Magnificently Mundane
It was Thursday afternoon. Things needed to get done. So I slipped into my serious shoes – these black Mary Janes mean business – and headed for the road.
Library books needed returning.
Jeans needed hemming.
Fabric needed purchasing. (Three yards of bright pink satin, to be exact, for a project involving my old, black, wool coat.)
Checks needed depositing.
When I entered the bank, the teller flashed me a smile that I have seen a thousand times before from business people in the midst of power lunches, from students typing papers near coffee shop windows, from commuters in traffic on their way home from work. The smile begins with a genuine burst of joy then fades with a quiet tug of longing. It is always ignited by the same simple trigger which involves making eye contact with me as I slowly ride my bicycle while wearing “normal clothes” – i.e. no spandex, no clipless pedals, no sweat. The teller must have watched me park by bike in front of the bank, because as I handed her my deposit she asked, “Riding your bike today?” I nodded, we chatted, and as I left the bank, the teller cheered me on, “Enjoy the day for the millions of people who wish they were you.”
I reunited with my bicycle. There was still plenty to do. Overdue post office fees needed paying, teeth needed cleaning, groceries needed purchasing. Even so, I was contented and calm. Funny how weekday errands feel nothing like duty when done on a bicycle and under the sweet light of September.
