BPD

I saw a policewoman on the street today walking the opposite direction and talking on a cell phone.

"Not me!" she said into the phone, "I can't - I've got my hands full."

She was holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

Invisible Serenade

Yesterday there came a strange chirping from the other side of my train car. I looked around to see what it was, but there were too many people between us, and I couldn't see anything to explain what I heard. It got louder as we pulled into Kendall and the sound of the train dulled, and I recognized the lazy whistle of a plastic recorder. It continued through Harvard Square, but I didn't know it had stopped until it was gone. I never saw the player. Was it a jaded street entertainer? A stoned old man? A first grader preparing for music class? 

Don't Know Much about Science

I have always known that the wind blows. But tonight it had me paralyzed, and something hit me: what if it sucks? That changes everything.

Sam

Last week, a guy next to me on the train asked how my book was and what it was about. I told him the story, asked him what 'emasculate' meant, and started bundling up before my stop. He noticed my bike gloves and explained that he normally bike commutes but couldn't take the sludge that day.

"I'm a kindergarten teacher, so I think it's good for the students to see that everyone doesn't have to drive," he said.
"I support that," I answered.

We said goodbye on the escalator. He was a few steps ahead as we crossed the long hall to exit the station. The truth is, I was walking faster than him, but I couldn't bring myself to pass him. Repeat goodbyes are always worth avoiding. I kept a few bodies between us, but they sped up, and by the time we reached the door, it was Sam holding it for me. I gestured that I was powerless in the situation, and we both apologized, which was unnecessary but put us at ease.

"Usually people don't like other people to talk to them on the train," he said.
"I have a whole blog about it," I answered.

As we walked up the hill, we discovered how much we had in common. I thought how funny it was that two bike commuters would meet on a subway train, and I remembered Keith, and how people who smile really do have an unspoken understanding. Or maybe we're just trying to connect. Either way, it's nice to meet like-minded people.

Real Good for Free

My favorite local burrito place opened a new location. To celebrate, they sponsored 6 hours of free food. I was ready and waiting before the place even opened. My neighbors in line shared stories about where they'd come from, what they were going to order, who tipped them off to the promotion. It was a lovely little community for all ages.

Standing outside in the 10-degree afternoon, I realized that this wasn't about saving five dollars at all. Most people would gladly pay five dollars to get out of a frozen thirty-minute queue. Or even more than five dollars if it were TSA security.  It was about putting yourself in a position to receive a little gift, and accepting that gift in good company. 

Come As You Are

When my train pulled into Harvard the other day, the engineer announced that the train was going express to the end of the line, so most of the passengers and I got out to catch the next train. As we waited, an old man started singing really loudly, and everyone else got quiet. I didn't know his song, but this man had soul. The people on either side of me smiled, and we shared impressed looks that said, "Wow, he's really wailing..." The singer made his way over to us as he finished his song, and I clapped lightly, secretly hoping to be joined by the whole crowd.

"Name a band - any band!" he shouted to the man next to me. It got loud then as the next train pulled in, but through the closing doors, I heard the singer start up his unlikely encore - Nirvana. 

She Wears Two Signs

A lady stood with her back toward the top of the escalator as I left my train stop. She had a sign hanging from her shoulders that read, "Crippled - please help." As the escalator rose, I saw that the backs of her legs were exposed, despite the freezing temperatures, and that there were gaping wounds in the belly of both of her calves. I gulped.

Readers, I agonize over the words in these posts, and I hope you will not think I exaggerate when I say this was repulsive, and she bared it to the world in the heart of winter.

"Gaping wounds," I repeated to myself as I walked home. 

Snow Day

As the snow piles up, so do the snow days. People are frustrated that they can't work, can't get around. And they're cold and wet.

But I can't help but think back on the first one, January 12th, 2011, when we went outside to shovel our cars out and found neighbors dancing in the driveway. Literally. Everywhere was gorgeous white and people of all ages were bundled up like the little kid in A Christmas Story. I exchanged smiles and happy snow day greetings with each person I saw - no exceptions. I know that my worldview has a starry-eyed optimist sway, but readers, you couldn't deny the relief on those faces. People need a break from routine, and sometimes the only thing that will grant it is mama earth.

"Everything doesn't get better just because it's a snow day, you know," laughed Morgan.
"Yes, it does," I said. "Look around."

A quote on this subject:
"As Luther puts it, our sinful state is like a dunghill: ugly and offensive, having nothing in itself that would commend it to anyone, let alone God. Justification is like the first snowfall of winter that covers everything, including the dunghill, in a blanket of pure white. The smell is gone. The repulsive sight is gone. The dunghill is still intrinsically a dunghill, but now it’s covered." - Summation found on this blog.

Slow it Down, Now

Due to the massive amounts of snow that have fallen on the greater Boston area, sidewalk sizes have shrunk to a fraction of their former width. Unfortunately for me, this means there is no passing allowed. No matter how late I'm running. So when I find myself behind a blind man with a cane or an old lady with short steps (both of these happened this week), I get a much needed slap on the wrist.

Either that, or I decide to walk on the street.

Sculpture

The snow in New England is heavy and wet. It doesn't cave in or flake off under weight. It's snowman snow. Walking home Monday night, I saw the word "Exactly" scrolled into the snow bank to my right in perfect, undisturbed cursive. The snow rounded the edges of the word, making it even more lovely. A little ahead, I saw the words "I am?" in a different print. After a driveway followed the rest of the conversation, which was a lot like something I might write have written to my sister if my mom had told us to be quiet in church. It was a celebration of the very possibility of a written exchange, not any sort of actual discussion. Further up the hill lie signatures and drawings, will-you-marry-me's and fuck-you's. Four parallel lines where someone had distractedly dragged his gloved fingertips as he walked. Three days of snow graffiti preserved for anyone to see. But walking home on a noiseless night, I felt like it was all for me.