The Canal Boat
Thursday, June 24, 2010 at 02:33PM We spent a healthy part of the two-hour journey from London to Liverpool whizzing alongside the canal in a train that bent along the tracks. I shrieked and clapped when I saw the canal boats inching through in the water, putt-putt-putting past fields of rapeseed, sheep, and clusters of cows. Ages ago, when we were young and dreamy, we would scour the classifieds for CANAL BOAT FOR SALE listings late at night, imagining ourselves living on the water instead of a flea-infested basement flat in Oval. "We could dock anywhere we felt like," we said to each other, batting our eyelids and throwing our arms out to the world.
And then we got older. New York called. We settled. Got concrete feet and 401Ks.
But those boats out there, hidden by long grass, squat and compact: they seemed perfect for what I am now. Ready to move, slowly, inching.
* * *
I've just turned 34. Nothing significant, but we celebrated. Yesterday in the park, eating giant hot dogs and fluffy mint chocolate chip ice cream, watching couples in business attire neck under trees, feeding bread to ducks and geese paddling in the shadow of Buckingham Palace. We irritated old ladies in old pubs, being loud and happy when we heard the piano man play the songs we loved, while they sat at our backs, slowly draining glasses of white wine and muttering "some people." We danced to Johnny Nash in Trafalgar Square, spun ourselves into a black cab, ordered Chinese food and shared a tube of Russian Red lipstick, taking turns on the ones and twos, playing records late into the night.
Today, between visiting a 4-month-old and 98-year-old, my mother-in-law asked me how it felt to be 34. I told her that all at once I felt 4 (chasing pigeons), and 14 (tucking my hair behind my ears, self-conscious), and 24 (dancing to techno late at night, clutching a kir royale). But I looked in the mirror and saw 34. The happy creases at the corners of my eyes. The bangs streaked with gray. The joints that creak when I stand too fast. An unexpected appreciation for sunsets and tides.
And of course, me being me, I had to make some sort of grand realization out of it all: who's to tell us how old we are? And what birthdays mean? Aging is just slowly inching along, hoping that eventually, in between hectic meetings and grave decisions, responsibility and commitment, we might come across an interesting place to dock.
© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.
Reader Comments (5)
It was your birthday!? Happy Birthday!!
Lovely post. Made me feel wistful.
Happy Birthday! And, I loved this post. I'm always looking for somewhere interesting to dock!
I feel so lucky to have spent your birthday with you! It was like All Summer in a Day, minus the sunlamps, or locking anyone in a closet.
Happy birthday, Zan.
Happy Birthday Flower! Sorry we missed it...still, we got one better and seen you in the flesh, always a pleasure, hope its for longer next time xxxx