April 3, 2017 (Monday)

by Yule Heibel on April 2, 2018

A flock of Canada Geese flew past my bathroom window this morning, starting a perfect formation (albeit not yet reaching the classic “V”). I could see them approach in the mirror, at right angles to the window, as though they were flying one way, before seeing them fly the other way when I looked out the window. When I looked through the glass, not just at the glass.

The sun is out. It’s starting to blind me; although, since I’m up a bit earlier than I have lately been, it’s still in a place in the sky where I can avoid its brunt by turning my head. But up it is, and shining. Yesterday it took its time in coming out full force, but once it did, all the misery of Friday’s and Saturday’s wintry weather was like a false signal, something mirror-glimpsed but not straight and true. Yet that awful weather was exactly true, as true as the geese I saw through the glass. My perceptions may be jerked around, seemingly recording what’s visible on the glass, then through the glass. But they’re real and accurate all the same, even when misery is followed by the brightest, gentlest, mildest of what finally felt like it might be an actual spring day. I walked from my house to Z.’s, down C.-St. and across the bridge that rises and arches high enough to allow marine traffic beneath without itself being a lift bridge. The climb isn’t completely trivial, and by the time you reach the highest point of the bridge, the force of the wind surging off and across the ocean can be considerable.

When MassDOT first built this piece of highway infrastructure between our two conurbations, the agency didn’t bother putting any guard rails or Jersey barriers on it to protect cyclists or pedestrians from literally getting blown off the bridge and into the water. Now, a couple of decades on, there are almost handsome railings set atop the original ~two-foot high edges, and additional Jersey barriers between walkway (also used by cyclists) and roadway. The bridge has thus become less of an insult to those who use it while not “automobiled.” Jim Falck used to rail against the bridge when it was built, when it replaced the low, flat lift bridge that used to cross the waterway – he cycled it regularly in those days – and I didn’t “get” the problem until much later when I walked it and noticed how flagrantly it disrespected me, a pedestrian. It’s all right now, I suppose. Better.

I got to Z.’s house, heard about the performance I missed, and I tried to recall where I’d heard about a guy – a shoemaker – who specializes in making stiletto heels for drag queens. Mx. Oops apparently performed his whole routine, including back flips, in nine-inch heels. Ouch.

This morning W. has a 10a.m. appointment with someone from X-company in Cambridge. He’ll be off to the train soon, which is why we’re up a bit earlier than usual, too. This unemployed state can’t really go on, but the thought of once again being on a glacial, fixed routine of early rising, squinting at the morning sun, welcoming the increasing heat which will now begin settling down on us after that last bitch-slap of snow on 3/31-4/1… It all leaves me feeling quite flat, nowhere near energized. Low, not high. Nor are there heels I could don to elevate me.

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