Exercise in the Sharing Economy

It was another hot day here, but after returning home from a mid-afternoon movie, I was restless. 95 degrees had subsided to 88, and the lazy early evening sun was sinking behind haze and boomers that were too far away to rain. I tapped my phone and checked the scooter app. There were a bunch a couple miles away in Crystal City, but at that time of day, traffic would be heavy, and I wasn't looking for a place to drive.

A bike path led directly to the scooters, and I knew there was a bike share station on the way and another one at the end. With that, my plan was clear. Ten minutes later I was on a bike, 15 minutes after that it was parked, and I was walking a couple of blocks back to the scooters I had pedaled past. From there it was all wind in my hair as I rolled back home. 

Sun Drenched

Chapter I:

Oh, Pennsylvania! I don't think I would recognize you without a torrential downpour or two, even when the sun is shining.

Chapter II:

"Do you think visibility is better or worse when it rains so hard it's like you're in a car wash but the sun is shining?" I asked Heidi somewhere along Rt. 322.

Chapter III:

I answered my own question. "I think it's worse."

The Language of the Kitchen

It has been fun spending time with Kyle, and at 18 his interests are maturing a little bit as the reality of self-sufficiency creeps ever closer. As such, he has been more of a presence in the kitchen and at the grill, making observations and asking questions.

"So you're scraping the lime skin onto the raw fish?" he asked rhetorically yesterday.

"I'm adding lime zest to the marinade," I translated, "but basically, yeah."

Then I tapped a bit of the grated zest into his palm. "Smell that, then taste it."

"Wow!" he said. "I can see why you use that."

Entertaining Inquiry

This summer we have relied on Netflix for most of our TV viewing. Between  Chef's Table, Mindhunter, and I am a Killer, the question I ask Heidi when we settle in for the evening is What do you feel like, serial killers or chefs?

My Kind of Day...

...is any day that includes walking waterfront, playing ping pong on the public table there, and renting a giant four-wheeled contraption to pedal it madly up and down the boardwalk.

It could only have been better with scooters.

Homeward Bound

Our route today took us across the northwest corner of New Jersey, through the Poconos, and onto I-81 from Scranton to Syracuse. The landscape was beautiful: rugged and mountainous, and I remembered driving on 81 from Binghamton to Harrisburg on my trips to DC from college.

For the first three years, I didn't have a car, and so when Thanksgiving rolled around I relied on those signs in the student union that had phone numbers on little tear-offs at the bottom to find my transportation south. Of course that usually meant ponying up gas cash up front, jamming a duffle bag in the trunk, and smushing in between strangers in the backseat of somebody's Chevy NOVA. Eight hours later, my aunt would pick me up at some parking lot off of the Baltimore Beltway, and drop me off there the following Sunday afternoon.

It was all more than worth it to me for four days with family. Three weeks later, I would be on my way home for winter break, which was an entirely different sort of trip involving airport limos, helicopters, and a first class ticket on Pan Am from JFK to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. Longer and certainly more comfortable, the promise of family time sweetened those travels as well.

And the same was true today as I piloted our Subaru from Hightstown to Buffalo-- up and down mountains, through cities and towns, over rivers and around lakes, in sunshine and in rain, on empty roads and stop and go thruways-- our final destination was dinner waiting on a round oak table with five places set, and space for the dog underneath.

Beware of Dog

The parking lot was full when we pulled into a nearby park this afternoon. Several white picnic canopies were arranged over at the edge of the fields, and speakers were pumping out upbeat music from the bandstand. To be honest, the mostly African American crowd was an unusual sight for this semi-rural little hamlet, but the mini-buses labeled "Trenton Pentecostal Church" sort of explained the unexpected diversity, and reminded me that nothing is really very far away from anything in New Jersey, where suburbs melt effortlessly into farms, and almost every east-west road includes a bridge over the turnpike.

A group of five little kids led by a boy of perhaps 10 or 11, stood wide-eyed as we unloaded the dogs for the walk we were there to take. First out was Odie, a springy little miniature schnauzer who bounced to the end of his leash.

"Whoa! A dog!" said one of the children in utter surprise.

"Wait until you see the next one!" Heidi told the little girl.

The group gasped in surprise as Lucy bounded out of the station wagon with her typical tada! flourish.

"Okay," said the leader, stepping in front of his charges and spreading his arms, "which one bites?"