C
Claire Petersky
Guest
This morning I started out late, because I helped kids with
school-related matters, then had to hunt for a missing
glove. Still, it was a fine morning. Last week, I wore two
layers of fleece and a rain-proof jacket over that, and it
was still quite cold. This morning I wore a regular jersey,
and just a light vest over that. It was a nice, bright,
sunny morning, and I noticed that all the ornamental plum
trees in our neighborhood have started to blossom.
The day before, I sang in support of three church services,
and still had not completely come down from that experience.
My songs on the bike were "Salaam" [1], and "Let There be
Peace on Earth". [2]
About twenty minutes into the ride I was riding on Richards
Road. The light was green. I was riding in front of cars
waiting at the off-ramp. A pick-up truck, waiting at the
right turn lane sits on his horn because I am riding in
front of him, and preventing him from immediately whipping
around the corner on the right. I come to a dead halt right
in front of him, and gape at him in incredulity. How could
he *possibly* be honking at me? I have a green light. He has
a red. He continues to sit on his horn. I continue to stare
at him. He has this look of complete smug superiority. Since
communication with someone verbally is impossible when a
horn is blaring without any respite, I wrap my knuckles on
the hood of his pick-up, and point at his red light, and his
green light. He continues this look of smiling smugness,
never letting up on his horn.
Well, I could have sat there until my light turned yellow --
and it's a very long light in my direction -- but I had
better things to do, like get to work, and this yahoo
obviously has a brain of a small legume [3]. So I shook my
head at this twit, and immediately turned on to the I-90
bike trail entrance.
I rode maybe 200 m (I am very bad at estimating distances of
this range), riding just to the top of the initial hill
after the trail head, when the adrenaline from the
confrontation hits me. I do the girly thing, and burst into
tears. I don't mean just my eyes watering. I mean, I've
stopped the bike, draped the top half of me on the
handlebars, and am seized with big, racking sobs. "Buh-huh-
huh! Buh-huh-huh!" as mucus flows freely out of my nose. I
manage to hold it down enough that I can actually get back
on the bike, and I hope to ride it out.
But I'm toddling through the swamp then, at maybe 10 mph
(and this with a slight downhill), still crying as I'm
riding along, and I realize, I am not just going to be able
to ride it out. I make a plan -- I will stop where there's a
view, and really work at pulling myself together.
I ride until I'm at the top of the bridge that goes over the
slough.[4] I get off of the bike. I stand there for a while,
and wait to stop crying. I pay attention to my breathing. I
look at the view. I watch a couple of red-wing blackbirds
flit and squawk over the water. From time to time the
confrontation comes back into mind, and I review my physical
and emotional reactions with gentle curiosity. "What exactly
are you feeling now, Claire Bear? Where is this feeling in
your body?"[5] Then I go back to watching the breath,
relaxing my shoulders, looking at the blue sky.
Finally, I think I'm together enough now to ride. My legs
still feel wobbly, but I'm basically ok. I briefly consider
turning right, up to the park and ride, and loading my bike
on to the bus. But then I think riding for a bit longer
will help.
I was riding now around Enetai Park, and thinking that a hug
would really help me feel very much better. My husband was
at home, in the wrong direction, about 7 miles. Maybe my
officemate, a friend and fellow cyclist, would have obliged,
but she was at work, still another 8 miles ahead, a long
ways off too. I then thought that I was now so late in to
work, that perhaps I'd see Dane coming up pretty soon.
Sure enough, when I got on the East Channel bridge, there
was Dane, his ponytail whipping around in the breeze. I got
Dane to stop, he listened sympathetically, and upon request,
he gave me a little on-the-bike squeeze.
I resumed riding, and pretty soon I was feeling okay again.
When "Salaam" came back into my head again, my riding song
for the morning, I knew everything was all right.
Later, at work, I realized that my knuckles were in pain. It
took me a while to realize that the black-and-purple color
on them was self-inflicted, on the hood of pick-up.
I hate it when I get that completely emotionally consumed.
You know, my daughter basically flunked out of the kids'
Anger Management Class that the school counselor recommended
for her after we had some incidents in the classroom. I know
where she has inherited that temper. It's not like you get a
little upset. It's that you get so blindingly overwhelmed
with that upsetness that it completely floods your whole
mind and body, and it takes a while to shake it all out.
Don't tell me I should have done things like written down
the pick-up's license plate number. I didn't have the
wherewithal to think of something so rational as that.
Rational was not present at the time, you know?
My song for the way home was, "Take O Take Me as I am". [6]
It was a good ride.
Warm Regards,
Claire Petersky Please replace earthlink for mouse-potato
and .net for .com
Home of the meditative cyclist:
http://home.earthlink.net/~cpetersky/Welcome.htm Email me
re: the new Tiferet CD (http://www.tiferet.net)
[1] The version in my head for the ride was the verse we
sing in Arabic. The words in English are: Peace will yet
embrace us/And everyone/Peace/For us and the entire
world/Salaam/Shalom.
[2] You know, "...and let it begin with me". It's not one of
"our" songs, but they had us do it at the church we were
singing at on Sunday.
[3] Not a large legume, like a lima bean, but a small one,
like a split pea, or a black lentil.
[4] The view is very similar to the one you see here:
http://tinyurl.com/yqpxu, except it is actually greener
in that picture taken in November. Right now, in the
beginning of March, it hasn't greened up yet.
[5] The inner voice that calls me "Claire Bear" sounds like
Mullah Jamal Rahman, a local Islamic spiritual teacher.
It's nice to have his melodious accent speak to me so
gently and in such a kind way.
[6] From the Episcopal Missal: Take O take me as I
am/Summon out who I will be/Set your seal upon my
heart/And live in me
school-related matters, then had to hunt for a missing
glove. Still, it was a fine morning. Last week, I wore two
layers of fleece and a rain-proof jacket over that, and it
was still quite cold. This morning I wore a regular jersey,
and just a light vest over that. It was a nice, bright,
sunny morning, and I noticed that all the ornamental plum
trees in our neighborhood have started to blossom.
The day before, I sang in support of three church services,
and still had not completely come down from that experience.
My songs on the bike were "Salaam" [1], and "Let There be
Peace on Earth". [2]
About twenty minutes into the ride I was riding on Richards
Road. The light was green. I was riding in front of cars
waiting at the off-ramp. A pick-up truck, waiting at the
right turn lane sits on his horn because I am riding in
front of him, and preventing him from immediately whipping
around the corner on the right. I come to a dead halt right
in front of him, and gape at him in incredulity. How could
he *possibly* be honking at me? I have a green light. He has
a red. He continues to sit on his horn. I continue to stare
at him. He has this look of complete smug superiority. Since
communication with someone verbally is impossible when a
horn is blaring without any respite, I wrap my knuckles on
the hood of his pick-up, and point at his red light, and his
green light. He continues this look of smiling smugness,
never letting up on his horn.
Well, I could have sat there until my light turned yellow --
and it's a very long light in my direction -- but I had
better things to do, like get to work, and this yahoo
obviously has a brain of a small legume [3]. So I shook my
head at this twit, and immediately turned on to the I-90
bike trail entrance.
I rode maybe 200 m (I am very bad at estimating distances of
this range), riding just to the top of the initial hill
after the trail head, when the adrenaline from the
confrontation hits me. I do the girly thing, and burst into
tears. I don't mean just my eyes watering. I mean, I've
stopped the bike, draped the top half of me on the
handlebars, and am seized with big, racking sobs. "Buh-huh-
huh! Buh-huh-huh!" as mucus flows freely out of my nose. I
manage to hold it down enough that I can actually get back
on the bike, and I hope to ride it out.
But I'm toddling through the swamp then, at maybe 10 mph
(and this with a slight downhill), still crying as I'm
riding along, and I realize, I am not just going to be able
to ride it out. I make a plan -- I will stop where there's a
view, and really work at pulling myself together.
I ride until I'm at the top of the bridge that goes over the
slough.[4] I get off of the bike. I stand there for a while,
and wait to stop crying. I pay attention to my breathing. I
look at the view. I watch a couple of red-wing blackbirds
flit and squawk over the water. From time to time the
confrontation comes back into mind, and I review my physical
and emotional reactions with gentle curiosity. "What exactly
are you feeling now, Claire Bear? Where is this feeling in
your body?"[5] Then I go back to watching the breath,
relaxing my shoulders, looking at the blue sky.
Finally, I think I'm together enough now to ride. My legs
still feel wobbly, but I'm basically ok. I briefly consider
turning right, up to the park and ride, and loading my bike
on to the bus. But then I think riding for a bit longer
will help.
I was riding now around Enetai Park, and thinking that a hug
would really help me feel very much better. My husband was
at home, in the wrong direction, about 7 miles. Maybe my
officemate, a friend and fellow cyclist, would have obliged,
but she was at work, still another 8 miles ahead, a long
ways off too. I then thought that I was now so late in to
work, that perhaps I'd see Dane coming up pretty soon.
Sure enough, when I got on the East Channel bridge, there
was Dane, his ponytail whipping around in the breeze. I got
Dane to stop, he listened sympathetically, and upon request,
he gave me a little on-the-bike squeeze.
I resumed riding, and pretty soon I was feeling okay again.
When "Salaam" came back into my head again, my riding song
for the morning, I knew everything was all right.
Later, at work, I realized that my knuckles were in pain. It
took me a while to realize that the black-and-purple color
on them was self-inflicted, on the hood of pick-up.
I hate it when I get that completely emotionally consumed.
You know, my daughter basically flunked out of the kids'
Anger Management Class that the school counselor recommended
for her after we had some incidents in the classroom. I know
where she has inherited that temper. It's not like you get a
little upset. It's that you get so blindingly overwhelmed
with that upsetness that it completely floods your whole
mind and body, and it takes a while to shake it all out.
Don't tell me I should have done things like written down
the pick-up's license plate number. I didn't have the
wherewithal to think of something so rational as that.
Rational was not present at the time, you know?
My song for the way home was, "Take O Take Me as I am". [6]
It was a good ride.
Warm Regards,
Claire Petersky Please replace earthlink for mouse-potato
and .net for .com
Home of the meditative cyclist:
http://home.earthlink.net/~cpetersky/Welcome.htm Email me
re: the new Tiferet CD (http://www.tiferet.net)
[1] The version in my head for the ride was the verse we
sing in Arabic. The words in English are: Peace will yet
embrace us/And everyone/Peace/For us and the entire
world/Salaam/Shalom.
[2] You know, "...and let it begin with me". It's not one of
"our" songs, but they had us do it at the church we were
singing at on Sunday.
[3] Not a large legume, like a lima bean, but a small one,
like a split pea, or a black lentil.
[4] The view is very similar to the one you see here:
http://tinyurl.com/yqpxu, except it is actually greener
in that picture taken in November. Right now, in the
beginning of March, it hasn't greened up yet.
[5] The inner voice that calls me "Claire Bear" sounds like
Mullah Jamal Rahman, a local Islamic spiritual teacher.
It's nice to have his melodious accent speak to me so
gently and in such a kind way.
[6] From the Episcopal Missal: Take O take me as I
am/Summon out who I will be/Set your seal upon my
heart/And live in me
