Retracing Our Steps

The stressful week before, the chilly November weather, a return of old muscle aches, and family troubles brought on that pre-winter feeling that Midwesterners know very well. Both of us could sense the negative energy that was soon to pull our world down into gloom. But it was sunny that Thursday, the temperature outside was 50 degrees and we put on our helmets and went for a bike ride around our neighborhood park.

Let me qualify. I was riding a three-wheeler, a tricycle. It is heavy and slow, so well designed for a person with infirmities like mine. Marina gave it to me two years earlier after my first back injury. At the time, I used it more and more effectively, and the pain and spasms eased after several months. The tricycle was stored away, and I transitioned to the comfort bicycle that I normally ride. But I just had another episode after a trip to the East Coast, and I was back to riding the three-wheeler.

We had also recently shared a bout of COVID and both of us suspected that it left us with brain fog. It didn’t help that I have always been a little dreamy, that is forgetful. Nothing like a car running in a closed garage. But commonly, I will lose a pair of glasses and forget appointments. Lately she seemed provoked by these episodes, and sometimes, I could sense a rage burning inside of her dark eyes, so I try to be careful.  

The pleasant outdoor temperature and light breeze led to another common Midwest dilemma, that is, what to wear. These days of shifting weather and inappropriate outerwear cause people to have colds and even pneumonia. I put on my Norwegian wool topcoat that was much too dressy for bicycle riding. Leaving our driveway, I asked Marina about wearing the English leather gloves that I had in my pocket, (a recent gift from her), for the ride. She said yes and I put them on. But my hands felt too warm right after we started, so I took off the gloves and put them back in the coat pockets.

The ride was terrific. The trees ringing the park had lost their leaves, but tiny crab apples that remained had attracted many robins, creating Spring-like activity as we rode by. We parked the bikes and stood very close to these birds, who focused on the orange-colored fruit, and were oblivious to our presence. The wind felt fresh, not cold. People walking around the park smiled and waved. We were reluctant to return home. The ride blessed us with a feeling of rekindled energy as we parked the bikes at the house. Then I noticed that one of the gloves was sitting on the driveway. I put my hand into the coat pockets. The other glove was not there.

The fiery look in Marina’s eyes returned. Her disappointment with me for losing something precious was obvious, but she chose to prove it with indifference. I had seen this form of her anger before. The best approach is to go along and let everything settle down.  When she suggested that we retrace our steps, I climbed back on the three-wheeler, not thrilled with the idea of pushing around its heavy frame again. She started the car and asked me to ride with her instead.

Because of concerns about my memory, I’ve recently started playing games designed to train the brain. These games involve learning new tasks and stimulating less frequently used parts of the brain, thereby creating new structural connections or “neural networks”. As aging causes a decrease in brain mass, these games enhance the complexity of nerve activity within the smaller mass and preserve the brain’s capabilities. I bring this up because retracing the entire path of our bike ride in the car reminded me of a memory game. Yes, we had initially ridden toward the park, but I had elected to take Klondike, the Northbound Street on the East side of the elementary school first. Then went on the Westward bound part of David Street, the divided highway, and had turned South on the one- way street bordering the West side of the school, allowing us entry onto the sidewalk around the park. Of course, we navigated the route differently in the car, passing the school and doubling back the correct way (North on the one-way street), Marina driving and I watching the roads and sidewalks for the lost glove. We used visual memory to retrace all our previous steps, having no difficulty doing so.

After driving the entire route without seeing the missing glove, we left the car at the North end of the park, going on foot along the pedestrian route that had been the last part of our bike ride. By then, the likelihood of finding the glove seemed dismal to me. The distance around the park is about a half a mile and when we were close to our starting point, I saw a squirrel that was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. “I wish it was a glove”, I thought to myself.

Just up ahead of the squirrel, Marina found the missing glove on the edge of the path.

After retrieving it, we examined the topcoat, realizing then that the pockets were too shallow to safely contain the fancy gloves during the ride. The gloves were lost because of the coat’s fashionable design, and not my absentmindedness or that I was doodling with the coat pockets, or for the reason that I had only brought one glove.

By this point, the sun was beginning to set. The sky had turned indigo, with wispy clouds moving slowly Eastward toward the Lake, turning crimson as they passed the two of us standing closely together in the park. The robins began their evening songs.

Recalling this day, as it occurred, is another form of memory.

A sparkling recollection: a tree with branches that continue to fruit.