Oversight

It’s comforting to know that the One-Percenters out there are consistently looking out for the health and welfare of our fair city, especially when it comes to keeping a watchful eye out for fire.

I’ve come to this conclusion based on the observation that the last four times (at least) that the miscreant bicycle gang has been visited by representatives of the Seattle Fire Department, lights flashing and sirens—if not blaring, at least sounding—it’s been because some rich people somewhere have called in the alert.

Whether it’s old money in Queen Anne, slightly newer, but still longstanding bucks in the Denny Blaine neighborhood, mid-century modern cash around Laurelhurst, or more nouveau riches phoning it in from Seattle’s fanciest dining establishment, it’s always the wealthy and entitled who, clutching their pearls, pick up the phone, and ring the tocsin to summon the hook and ladder crew to come out and investigate where the flames are coming from.

In this most recent case, it was a simple box fire that had burned up the box it came in, so I guess that make sense, but at least no one was naked (for very long) in the place where nakedness seems to be the real source of pearl clutching (and phone picking up) of late.

In spite of the alarm, none of it was particularly alarming; the firefighters themselves, were pretty sanguine about the whole thing and yours truly, under the influence of plenty of edible influence found the proceedings entirely delightful, right down to the just-stepped-off-the-pages-of-the-firefighter-calendar fireman who responded first to the call.

Plus, who wasn’t basking in the glow of seeing a fallen comrade restored to vertical, plenty to warm one’s heart even without the extra-judicial flames.

Thanks to the aforementioned influential influences, I kept getting separated from the group on the ride over, but with the beacons alit, I was confident about reuniting; if rich people can confidently tell where we are, so can I.

Wonder

I will continue to wonder why I am so fortunate as to be able to enjoy such an absolutely stunning spring evening and do so on a bicycle, riding slowly enough that the evening lingers long and then end up on the edge of a grand urban lake around a campfire made in the preferred teepee shape, while all over the world, people are suffering beneath the same crescent moon that, from the perspective of this down-below, was an upturned smile in the crepuscular glow, but which must mean something quite different to others in strife.

So, thanks to whatever series of past events have ended up with these events, and remind me never to forget how lucky we are and how fragile is the human body.

Hundreds of such spins, but never before has a tiger in a shopping cart blown past me; see how you never know?

One can pay homage to those who are fortunately still with us even when they are not.  Taking the steep way and the going forth and setting the world on fire through the woods, while classic, is not to be discounted for that; some things are classic because they are.

Notice how easily arise internal complaints about the lack of cycling infrastructure, but then when you’re finally on it, the only shortcomings are user error.

Finding the place that is always a little farther away than you remember requires remembering to remember, but there it is, just as remembered.

Can a single lovely evening make up for a whole week of turmoil?  

Perhaps it’s not a balance like that; after all, the total amount of loveliness experienced and paid attention to in those few hours surely outweighs all the rest of the days put together and makes you wonder all over again why, in this world with so much ugliness, are we showered with such shimmering beauty, and not only that, but it happens by bicycle, as well.