My Pretty Pink Bike

I had great bikes as a kid.  And I spent countless hours riding my bike -- sometimes I pretended it was a horse, sometimes a car, but always a vehicle for fun and independence. My first bike had a Mickey mouse ringer bell on it, the next had a radio and horn appliance that was attached in the middle of the handlebars.  It looked more like a dashboard than bike handles. No one could ride on the handlebars, but it was worth it.  In my early teen years that bike became unfashionable -- I had to have a 10speed or nothing.  Thankfully my Grandma got wind of this and bought me an awesome one.  I looked cool, but no radio and no horn.  Because the 70's were so groovy, my parents bought me a red radio called a "toot-a-loop" and that solved the radio issue. It was circular and looked like a mis-shapen donut. With this far sighted construction, I could open it up, put in on the handle bar and re close it.  Again -- cool.

Before my daughter was born I purchased a mom type bike on the side of the road for $30.  It was only a three speed and I could sit up straight as I biked.  I have a wonderful photo somewhere of my daughter sitting in her child's seat behind me.  We drove up and down Martin Court a few times and my bike days were done for about 18 years.

A couple of Christmases ago my mom bought me a beautiful pink bike.  It was a wonder to behold. It was displayed in the kitchen for a while and then in the bedroom.  Eventually my husband took it out to the garage.  And there it sat.  I was afraid.  I was afraid I was just too fat to ride and I would tarnish the beauty of my pink bike.  I was afraid I might fall -- and after breaking a few bones in the last half dozen years, that's a legitimate fear!  I was afraid people would laugh at the middle aged far woman clumsily riding a bright pink old ladies bike.  I was afraid it wasn't going to be as fun as I remembered.  It has taken me two years to rally myself and ride that darned bike!

I decided yesterday morning -- Today is the day.  I'm going to ride my pretty pink bike and nothing is going to stop me from enjoying it.

Off to the shed I went to recover my bike. I had to rearrange things to remove it, but it all went smoothly.  The original seat had been removed and in its stead was a tongueless seat that looks more like a chair.  This is a great idea in theory, but I couldn't stay on my bike.  It's amazing how much you use that center console to steer and steady yourself.  That meant removing seats off two bikes to get my pretty pink and white seat back.  Off to the garage to find a wrench.  You should see the garage.  A professional organizer would get goose bumps.  Nothing ever gets put away once it reaches that space.  I thought of giving up, but I had made myself a promise.  On my third trip to the same drawer I couldn't find the size wrench I needed, but there, it was!  In the next drawer down was an adjustable wrench. It was beautiful in its rusted presence.  In no time I had the seats off and mine back in its rightful place.

The dogs has been outside with me racing around the yard.  I looked over just in time to see them on their backs, rubbing against a certain patch of earth with delight. That much delight could only mean trouble.  I herded them up to the door and got a whiff.  I still don't know what they got into, but it smelled nasty. So I had to bathe them both.  I was about ready for a nap, but I had yet to go on my bike ride.  Darn it!

I put the items I need to return to the library into my back pack, strapped it to my back and unsteadily mounted by pretty pink bike. It's not very far to the library, I wanted my first foray out to be successful.  It wasn't as easy as I remembered.  But it was great!  Nobody laughed -- at least no one that I am aware of.  I didn't fall.  I didn't forget how to ride a bike.

"It's like riding a bike" they say -- you just don't forget that kind of thing.  I am so glad I didn't give up when I couldn't find the correct wrench or when the dogs did they smelly thing. I am so glad I didn't give up on recapturing and recycling my childhood memories.  Tomorrow I'll get out again and ride my pretty pink bike that makes me happy just looking at it.  I'll ride my bike a get a bit of exercise and just enjoy the moments of freedom that bike riding has always given me.

But next time -- I'll remember to take my Toot-a-loop radio that my mom saved for me. It still works and it still looks way cool.

What a Tangled Web we Weave or Knit

I thought I'd whip out an adorable scarf before dinner time. The skein of new yarn boasted an easy pattern with a thick chennile type feel with faux fur puff balls sprinkled around.  I'd paid only $7 and it seemed like a Christmas gift waiting to be hand-made.  The directions guided me to roll the yarn in a ball prior to stitching.  Always a bit impatient to get started, I was tempted to skip the advice.  But with only 60 yards of delightfulness, it would be a quick job.

It took me about a yard a minute to get my tangled mass of yarn into a usable ball.  I was tempted to return it to the store, but didn't.  I was tempted to rip and begin again, but I stayed true and steady to the job at hand. This was a special Christmas gift being made by loving hands -- right? I just wanted to knit and see how it would look as it began to take shape.  I just wanted to see that I'd accomplished something today that was obvious and visible!

Finally, I began to see that I was making headway. My slow and steady approach was begining to make a difference.  A rhythm of sorts was created as my hands found ways through the maze. Gentleness won over frustration as the integrity of the yarn wasn't harmed by the detangling. I actually began to enjoy the process. 

The last foot of yarn was wrapped and a ball ripe with potential lay on my lap. I hadn't even started to knit and already, I felt like I'd made progress. 

My husband came home and asked about dinner.  He didn't know about my heroic yarn effort yet, because if he did, he certainly wouldn't have had the audacity to inquire about something that paled in significance to my yarn challenge.

So much of life is the journey.  We want to hurry up and get to the thing that we want to enjoy. When we are a child, we want to get to Christmas or our birthday. When we are a teen -- the driver's license is the mighty goal. When I have a good job, when my career takes off, when I  have a baby, when that baby is potty trained, when I finally lose weight, when . . . . THEN I will begin to enjoy. The destination isn't the thing, the journey is the thing.

I wonder how much of life is taken up by the arrival at the destination -- I bet it is such a small percentage of our lives that it would discourage us to know how few of our life moments are considered those "I have arrived" and "All is well with the world" moments.

 I am quite sure that the journey -- the life in progress moments, where we are untangling life and preparing ourselves take up most of our life.  It makes sense that we strive to enjoy those run on moments that both delight and frustrate, challenge and renew us. It is the every day stuff that makes up most of life.