Tuesday, May 1st, 2007 http://adamkhan.net/rambles/daily-yin
pon awakening, the bedroom here is far from the best I’ve had. One writes this because last time in “Wetherspoones and Raisins” I chronicled the day’s two outings from the house. But these were merely the two brief yang bits of the day. What of the yin, the not-being-out that comprised the rest of the day? As usual, it seemed too mundane to bother thinking over, an unsculpted routine that nonetheless is what constitutes the majority of waking life. Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans and all that. Since we have to move out of this house in a month’s time, it will be all-change once again, or at least, the milieu will change, and with it many details that will be lost if I don’t get them down while they are still what I do every morning, noon and night.
There are so many artifacts that carry through from previous times. My bicycle. Since getting it tuned it runs a dream and I’m using it more and am shocked a little each time that this constant remains from previous eras and yet so much else has changed. I can’t remember the specific moment, can’t remember where I was when I had the thought, probably Florentin in south Tel Aviv, but I remember walking with the bike, a light touch on the saddle as I enjoyed letting the front wheel balance, and Maddie or both Maddie and Jam alongside me, and thinking, this is all a man requires, or at least, all I require. The bike I still have, as right as rain as when I rode it on my magic commute from Tel Aviv to Hod Hasharon and back when it was new, and yet Maddie is gone. It’s a twinge each time. How come I have the bike still but no more is the psychic constellation of which it was an integral yet slightly outer-circle part? It’s a combination of pleasure and guilt, looking at the bike now. Interestingly, I didn’t have that feeling before I got it back from the shop all tuned up. Now it’s alive again.
On television I saw a promo for a programme about short people. One of the subjects said there are advantages to being short. I could only name one: comfort on airplanes. But I see one other: the geometry of one’s bicycle is awfully cute. At Even Sapir in the Judean Hills I found a great spot to store the bike. Guess where the bike is, I asked my Mum on the telephone. And she bloody guessed. Stuck vertically in the space between the fridge and the kitchen cabinets, she said after a beat. How does she do that?
She’s here in town right now with my sister, and my Dad’s coming tomorrow. Coincidentally, it’s also my birthday. 37. All three are fine. It will be the first time the four of us have been together on motherland British soil since March 1981. It could also conceivably be the last. The overwhelmingness puts me in anaesthetized mode, so it’s a good day to take a breath and review the yin wafts of current hereness.
So. The bedroom is far from the best. First, the window is a piece of crap. It’s always closed at night, because it’s difficult to open, and because in the morning the noise is horrendous from the truck beneath the window doing whatever it does at Wagamama’s service entrance. I prefer sleeping with an open window no matter the temperature outside. This is another piece of wisdom gleaned from the first half of Moby Dick. It’s no fun being warm in bed if there isn’t one little bit, probably the nose, that can feel the cold.
So that’s always a bit of a disappointment of a morning. I can’t check the sky out first thing. The bedroom in Rome had a spectacular window (squint and you might see the angels populating the window) though I didn’t like that bedroom with its hideous fitted cupboards and light fitting.