Monday, October 14, 2013

Cycling at Dawn


This morning I took an old Chinese bicycle and pedaled it out into the semi-dark of a Phnom Penh morning, determined to push the boundaries of my small world of Beung Keng Kang. It’s one of those bicycles where you sit up strait and hold the handlebars like reins while your feet pump strait up and down. You can ride this bike in a skirt while balancing a teacup on your head, no problem. 

It comes with the standard local accoutrements of a wire basket, a bell that goes briiing and a rack in back for a friend or a bushel of papaya.

So off I peddled into the grey, pumping up and down past puppies sleeping in doorways, past storefronts wearing iron grates, past large clay pots of goldfish and papyrus, past boughs of bougainvillea tumbling over walls until behold!  the Tonle Sap River! 

I rode fast along its edge and took in the soft, silvery-black majesty of the water. Small fishing boats hovered motionless on its surface, like spoons lying this way and that on a table surface. I joined a pack of bicycles and tried to blend. A bank of nimbostratus racing low over the river announced rain by noon.

A public promenade stretches along the riverfront and in these wee hours I passed packs of healthy citizens doing aerobics to K-pop (Korean pop—all the rage). The old ladies in their pajamas and flip-flop swung their arms gustily to and fro, lifted their knees to march in place, and descended in swan dives down to touch their toes.

Besides exercisers, the other familiar faces I see in the early morning are the city’s garbage collectors, mostly women. They wear fluorescent lime vests and cover their heads with huge floppy hats and their faces with surgical masks. They pull yellow bins for the rubbish and they whoosh grass brooms to and fro.

The woman on the northbound side of Norodom has two little children. Sometimes they help her pick up rubbish; sometimes they squat, their 10 little brown toes splayed wide as twigs, holding steady the unwieldy pieces of cardboard so she can sweep rubbish up onto them. But mostly they loiter or play. Today the toddler boy was sitting on the street playing with a chunk of cement.

On my way home, I swung around the Independence Monument. The towering, lotus-shaped stupa is usually ringed by a gridlock of SUVs and tuk-tuks. But in the early morning, swinging around and around these wide empty lanes was exhilarating, like a racecourse all to myself.

There is something deliciously sneaky about waking up early and getting a head start on the world.  The city is grey and drowsy and serene. The stacked balconies of luxury apartments look like empty shelves facing off with the receding stars. And there I am, eagle-eyed and owl-eared, speeding forward on a tiny bicycle dwarfed by the city, the palace, the river, my legs pumping life through pounding heart as I peddle up empty boulevards.

Let me confess: it is a scandal. It’s downright cheeky that I get to glimpse a particular ray of brilliant sun leaping out of the low east and shouting colors at a patch of wispy clouds, and nobody else is even noticing. It’s desperately unfair that no one gets to see from my precise vantage point the dawn dribbling orange over the surface of the river like sherbet melting around the fishing boats. It’s the sort of secret that just me and God and the whole sky are in on. It makes me feel alive and thrilled to try to take in this particular arrangement of water and city and atmosphere and nobody ever again (like, ever), will see it. It is an astonishing gift for just me gliding fast on my Chinese bicycle and sucking the whole morning into my lungs.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Come on!

Sam came bouncing out of "kidz warehouse" on Sunday with a coloring book picture of a jail cell. In it was an angel and a nice-looking dude in chains. At home over lunch Sam sticks smiley-face stickers all over the jail cell as he tells me the story like this: "That guy was in jail. He was so sad! He has those chains on him. Then that angel comes. Then that angel says to him, "Come on! [Sam beckons with his whole arm to demonstrate. This is his favorite part.] Let's go! Let's play! Then the man was not in jail anymore."

Realism or expressionism?

Sam and Sahara are drawing the traffic patterns on 277 at very slow shutterspeed.


Sahara Wants YOU


So, as cute as this is, the truth is she was mocking me! She has been in the habit of throwing everything on the floor when she sits at the counter (or highchair or changing table or stool--any elevated location). She looks around for objects that are not attached and drops them. This is "fun." So I shake my finger at her and say "no" very seriously. The other day, she got a big smirk on her face and shook her chubby finger right back at me! I was so indignant, but she was so delicious I just had to get the camera.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Wearing Carrots

I have been trying to decide over a slow bowl of ice cream which photo I like best and I can't for anything choose just one, so I'm posting them all. I look at her face all day long and yet when I put her to bed, I miss it. I pace around the house for photos of her so I can see her even more, more strongly and surely, so I'll never forget. She's only the reason i get up every morning. she's sunshine and carrots and big curious eyes and she laughs so much now, especially at sam's silly faces, that it makes me breathless with happyhappyhappy. And this series is only breakfast. Thank goodness the camera runs out of batteries.








1903 Harrill

Okay so this is our house in the 'hood where we've lived since I was 8 months pregnant last summer 2008. It's a mess. The porch and facia board need painting. We need new windows and porch railings. The storm door got broken, ironically, in a storm. The bright pink azaleas have some kind of disease. Miss Mary who is 900 years old and lives next door saved the tires-mounted-on-hubcabs flower pots for me. I spray-painted them green and will soon smother them in sweet potato vine like I did last summer to hide their junkyard origins. Danny's dad planted a cypress. So far I've planted a forsythia, a camelia, a bunch of lilies, and mounds of pansies. Oh, there's also a rusting yellow fire hydrant in the yard. Inside though, it's beautiful. It's got 10 foot ceilings and beautiful tile bathrooms. Some of the floors are still old wood. The house is 103 years old and is only a dozen blocks from uptown Charlotte. We're renovating it one inch at a time. I guess I'm putting this photo here so later I can see how much it's changed.