Writing with Rox WEEKLY—What are we, Stupid?

There's next to nothing I enjoy more than a bike ride on a summer night in the Midwest. It must kinesthetically resemble womb-time, what with the perfect float I fall into on darkening nights, with those wide open streets, cicadas and azure bellied insects echoing like a singing bowl, the neon ring guiding my way, bugsong, in the black of night. To that, add the Midwestern moon (we don't have moons like this where I come from; heck, I don't think LA has a moon), humidity hugging me like the Santa Annas I remember from childhood, yet with the speed and breeze of the wind on my bike, I am heaven in motion.  Here it is like no other place I have lived and I cannot get enough. I could easily—easily—bike endlessly into this evergiving night.

On these particlar summer nights, all my fears and worries fall away. Love is the only answer on these nights. All else is just petty. My heart blossoms, the world is completely loving, forgiving, enchanted.  One such recent night, this past Friday, after an amazing dinner at Fujiya in the tatami room to celebrate a friend's birthday, Two Cute Face and I sailed the Uptown seas, before cutting down 31st street, arriving shoreside at Lake Calhoun. We took up the path toward home, following the lower curve along the Parkway. Here, giddy from Mojitoes, yellow tail, and laughing with friends, we paused to look at the stars rising above the lake, noticing a particularly bright, bright star that neither of us recognized. Seriously. This was a star. The kind that twinkles and sprouts in five directions. The movie kind. "I don't think I've ever seen a star like that before," we both said, "is that a planet? What is that?"

Then, another appeared in the southwestern corner of the lake. But wait, it was coming right toward us. What is that? Are we still in the Perseids? Are we in a dream? 

Of course all too soon we realized it was an airplane, then another, but on this particular happy night on our bikes, we concluded that the advantage to being "right brained" and not knowing a lot about how the nitty gritty scientific world works is that we get to live in a world where (most) anything is possible! "A state of wonder," Too Cute Face said, as we left the planes and the stars and the other unknowns over the Uptown lake.

Of course living in such a state, some might argue,  has its disadvantages because it can lead to rule bending. As we headed back up Calhoun and cut over to Lake Harriet, winding blindly up and down the roller coaster hills leading to the bandshell, we descended upon the wild rumpus that was letting out  (outdoor movies in the park!) and to avoid the masses of people, we ended up taking the walking path around the outside of the biking path for a few short pedals before skipping tracks back to the bike path. Going the wrong way. 

Now. I know what you're going to say. I know what you're thinking. It's not like I haven't thought it myself. But here's the thing: We were tired. It was late. No one was on the path, save for a few stray walkers, who when we politely excused ourselves as we came through, apologized for being in the middle of the bike path (might I add, walking the wrong way, as well) to which we said something like "no worries, thank you, thanks, good night!" before pedaling cautiously down a few more blocks before turning off at 47th street. Did I mention it was 11:30 pm? 

So just before we turn off, out of nowhere comes this thundering buzz kill, shouting at us from the street. Well you know who I'm talking about. There's always one of them. So, he says, this bully of a buzz kill on a bike, says he, "You're going the wrong way... You're going the wrong way on the bike path. You're going the wrong way!!" 

Best strategy for me in this case is always to ignore it. What am I, ten? What is he the hall monitor? Even when the hall monitor goes on and on, long after he's out of range about "you are also breaking the law!! Which is dangerous. And stupid. And totally disrespectful and...               "

Suffice it to say, we got off the path unscathed, save for the buzz kill. "And peace to you, Brother as well," Too Cute said, joining me in the wide open street toward home. 

"Seriously!" I said. "What's the deal with that?" Of course I was gungho to launch into my tirade about over-the-top bikers who follow all the damn rules and outlandish "cars are coffins" politics who make it miserable for the rest of us bikers, etc, etc, but Too Cute, being Too Cute, took another approach. "I mean, really, where's the Good Will anymore? What happened to kindness? Compassion? How about instead of shouting at us, just say, "Hey, be careful, just so you know, you're on a one-way path... Wouldn't that be a better approach?"

Really. It's not like we're out to run into people. What's all the excitement about? Since when did we all become so f'ing mean when things don't go our way or when others are behaving in ways that don't coincide with ours and/or the masses behavior. What's all the anger about? What's wrong with us? What are we, stupid? Er, oops, is there something about kindness we seem to be forgetting?

Write with me? 
When was a time you were the biker? Or me and Too Cute Face? 
How do you see the world wondrously? 
What do you live for in the summertime? 
Anything else?!

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—National Night Out Crashers/Running With Neighbors

When I was growing up in the 70s in LA, national night out happened every night. You just went outside and voila, everyone was out. Of course this was LA and in fact most people were out, in more ways than one, not to mention the weather, always out at 70, give or take a few degrees. On any given night, there we'd be, engulfed in jasmine and citrus trees, running with the wind. As the elders buzzed along on the upper plane doing their grownup things with cars or hammers or in the kitchen or on the phone, we roared in and out of our houses, running in packs, in costume, in total surrender, as we dove deeply into the only moment there only ever is during childhood: the blissful now. Skateboarding down Holmby Avenue, playing baseball in the street, or Star Wars on the grass, all sense of time lost until inevitably the call would come for dinner. And for those whose call never came on any given day, that was your day in the sun. You'd go eat over somewhere else, maybe even sleep over. Night after night, we hoped it would never ever end.

Last night was the first time I formally partook in NNO, which I consider a huge deal for an introvert like myself, though I did have my extroverted son along with me, which helped a great deal and was the real impetus for my venturing out. After all, we live in a condo, where the closet thing we come to NNO is in passing in the garage or at the annual board meeting at Dunn Brothers in December, though I've been here almost four years and we've yet to introduce ourselves.  In any case, Jude and I braved the streets, headed around the block to the neighboring party we've been invited to two years in a row, but for whatever reason, never made it. But this year, darn it, we would show up. After all, I had Jude's childhood to think about, which means his childhood has to be the exact same as mine! When life was good! And suddenly, quite urgently, I was determined that on this NNO Jude would get out there and find some kids to run around with. 

It took some doing. Why are we going there, Mama? 
Because we are! 
But why? 
Because there'll be kids! 
Where is it? I don't see anybody...
I don't know! Let's keep walking! 


In typical Ma fashion, we ended up at the wrong party. 


In my thirties,  I rebelled against NNO, this seemingly satirical vision of getting people to make eye contact and actually talk to each other. Are you even serious? It seemed to me, at the time, the live version of FaceBook, where you go try people out who live near you and decide if you want to befriend them because having that happen spontaneously or organically was just too much pressure for our rapidly failing social abilities. Of course this was before Facebook, at least I think it was, but still, I wasn't going to partake in such a contrived Hallmark type event when it was easier to stay at home and complain about the end of our social abilities. 

Now, in my forties, I still find it satirical or at least on the scary side, that we have to create structures in order to introduce ourselves to one another, let alone feel un-self-consicous, while standing in the middle of the street,  or drinking beer in your neighbor's driveway, pointing out to one another which house and which kid is ours. I mean, why don't we then stop each other in the local market and exchange pleasantries? Why don't we, while out walking the dog or riding the bike, make the same sort of small to medium talk that we save for just one night a year? Are we so poor at conversing that we have to save it up for one night only? You see what I'm saying. 

As Jude and I stood estranged from this thriving block party, layered in social circles, oozing good times,  feeling like aliens or homeless intruders or at the very least like those Halloween kids who come to the really rich houses for the good candy, I thought about steering us toward home. People seemed to notice us, but not recognizing us, the looks were more like those you might see while you are cutting in line or, well, crashing a party. Lucky for us, when I couldn't look or feel any more self conscious,  a man around my age, perhaps a bit older, welcomed us into the driveway. "Hey!" I said, introducing us. "We're from the condos over there... is this the block that Janet lives on?" The man looked around, shrugged his shoulders and said, "No, no Janet on this block that I know of. But you're welcome to stay."

"Oh, really? Wow, thanks. That's so sweet of you..." I started to go into my story about Janet, this being our first year out, etc, and before long I was getting into my life story, and one by one, the rest of the neighbors were coming my way, hands outstretched. 

Of course, long before that, almost immediately, Jude was out and running in packs with the boys. What did it matter to him who we knew anyway? There were boys running with swords and sticks shooting things at each other, charging out into the night with capes and superpowers. It was dusk in the summertime, ice cream was chilling in the cooler, and this was his childhood.

It was good times.

WRITE WITH ME? How was your NNO? What sort of pack did you run with as a kid? Or... whatever else you got!