This morning, it being that glorious warm sunny day so supposedly rare in this city, and me in desperate need of some sort of exercise, I wandered off towards the valley of Noe to deliver a note and a couple of dollars to a person from whom I had purchased a bistro set the previous day (many thanks to you, J.N., and happy trails in Santa Cruz!). Being the navel-gazer I am, I have learned that I am definitely meant to move at a slower speed than many of my demographic; I've tried jogging (yes, smartass...more than once) but found it only served to reinforce my contention that if God had MEANT for us to be runners...he'd have made better predators. (Just sayin'.)
I have also long held that one cannot truly KNOW a place until one has travelled it on foot. For instance, there are a few antique stores on Church street I hadn't known were there, even after living close to them for 13 years--I was too busy zipping along in my sealed environment, concentrating on my driving, to notice them before. I also get to take in small architectural and botanical details on foot that I cannot possibly absorb in a car--the way someone put a stepping-stone next to their Abutilon just so a neighborhood tabby would have the perfect spot to sun herself, or a tiny stained-glass window above someone's door catching late-morning sunlight, or that a local cafe is owned by a very sweet-faced Greek man who waves and shouts "HI!" at me as I go by.
I'm currently reading Rebecca Solnit's book of essays entitled Wanderlust; A History of Walking, which is actually much more interesting than it sounds from the title alone. I'm on a chapter that speaks about a character that appeared in Paris sometime in the early 19th century, called a Flaneur:
"What exactly a flaneur IS has never been satisfactorily defined, but among all the versions of the flaneur as everything from a primeval slacker to a silent poet, one thing remains constant: the image of a solitary (man) strolling about Paris."
(Wanderlust, pg 198.)
"The flaneur, visually consuming...while resisting the speed of industrialization and the pressure to produce, is an ambiguous figure, both resistant to and seduced by the new commercial culture." (p 199.)
I kinda like that idea...especially having an 'ambiguous figure' myself (t'hee.)...it speaks to me of a person who chooses to ignore the relentless call of the consumer culture, who takes their pleasure in truly savoring, experiencing the world, at their own speed and in their own way.
Of course, the thing about being out and about on foot is that it DOES mean occasionally interacting with other people.
Mostly, this is not a traumatic experience, but at one point in my perambulation I found myself cornered (literally--it was the corner of Sanchez and 29th!) by an earnest group of six or seven well-dressed evangelicals (I THINK they were JWs, as those are the ones I usually see working the streets--but as I am not religious, I can't spot them on sight, and I didn't talk to them long enough to get a positive ID, so...) trying to save the collective soul of Noe Valley, and even if I didn't live there myself, by gum, I was still in need of savin', and I was gonna GET some, whether I liked it or not. One of them, a chunky dark-haired lady of about 50, stepped in front of me and held up a bible, saying:
"Good morning ma'am! Have YOU found JESUS?"
For a moment, I was taken aback--but fortunately, my tongue seems to be permanently implanted in my cheek, and with the sweetest, calmest tone I could muster, I said;
"Yes. Yes, I DID find Jesus. But my mommy taught me never to take anything that didn't belong to me, and so I put him right back where I found him."
(Father forgive me, for I have sinned. I am an incurable smartass. )
Well, it could have been worse--I didn't swear, and I didn't yell. And it worked...the tailwind from their open mouths caught my sails, and soon enough, I found myself safe and sound back home, where I belonged.
I love a happy ending, don't you? :-)
I know, I know--I promised Iphigenie, and gave you JWs. I'll try to be better next time.
RM
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