A Glimpse of the City
Earlier this week I “volunteered” to take my daughter to the doctor. The doctor requested her presence because doctors have to eat too. As I sat in the waiting room I tried to read but the TV and talking drove me outside to a bench. There I found myself distracted yet again, this time by the city and its accompanying attendants.
A breeze carries a whiff of work from a nearby restaurant; eggs and bacon, or is that ham? The remnant exhaust of a passing car or truck quickly replaces it. It is the same smell I remember while on a trip and for an instant I am walking the streets of Paris, or sitting outside a café drinking a beer and watching people. The breeze changes direction again and I detect the sweetness of the flowers that have been provided residence in the huge flowerpot at the end of the walkway. It has followed the hint of second-hand smoke from a passing driver. And who could mistake the smell of freshly baked donuts for anything but freshly baked donuts as the aroma meanders on it way. Once in Pampa, my friends and I met at the donut shop at 4:30 in the morning. The owner had just pulled the first batch off the line; they melted in your mouth as you ate them. I am thankful I cannot see the shop.
I have moved beyond the ability to read, and I set the book down and watch the streets. Neil Diamond has a song called ‘Beautiful Noise’ about the sounds of the street. It is about the cars, the trucks, and the people. It is about the sounds of the living city. A truck passes, followed by a covey of cars, each one producing its own version of the same song separated by intermittent breaks and pauses. In the distance a light-rail train approaches and I hope to hear the clickity-clack that trains so often sing, but progress has muted its music to a burst of white noise, and it passes on its way.
A pickup pulls into the parking lot and splashes through a puddle left by yesterdays too little rain. It is a sound unheard for months. Across the parking lot comes a sound I had not heard for over a decade, the sound of a long retired VW engine. In the 70’s Volkswagen produced an unusual but short-lived car called “The Thing.” Now one has pulled into a parking space across the lot. As far as I can see, it is in mint condition, bright orange with a tan ragtop. There is a part of me that would love to have one, and another part of me that questions my sanity about such things.
East of me a riding lawnmower rumbles into view as its rider is carried about the lawn. It is followed by another man carrying a weed-bapper, both singing their song in harmony. My eye drifts to a figure walking off to the side, carrying a full trash bag over his shoulder. He is headed for the dumpster and I wonder if he is depositing or collecting. He sets the bag down and from a distance I can hear the aluminum cans clatter as they settle. He disappears for a minute or two behind the fence surrounding the dumpster. I wait. He reappears with a very large clear bag containing a fair number of cans. He made a good catch. I watch to see what he will do with the two bags. He opens the larger one and pours the contents of the black trash bag into it with a mono symphony of sound that only aluminum cans can produce. When he is done, he takes the unused trash bag, disappears behind the fence to deposit it in the dumpster and returns. Interestingly, even a man from the streets, with far less than the average person, has more respect for this world and its environment than so many others I have seen.
The sights and sounds are momentarily put on pause as two people exit the doctors’ office. They walk very slowly together, the older gentleman setting the pace, the younger close to steady as needed. As they pass I notice their attire. Each one wearing similar outfits - kaki dress pants, same shade, but different brands. The belts almost match but the older gentleman’s has a bit more style. The shoes are also almost identical, one being a shade off the other. They both have on plaid shirts, completely different colors and patterns, yet both subdued. As they reach the curb to step off, the father reaches for the son, and the son steadies the father. How interesting and wonderful that life works in such circles, for I have no doubt that times ago the roles were reversed as the son tried to step off a curb, steadied by the father.
The city has a life as do each of us. The city, like us, runs in cycles, works in cycles, and lives in cycles. We each start our day, progress through and toward its light; end and begin again. We move in circles within circles. Each one new, each one repeating, and yet each is unique. Each one creating adventures, events, and memories. All of them journeys within journeys.
A breeze carries a whiff of work from a nearby restaurant; eggs and bacon, or is that ham? The remnant exhaust of a passing car or truck quickly replaces it. It is the same smell I remember while on a trip and for an instant I am walking the streets of Paris, or sitting outside a café drinking a beer and watching people. The breeze changes direction again and I detect the sweetness of the flowers that have been provided residence in the huge flowerpot at the end of the walkway. It has followed the hint of second-hand smoke from a passing driver. And who could mistake the smell of freshly baked donuts for anything but freshly baked donuts as the aroma meanders on it way. Once in Pampa, my friends and I met at the donut shop at 4:30 in the morning. The owner had just pulled the first batch off the line; they melted in your mouth as you ate them. I am thankful I cannot see the shop.
I have moved beyond the ability to read, and I set the book down and watch the streets. Neil Diamond has a song called ‘Beautiful Noise’ about the sounds of the street. It is about the cars, the trucks, and the people. It is about the sounds of the living city. A truck passes, followed by a covey of cars, each one producing its own version of the same song separated by intermittent breaks and pauses. In the distance a light-rail train approaches and I hope to hear the clickity-clack that trains so often sing, but progress has muted its music to a burst of white noise, and it passes on its way.
A pickup pulls into the parking lot and splashes through a puddle left by yesterdays too little rain. It is a sound unheard for months. Across the parking lot comes a sound I had not heard for over a decade, the sound of a long retired VW engine. In the 70’s Volkswagen produced an unusual but short-lived car called “The Thing.” Now one has pulled into a parking space across the lot. As far as I can see, it is in mint condition, bright orange with a tan ragtop. There is a part of me that would love to have one, and another part of me that questions my sanity about such things.
East of me a riding lawnmower rumbles into view as its rider is carried about the lawn. It is followed by another man carrying a weed-bapper, both singing their song in harmony. My eye drifts to a figure walking off to the side, carrying a full trash bag over his shoulder. He is headed for the dumpster and I wonder if he is depositing or collecting. He sets the bag down and from a distance I can hear the aluminum cans clatter as they settle. He disappears for a minute or two behind the fence surrounding the dumpster. I wait. He reappears with a very large clear bag containing a fair number of cans. He made a good catch. I watch to see what he will do with the two bags. He opens the larger one and pours the contents of the black trash bag into it with a mono symphony of sound that only aluminum cans can produce. When he is done, he takes the unused trash bag, disappears behind the fence to deposit it in the dumpster and returns. Interestingly, even a man from the streets, with far less than the average person, has more respect for this world and its environment than so many others I have seen.
The sights and sounds are momentarily put on pause as two people exit the doctors’ office. They walk very slowly together, the older gentleman setting the pace, the younger close to steady as needed. As they pass I notice their attire. Each one wearing similar outfits - kaki dress pants, same shade, but different brands. The belts almost match but the older gentleman’s has a bit more style. The shoes are also almost identical, one being a shade off the other. They both have on plaid shirts, completely different colors and patterns, yet both subdued. As they reach the curb to step off, the father reaches for the son, and the son steadies the father. How interesting and wonderful that life works in such circles, for I have no doubt that times ago the roles were reversed as the son tried to step off a curb, steadied by the father.
The city has a life as do each of us. The city, like us, runs in cycles, works in cycles, and lives in cycles. We each start our day, progress through and toward its light; end and begin again. We move in circles within circles. Each one new, each one repeating, and yet each is unique. Each one creating adventures, events, and memories. All of them journeys within journeys.
posted by G. Steven Nolte at 8:17 PM
1 Comments:
Your writing creates word pictures in the mind, sometimes ticklish, other times profound, but always entertaining. en
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