Summer is still like a bike ride.
I’ve got this Schwinn fat seat cruiser with a basket.
My only rule for the downhills: feet off the pedals, legs in a V formation, and GO.
I wear dresses when I ride now because I never would have worn a dress before on a bike. I’m bringing back the tomboy and the feminine. Why not? It’s really simple. They’re both pretty. And, I’m free.
It’s Saturday, and I’m at the Farmer’s market in the parking lot of the train station. I have forty bucks in the bottom of my canvas bag to buy the same stuff.
At the microgreen stand, I once asked the brother/sister team why they grow them.
He said, “We used sneak microgreen juice to our 95-year-old grandmother when she was in the hospital on her deathbed. And it totally revived her.”
Who can beat their story? So, I buy them every time.
Onto the bread stand to buy my wild yeast sourdough boule and two croissants. Just because. Plus, I don’t live by harsh food rules anymore.
Off to the organic stand to buy my kale, swiss chard, and fruit.
With the goods in my basket, I trek back up the hill. I have to stand on these pedals to make the last part up.
It’s eighty-five out here and humid. I’m sweating like a ladybug.
I take all my new ingredients out and spread them across a wooden cutting board on my kitchen counter. Just like I do every week.
I see life differently now. Whereas before, I was a grocery shopping drive by. Now, the verdant greens, flaky pastries, and the tiny hearted microgreens, all here just for me, awe me.
I wash the chunky blackberries at the kitchen sink in my dented, old, metal drainer. While the water runs, I zone out the window.
It makes me so joyful to watch squirrels be free and chase each other to the tips of the narrow branches. It’s summer.
Then, I put the plumpest of the blackberries in the bunch in my buddha bowl. I found these perfect buddha bowls.
They’re large enough for a plate and good enough to hold lentil soup. These are my very first bowls of my own; earthy, classy, original, and art.
I’ve got four in different colors. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner out of them.
I’m going on one vacation this summer to my childhood beach town. I’ll rent a cruiser there with a big, fat seat.
Last summer, I saw a small, yellow rental house with a screened-in porch. I had never signed a lease for anything before, and I signed this a year in advance.
I emailed the realtor, “This is the most adult thing I’ve ever done.”
I did this thing.
Handle bars up!
I took the leap for myself. For two years, I’ve been pulling the weeds of what happened apart for everybody.
I’m a wild, wizened child.
I put the bike back in the garage, but not like a kid. This is my freedom vehicle.
Kick stand down.