa with a puzzle until it was time for us to hit a diner for lunch.
After eating and chatting with the waitresses it was off in the sunshine to pick up my daughter; we’re early so once Nels and I get off the bike and unpack helmets and walk in to the school for Suse, why not let the kids stay and play on the playground for a few minutes? Not something I feel inclined to do when I’m in the pickup line, dutifully driving through the roundabout and pausing to have my child inserted in the car (I’ve seen other parents stay uninterrupted on cell phone calls during this operation). On the swings I permit myself a foray into Andrew Bird (must… stop… listening to incessantly!) on my new [late] birthday present from Ralph (variety: purple).
Time slows down enough that, say, you suddenly realize you had a date ten minutes ago in Aberdeen and can’t possibly make it (shit!). Or enough that you don’t jet home for the day and therefore miss a phone message canceling tonight’s hosted dinner at friends’ house, due to friends’ illnesses. Therefore my joke in arriving at our friends’ house (smoking a cigarette while biking, observed more often than you might think in GH) is completely lost on the hosts, afflicted with equal parts plague and guilt. Home for a quick plan and make-up of evening repast.