Cheer

According to the Seattle Times FYI Guy, a new survey from the U.S. Census Bureau found that, in November, just about half of Seattle-area adults were dealing with feelings of depression.”  So, check out the friend you’re with; if they look happy, chances are, you’re feeling blue.

And, of course, for good reason.  

Honestly, if you’re not depressed these days, you’re not paying attention.  

The pandemic, rampant unemployment, homelessness, climate change, a lame duck Presidential administration that’s intent on rolling back every environmental protection it can and executing every brain-damaged mentally-ill prisoner on Federal death row before its term finally runs out on January 20^th (at last!), and of course, the darkness which descends upon the Pacific Northwest this time of year—any right-thinking (or even wrong-thinking) remotely-sensitive human being should be feeling down given everything that’s going on or not going on in the world and one’s own life.

But somehow, for a few hours at least, those feelings of depression can be mitigated.  

All it takes is a bicycle, a handful of masked-up and socially-distancing friends, a 12-pack of beer, a brand-new waterside fire pit, and around one and half Farmer Ito brand cannabis Christmas cookies, and the season’s gloom transforms into an authentic occasion for joy, if perhaps not, as the song goes, “to the world,” but, in any case, to this little piece of it, in the upper-left hand corner of the nation on just one evening—the final darkening one of the year, if you want to look on the bright side.

The word “enjoyment,” I’m told by the internet, comes from the Old French enjoir "to give joy, rejoice, take delight in;” it suggests an active approach, a giving and a taking; to enjoy something means you’re making other people happy and drawing from their happiness for yourself.

Sounds about right. 

These days, enjoyment is hard to come by; so, may as well take it (and give it) where you can.

Flap

Who knows how to socialize anymore, really?  

All it’s taken is nine months of quarantine and isolation to override a lifetime of hanging out with friends and loved ones so that, before you know it, you’re opening up your mouth to all sorts of information and stories probably just as well left unsaid in the name of connecting more closely to connections made over decades (well, at least two) just because of overexcitement (and liberal applications of Farmer Ito brand cannabis) occasioned by a non-atypical bike ride from the usual meetup spot through the admonition by St. Ignatius to “Go forth and set the world on fire” along Seattle’s oldest bike path to down behind the stadium and over the river and through the woods to not exactly Grandmother’s house, but definitely one in which a kooky grandma could—and maybe does already—live.

It’s sort of amazing how easy it is to lose your beer for a while even in a relatively small space, (although one large enough to afford the appropriate social-distancing around a relatively large fire hot enough to make its container glow red-hot), but that’s a small price to pay for the chance to keep looking for it amidst the assembled; just being near human beings rather than little square pictures of them on your computer screen these days sparks joy, even without a Rainier in your hand.

What an odd first week of December this year, with nary a drop of rain, so missing out on a bit of pedaling along on even perhaps the most mundane of all the possible routes would have been a real loss.  As it was, a solid handful of actually fairly responsible citizens, plus Derrick, as well, enjoyed some up and down, a modicum of gravel, and an enjoyable climb (at least by my route) to our final destination.

A good time was had by all; that’s enough said, unlike ‘round the fire, where gums keep a-flapping.