Saturday was crispy cold and Sunday promised snow, so I dragged myself out of a cozy bed for a walk over to Waverly to check out the farmer’s market. I thought about taking the bike, but sometimes you’re in the mood for a slow amble, time to stop and smell the flowers, like these yellow ones resisting winter to their very last petal. The market was almost empty by the time I got there, so I did a quick tour and then hit the local book/music store to shop for records, a new favorite pastime now that N. moved her record player into my place (along with herself). I picked up an array of holiday records for the house–if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, and I was never going to beat the mad love of Holiday out of this girl–and then slowly ambled back home. And then it was time for a bike ride. I suited up with all my winter gear and headed over to Hampden and through the main drag to the bottom of that hill on the other side and just to the left for the first holiday craft party of the season, at the Baltimore Free Farm and Bearings Bike Project over on Ash Street. The place was warm and filled with papercuts and homemade cards and jewelry and holiday ornaments made out of twisted bike spokes and I helped myself to a glass of mulled wine mixed with apple cider, caught up with friends I haven’t seen in awhile, felt awfully lucky that even though it’s no Mardi Gras, there’s still the feel of festival in the air, and then got back on the bike for a quick ride home. Sunday is all snow and sleet, but Saturday–Saturday was the perfect day to be outside and catch one last glimpse of the neighborhood flowers. Now let’s hope this snow melts by Tuesday so we can get another ride in.
I woke up early on Saturday and decided right away to do absolutely no work-related tasks that day. No emails, no grading, no reading or writing, nothing. I needed a good day off, and I took it. I lazed about for a bit and then layered up for a ride down the hill and around the harbor to meet J. and her parents at the Baltimore Museum of Industry. Oh, it felt so good to be flying down the hill on empty streets, the morning fog still hanging on everything taller than a row house. It was quiet and still, and I wondered to myself, how do people who don’t ride bikes or walk around know where they are, like really know? Outside of a car you have no choice but to pay attention. But anyway. Continue reading