Mini epiphany.
May 18, 2006 When I was younger we lived on military bases. My mom worked, my dad worked, but we still needed a way to get around (I babysat a lot, and had swim lessons, and we had a horse we had to take care of, etc., etc.) so we rode our bikes. Every. Single. Day.
I'll bet you that my thigh muscles could've cracked a damn walnut in two. My legs were so buff it was skeery. As an adult, I reminisce to those times, and think, "Riding my bike was FUN! It was so EASY! I want to do it again!"
But, um, it was a MILITARY BASE. Meaning, the streets were well-lit, there were MPs patrolling all the time, we had lived there for years so we knew everyone, and I wasn't old (and *cough cough* out of shape). I was young, and had places to go, dammit. It was for necessity, a mode of transportation.
I've been riding my bike with Phoebe every night, at least around the block. My muscles are perpetually sore, and I huff and heave like the dickens when I'm pedaling against the wind, but I'm starting to like it again. I mean, not just for the sake of exercising, but for being able to ride through the neighborhood and see things that you don't get to see when you drive through in your car.
I forgot about how much you can smell things when you take the time. The dirt, the road, the smell of grass, of car exhaust, plants and flowers, the hot air. Last night we went out after dark, which is something I haven't done before. I felt like I saw my town, for the first time, by smell.
I smelled cologne and dryer sheets, cooking food and freshly-cut lawns. I smelled sprinklers hitting grass, I smelled cars being washed. I smelled a working-class neighborhood, I smelled pride and cleanliness. I smelled busy people at the end of a busy day in their busy lives.
It's not the same as riding around on base, and there's fear when I'm riding down a dark street with my kid strapped in behind me. But there were people sitting outside fixing their cars, walking down the street with kids in strollers, talking on the phone in their yards, putting out their trashcans and yelling at their children to come back inside. I used to see the shadowy streets and think... bad things. This isn't the greatest neighborhood. We've had our car broken into. Shots fired in our driveway. A rape and shooting at the corner market.
Now, though, I look down the street and think... families. Working hard. Living. Kids playing. It's not so bad, really, and I can't believe that I've lived here for this long and never took the time to see it, never really slowed down long enough to smell this neighborhood, this place I live and am raising our kids.
It smells good.
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