Never a Time in Beijing

The morning bike rides are the best.  You can’t type “no one” in good faith.  There is never a time in Beijing when “no one” is on the street.  But at 6:45AM there aren’t as many people riding around WangJing.  I took the Wang Jing West Road, around the circumference of this district till it becomes the North Road and then the East Road, riding along then, the same path as Jing Mi Lv, passed the Alibaba buildings and the Postco Tower.  Parents are taking their kids to school, business men are strutting about purposefully, and by the time I reach this neighborhood there’s a lot more bike traffic, as well.  Up in the ears are the New Lost City Ramblers, downloaded in a flash to Spotify.  Founding member and the father of my old pal Sonya passed today.  Your spirit is invoked here in WangJing, John Cohen.  R.I.P.

I shouldn’t have anything to say on the matter.  Fifteen years ago, it was entirely appropriate for me to intrude.  But these days my stepson is thirty-years old.  And if he wants to spend his afternoon watching old Star Wars films, the ones that are generally considered awful, (“The Phantom Menace) that have Liam Neesen looking ridiculous that’s his business.   He’s going to go back through the entire series, he informs me.   Later, when I emerge from my thankless labors, I catch him on the couch again destroying droids in some game.  He earns his own keep.  He’s probably more ‘normal’ than me.  He knows how to enjoy his leisure time.  But I can’t help but be derisive.  It looks like a waste of time.  I must suppress the urge to hand him a book. 

My daughter in law is back from visiting her family in the south for Mid-Autumn Festival today.  She suggests she’ll cook for us.  The days of parading about this place in boxers like it was a bachelor pad and filing across the street at the latest possible hour to grab a cheap meal are through.  To be fair, both she and my stepson set out to cook this evening and both northern and southern food sit astride the table at dinner time.  She does ribs differently than my wife, or certainly than anyone in the U.S. would do.  It isn’t long before we’ve worked the bowls clean and even sampled a bit of moon cake, which we’d overlooked consuming during the big Zhong Qiu day last weekend. 

I’ve been trying to reach a partner of ours in Seoul for most of the day now.  Missed him at noon.  I called him at three.  He said he’d ring me tonight.  It’s getting late.  We connect around eleven.  He’s lucky I’m still up.  I’m lucky I’m still up.  It’s important, but the call ends, indecisively.  He needs to think about it.  I’m off to bed. 

Wednesday 9/18/19