After Sandy left, I keep forgeting that we are still in autumn because the temperature these days rarely gets to mid 60's let alone to high 60's. This time last year I was still wearing light jacket with short sleeves shirt underneath. Last year, in mid November Rohana and I merayap all over the city with only long sleeve Road Runner running shirt on our backs, and I didn't wear hat at all.
Now, everytime I go out I am in long winter boots, winter jacket and a hat!!!. And the winter is not even here yet.
It wasn't funny at all when it happened, but now when I think about it and look back at my behavior as the minutes unfolded layer by layer, it was pretty funny.
Last Friday evening, Prisca called me to confirm the time for our first workout. We planned to meet the next morning at the track at 6:00 a.m. We planned to spend 30 minutes for core and legs work, and 15 minutes for quick dash on the track. After the workout I'd run for four or five miles and Prisca would stay at the track to work on her martial art moves. Both of us were excited to get back to our weekly workout routine. I stopped for a month because of the fasting and Prisca hadn't been well and not to mention the woman is workaholic.
By 5:30 a.m I was ready in running short, Langkawi t-shirt and sipping a fresh brewed coffee and munched on a slice of lightly buttered pumpernickel toast. After I rinsed the coffee mug, I went back to a living room to get my ID and health insurance card from my backpack. When I reached the inside pocket of backpack where I usually kept my purse, the pocket was empty. My heart skipped a beat. I had everything in that ole worn-out purse. My new bank card, student ID, Boston Public Library card, $24 worth of first class stamps, 2 USB flash drives and a couple of receipts.
I sat on the couch and went through the backpack inside out, not once, not twice but three times. Even on the third time, I knew I was not going to find it, but I went through it anyway. I looked under the couch, under the books on the couch and on sewing table. I moved and turned upside down the fabrics on the working table. Nothing.
After fifteen minutes I called Prisca to let her know that I wouldn't be joining her at the track.
"Kak, I'll pray that you'll find your purse."
"Thank you Prisca. I'll let you know when I find it."
One thing that I was sure that my purse was in my apartment because I remembered I removed my ID and bank card from the back pocket of my short and placed them back in the purse. I remembered I was standing next to the coffee table and my eyes were on tv screen watching the last 10 minutes of Chopped.
After 30 minutes of searching, I decided to take a break, even though I was pissed off at myself for spoiling my plan.
Oh well, let me make myself an omelet. I opened the refrigerator door and took three eggs from the egg carton and grated Monterey Jack cheese and placed them on kitchen counter-top. As I cracking the eggs into a bowl, I remembered I still have a half a bag of baby spinach. I turned around and opened the refrigerator door and pulled the vegetables drawer. Lo and behold!!! There was my ole worn out purse. Sitting cute and pretty on a bag of yellow onions. How did my purse get into a refrigerator?
Amazing, in that moment, I saw every step I took after I found the purse. It was like a rewind DVD.
I leaned the bike against the wall, , removed the plastic bag from bike's handle and walked into a living room. I grabbed the remote control with my right hand while holding the plastic bag in my left hand. I turned the tv on food network channel.
I put the plastic bag down on the floor and removed the backpack from my back. I took out the purse from the backpack while my eyes were glued on tv screen, reached out my ID and bank card from my bag pocket and put them in the purse. When the commercial came on, I picked up the plastic bag off the floor and went to the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and took out bag of onions from a plastic bag and put it in vegetable section. Then I heard Ted Allen's voice to announce who was going to get chopped.
In a hurry, I must have had put the purse in vegetable drawer and closed refrigerator door and went back to watch the Chopped.
When I ride my bicycle in the city, I'm not sure which one makes me nervous, a mother crossing the street while texting, and pushing a baby stroller (with a baby in it!!!) without looking to her left and right, or a cluster of tourists cross the street while looking at the map and stop in the middle of the street to figure out which way to go, or a person fidgetting at the cross section and decides to cross the street when the light turns green to motorists.
Except on weekend, I prefer to ride on open road than riding in the city because in the city at every traffic light stops, no, no, scratch that, along any busy streets, people just simply cross the street with they eyes glued to the gadget in their hands. Why do we become more and more irresponsible for our own lives?
I had whined and complained a few times here of bad and rude drivers on the road. I should share my fortunate experience with fine, sensitive and kind hearted drivers too because there are many of them on the streets.
I'm grateful that everyday I come across these drivers on my way to work. Many of them make an effort slow down when they pass me on a narrow road where there is no bike path. thank you, thank you, thank you.
I can sum up the experience riding home from work today as joyful. It wasn't because I passed consecutively five traffic lights while they were green, or some motorists were more friendly and sensitive than usual, or texters on foot suddenly have more concern of their safety they look up from the gadget in their hands before they cross the street. Uhh...uhh....nothing of that sorts.
I'm fully aware that when I ride my bicycle out there on the streets I have no protection from cars, vans, buses and lorries. I have to skilfully ride my bicycle, folow the traffic laws, obey the road signs and light signals and respect other road users. I have to make myself visible-conspicious and alert all the times. I enjoy riding so much, I could burts with happiness when I am on my bicycle. Anyho, I've always made an effort to stay alert at ll the times.
Autoshop on Dorchester Avenue.
I used to get a little upset over inconsiderate and rude motorists who try to squeeze their way between other vehicles and a cyclist (me) on a bike lane.
Or I get annoyed over pedestarians sho simply jump in front of me to cross the street. But, like everybody else and anywhere else, no matter where I go, I'll come across these types of people.
Along a wide, smooth and lovely Dorchester Ave., I spotted a small pot hole which I carefully swerved away. It was right there and then it dawned to me that there are two types of holes I've come across when I ride my bicycle.
Potholes and assholes.
I couldn't help laughing quietly as I pedalled home. The idea of placing these two holes side by side was hillarious.
I could hear the wind howling outside. Short, short, short and long howling and followed by one long howl. The sound remind me of David Noughton's painful screaming as he turning into a werewolf.
And not only that, as I was sitting at my sewing machine I could see the naked oak tree branches ourtside my living room window lunged at each other. My thought was, "those branches look angry."
But, one huge motivation that propelled me to get up, changed into riding clothes was the bright sun outside. The sun light streamed and fell onto my working table, and that was it.
The one hour quick ride stretched into two hour ride when I took a turn on Boylston Street and kept riding until Boston Garden. I stopped to get a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee and sat outside the Park Street T stop enjoying the 51 degree warm afternoon.
It was so warm, the Hot Dog guy opened his cart.
On my way home on Huntington Ave., the sun light reflected an object that I thought one huge spider web over the small trees.
It turned out a sheet of net thrown over the trees.
It was quite warm on the first day of 2012. A good day for a few miles run, but we decided to explore North End instead. I've been to North End many times before especially during warm weather.
There were not many tourists on the streets, but the place was pretty busy though for winter. Most restaurants were closed except a few cafes' and bakeries.
The bakery was empty, except two kids behind the caunter. While we were trying to make up our minds to choose either conoly or ricotta cheesecake, the customers walked in one after another. All of sudden the tiny bakery was brimming with customers right to the door, and we looked at each other when we found ourselves at the back of the crowd.
We left the bakery and a few minutes later Ana saw Boston Common Coffee across the street.
I'm surprised and glad at the same time that I've been riding a lot this month. In New England, it is not unusual to wake up one morning in December and find out that I don't need a hat, gloves and winter jacket to go out, but to have 50+ degree at least twice a week is pure joy.
Last month, I was thinking to take my bike for tuning up thinking that the less friendly December weather would be too cold for me too ride, but I was wrong. And I'm glad I was wrong, because I still can enjoy my bicycle riding.
It is a lovely surprise and yet enermously delighted me when I finally met a Malaysian who is more interested to explore Boston city and its neigborhood instead of heading to retail outlet stores. And she doesn't mind riding subway, trains and buses. And that is a huge bonus for me who take subways, trains, buses and ride a bicycle everywhere.
And when the weather is fine we explore, walk and run to places.
Outside Tropical Supermarket in Dudley Square.
We browsed thousands of used books at Rodney Used Book Central Square.
We went to Dewey Square and talked with people a Occupy Boston
We ran along Mass Ave. until Boston Garden. Thank you, Ana.