Lately, ‘the public’s’ behaviour towards anyone in authority is especially poor. For example, employees directing ferry traffic or enforcing fair play- which in less stressful times means- you line up in the order in which you arrive at the ferry terminal and you accept that if others are there before you, that you might miss this ferry and will need to wait until the next one. No drama, just civil behaviour and individuals taking responsibility for their own circumstance and not blaming or lashing out at others.
I realize as I look at this picture, that I have sat in this lot waiting for the ferry since I was eight. For years and years, I was in this place once a week. No longer in the orange Volkswagon van with my sister, my parents ( and for 7 of those years, my Dutch miniature rabbit named Apple, in his own laundry basket) – now having raised a family with my sweetheart. We have our puppers in the very back (the car was bought with two dogs in mind so that they would have their own space).
There is a moment that I all-of-a-sudden crave an ice cream cone. Not a waffle cone with gelato, not something frozen on a stick, but a ‘mainstream’ Island Farms ‘regular’ flavour of ice cream. Only as the craving becomes conscious, do I realize why. Because we’re at the ferry! If I turn my head and look just past the industrial chain link fence, I should see Jan’s. The open window and someone standing in the line pointing to the ice cream-scooper-person which flavour they would like out of the white buckets deep inside the glass freezer. And then in my mind, I can see myself turning my head to see. In that moment my conscious mind takes over and I realize the only things that are the same are the cosy atmosphere inside the car, and my knitting. Time has passed. I’m still knitting.
Today, outside, I can hear the conversations, the screaming of an overtired two year old, the closing of car doors, the rustling of stuff inside the trunk as people look for the one thing they need. It is late summer, so one must decide about the window: will that pesky wasp make it inside or do we need the coolish air. And then I notice the blue balloon. The present moment. My sweetheart’s voice. I am here, knitting memories of now.
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