Night Rides

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Riding home from the studio was always best after 3:00am. A few things determined whether it was a typical ride, a challenging ride, or an exceptional one, including weather, wind, activity in the university district, my mood and hunger level. Sometimes I didn’t feel like riding home, but short of calling a cab, it was the only way back. Summer night rides were the best part of my day. It was often warm and humid at that hour which made it smell like Florida. After shouldering my bike from the second floor to the loading dock outside, I situated my gear and chose music for the ride. I usually selected something upbeat, like Jeff Beck, Tom Scott, or Tom Petty. That night I chose the Nebraska album by Springsteen. I tolerated the first three songs but eventually lost momentum, like my tires were cement. I hit both brakes and skidded to an abrupt stop and chose something else.

Five Rabbits :: The middle third of the route is through the university district, which includes a huge green space with shade trees and a sidewalk that splits it diagonally. I had a lot of negative chatter in my head all day including the ride home — enough negativity that I spoke out loud. “Yeh? Well, if you’re real, prove it, make a rabbit appear.” Poof. A rabbit appeared almost immediately on the grass to my right. I was surprised, but I frequently see rabbits on my rides at night, so I wasn’t impressed. “Show me another.” Poof. Another rabbit appeared ahead to my left. “OK. That’s a coincidence. Show me another.” Poof. Another rabbit appeared. Now I was startled. “This is a coincidence. If you’re really listening, do it again.” I rode a bit further and Poof, Poof, there were two more rabbits sitting next to each other. Five rabbits appeared in that space, on command. I told my wife about my encounter the following day and she didn’t think it was a coincidence.

Ronald McDonald House :: I usually rode past the Ronald McDonald House on campus. There aren’t any signs of activity at that hour, but I’d been fooled many times when riding by because there’s a life-size fiberglass statue of Ronald McDonald sitting on a bench by the front entrance. During the daylight hours you can see its bright colors, but in the dark while its back lit from the lobby windows, it looks like an actual person. The children and young adults who stay there have serious medical situations, so they need to be close to the university hospital for long periods of time and this place allows families to be together. Two nights within the same week, I saw two figures sitting on the bench, not just the statue silhouette. As I rode closer, I saw an older man cradling a young child. I waved to them, and the man waved back. From that night forward I waved every time I rode by even if just the statue was present.

Raccoon :: I entered the Seward neighborhood after crossing the bridge that spans the Mississippi River. Five or six blocks ahead I noticed a dark shape in the middle of the road. It could be anything and it was something to pay attention to as I sped towards it. A block away I figured it was a cat and needed to prepare in case it bolted in front of me at the last minute. I’d seen a lot of cats over the years lying in the middle of the road absorbing the last of the heat. As I got closer, I began to yell out and clap my hands. It finally heard me because it started to shift but didn’t move out of the road. Twenty feet away I realized it was a raccoon and as I got close, it turned, faced me, stood up on its hind legs and swatted at me as I passed.

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“Like a whisper In the dark.” David Byrne

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Songs :: Night Ride Home by Joni Mitchell, Bad by U2, Strangered In The Night by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Pump It Up and Moods For Moderns by Elvis Costello and the Attractions

© C. Davidson

I Still Remember

Hollyhocks :: Photographer Unknown

We used to have some elderly neighbors that lived three houses south of us on the same side of the street — Susie and Lavi. They were a little shy, mostly kept to themselves but were always very warm whenever we interacted. They’d lived in their house for many years before we moved onto the block and for many years after. Their house was a modest single story one-bedroom home painted mint green with white trim and a detached two car garage that was slightly bigger than their house. Their backyard was filled with a large, luscious vegetable garden, a lot of flowers and an elevated deck attached to the rear of their house where you’d often see them sitting, sunning and sipping refreshments.

After two years of waving to each other and exchanging pleasantries, one early fall day they invited me to stop by their house. “We want to show you something.” Later that afternoon I knocked on their front door and both of them greeted me. I stepped in and after we had a brief conversation, I slowly scanned their living room in awe. It looked like a combination of a folk-art museum and a children’s playhouse. There was a shelf about six feet off the floor on three sides of the room filled with beautiful cookie jars and other colorful collectibles, and on the floor lining the same three walls, were large wooden doll houses — each was unique and about the same size. There were at least ten or twelve of them visible. Each one had two to three floors, with highly detailed exterior treatments, like multi pane windows, shutters, window boxes with flowers, hand cut cedar roof shingles and detailed paint jobs. The interiors were completely furnished with things like lamps, chairs, tables, magazine racks complete with miniature magazines, throw rugs, bathroom fixtures, including small toothbrushes and even a mounted roll of toilet tissue, and kitchen fixtures like countertop appliances, cups, plates, silverware, tablecloths, and house plants throughout. Everything was hand crafted in exquisite detail. The front panel of each house was removable so you could view and interact with the entire interior. They explained that they had crafted the houses from scratch over decades and had hand painted almost all of the cookie jars and other collectibles. Lavi and Susie had a secret. They were under the radar artists and artisans, and they were making magical things.

I commented on how amazing everything was and asked them a bunch of questions including why they wanted to show me all of this. Before answering Susie made me promise that I wouldn’t tell anybody what I saw besides my wife. I told her I wouldn’t. They worried about people knowing what they had in their house. Then she told me that they wanted our daughter to have one of the houses if that was OK — that she should come by with us and pick one out sometime soon. Eventually we did go to their house together and she did choose one.

Early the following spring, I saw Lavi walking from his house to his garage. I wasn’t able to get his attention that day and hadn’t seen either of them outside much which was unusual. After a couple of months, I mentioned to my wife that I hadn’t seen Susie or Lavi working in their garden. Eventually I asked our next-door neighbor about them and she said that sometime over the winter Susie was admitted to a memory care facility. Apparently, she’d been struggling and was beginning to put both of them at some risk. Lavi couldn’t manage anymore and he needed help.

Eventually Lavi and I did connect. We saw each other outside and he waved me over one cool afternoon. He told me that Susie wasn’t living with him anymore. “She’s losing her memory. She’s in a facility and it’s my fault,” he said. He got emotional and I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I reluctantly reached out and gripped his shoulder. I didn’t know if that was going to be OK. He’s a stoic Norwegian Minnesotan and sometimes his generation of men pull back and retreat during moments like this, but he didn’t, so I just kept my hand there. Susie was the love of his life and he couldn’t take care of her anymore. They each had to give-up huge parts of themselves forever. I know what grief feels like, but I don’t know what that feels like and I don’t think emotional survival is guaranteed when that kind of loss happens. Lavi lived alone in their house for only a year, or so, after Susie left. He eventually sold it and moved into a small apartment for senior residents close to where we live. Occasionally we visited him while he lived there. When he saw our daughter and one of her friends, his eyes lit up. Sometimes when the girls were occupied with whatever activity or treats Lavi provided them, he would talk about Susie and his visits with her, and how she was growing more distant every day.

As our daughter got older and grew out of the doll house, it stayed on our front porch for a while before we passed it along to a young girl on our block who our daughter babysat for. After she grew out of it, they returned it to us, and we passed it on again to some new neighbors and their daughter. I think Lavi and Susie would have been happy knowing that what they created together still has a bright life. The house they lived in has had a couple of owners since they left too — it feels very different now, but if I concentrate, I can still picture them working methodically in their garden, or sunning on their deck, partially obscured by the huge hollyhocks and other large country flowers that gently swayed in the breeze between us.

For Susie and Lavi

Songs :: The Beginning of Memory by Laurie Anderson, It’s for You by Lyle Mays and Pat Metheny and Coral Room by Kate Bush

© C. Davidson