I ride daily in nearly the same location during the work week. As time goes by you start to recognize people on the same schedule.
There is a gentleman on a recumbent bicycle that I see nearly every day. Sometimes he is departing as I arrive and sometimes I am departing. Some days we just pass on the ride somewhere. We have waved and smiled over the months. Today I pulled in and there he was unloading his bike from his white Prius and the only logical place to park was right next to him. After all summer it would be weird to not say hello which we did and exchange pleasantries about the weather. And once I was ready, I turned to roll by him and introduced myself.
As I was speaking he was removing a glove to shake hands.
I was wearing a pair of red knit gloves myself; even the warmest November day is brisk. They are a pain to get off quickly unless you want to turn them inside out. While contemplating the five single finger pulls, a host of thoughts passed through my brain in the few seconds before we shook:
More refined ladies used to wear gloves all the time. I pictured a bustle wearing woman delicately extending a soft white leather gloved hand. How long ago was that? The fine lady in my vision sported a bun in her hair. Perhaps when proper women wore gloves in public it was to avoid the connection that skin on skin reminds us of. Since then gloves have gone out of vogue for much beyond protection from inclement weather. Would it now be considered rude not to remove my glove in this age to shake his hand? Or are we beyond that and I can call it fashion or affectation?
I then thought briefly of quantum physics and the theory that when we touch, molecules and energy are exchanged and at least at that level we would be connected. But then we are all of the same oneness and energy and connected at all times anyway. Perhaps the close exchange just reminds us of that making this connection take on more significance.
As those thoughts passed I felt I was too late to do anything other than shake my gloved hand with his bare hand. Even so, I could feel that connection of soul to soul to everlasting; even through the membrane of cheap synthetic knit. (Am I also connected thusly with the Chinese factory worker whose hands fashioned, created and packaged these red gloves? Their energy certainly is infused in them.)
With all that history and metaphysics dancing it suddenly seemed very weird so we bid each other good ride and I rolled out. Some how I could feel him nearby all ride. On my return trip, I stopped to fiddle with the tunes for a while and he passed me. I could feel the what ever it is and I felt awkward so I dawdled behind him. I had to pass him again on the next hill and from there my workout ramped up to complete the ride fast. (Of course I speed up every time I pass someone, I hate a re-pass!) When I saw him again there was more expectation. Are we now more connected because of that small exchange? Like smelling a flower on a hike and having it linger with you far into the day.
Alan, welcome to my world.
Wednesday, November 10: Tempera, pencil, sharpie, fingers on paper.
