I have lived in Clifton (NJ) 60 of my 64 years. To say I know my way around and have been pretty much all over my big home burb, would be an understatement. But just this past week I experienced something that really set me back, while in my car, no less.
Driving into an intersection, I instinctively steered my jalopy into left lane knowing that when the traffic light I had just stopped at turned green I was going to be executing a left. But as I made that left (yes, after the light turned green, I remembered to wait for that part) I said to myself ‘Self, although you have traveled these streets aplenty, the one you just turned from and this one you just turned onto, you have never made a left in that particular intersection ever in your life.’ At least this is the way it sits in my collective memory…and I have a very good memory.
Then I started to ruminate (after I sent myself an email about this very subject I wanted to write about when I got back home) that there are probably plenty of intersections/streets in Clifton I have never used.
And then guess what happened?
A mere twenty minutes later, I turned onto and drove down another Clifton street I have never transversed. I made a turn I have made before but was caught having to progress down into a three-block neighborhood to get out the other side of its intersecting streets because of snow restrictions (see this blog from last week). So, there I was once again, traveling through a Clifton I have never known.
Mark me a suburban Ponce de León. An old dog enjoying some new tricks. Old, crusty and jaded, and I’m still being surprised during my daily rounds…and loving it.
Take that, Bono!
