Perpetual Motion

Life moves so fast. New Yorkers seem to thrive on this fast paced, frenzied lifestyle. May is national bike month, and I have been trying to ride my bike to work at least twice a week. My commute is between 7 and 8 miles and I ride through Central Park, and then down the Hudson River Parkway. Imagine, it's 6:55 am and the city is still half asleep. The early summer air is cool, and I pedal off through Central Park. It is really getting green now, and the flowering trees are in full bloom. I passed a woman last week in the park, and then when I got to the Parkway she was in front of me again? I was curious how this could be? Did she know a shortcut that I was unaware of? I rode up next to her to inquire of her shortcut. With her hands firmly gripping the handlebars in front of her, and her eyes fixed on the path ahead she shewed me. "Get on, either go in front, or ride behind, you're being unsafe, go, get, go." She was so stressed I just said, "easy lady you need to chill", and I rode off, blissfully unconcerned with the stress of the city. I love moving through the city by the power of my legs, speeding past gridlocked traffic, weaving in and out of walkers, runners, and rollerbladers. I love ringing my orange bell as I pedal past decked out road bikers. Some of my favorite interactions are with messengers riding weather worn fixed gear bikes. Most of them are tatooed, pierced, and friendly. They ride for a living, and I cherish my talks with them as I am riding to work, or out on an errand. I love the human contact of talking about the city, how grumpy some people are, or how your bike is riding. Then a dap of our fists and we are on our separate ways. Neither of us are changed by the interaction per say, but each of us are better off from having a connection with another human being. Life does move fast, but this encounter reminded me to take time to share your life with others. As for me I will keep pedaling through life, taking it all in as it comes.

Loss, memories, cross

My Grandfather passed away on Saturday morning. This post is in memory of Lawrence "Pete" Bloss.

He was a quiet man, tall and slender, they say I got my height from him. Quiet, but strong. In the silence, when I looked at him I saw a wisdom that transcended words. Past the wrinkled face, the swollen ankles, or the snow white hair, I could see a concerned father farming to help support his family. A determined man who moved his family's farm across a field with a team of horses. I wish I could have seen his face as he looked down on his farm from a plane as he saw a cloud of smoke only to realize that the smoke was coming from his barn, and the fire was stated by his twin sons. (Sorry uncle Paul.) Through this swollen ankles I could see a track star who went to state in the mile, and who raced my mom to the car after church when she was only a girl. Past the snow white hair I see a care free young man with his red speed boat, and a love of pan fish and sardines. I could imagine his hair blowing in the wind as he flew his ultra light air plane, or road around the county on his motorcycle. When I was a child folks at church told me stories of how he fell off the side of a barn road his ladder all the way down to the ground and walked away from it or was hit by a car crossing the street and yelled at the lady driving the car. Only to walk away once more. I don't think I ever saw Grandpa smile as big as when he talked about Heaven, and how he can't wait to be there. Grandpa is there now, reunited with his wife, no more pain. We will miss him. We will see him again some day.