New Windows
As of last week, I’ve traded my Wednesday and Thursday morning walks for an express bus that takes me into downtown Columbus, followed by an elevator ride to the 21st floor of the state office tower where I can look the city’s pigeons in the eye as they glide by.
I have a new job that is naturally rearranging my previous work-to-life rhythm and I welcome it with no complaints. It’s not my first downtown gig or public transport commute but it’s been a decade and a half since I’ve slipped into the stream of my fellow country-to-city travelers on the main arteries that feed the heart of all things urban. The difference this time is that someone else is driving in rush hour traffic, letting me ease back into my blue bus seat near the front and relish my new role as passenger. My friend, Maria, even bought me “bus pants” (an homage to the Sheldon character from The Big Bang Theory sitcom) and I wore them stylishly on my third day at the office. I expect the novelty of all this to wear off at some point but until then, I’ll ride this wave with the contentment of a magpie tucking something shiny into its nest. New experiences recharge my batteries and I’m grateful that the good people at my new job have welcomed me into their fold, bus pants and all.
There’s an observation deck on the 40th floor that offers a stunning view of the landscape beyond the concrete and asphalt, and I joke that I can see our house from that rarefied perch. Of course I can’t, but it’s strangely reassuring to know it’s out there somewhere, waiting for me and the car I left behind at the park-and-ride just twenty minutes from the land I love. Far below the haze and the remaining 39 floors, homelessness is still as real as I remember it and everything is in motion—traffic lights and crosswalks, people, cars and vehicles of all sizes and shapes, street vendors and shop owners carrying empty cardboard boxes to the recycle bins behind their establishments. Tucked into the alley on the west side of the building are eateries and bars offering up the kind of fare that the downtown locals recommend to us heartily as they wait for their orders. My first lunch was a lusciously marinated tilapia with sides of avocado salad and seasoned rice from the chefs at an Argentinian restaurant that will most certainly see my face and money again. Walk across the bricks and past the big red dumpster and there it is, twelve kinds of heaven on a plate.
The other three days of my work week will be spent at the home office with a second story view of the meadow to the west, peaceful field to the east. On my 15-minute wellness breaks, I can walk outside to check on the chickens and feel the soft grass on my bare feet, then head back to the house to respond to emails and master the new database from which I’ll be pulling monthly and quarterly reports. I’ll probably notice that the windows in the living room need some Windex soon, and lunch will be a humbler plate of last night’s pizza or turkey rice casserole. No matter. On occasion I’ll get to travel around the state, meeting with colleagues and offering my support for their hard work in challenging times, grateful for the feel of the road under my wheels and a windshield view of the world. We’ll sit next to each other at conferences and trade notes on the latest policies that impact how we get our work done.
July was a blurry month of activity that kind of took us by surprise: Patrick’s surgery and recovery, the wild and welcome success of both farmer’s markets, the bathroom remodel and getting new tires for the Kona. We pushed through, remembered to close windows before leaving the house on cloudy days and ate out too much but it lightened the load. August is promising a less frantic pace and we’re settling into new routines with a bit more gracefulness, happy for Patrick’s progress and grateful the kittens are enjoying their summer outdoors (less litterbox maintenance is a gift we don’t take for granted from May - October). The youngest, Tink, accompanied me on my walk this morning, getting lost only once, and I made mushroom, red onion and feta omelets for breakfast. Ahh…the delight and solace that simple acts bring.
I know I haven’t seen all that downtown Columbus has to offer on its Wednesdays and Thursdays; the contrast to a more or less secluded life these past fourteen years will give me plenty to contemplate in the months to come. But no matter the view from whichever window I have, I’m glad for the chance to reframe and inform my outlook. At the end of the day, it’s still Patrick, the land and a life we both chose all those years ago.
Remind me to thank the bus driver this week.
