⚡ October 15, 2017
If I Could Save Time In A Bubble 🎈
Truth be told – and today’s bit ‘o caramel is all about the truth – I don’t get out very much. My life is quiet and sedentary. Therefore, schlepping to NYC is not something to be treated lightly. The trip, from various places we’ve lived on the East Coast, is always about 2.5 hours, and the coming-home part can be fussy, whether driving crazily at night trying to keep awake on dark country roads, or nodding off on a train with more than a few excited and over-tired screaming babies in seats way behind us, but still with earshot.
Still, when you are 70, you only have two choices: onward and upward, or decrepitude. I heartily choose the first option, and it pretty much has worked out. Proof is that I’m here typing away while the entire clan is sleeping, and except for the difficulties I was having with my One Stitch project, which entailed a bit of vomiting, I came through it with minor aches and pains. Just think what I could accomplish if I actually started to excercise and not just wave my new cast iron skillet over my head in a circle and call it a day.
We toured New York University, where the permanent party in Washington Square Park was in full swing. Bill got his BA, MA, and PhD from NYU, so he was in bliss showing his very own grandson the streets – the very streets – where he experienced true freedom for the first time in his very sheltered life. Meanwhile, our little granddaughter was squeezing every ounce of fun from every possible possibility. The bubbles are so poignant – big and fancy and city-sized, and her outstretched arms with their tiny little guns are so poignantly hopeful.
Men and boys make their living in the park doing very fey things. Two guys with manual typewriters were pounding away on their custom poetry and a tiny very white man was pretending to be a statue come to life on the arch, but he seems to have studied lizards on a rock for his interpretive moods. Creepy, he was, in the very literal sense.
I will write more when I feel better, but for now, let it be known that I didn’t see a single obvious Trump supporter in the entire journey from rural Bucks County to urban New York City. Plus, the cell phone revolution has done more for civility that I thought possible. All kinds of people are very confident in their wielding of the phone now, ready at a moment’s notice to start recording bad behavior that could spiral into a viral outbreak. The citizens themselves are taking charge, and they are armed with cameras and recording devices. The soldiers in the train station are wearing desert camouflage against the Orange Julius storefront, but we can totally see them and their weapons. 🐔