The day began with a fine mist and remained overcast. I don't think the air temperature rose above the water temperature.
But the day was actally better than it sounds for cycling. And Arielle wanted to go to the beach.
She got into a coy and flirtatious mood:
And she simply demanded that I take some close-ups.
And another:
And she simply had to show some leg:
For the record, we did about 65 miles together: to Point Lookout and back, via Rockaway Beach. It felt really good.
It's probably just as well that it rained almost nonstop for the past week. I suppose that if I were more religious, or at least more willing to take wonders for signs or signs for wonders, (or, for that matter, was still a college sophomore with a copy of The Waste Land--you know, the old paperback with the grey and black cover--in my hip pocket) I might've thought this week's weather was some sort of prelude to the Apocalypse. But the rain kept me indoors when I would've been anyway.
So, not being the superstitious sort, and no longer owning any garments with hip pockets, I just took the weather for what it was and read from that pile of papers that seems to grow no matter how much time I spend reading them. This is one of those two or three times of year when, if you're a college instructor (especially in any sort of writing or writing-intensive course), you simply have no life beyond those papers.
But late this afternoon, the weather was so beautiful (or maybe it just seemed so in comparison to what we've had) that I took Tosca out for a ride. We were out for a bit less than an hour, but it made me feel so much better. And, of course, I was more productive when I got back to work. Isn't that the point of recreation--at least in a capitalist economy, anyway?
And I find that even on such a casual ride as I took today, my senses are sharpened. I'm thinking now of the day last week when, a few blocks from my main job, I passed someone who was selling fresh fruit from a cart on the sidewalk. Even with a lane of parked cars between me and that cart, I could smell how fresh the fruit was--especially the strawberries. I was going to buy a one-pint carton until the guy offered me two cartons for three dollars.
Today, when riding near PS 1, I thought I smelled cat fur. And I just happen to have a good sense of smell:
As you may be able to tell, Mojo is a shy kitty. And she's big. I mean, huge. People often comment on how big Max is, but Mojo has to be at least half again as big.
Woodside Animal Rescue was offering her--and a few other cats--for adoption. I would have taken all of them. Maybe I really do have to buy a farm some day.
The representative from Woodside said that Mojo had gotten so big because she doesn't get any exercise. That came as no surprise, but the reason the rep--I didn't catch her name--gave me wasn't what I expected. "She's afraid of the other cats. So she doesn't play with them; she hides."
Hey, if she came home with me, she could hide behind that pile of papers that just keeps on growing. That same pile of papers makes me want to take off on my bike and not come back until Memorial Day, at least.
This week has been the kind of week that can make just about anybody echo Macbeth when he says, "Tomorrow and tommorrow and tommorrow."
It's been raining non-stop, it seems. And when I turn on the weather forecast, they could be saying "tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow it will rain again and again and again."
Is this what we have to look forward to?
This was the high point of my one bike ride this week--into and out of Manhattan, a grand total of about eight miles, to and from my class at the technical institute. Well, I guess any ride in which I can take a photo like that isn't all bad.
