For decades, nearly every day, I rode my bicycle. In Connecticut, as long as the roads weren't icey, I rode all year round, sometimes with a scarf wrapped across my nose and mouth to warm the air entering my lungs. Here in San Miguel, I rode in the late afternoon, after the heat of the day.
The 13 years that I lived in colonia San Antonio, I had an 18-minute route that included (from my house to the church) only a short stretch over those bumpy cobblestones. Twenty months ago, I moved to colonia Insurgentes.
Out here on the far northern edge of the city (yes, the city has a far northern edge), I continued to ride my bicycle daily: down cobbles and sidewalks to some flat streets in nearby San Luis Ray, then back uphill on a fairly wide sidewalk, then down more cobbles back home.
The northern edge of the city from the author's roof *
It was an unforgiving ride: the sidewalk, often made narrower by trees and other obstacles, demanded precise navigation; the long, unbroken uphill stretch was demanding on my legs and heart; the cobblestones out here in the hinterlands are very irregular making very bumpy going.
So, eight months ago, I switched to riding a stationary bicycle (which was gathering dust at Veronica's). True, I don't get out nearly as much, but this new regime is infinitely smoother and safer. It also allows me to somewhat stretch and exercise my upper body, which I do while holding a one-kilo bag of rice in each hand.
Pedaling away, looking out over the city, I listen to audio books, videos, podcasts or (via the Read Aloud app) written articles. I start the listening content, then, my laptop's on-screen stopwatch, climb aboard the bike and get aerobic until the clock's display shows 12 minutes, "00:12:0".
During the cycling, I use another window to block the lesser intervals on the stopwatch's display. Viewing individual seconds wouldn't be so bad, but the insane rush of their tenths and hundredths, madly flashing on the screen could induce a migraine or epileptic seizure in anyone prone to those things. I realize that time is flying away, but I don't have to watch its fractional wings frantically beating.
A month ago, for a few days, after exercising, I did play a game with those tenths and hundredths of a second. I tried to see if I could stop the clock on a whole minute, catching those tiny fractions of time when they registered double aught. After a couple of dozen tries in quick succession, I succeeded, as documented in this screenshot. (Sometimes, after exercising, I forget and just let the stopwatch run.)
This morning, Sunday, May 24, my father's birthday, not rolling over to go back to sleep as I might be especially likely to do on a Sunday, I got out of bed early. I was to meet Veronica's landlord, Nicolas, at her house at 8:00 to speak about his finishing her third floor and my moving in there. (Veronica is moving back to Chile.)
That third floor currently consists of just one finished room, with bathroom and veranda (Vero's bedroom) and a larger, unfinished, although partly-roofed space, currently housing 50 luxuriant potted plants, a laundry area and clotheslines.
Ten years ago, when Veronica moved in on the first floor, I loaned Nicolas money, rent-in-advance, to finish the third-floor room, bath and veranda. Now, I will again pay rent-in-advance to finish the whole third-floor apartment, and live up there myself.
(Having done my share of building and remodeling homes, I know that there is something lovely about living in your own design. But more of all that in a future article.)
Today, Veronica held a garage sale, with many of her friends and neighbors coming over to buy things. After coming to terms with Nicolas regarding the design of the third floor (he loved my suggestions), after he and his wife took their leave, bearing away some lovely kitchen (they live right down the block), after I made brunch for Vero, a friend and me, I went to work.
Veronica asked me to take down the sunshade from over her third-floor veranda and suspend it over the first-floor patio, and then — "if you can" — move the plants down from that veranda to the first-floor patio, all so she can eventually sell those, too: the plants and especially the flowerpots being worth something.
Repositioning the three-meters-by-six-meters sunshade took a little figuring and ladder work. But as I was the one who first put it up, I had some experience in that department. Even in the morning, the sun was strong and the UV was off the charts (as it has been lately), but I drank water and stayed covered in a hat and a long-sleeve shirt. I moved them all, except the three largest, then went to the store for Veronica, then went home, where I puttered around a bit and took a nap.
On awakening I had the urge to mount my stationary bicycle, as normally I would at that hour. But I recalled that schlepping up and down Veronica's two, extended flights of stairs this morning was enough exercise for one day. Instead, remembering a dream I had while napping, I sat down and wrote this article.
I dreamed that my parents, who have been gone for decades, were still alive and living in Philadelphia (which, as far as I know, neither of them had ever visited, but my in-laws were from there). During the dream I was filled with a longing to go visit them, especially my father, with whom I was especially close.
I woke up from the nap with a still dream-like disappointment that I would not be visiting them, and also with the guilty feeling that I had missed Dad's birthday. Then yet in bed, I realized, waking up further, that it was, in fact, still Dad's birthday, and that I could pay tribute to him and the occasion by writing this article.
Now, here is the interesting coincidence (at least it's interesting to me): Born in 1918, today Dad would have been 108-years-old. And those are the numbers, 01:08:00:00 (one hour: eight minutes: zero seconds: zero tenths and hundredths) on the screenshot, the image of the stopwatch stopped on a whole minute, the image that has been catching my eye all month, sitting on the valuable real estate of my laptop display, making me ask myself, "Why am I saving that?"
I don't remember how I learned it, but I've known, at least since my teens, that the number 108 is associated with the Moon. And just now I asked the AI to explain why:
It is in several meaningful ways.
The most striking is astronomical. The distance from the Earth to the Sun is approximately 108 times the Sun's diameter. The distance from the Earth to the Moon is approximately 108 times the Moon's diameter. And the diameter of the Sun is approximately 108 times the diameter of the Earth. This triple coincidence — all involving 108 — is well documented and was noted by ancient Vedic astronomers.
In Hindu and Buddhist traditions, 108 is among the most sacred numbers. Malas — prayer beads used in meditation — have 108 beads. There are said to be 108 names of major deities, 108 Upanishads, 108 sacred sites in India. The number appears throughout Sanskrit texts as a representation of the wholeness of existence.
Whether the ancients derived the sacred significance of 108 from their astronomical observations, or whether the two traditions developed independently and the convergence is coincidence, is debated. But the connection between 108, the Moon, and sacred cosmology is ancient, cross-cultural, and genuinely remarkable.
In yoga, 108 sun salutations are practiced at solstices and equinoxes — again linking the number to celestial cycles.
Make of that what you will.
In another memento mori, yesterday, as part of the synagogue service for the holiday of Shavuos, I said Yizkor, the memorial prayer, bringing my ancestors, and uncles and aunts, one by one, to mind. Then, not long ago, I had another dream about dead relatives. In it I very realistically met my Uncle Gay, my father's closest brother, in a bucolic, heavenly field.
When I was young, I looked forward to life. Now that I am old, I look forward to death. Not that I am in any rush to get there. I just anticipate it as a lovely relief.
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Dr. David Fialkoff presents Lokkal, public internet, building community, strengthening the local economy. If you can, please do contribute content, or your hard-earned cash, to support Lokkal, SMA's Voice. Use the orange, Paypal donate button below. Thank you.
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