Sunday, March 29, 2009
I won't make that mistake again.
This is the thing about suffering. It teaches you to not make the same mistake twice. I fell really hard on an innocent looking log pile. Sometimes it's better to just stay down when you fall. I won't be trying that one again.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Gift of Suffering
There you have it. I am officially the last one who is still single out of my little tribe. The wedding went off as planned and in spite of my insecurities of being the last one left, I really am happy for my friend. I know he loves his new wife. I lost it when he reached up and brushed the tears off her cheeks. I am so tired of crying!
The next day was kind of special because a bunch of us got to ride Owassipe. This is my favorite trail, but it is no longer open to the public. While I was waiting for people to finish getting ready I joined the school of sharks that were swirling about. As I am swirling I decide I should try to pop up onto the curb. Why I always have an urge to do this kind of stuff on concrete, I cannot explain, but I do, so it usually winds up a bit bloody. I'm okay with this. Staying true to form, most of my injuries happen pre-ride. I'll blame this one on an assumption I made about Jack, as well as not knowing my own strength.
It was just a 4 or 5 inch curb. I wasn't trying to hop it. I was just trying to gingerly get up on it. I approached it very slowly and lifted the front end up onto the curb. Things felt really good and there was no cause for alarm. That is until evidently the combination of Jack's feather weight build and my strength were a bit much. I realized this as I lifted up his ass, and it went over my head. Of all the bikers swarming around that day, not one saw it. Slow Poke came around his van having been alerted by the sound of metal on concrete. It was sheer grace in motion and he missed it. Lucky for me, because it appears this guy is in the habit of recording these biking type excursions. Beautiful. As I am laying there with my feet still clipped in, half on my side, with my butt popped up in the air, I ask him if he saw it. “Unfortunately not!" It's always good to know that people are looking out for your best interest. He did redeem himself by giving me a band aide to cover the tip of my middle finger that got rubbed off through my full fingered gloves. Good thing I got those.
As I am bandaging myself up he and my new friend Becky (Who is new to mountain biking, I mean super new. This was her first time!) strike up a conversation about safety, all the bad things that could happen, and not wanting to crash. Here I stand bleeding before them, trying to grasp what they are really saying, having just done a cartwheel on my bike. They say things like "I don't want to break anything" or "I am to old too go hurting myself". Listening to them talk about their fears, I blurted out "I was doing this stuff when I was a kid. Going down is part of it. I have accepted that." Then I pulled my gloves back over my bloody finger, thanked God for the pain, gingerly walked Jack up that curb again, (successfully) hopped back down and said, "Let’s go see if we can break something!" Becky said something about a bad influence. I'm not sure who she was talking about.
Now, I don't like getting hurt anymore than the next person. I try to be careful and ride smart, but things happen out there. I broke some ribs last year on a night ride. I endo'd so hard that I blew out the bottom of my shoe, but that's another story. I don't like having to take breaks either. I raced Pando with broken ribs. I could still feel them at Iceman. On Sunday as we headed for the single track I understood on a different level what they were talking about. They are talking about not being willing to suffer. They were talking about the aftermath of falling, the potential injury and the wounded pride, not the fall itself. As I stood there this silly little image of a mangled cart with a horse sniffing around behind it flashed in my mind. Isn't this essentially what we are doing when we live in fear? I think that the cart is less likely to crash if you stay in front of it.
I just remember how sick and stagnate I was when I was afraid to even try anything. I liken fear to being taken prisoner. A favorite quote of mine is taken from a book called "Mans Search for Meaning" by Viktor E. Frankl. He was a psychiatrist who was taken prisoner during the Holocaust. It goes like this: "The prisoners were only average men, but some at least, by choosing to be "worthy of their suffering" proved man's capacity to rise above his outward fate." These days I just accept that I am going to suffer. I've been through some senseless experiences in my day. I have suffered much at the hands of others, and even more at my own. I have an overwhelming desire for it to mean something and not go to waste. So guess what? That requires being willing to fall, which means I will suffer some more. I am going to get hurt, but it sure beats the pain of numbness. It beats the torment of not trying, and it sure as hell beats lying awake at night constantly wondering how things "might" have been, if I had only tried.
I am riding a new trail today. I am pretty sure I am going down. I am pretty sure I'll fall hard. I'm thanking God in advance for the pain. I went for years trying to numb out emotionally. For the most part I succeeded. It's kind of ironic that now that my body is slowly going numb, my heart is coming alive and right now at this very moment, I know I don't truly have to fear the fall. It's not a free fall into nothingness. Like the hand of God, the earth will be there to break it. It seems as though the aftermath of a fall, really just makes us more acutely aware of what was there all along. I mean think of it this way. If I hadn't of made the mistake of kicking Jack too hard in the ass, I might not have found out that if I just guide his head a little bit, the rest of him will follow suit. I wouldn't have got to feel something other than numbness in this left middle finger of mine. Although I can’t feel it so well, it’s been there all along. It actually hurt. Pain can be a good thing.
In response to one of my more Emo post, Puppy sent some kind words to me. Another favorite quote to add to my list goes something like this: "There is nothing I can say so let’s talk about bike parts. Do you know why Shimano brake levers rock? Because they are made out of forged aluminum. Shimano has these amazing 6000 lb presses that squish aluminum to form a brake lever. Somehow this forging makes the aluminum much stronger; therefore they can make the levers thinner and lighter and still they are amazingly strong. There are no better levers out there. Sure, CNCed levers look sexy but they are not as good as Shimano's. I imagine the levers themselves don't like being forged. It must hurt like hell during this process. But forging makes them better off in the long run. And the person who gets them is better off too."
What a gift. Thank you. I pray someday I'll be worthy of it.
The next day was kind of special because a bunch of us got to ride Owassipe. This is my favorite trail, but it is no longer open to the public. While I was waiting for people to finish getting ready I joined the school of sharks that were swirling about. As I am swirling I decide I should try to pop up onto the curb. Why I always have an urge to do this kind of stuff on concrete, I cannot explain, but I do, so it usually winds up a bit bloody. I'm okay with this. Staying true to form, most of my injuries happen pre-ride. I'll blame this one on an assumption I made about Jack, as well as not knowing my own strength.
It was just a 4 or 5 inch curb. I wasn't trying to hop it. I was just trying to gingerly get up on it. I approached it very slowly and lifted the front end up onto the curb. Things felt really good and there was no cause for alarm. That is until evidently the combination of Jack's feather weight build and my strength were a bit much. I realized this as I lifted up his ass, and it went over my head. Of all the bikers swarming around that day, not one saw it. Slow Poke came around his van having been alerted by the sound of metal on concrete. It was sheer grace in motion and he missed it. Lucky for me, because it appears this guy is in the habit of recording these biking type excursions. Beautiful. As I am laying there with my feet still clipped in, half on my side, with my butt popped up in the air, I ask him if he saw it. “Unfortunately not!" It's always good to know that people are looking out for your best interest. He did redeem himself by giving me a band aide to cover the tip of my middle finger that got rubbed off through my full fingered gloves. Good thing I got those.
As I am bandaging myself up he and my new friend Becky (Who is new to mountain biking, I mean super new. This was her first time!) strike up a conversation about safety, all the bad things that could happen, and not wanting to crash. Here I stand bleeding before them, trying to grasp what they are really saying, having just done a cartwheel on my bike. They say things like "I don't want to break anything" or "I am to old too go hurting myself". Listening to them talk about their fears, I blurted out "I was doing this stuff when I was a kid. Going down is part of it. I have accepted that." Then I pulled my gloves back over my bloody finger, thanked God for the pain, gingerly walked Jack up that curb again, (successfully) hopped back down and said, "Let’s go see if we can break something!" Becky said something about a bad influence. I'm not sure who she was talking about.
Now, I don't like getting hurt anymore than the next person. I try to be careful and ride smart, but things happen out there. I broke some ribs last year on a night ride. I endo'd so hard that I blew out the bottom of my shoe, but that's another story. I don't like having to take breaks either. I raced Pando with broken ribs. I could still feel them at Iceman. On Sunday as we headed for the single track I understood on a different level what they were talking about. They are talking about not being willing to suffer. They were talking about the aftermath of falling, the potential injury and the wounded pride, not the fall itself. As I stood there this silly little image of a mangled cart with a horse sniffing around behind it flashed in my mind. Isn't this essentially what we are doing when we live in fear? I think that the cart is less likely to crash if you stay in front of it.
I just remember how sick and stagnate I was when I was afraid to even try anything. I liken fear to being taken prisoner. A favorite quote of mine is taken from a book called "Mans Search for Meaning" by Viktor E. Frankl. He was a psychiatrist who was taken prisoner during the Holocaust. It goes like this: "The prisoners were only average men, but some at least, by choosing to be "worthy of their suffering" proved man's capacity to rise above his outward fate." These days I just accept that I am going to suffer. I've been through some senseless experiences in my day. I have suffered much at the hands of others, and even more at my own. I have an overwhelming desire for it to mean something and not go to waste. So guess what? That requires being willing to fall, which means I will suffer some more. I am going to get hurt, but it sure beats the pain of numbness. It beats the torment of not trying, and it sure as hell beats lying awake at night constantly wondering how things "might" have been, if I had only tried.
I am riding a new trail today. I am pretty sure I am going down. I am pretty sure I'll fall hard. I'm thanking God in advance for the pain. I went for years trying to numb out emotionally. For the most part I succeeded. It's kind of ironic that now that my body is slowly going numb, my heart is coming alive and right now at this very moment, I know I don't truly have to fear the fall. It's not a free fall into nothingness. Like the hand of God, the earth will be there to break it. It seems as though the aftermath of a fall, really just makes us more acutely aware of what was there all along. I mean think of it this way. If I hadn't of made the mistake of kicking Jack too hard in the ass, I might not have found out that if I just guide his head a little bit, the rest of him will follow suit. I wouldn't have got to feel something other than numbness in this left middle finger of mine. Although I can’t feel it so well, it’s been there all along. It actually hurt. Pain can be a good thing.
In response to one of my more Emo post, Puppy sent some kind words to me. Another favorite quote to add to my list goes something like this: "There is nothing I can say so let’s talk about bike parts. Do you know why Shimano brake levers rock? Because they are made out of forged aluminum. Shimano has these amazing 6000 lb presses that squish aluminum to form a brake lever. Somehow this forging makes the aluminum much stronger; therefore they can make the levers thinner and lighter and still they are amazingly strong. There are no better levers out there. Sure, CNCed levers look sexy but they are not as good as Shimano's. I imagine the levers themselves don't like being forged. It must hurt like hell during this process. But forging makes them better off in the long run. And the person who gets them is better off too."
What a gift. Thank you. I pray someday I'll be worthy of it.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Snags
Friday was my first day of spring break. In preparation for my best friend's wedding I decided to totally ditch my list of things to do, like buy something suitable to wear other than Lycra, and go ride Yankee instead. I was really struggling because both of my closest friends are now in serious relationships, and I am...still single.
I clipped in and started off pedaling as fast as I could. Something happens after I settle into a ride that is hard to describe. I suppose it is a bit like meditation. It's like doorways open for thoughts to flow in and out of simultaneously. Its almost as if they have a life of their own, demanding that I look. Just when I think I am going to escape something, its placed in front of me again. New perceptions on the same old stuff reveal themselves. I suppose it's the closest I come to clearing my mind.
As I start to sweat I start to think about relationships in general. Particularly mine. This always causes me to think about God because I tend to think that the state of my relationships is a reflection of my relationship with him. The metaphors come to life as my heart pounds in my chest on that first climb. The trail is the relationship. The bike is Christ and I am the idiot crucifying him out there on the trail. I don't mean to really. I am just trying to pick a line; I want to find that flow in life I so desperately need.
Here's the deal. Like so many things in life I've wasted much time blaming someone else for my stuff. When I first started riding I blamed the trail. Then I blamed the bike, but I never truly blamed my self other than to admit that I pretty much sucked all the way around. As you can imagine that state of mind is equivalent to riding in 6 inches of snow on top of ice with no studs or winter gear. It's futility at its finest. So as Jack and I are getting to know each other I find myself paying more attention to the trail. Because this bike has a rigid fork, I have too. This causes me to actually have to loosen up my grip and trust my bike more. If I don't I'll get beat to death. As I am riding I am over come with the thought that if I can just learn to trust, maybe life will be okay.
There are certain areas of the trail that are particularly difficult for me. One is that matted hill. I didn't make it all the way up it on my geared bike until the middle of last season. These first few attempts on the SS proved very frustrating as well. I thought about that hill all through the ride. I thought about what it was going to take to make it. I didn't know what I could possibly do differently to get me up. I was so focused on what to do, that the hill presented way to soon and I wasn't prepared. I stalled half way. I un-clipped. I looked down the hill. I looked up the hill. I considered settling. I've done this most of my life trying to find something to satisfy me. It's never worked. This occurs to me as I am panting in the middle of the hill. I go back down hill to try again. I let my heart rate drop to 160 and make my approach with as much speed as I can. I get to that half way point and say good bye to it, and hello to a whole new realm of heart staggering, mind numbing ecstasy. At the top I can hear my shout echo off the trees, my sole witnesses. I do not stop. I pedal in the satisfaction of not having settled.
There is one more hill out there that is an irritation. It's just after the 10 mile mark. It's not exceptionally steep but it's rooty and loose. I can do it no problem on gears. Jack is another story. My heart is still racing from the matted hill as I attack this one. My pedal catches a root. I consider going back down and trying again, but walk the rest of the way instead. I know it will still be there the next time around. I know I may get snagged up again. I am OK with this. I will learn how to pick my line up this hill. I've been up it before just never quite like this. Anything is possible, even a re-route, given the miserable state this hill is in.
I'll keep climbing it till something happens.
By the time I get back to my car I'm okay again with being single. From this vantage point I am acutely aware of what is going to snag me up. I also know the hill can be climbed, and in the end I don't have to settle for anything less than the top. I can trust this.
There is something to be said for that kind of satisfaction.
I clipped in and started off pedaling as fast as I could. Something happens after I settle into a ride that is hard to describe. I suppose it is a bit like meditation. It's like doorways open for thoughts to flow in and out of simultaneously. Its almost as if they have a life of their own, demanding that I look. Just when I think I am going to escape something, its placed in front of me again. New perceptions on the same old stuff reveal themselves. I suppose it's the closest I come to clearing my mind.
As I start to sweat I start to think about relationships in general. Particularly mine. This always causes me to think about God because I tend to think that the state of my relationships is a reflection of my relationship with him. The metaphors come to life as my heart pounds in my chest on that first climb. The trail is the relationship. The bike is Christ and I am the idiot crucifying him out there on the trail. I don't mean to really. I am just trying to pick a line; I want to find that flow in life I so desperately need.
Here's the deal. Like so many things in life I've wasted much time blaming someone else for my stuff. When I first started riding I blamed the trail. Then I blamed the bike, but I never truly blamed my self other than to admit that I pretty much sucked all the way around. As you can imagine that state of mind is equivalent to riding in 6 inches of snow on top of ice with no studs or winter gear. It's futility at its finest. So as Jack and I are getting to know each other I find myself paying more attention to the trail. Because this bike has a rigid fork, I have too. This causes me to actually have to loosen up my grip and trust my bike more. If I don't I'll get beat to death. As I am riding I am over come with the thought that if I can just learn to trust, maybe life will be okay.
There are certain areas of the trail that are particularly difficult for me. One is that matted hill. I didn't make it all the way up it on my geared bike until the middle of last season. These first few attempts on the SS proved very frustrating as well. I thought about that hill all through the ride. I thought about what it was going to take to make it. I didn't know what I could possibly do differently to get me up. I was so focused on what to do, that the hill presented way to soon and I wasn't prepared. I stalled half way. I un-clipped. I looked down the hill. I looked up the hill. I considered settling. I've done this most of my life trying to find something to satisfy me. It's never worked. This occurs to me as I am panting in the middle of the hill. I go back down hill to try again. I let my heart rate drop to 160 and make my approach with as much speed as I can. I get to that half way point and say good bye to it, and hello to a whole new realm of heart staggering, mind numbing ecstasy. At the top I can hear my shout echo off the trees, my sole witnesses. I do not stop. I pedal in the satisfaction of not having settled.
There is one more hill out there that is an irritation. It's just after the 10 mile mark. It's not exceptionally steep but it's rooty and loose. I can do it no problem on gears. Jack is another story. My heart is still racing from the matted hill as I attack this one. My pedal catches a root. I consider going back down and trying again, but walk the rest of the way instead. I know it will still be there the next time around. I know I may get snagged up again. I am OK with this. I will learn how to pick my line up this hill. I've been up it before just never quite like this. Anything is possible, even a re-route, given the miserable state this hill is in.
I'll keep climbing it till something happens.
By the time I get back to my car I'm okay again with being single. From this vantage point I am acutely aware of what is going to snag me up. I also know the hill can be climbed, and in the end I don't have to settle for anything less than the top. I can trust this.
There is something to be said for that kind of satisfaction.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Key
I didn't get to ride today. Eric called as soon as I got home from school. He needed to come pick up the mural that my daughter painted for the ceremony. I sat here staring at my bike trying not to touch it. By the time Eric rang the door bell I was putting on my Sidi's. I thought I would just go spin around the lot for a minute while he used the bathroom. I grabbed Jack by the shorts hairs and we were gone. A few minutes later Eric comes outside. I'm hopping and spinning around and chit chatting when I realize I don't have a key to get back in the apartment.
Me: " Did you grab the keyes?"
Him: " No was I supposed too?"
Me: "We have on the same shirt!"
And we laughed. This is the thing about us. We can laugh at ourselves. We can laugh at each other. We can laugh at the world together, and it is hilarious. I tell him to start pushing buttons to see if someone is home. I continue to ride around the parking lot. He stands there. He tells me the buttons are on my building so I should be the one pushing them, but what he doesn't understand is that I am clipped in. I am connected and I don't want that to change. I'm feeling it even in the parking lot. Then we both get distracted and we start talking about my bike and how cool it is and how I don't ever want to go back to gears and I'm telling him about the last 3 rides at Yankee and how he should a been there and "Do you realize just how light my bike is?" and I unclip and hand it to him and he is marveling about Jack and I realize something as he is standing there with my bike in his hands. My best friend, who re-introduced me to the love of my life, (the love that has saved me from the grips of my own anguish)is getting married tomorrow.
The past fourteen years kinda play out in my mind, he is standing there oblivious to what is going on. Mystery Science theatre, Perkins and the Sunset Machine, Driving around to Coolio in the Skylark because we didn't know what else to do. Then at staggered intervals Love would strike one of the four of us, and we would disappear for a bit from each others lives, to reconvene for the important stuff like divorces and children dying, and just being present when life happens to each other.
I'm thinking about all this as we jump in the truck to go to the rental office to get a key. I notice his tux. I cannot believe Deb is letting him wear an ivory tux. I say something about it and we laugh some more. Then we bust out singing like we often do. We are especially prone to do this while riding. Stupid silly little ditty's. We are gabbing about who all is coming on Saturday to ride Owassipe. In the midst of all this I tell him that I have missed him. He pretends like he doesn't hear it,(like he does when I tell him that I love him) and we start talking about why no one would answer the buzzer for us. We surmise that it is because we are both wearing The Ride of Silence t-shirts, and people were in fear that we were like the Jehovah's Witnesses for the Church of the Rolling Wheel. We laugh some more. We get back to the apartment and he loads up the picture. It's time for him to go. As he drives away I say goodbye to the days that we would fly by the seat of our pants together to whatever trail we felt like riding whenever we we felt like doing it. I say good bye to the idea that we were just going to ride off into the single hood sunset together. It was a bad deal anyway. We thought about getting shirts made that said "He is my Brother!" or "I am not with Her!" He's getting married instead.
Jack is waiting when I come back in. "It's just me and you now Baby."
I talk to my bike. Sweet. I've lost my mind.
Me: " Did you grab the keyes?"
Him: " No was I supposed too?"
Me: "We have on the same shirt!"
And we laughed. This is the thing about us. We can laugh at ourselves. We can laugh at each other. We can laugh at the world together, and it is hilarious. I tell him to start pushing buttons to see if someone is home. I continue to ride around the parking lot. He stands there. He tells me the buttons are on my building so I should be the one pushing them, but what he doesn't understand is that I am clipped in. I am connected and I don't want that to change. I'm feeling it even in the parking lot. Then we both get distracted and we start talking about my bike and how cool it is and how I don't ever want to go back to gears and I'm telling him about the last 3 rides at Yankee and how he should a been there and "Do you realize just how light my bike is?" and I unclip and hand it to him and he is marveling about Jack and I realize something as he is standing there with my bike in his hands. My best friend, who re-introduced me to the love of my life, (the love that has saved me from the grips of my own anguish)is getting married tomorrow.
The past fourteen years kinda play out in my mind, he is standing there oblivious to what is going on. Mystery Science theatre, Perkins and the Sunset Machine, Driving around to Coolio in the Skylark because we didn't know what else to do. Then at staggered intervals Love would strike one of the four of us, and we would disappear for a bit from each others lives, to reconvene for the important stuff like divorces and children dying, and just being present when life happens to each other.
I'm thinking about all this as we jump in the truck to go to the rental office to get a key. I notice his tux. I cannot believe Deb is letting him wear an ivory tux. I say something about it and we laugh some more. Then we bust out singing like we often do. We are especially prone to do this while riding. Stupid silly little ditty's. We are gabbing about who all is coming on Saturday to ride Owassipe. In the midst of all this I tell him that I have missed him. He pretends like he doesn't hear it,(like he does when I tell him that I love him) and we start talking about why no one would answer the buzzer for us. We surmise that it is because we are both wearing The Ride of Silence t-shirts, and people were in fear that we were like the Jehovah's Witnesses for the Church of the Rolling Wheel. We laugh some more. We get back to the apartment and he loads up the picture. It's time for him to go. As he drives away I say goodbye to the days that we would fly by the seat of our pants together to whatever trail we felt like riding whenever we we felt like doing it. I say good bye to the idea that we were just going to ride off into the single hood sunset together. It was a bad deal anyway. We thought about getting shirts made that said "He is my Brother!" or "I am not with Her!" He's getting married instead.
Jack is waiting when I come back in. "It's just me and you now Baby."
I talk to my bike. Sweet. I've lost my mind.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
No Cure
Yesterday marked my third trip around Yankee with Jack. We get along just fine and I am happy to report rapid improvement in our relationship. We made it 2/3's up that matted hill around the 10 mile mark this time. I was talking to Brian about said hill the other day while I was at the shop looking for a new seat post. He told me that the training I am receiving on a fully rigid SS will only enhance my abilities on a geared bike. He said I will be amazed. My heart sank a little bit when he said that. I mean, there is no rule saying I have to go back,right? I told him I couldn't imagine it. I'm already thinking about how I want go about unloading my geared bike. It looks pathetic sitting in the trainer.
We talked a bit about my cadence on the road ride Saturday. A few things need to be dialed in on the bike, but he said the sure cure for cadence is to flip my hub. Maybe by the end of summer I will be a true "Bad Ass", but for now I am just going to enjoy getting to know my bike. It's funny, because although he isn't new ('99 ?)and he has many scars, he sure draws attention out there.
I am not used to that.
Ladies and Gentleman the diagnosis is official, and there is no cure. The disease is chronic and progressive. I have Single Speed Syndrome. Please don't try and help me. I am going to wallow in this as long as I possibly can.
We talked a bit about my cadence on the road ride Saturday. A few things need to be dialed in on the bike, but he said the sure cure for cadence is to flip my hub. Maybe by the end of summer I will be a true "Bad Ass", but for now I am just going to enjoy getting to know my bike. It's funny, because although he isn't new ('99 ?)and he has many scars, he sure draws attention out there.
I am not used to that.
Ladies and Gentleman the diagnosis is official, and there is no cure. The disease is chronic and progressive. I have Single Speed Syndrome. Please don't try and help me. I am going to wallow in this as long as I possibly can.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I would make you up.
You stir.
like mist
my body
gently hovers
over the surface
of everything
you are
as I try
not to wake you.
I want
to melt
on top of you
but homework
and mortgages
and other silly
grown up things
call to me
as I pass
over you
and for a moment
the rhythm
of our hearts
stacked on one another
is the only
thing
to me
that
is
real.
I lazily open
my eyes to
steal
forever
your sleeping
face
as the indiglo
shadows cast
across the bed
that you aren't
in and 4am
comes crashing in....
I have to
check my
email.
like mist
my body
gently hovers
over the surface
of everything
you are
as I try
not to wake you.
I want
to melt
on top of you
but homework
and mortgages
and other silly
grown up things
call to me
as I pass
over you
and for a moment
the rhythm
of our hearts
stacked on one another
is the only
thing
to me
that
is
real.
I lazily open
my eyes to
steal
forever
your sleeping
face
as the indiglo
shadows cast
across the bed
that you aren't
in and 4am
comes crashing in....
I have to
check my
email.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
The Personification of Mr. White
March 14, 2009
I rode about 30 miles today on the road. That number is really a guess because my computer isn't functioning. We set out to ride the Barry Roubaix course for the race in two weeks, but we got a little lost. Steve and Brian both concurred that it was about 30. I wouldn't know because I got lost in my mind out there thinking about how my new found love and I would both rather be flying down single track. So I just pedaled and he just rolled up and down monster hills for mile after mile. I could see the ribbon of trail cutting through the woods as I pedaled along. It was so close I could have just dashed off the road and been swept away. My mind keep saying it was too soon but my heart said something entirely different. I asked the guys and Becky if they were game. Nobody had time. I didn't drive so I had to follow the herd back to the car. To try and ease the want growing inside my chest, I told myself the trail was probably super muddy. As I was reluctantly letting go of the fantasy I saw men in tights riding that ribbon like it was all tide up in a cheerleaders hair. I yelled out "How is it? Is it muddy?" they said not at all. I already knew. I was coming back as soon as I got home to my car.
After a quick snack and an email check, I put my SS in the back seat and I was off. I sang off key to him all the way there. He doesn't care that I can make ears bleed with my voice, he just wants to be on the trail with me. We had never been on single track together in ample conditions. It's been mostly snow or road rides so it was difficult to know how we were going to fair together. I caught SS sickness last summer, but there was no way I could make it work. I quit looking because it made my heart ache. I didn't even want to think about what I really wanted. So, I spent most of my time in the big chain ring dreaming, until one day last fall he just showed up. . .
It was the end of October, and I was riding with Steve and Eric on the same roads training for Iceman. Steve told me about this bike that had come into the shop. Listening to him describe it made my heart skip a beat. Thomas had already tipped me off to it but I didn't even let my mind go there. Steve really sparked my curiosity. When we were done riding I snuck down there immediately. I punched in my code and turned on the lights. There he was looking lonely behind the counter. My breath caught in my chest and my mouth went dry. I'm not even lying. He was beautiful. A little on the fixed side with no brakes but beautiful. He was more than I dared to even dream of. He's 26' a little Eccentric, and Rigid. I fell in love at first sight. I snatched him up and promptly named him Jack. I was afraid he would be more than I could handle, but with a little TLC I persuaded him to change. I promised him he wouldn't regret it.
We are just getting to know each other, but every time we chat it leaves me wanting more. I can't get enough. This is what I learned about Jack this afternoon. There is no pretending to be something I am not with him. When we are together I know who I am and what I am capable of. With him, what you see is what you get. If I focus on him and trust him, he tells me what do, like when I need to stand or stay sitting, and he's perfectly happy holding my hand if I should have to walk up that matted hill. He doesn't lie to me. Because he is not suspended I don't have to worry about my security being false. It's funny because without that suspension, I haven't felt, nor have I come close to going over the bars. I know it's early in the season, and I am the Endo Queen, but somehow this one is different. His rigidity may at times be mistaken for coldness, but the warmth comes in the lessons on mercy and forgiveness. I am learning very quickly how to pick better lines. I think he is helping me to be a better person.
March 15, 2009
I had to go back again today. I threw caution to the wind and let it fly. No keeping my heart in check or watching my speed.
What was once a fantasy has become real, and it is better than I could have ever imagined.
Note to self: "Let go!"
I rode about 30 miles today on the road. That number is really a guess because my computer isn't functioning. We set out to ride the Barry Roubaix course for the race in two weeks, but we got a little lost. Steve and Brian both concurred that it was about 30. I wouldn't know because I got lost in my mind out there thinking about how my new found love and I would both rather be flying down single track. So I just pedaled and he just rolled up and down monster hills for mile after mile. I could see the ribbon of trail cutting through the woods as I pedaled along. It was so close I could have just dashed off the road and been swept away. My mind keep saying it was too soon but my heart said something entirely different. I asked the guys and Becky if they were game. Nobody had time. I didn't drive so I had to follow the herd back to the car. To try and ease the want growing inside my chest, I told myself the trail was probably super muddy. As I was reluctantly letting go of the fantasy I saw men in tights riding that ribbon like it was all tide up in a cheerleaders hair. I yelled out "How is it? Is it muddy?" they said not at all. I already knew. I was coming back as soon as I got home to my car.
After a quick snack and an email check, I put my SS in the back seat and I was off. I sang off key to him all the way there. He doesn't care that I can make ears bleed with my voice, he just wants to be on the trail with me. We had never been on single track together in ample conditions. It's been mostly snow or road rides so it was difficult to know how we were going to fair together. I caught SS sickness last summer, but there was no way I could make it work. I quit looking because it made my heart ache. I didn't even want to think about what I really wanted. So, I spent most of my time in the big chain ring dreaming, until one day last fall he just showed up. . .
It was the end of October, and I was riding with Steve and Eric on the same roads training for Iceman. Steve told me about this bike that had come into the shop. Listening to him describe it made my heart skip a beat. Thomas had already tipped me off to it but I didn't even let my mind go there. Steve really sparked my curiosity. When we were done riding I snuck down there immediately. I punched in my code and turned on the lights. There he was looking lonely behind the counter. My breath caught in my chest and my mouth went dry. I'm not even lying. He was beautiful. A little on the fixed side with no brakes but beautiful. He was more than I dared to even dream of. He's 26' a little Eccentric, and Rigid. I fell in love at first sight. I snatched him up and promptly named him Jack. I was afraid he would be more than I could handle, but with a little TLC I persuaded him to change. I promised him he wouldn't regret it.
We are just getting to know each other, but every time we chat it leaves me wanting more. I can't get enough. This is what I learned about Jack this afternoon. There is no pretending to be something I am not with him. When we are together I know who I am and what I am capable of. With him, what you see is what you get. If I focus on him and trust him, he tells me what do, like when I need to stand or stay sitting, and he's perfectly happy holding my hand if I should have to walk up that matted hill. He doesn't lie to me. Because he is not suspended I don't have to worry about my security being false. It's funny because without that suspension, I haven't felt, nor have I come close to going over the bars. I know it's early in the season, and I am the Endo Queen, but somehow this one is different. His rigidity may at times be mistaken for coldness, but the warmth comes in the lessons on mercy and forgiveness. I am learning very quickly how to pick better lines. I think he is helping me to be a better person.
March 15, 2009
I had to go back again today. I threw caution to the wind and let it fly. No keeping my heart in check or watching my speed.
What was once a fantasy has become real, and it is better than I could have ever imagined.
Note to self: "Let go!"
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A Miracle
We have to write an essay for our final in English. The topics on the list we get to pick from are very vague and general. Looking at the list I tried to find something I was qualified to write about since it is an opinion paper. Here is the list:
1. War in Iraq
2. Stereo types-tattoos and piercings
3. Toys that children play with
4. Changes in lifestyles
5. Homelessness
6. Economy
7. Car seat safety
8. Teen Pregnancies
9. The way that children deal with death.
10. Drunk driving
11. Abusive relationships
12. Road rage
13. Prejudice
14. Former Felons
15. Gay marriages
16. Gangs
17. Anger management
18. Country vs. City living
19. Domestic Violence
20. Internet
21. Competitive sports
There are a few topics here that unfortunately I know a little bit about through personal experience. Gay marriage isn't one of them, so it was immediately excluded as a possible topic, as well as Gangs or the Economy. I know they are there and I know they both suck. That's my opinion on that. Unfortunately that's not enough to woo my way past the essay committee in Flint and pass the class. The other things I know a little bit about, but still not really enough to fill up three pages double spaced. This sounds awful, but I tend to shield myself from much of what is going on in the world. I rarely watch t.v., and I only listen to NPR if the radio stations aren't singing my tune. That being the case, I picked the topic that I have the most personal experience with. Naturally I picked "The way children deal with death."
After starting this paper, I instantly regretted picking it, because I really don't know how they deal with it. I know how I dealt with it, but the paper is an opinion paper not a personal experience paper. Here's my experience. Form your opinions as you wish.
My little sister and I went to church that Sunday with my friend Michelle. Michelle and I were in seventh grade. We didn't go to church as a family when I was a kid, so going with Michelle was kinda spooky, but I liked it. She went to a full Gospel church that met downtown in an upstairs loft near the restaurant my mother worked at. I really wanted to learn more about this Jesus character whose name my mother screamed a lot. So, we would steal her mom's cigarettes, puff them down, go to church, get slain in the spirit and everything was cool. On this particular Sunday we watched a film on the Shroud of Turin. People sang in tongues afterwards. They sounded like angels. It made me cry. I got caught up in the emotionalism of it all. The pastor asked me if I wanted to be baptized. I said yes.
This wasn't the first time I had said yes to Christ. Occasionally a Sunday school bus would come by to pick us up when I was very little. I must have been 5 or 6. It was all milk and cookies cool until they herded us Little Lambs to the basement of the church. My sister and I clung together. The Sunday school teacher looked like the guy from the movie "Phantasm" with a 40 watt bulb swinging over his head. He said if we didn't ask Jesus into our hearts we were going to burn in hell. Frankly I didn't think things could be much worse than they were above ground, but the thought of burning for eternity didn't appeal so much to me,so I said yes. With every fiber of my being I said yes. I have wanted to be good ever since. I thought by doing this it would make me good. I was wrong.
So after the pastor laid his hands on me that day in Michelle's church, and I was "born again" for the third time in my life, we set off for home to steal more cigarettes. Michelle lived just down the street from me. If you turned on our road you went up a big curvy hill. You could see my house straight ahead as you crested it. It looked like the road actually dead ended into our house but it curved around it to the right. Michelle lived on the right hand side of the road about an eighth of a mile away from me. As we were pulling into her driveway I noticed there were tons of cars parked in my yard. I said "Someone is dead." Why I would say that, I have no idea. We went inside. Kay (Michelle's mom) called the house to see what was going on. I remember her silence just before her hand covered her mouth, and then the short choppy sobs of disbelief. I just kept thinking, "If I don't go home then none of this is real." Kay said "Marty is dead." I asked if I could stay at their house. She said our mom wanted us to come home. All the way out to the car I was screaming inside for God to take it back. Make it not real. Take me instead. Whatever. I didn't care. I just knew he didn't deserve to die, because he was good.
When we got to the front porch my mom came out. My little sister took off running. My mom chased her. As I stood there I thought I saw Marty walking toward me. For a brief second God had answered my prayer. My heart swelled. I couldn't wait to tell him that everyone thought he was dead. As he got closer I could see it wasn't him after all. It was my cousin Perry. He had on a shirt exactly like one Marty owned. My brother died twice that day.
I remember someone taking me into the T.V. room. I had gum in my mouth. I remember thinking how absurd it was for me to have gum in my mouth, because if I hadn't have gone to church and been baptized my brother wouldn't be dead right now. Maybe if I never chewed gum again, this would all stop. It's funny how the mind actually loses touch with what is real in it's feeble attempts to try and grasp it. All these thoughts ran through my head as I demanded the details of how he died. Evidently someone had pulled over to pick some flowers in a little gully betweeen two hills. They were parked in blind spot on a country road. He died for flowers?
Nothing made sense.
Something got extra broken inside of me when he died. During this whole process, the viewing and the funeral, I would hear people talk. They would come up to me and say things. I've comprised a short list of what not to say to a grieving child. The list differs if it is an abusive parent who dies. That one is especially grotesque, but this one isn't much better:
1) "You are so strong!"
2) "It won't always feel this bad."
3) "God wants the good ones with him."
4) "Marty can see everything you do now."
Number one is a sore spot for me to this day. They were stupid and wrong to say those things, but people do stupid and wrong when they don't know what else to do. I was absolutely fragmented inside, and I can still feel that initial ripping away of a part of me when he died, like skin coming off with the band-aide of my soul. He was my brother. He was sixteen. He taught me everything from riding my very first bike, how to hit a line drive, how to jump rope, how to wrestle, how to climb on top of the school next door and jump back down, how to swim, and most importantly how to throw a punch. Whatever he was doing I wanted to do too. It didn't matter what, because he was always proud. He always told me I could do it. The "it" I was doing was not relevant. He believed in me. He never gave up on me. It didn't seem to bother him that I was around. He grew up in the same house as I did, and suffered the same things we all did, but somehow, in my eyes he was untainted by it all. I didn't know what I was going to do without him.
Nine months later my mother died.
When I was sixteen I was a passenger in a car that crashed on the same road Marty died on. The police said we all should have been dead. I broke my ankle instead.
Two years later my brother Matt died two days before my nineteenth birthday in a drunk driving accident on the same road. He was twenty three.
When I was doing the research to support my opinions for my paper I was kind of taken aback. There are volume after volume of case studies of the effects of trauma on children in the developemental years. I'm pretty sure I got stuck. At fourteen I felt like I was 40 years old. I'll be 40 this summer. I don't feel like I am a day over 14. Although my responses to trauma and abuse were horrific, they were absolutely textbook. My picture could have been in every article that I read. If I don't learn anything else over the next 2-3 years, my education has been worth this small bit of information. I didn't expect to learn so much about myself. It's very freeing. It's another step toward love, whatever that is.
I'd say this is a particularly hard time of year for me. It is riddled with death anniversaries and dead peoples birthdays. I've spent much of my life trying in very unhealthy ways to "Get over it." It is a struggle to not be defined by it all. Maybe getting over it means finally telling the truth about my experiences and the shitty things I did in response to them; not to excuse my behavior, but to be able to see it for what it is. Inspite of the counselors and psychiatrist I have exhausted, I still hurt. I also still believe in Christ. I still want to be good. I still cry every Sunday in church, and I haven't stopped being reborn, which is a good thing because when I was young I was far too old. And every spring when the flowers bloom along side of the road, I think of my brother and how he died for them. The miracle is this~I can't think of anything better to die for.
1. War in Iraq
2. Stereo types-tattoos and piercings
3. Toys that children play with
4. Changes in lifestyles
5. Homelessness
6. Economy
7. Car seat safety
8. Teen Pregnancies
9. The way that children deal with death.
10. Drunk driving
11. Abusive relationships
12. Road rage
13. Prejudice
14. Former Felons
15. Gay marriages
16. Gangs
17. Anger management
18. Country vs. City living
19. Domestic Violence
20. Internet
21. Competitive sports
There are a few topics here that unfortunately I know a little bit about through personal experience. Gay marriage isn't one of them, so it was immediately excluded as a possible topic, as well as Gangs or the Economy. I know they are there and I know they both suck. That's my opinion on that. Unfortunately that's not enough to woo my way past the essay committee in Flint and pass the class. The other things I know a little bit about, but still not really enough to fill up three pages double spaced. This sounds awful, but I tend to shield myself from much of what is going on in the world. I rarely watch t.v., and I only listen to NPR if the radio stations aren't singing my tune. That being the case, I picked the topic that I have the most personal experience with. Naturally I picked "The way children deal with death."
After starting this paper, I instantly regretted picking it, because I really don't know how they deal with it. I know how I dealt with it, but the paper is an opinion paper not a personal experience paper. Here's my experience. Form your opinions as you wish.
My little sister and I went to church that Sunday with my friend Michelle. Michelle and I were in seventh grade. We didn't go to church as a family when I was a kid, so going with Michelle was kinda spooky, but I liked it. She went to a full Gospel church that met downtown in an upstairs loft near the restaurant my mother worked at. I really wanted to learn more about this Jesus character whose name my mother screamed a lot. So, we would steal her mom's cigarettes, puff them down, go to church, get slain in the spirit and everything was cool. On this particular Sunday we watched a film on the Shroud of Turin. People sang in tongues afterwards. They sounded like angels. It made me cry. I got caught up in the emotionalism of it all. The pastor asked me if I wanted to be baptized. I said yes.
This wasn't the first time I had said yes to Christ. Occasionally a Sunday school bus would come by to pick us up when I was very little. I must have been 5 or 6. It was all milk and cookies cool until they herded us Little Lambs to the basement of the church. My sister and I clung together. The Sunday school teacher looked like the guy from the movie "Phantasm" with a 40 watt bulb swinging over his head. He said if we didn't ask Jesus into our hearts we were going to burn in hell. Frankly I didn't think things could be much worse than they were above ground, but the thought of burning for eternity didn't appeal so much to me,so I said yes. With every fiber of my being I said yes. I have wanted to be good ever since. I thought by doing this it would make me good. I was wrong.
So after the pastor laid his hands on me that day in Michelle's church, and I was "born again" for the third time in my life, we set off for home to steal more cigarettes. Michelle lived just down the street from me. If you turned on our road you went up a big curvy hill. You could see my house straight ahead as you crested it. It looked like the road actually dead ended into our house but it curved around it to the right. Michelle lived on the right hand side of the road about an eighth of a mile away from me. As we were pulling into her driveway I noticed there were tons of cars parked in my yard. I said "Someone is dead." Why I would say that, I have no idea. We went inside. Kay (Michelle's mom) called the house to see what was going on. I remember her silence just before her hand covered her mouth, and then the short choppy sobs of disbelief. I just kept thinking, "If I don't go home then none of this is real." Kay said "Marty is dead." I asked if I could stay at their house. She said our mom wanted us to come home. All the way out to the car I was screaming inside for God to take it back. Make it not real. Take me instead. Whatever. I didn't care. I just knew he didn't deserve to die, because he was good.
When we got to the front porch my mom came out. My little sister took off running. My mom chased her. As I stood there I thought I saw Marty walking toward me. For a brief second God had answered my prayer. My heart swelled. I couldn't wait to tell him that everyone thought he was dead. As he got closer I could see it wasn't him after all. It was my cousin Perry. He had on a shirt exactly like one Marty owned. My brother died twice that day.
I remember someone taking me into the T.V. room. I had gum in my mouth. I remember thinking how absurd it was for me to have gum in my mouth, because if I hadn't have gone to church and been baptized my brother wouldn't be dead right now. Maybe if I never chewed gum again, this would all stop. It's funny how the mind actually loses touch with what is real in it's feeble attempts to try and grasp it. All these thoughts ran through my head as I demanded the details of how he died. Evidently someone had pulled over to pick some flowers in a little gully betweeen two hills. They were parked in blind spot on a country road. He died for flowers?
Nothing made sense.
Something got extra broken inside of me when he died. During this whole process, the viewing and the funeral, I would hear people talk. They would come up to me and say things. I've comprised a short list of what not to say to a grieving child. The list differs if it is an abusive parent who dies. That one is especially grotesque, but this one isn't much better:
1) "You are so strong!"
2) "It won't always feel this bad."
3) "God wants the good ones with him."
4) "Marty can see everything you do now."
Number one is a sore spot for me to this day. They were stupid and wrong to say those things, but people do stupid and wrong when they don't know what else to do. I was absolutely fragmented inside, and I can still feel that initial ripping away of a part of me when he died, like skin coming off with the band-aide of my soul. He was my brother. He was sixteen. He taught me everything from riding my very first bike, how to hit a line drive, how to jump rope, how to wrestle, how to climb on top of the school next door and jump back down, how to swim, and most importantly how to throw a punch. Whatever he was doing I wanted to do too. It didn't matter what, because he was always proud. He always told me I could do it. The "it" I was doing was not relevant. He believed in me. He never gave up on me. It didn't seem to bother him that I was around. He grew up in the same house as I did, and suffered the same things we all did, but somehow, in my eyes he was untainted by it all. I didn't know what I was going to do without him.
Nine months later my mother died.
When I was sixteen I was a passenger in a car that crashed on the same road Marty died on. The police said we all should have been dead. I broke my ankle instead.
Two years later my brother Matt died two days before my nineteenth birthday in a drunk driving accident on the same road. He was twenty three.
When I was doing the research to support my opinions for my paper I was kind of taken aback. There are volume after volume of case studies of the effects of trauma on children in the developemental years. I'm pretty sure I got stuck. At fourteen I felt like I was 40 years old. I'll be 40 this summer. I don't feel like I am a day over 14. Although my responses to trauma and abuse were horrific, they were absolutely textbook. My picture could have been in every article that I read. If I don't learn anything else over the next 2-3 years, my education has been worth this small bit of information. I didn't expect to learn so much about myself. It's very freeing. It's another step toward love, whatever that is.
I'd say this is a particularly hard time of year for me. It is riddled with death anniversaries and dead peoples birthdays. I've spent much of my life trying in very unhealthy ways to "Get over it." It is a struggle to not be defined by it all. Maybe getting over it means finally telling the truth about my experiences and the shitty things I did in response to them; not to excuse my behavior, but to be able to see it for what it is. Inspite of the counselors and psychiatrist I have exhausted, I still hurt. I also still believe in Christ. I still want to be good. I still cry every Sunday in church, and I haven't stopped being reborn, which is a good thing because when I was young I was far too old. And every spring when the flowers bloom along side of the road, I think of my brother and how he died for them. The miracle is this~I can't think of anything better to die for.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sweat
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I wondered
if anyone could tell
the difference
between my sweat
and the tears
that dripped off
the end of my nose
to puddle
between my feet
that just spun
in place
with the ryhthm
of every song
that played
reminding me of you.
If we
should ever ride
I wonder
after all that
I've done
at the end of the trail
will you take
my face in your hands
and say you love me still?
Brush away
these tears
and bring me back
to that innocent place
I don't remember
ever
forgive me...
I'm sweating tears
my whole body
cries for you.
I wondered
if anyone could tell
the difference
between my sweat
and the tears
that dripped off
the end of my nose
to puddle
between my feet
that just spun
in place
with the ryhthm
of every song
that played
reminding me of you.
If we
should ever ride
I wonder
after all that
I've done
at the end of the trail
will you take
my face in your hands
and say you love me still?
Brush away
these tears
and bring me back
to that innocent place
I don't remember
ever
forgive me...
I'm sweating tears
my whole body
cries for you.
Princess Water
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I went to bible study this week. I didn't go the week before because I had to try to find something to wear to my friends funeral. I considered not going this week because every other week we watch a video, do the lesson during the week, and discuss it the following Tues. I didn't do the lessons cause I didn't watch the video. Not that I would have done the lesson if I had. I've got more important stuff to do; like write blogs and obsessively check my e-mail. Ladies and gentleman you can have all this and more under the umbrella of homework. Not to make light of my lack of discipline but it's not so much about the bible study for me. It's about the relationships I have established with these women. They have been slow to grow because....I don't like women.
My first female friend from church was Nancy. She got me by default. She worked on the Helps Committee, and boy did I need helps. Bad. She played the role of mentor for a while. Now she is like an older sister/mother when I can leave myself vulnerable. Nancy invited me to join the study several times. I used the excuse that it cut into my biking, which it does; and I'm a freak, which I am, and I wouldn't fit in. The truth is I still sometimes view the people I encounter at church as the Shiny Happy Christian People. Hence my reluctance to subject myself for more than just a Sunday service. The church that I go to is huge, 3,000 per service and the pastor gets alot of bad press. If you google his name you'll find people that actually think he's the anti-christ. Awesome I say.
This is what I've learned about judgement. I'm not fit to. Especially from far away. The dichotomy between what happens in that church and the negative press it receives is a chasm large enough to swallow this fuzzy mitten I live in. I attended for 5 years before I became a member. I didn't want to do anything impulsive. I mean I was trying to break old habits right? So when the invitation for bible study came again, I reluctantly said "I'll go check it out, but I can't promise you I'll stay". That first night I wouldn't even tell these women my last name and I wouldn't write in the book because I wasn't coming back. We were laughing about it Tuesday night, because things certainly have changed. My judgement was way off.
I'm still not entirely comfortable there. Nobody is I've noticed. You can tell. The study begs us to answer personal questions and lays out the opportunity to share. This is where I've realized just how much a symphony of crickets resembles some of Vivaldi's work. My desire to share usually burns under the surface, but I've never been one to jump first, especially with the Shiny Happy Christian types. This week a woman got honest. I'll try not to go into the details of her story, but I'll tell you what I shared with the group in response.
In '97 I tried to kill myself. I swallowed enough Klonipin to kill a horse. I wanted this young woman to know that no one could have stopped me, for a few reasons. One, I didn't tell anybody my plan. Two, I didn't tell any body my plan. It was obvious she was in a great deal of pain. Her veil was wearing thin. I asked her if she felt responsible for keeping him alive, and of course she did. Our leader asked me who stopped me from killing myself. To which I replied, "Nobody did. That's God's job." This poor woman is being held hostage by the living dead. I looked her in the eye and told her that no matter what happens, she is not responsible for the actions of an irrational person. I told her that people like that are sick and need help. I know. I told her the most loving thing she could do is call the authorities. There were no dry eyes in that group of women during prayer that night.
I don't mean to sound calloused about the suicidal. Experience seems to breed compassion. That state of mind is not foreign to me. Sue asked me how I recovered from it. How did I become willing to live again? Meet someone who really wants to die and succeeds. Watch in horror as his sister cleans his brains off the couch. Sort through his things and imagine you can still feel his presence in them. See the despairing relief in his mothers eyes. She doesn't have to worry about when it's going to happen again.
This is the thing with me. I can't see myself. It's hard to see the picture when you are the star of the show. When my dad came to see me in the hospital I saw that look of despair in his eyes too. It never occured to me that if I succeeded, I would have been the third child he buried. It never occured to me that my children might actually be better off if I was alive. It never occured to me that God loved me inspite of everything I had done, and was probably going to do again.
At Gregs funeral I made a descision. I decided that his life, although over in the flesh wouldn't be wasted. It could at least keep me alive even if I didn't think I deserved to be, and it did, until I wanted to be.
I want to live like I have never wanted to before. I don't mean anything spectacular like fortune and fame. I mean loving people in general. It's hard because honestly, you guys suck alot of the time, except for my few select friends of course. I went to the bike shop to pick up the love of my life tonight. As I was driving home I pondered who I was going to love besides him. I stopped at Marnies on the way home before I could delve too far into self pity. Her brothers were there doing the things her husband would have been doing. A business called asking for him. "My husband passed away" she said. I wonder if she will ever get used to saying that. I got to love on those two beautiful boys and help get them ready for bed. I loved someone today. It was a good day. Look, I realize that my knight in shinning armour will never show up with the princess water. Not in real life anyway. I might not get the kind of love that I want. I get the kind I need.
Oh, I almost forgot. My boyfriends back and there is gonna be trouble. I took him across the street to the park and ran him through the mud in the dark.
I think he liked it.
I went to bible study this week. I didn't go the week before because I had to try to find something to wear to my friends funeral. I considered not going this week because every other week we watch a video, do the lesson during the week, and discuss it the following Tues. I didn't do the lessons cause I didn't watch the video. Not that I would have done the lesson if I had. I've got more important stuff to do; like write blogs and obsessively check my e-mail. Ladies and gentleman you can have all this and more under the umbrella of homework. Not to make light of my lack of discipline but it's not so much about the bible study for me. It's about the relationships I have established with these women. They have been slow to grow because....I don't like women.
My first female friend from church was Nancy. She got me by default. She worked on the Helps Committee, and boy did I need helps. Bad. She played the role of mentor for a while. Now she is like an older sister/mother when I can leave myself vulnerable. Nancy invited me to join the study several times. I used the excuse that it cut into my biking, which it does; and I'm a freak, which I am, and I wouldn't fit in. The truth is I still sometimes view the people I encounter at church as the Shiny Happy Christian People. Hence my reluctance to subject myself for more than just a Sunday service. The church that I go to is huge, 3,000 per service and the pastor gets alot of bad press. If you google his name you'll find people that actually think he's the anti-christ. Awesome I say.
This is what I've learned about judgement. I'm not fit to. Especially from far away. The dichotomy between what happens in that church and the negative press it receives is a chasm large enough to swallow this fuzzy mitten I live in. I attended for 5 years before I became a member. I didn't want to do anything impulsive. I mean I was trying to break old habits right? So when the invitation for bible study came again, I reluctantly said "I'll go check it out, but I can't promise you I'll stay". That first night I wouldn't even tell these women my last name and I wouldn't write in the book because I wasn't coming back. We were laughing about it Tuesday night, because things certainly have changed. My judgement was way off.
I'm still not entirely comfortable there. Nobody is I've noticed. You can tell. The study begs us to answer personal questions and lays out the opportunity to share. This is where I've realized just how much a symphony of crickets resembles some of Vivaldi's work. My desire to share usually burns under the surface, but I've never been one to jump first, especially with the Shiny Happy Christian types. This week a woman got honest. I'll try not to go into the details of her story, but I'll tell you what I shared with the group in response.
In '97 I tried to kill myself. I swallowed enough Klonipin to kill a horse. I wanted this young woman to know that no one could have stopped me, for a few reasons. One, I didn't tell anybody my plan. Two, I didn't tell any body my plan. It was obvious she was in a great deal of pain. Her veil was wearing thin. I asked her if she felt responsible for keeping him alive, and of course she did. Our leader asked me who stopped me from killing myself. To which I replied, "Nobody did. That's God's job." This poor woman is being held hostage by the living dead. I looked her in the eye and told her that no matter what happens, she is not responsible for the actions of an irrational person. I told her that people like that are sick and need help. I know. I told her the most loving thing she could do is call the authorities. There were no dry eyes in that group of women during prayer that night.
I don't mean to sound calloused about the suicidal. Experience seems to breed compassion. That state of mind is not foreign to me. Sue asked me how I recovered from it. How did I become willing to live again? Meet someone who really wants to die and succeeds. Watch in horror as his sister cleans his brains off the couch. Sort through his things and imagine you can still feel his presence in them. See the despairing relief in his mothers eyes. She doesn't have to worry about when it's going to happen again.
This is the thing with me. I can't see myself. It's hard to see the picture when you are the star of the show. When my dad came to see me in the hospital I saw that look of despair in his eyes too. It never occured to me that if I succeeded, I would have been the third child he buried. It never occured to me that my children might actually be better off if I was alive. It never occured to me that God loved me inspite of everything I had done, and was probably going to do again.
At Gregs funeral I made a descision. I decided that his life, although over in the flesh wouldn't be wasted. It could at least keep me alive even if I didn't think I deserved to be, and it did, until I wanted to be.
I want to live like I have never wanted to before. I don't mean anything spectacular like fortune and fame. I mean loving people in general. It's hard because honestly, you guys suck alot of the time, except for my few select friends of course. I went to the bike shop to pick up the love of my life tonight. As I was driving home I pondered who I was going to love besides him. I stopped at Marnies on the way home before I could delve too far into self pity. Her brothers were there doing the things her husband would have been doing. A business called asking for him. "My husband passed away" she said. I wonder if she will ever get used to saying that. I got to love on those two beautiful boys and help get them ready for bed. I loved someone today. It was a good day. Look, I realize that my knight in shinning armour will never show up with the princess water. Not in real life anyway. I might not get the kind of love that I want. I get the kind I need.
Oh, I almost forgot. My boyfriends back and there is gonna be trouble. I took him across the street to the park and ran him through the mud in the dark.
I think he liked it.
Love and Pretzles
Sunday, March 1, 2009
I drove Jimmy Jam's kids back to his ex in Fowlerville this after noon. I call him Jimmy Jam because he is always in a jam. He called at 7:30 this morning needing to go to the store. Last week while he was in court the judge asked him what it was going to take to get him to stop driving. I guess the $600.00+ in fines added to the thousands he already owes was enough to get him to stop. For a minute anyway; but as always the pain wears off with Jimmy Jam and eventually his thinking lulls him into the false belief that it will be different this time. Jimmy Jam baffles me.
In the shower this morning getting ready for church I was contemplating the lessons I learn from whatever is presented to me in a given day. In the midst of this my brain is spinning on how I'm gonna ride my bike, go to yoga, and spend time with the two teenagers under my roof that could care less, plus homework. My mind focuses in on yoga. I love yoga. I love pretzles as well, but I don't eat them any more because I'm gluten free, so it stands to reason that the next best thing is twisting myself into one every Wed. and Sun. The only thing I dislike about yoga class is my ex-boyfriend shows up when he is in the mood for some self inflicted punishment. His lack of flexibility is a direct reflection of where he is mentally and spiritually. I throw up in my mouth a little bit everytime I see him. I especially hate when he tries to talk to me. Last week before class he approached me and stuck out his hand as if I would shake it. Just seven days prior I told him it wasn't neccessary for him to check up on me. I pretended like he wasn't there. He left class. This is what I mean by self inflicted punishment. He tells all our mutual friends that he misses me. He believes this. It's been roughly 18 months since he broke up with me. That was the most loving thing he did for me during the course of our time together. I mean that. It set me free to really love someone someday.
I start thinking about all the people I know who are coupled. I have very few good examples. My loneliness diminshes. One example is Josh and Marnie.
At first glance one might think that this is just your average "Bald guy marrying Barbie" photo. Not too long before this photo was taken Josh was told he had six months to live. If you look closely at the photo you can see the scar on the side of his head where surgeons removed a stage 4 glioblastoma. Look even closer and you can see that what one might mistake as cake in this photo, is actually nothing but love. He stayed alive for 6 years on one bite alone. This is what love does. It gives life. They could see the end from the beginning but they were in it together. There is something sacred in the cry of a young widow beating her fists in her lap, begging God to bring back the love of her life. Perhaps the tears of true love are holy. I've seen them one other time in my life.
Her name was Grace and although she was confined to a wheel chair, she did her name justice. I used to work in a nursing home. Grace was one of my patients. She was always very composed and dignified; that is until her husband would come to see her. Everyday around the same time he would come to visit, and find Grace primping in the bathroom like a teenage girl getting ready for prom. I was in the room one day when he showed up. Her countenance melted like butter as he reached down in his eagerness to embrace her. They burned for each other. You could feel the heat coming off them I swear. Her husband was leaving one day as I was approaching the next room. He glanced my way and bowed his head a bit like a gentleman does. He was crying. Holy. "I hate leaving her here" he said everytime someone was near enough to hear him as he left. Grace was 50. She had Mutiple Sclerosis.
Someone told me yesterday that maybe inspite of my circumstances I have it pretty good. I am becoming more and more aware of this with each day that passes. I still tend to look at life through the lenses of what I don't have though. I don't have someone laying next to me at night that doesn't love me. I've grown to prefer that over the alternative. I'm grateful for what I don't have today. I'm still not entirely sure what love entails exactly. You don't survive the life I've lived without things getting warped, but I recognize it when I see it. I'm convinced it is not a noun.
On the way home from Fowlwerville I thought about Jimmy Jam. Jimmy Jam doesn't talk much about the break up. I think the pain got great enough for him to be grateful for what he doesn't have. I thought about what he lost. I don't know the whole story, but from what I know, I don't think it was love. I can't wrap my mind around love looking like that. Now, if he will just stop driving...
The pretzles were good in Yoga today. Thank God.
I drove Jimmy Jam's kids back to his ex in Fowlerville this after noon. I call him Jimmy Jam because he is always in a jam. He called at 7:30 this morning needing to go to the store. Last week while he was in court the judge asked him what it was going to take to get him to stop driving. I guess the $600.00+ in fines added to the thousands he already owes was enough to get him to stop. For a minute anyway; but as always the pain wears off with Jimmy Jam and eventually his thinking lulls him into the false belief that it will be different this time. Jimmy Jam baffles me.
In the shower this morning getting ready for church I was contemplating the lessons I learn from whatever is presented to me in a given day. In the midst of this my brain is spinning on how I'm gonna ride my bike, go to yoga, and spend time with the two teenagers under my roof that could care less, plus homework. My mind focuses in on yoga. I love yoga. I love pretzles as well, but I don't eat them any more because I'm gluten free, so it stands to reason that the next best thing is twisting myself into one every Wed. and Sun. The only thing I dislike about yoga class is my ex-boyfriend shows up when he is in the mood for some self inflicted punishment. His lack of flexibility is a direct reflection of where he is mentally and spiritually. I throw up in my mouth a little bit everytime I see him. I especially hate when he tries to talk to me. Last week before class he approached me and stuck out his hand as if I would shake it. Just seven days prior I told him it wasn't neccessary for him to check up on me. I pretended like he wasn't there. He left class. This is what I mean by self inflicted punishment. He tells all our mutual friends that he misses me. He believes this. It's been roughly 18 months since he broke up with me. That was the most loving thing he did for me during the course of our time together. I mean that. It set me free to really love someone someday.
I start thinking about all the people I know who are coupled. I have very few good examples. My loneliness diminshes. One example is Josh and Marnie.
At first glance one might think that this is just your average "Bald guy marrying Barbie" photo. Not too long before this photo was taken Josh was told he had six months to live. If you look closely at the photo you can see the scar on the side of his head where surgeons removed a stage 4 glioblastoma. Look even closer and you can see that what one might mistake as cake in this photo, is actually nothing but love. He stayed alive for 6 years on one bite alone. This is what love does. It gives life. They could see the end from the beginning but they were in it together. There is something sacred in the cry of a young widow beating her fists in her lap, begging God to bring back the love of her life. Perhaps the tears of true love are holy. I've seen them one other time in my life.
Her name was Grace and although she was confined to a wheel chair, she did her name justice. I used to work in a nursing home. Grace was one of my patients. She was always very composed and dignified; that is until her husband would come to see her. Everyday around the same time he would come to visit, and find Grace primping in the bathroom like a teenage girl getting ready for prom. I was in the room one day when he showed up. Her countenance melted like butter as he reached down in his eagerness to embrace her. They burned for each other. You could feel the heat coming off them I swear. Her husband was leaving one day as I was approaching the next room. He glanced my way and bowed his head a bit like a gentleman does. He was crying. Holy. "I hate leaving her here" he said everytime someone was near enough to hear him as he left. Grace was 50. She had Mutiple Sclerosis.
Someone told me yesterday that maybe inspite of my circumstances I have it pretty good. I am becoming more and more aware of this with each day that passes. I still tend to look at life through the lenses of what I don't have though. I don't have someone laying next to me at night that doesn't love me. I've grown to prefer that over the alternative. I'm grateful for what I don't have today. I'm still not entirely sure what love entails exactly. You don't survive the life I've lived without things getting warped, but I recognize it when I see it. I'm convinced it is not a noun.
On the way home from Fowlwerville I thought about Jimmy Jam. Jimmy Jam doesn't talk much about the break up. I think the pain got great enough for him to be grateful for what he doesn't have. I thought about what he lost. I don't know the whole story, but from what I know, I don't think it was love. I can't wrap my mind around love looking like that. Now, if he will just stop driving...
The pretzles were good in Yoga today. Thank God.
Brother
February 23, 2009
I was in English class today not able to concentrate. I thought about staying home, but it would have only made matters worse. Now I am so jacked up on caffeine I couldn't sleep if I wanted to; my brain is full from studying and my heart is breaking with grief. I don't know how I'm going to pull this off. I've tried suspending these feelings until the weekend without much success. I end up emoting at inappropriate times, but I'm fine when I'm by myself. My instructor called on me. I still couldn't tell you what the question was, but I responded. "I'm sorry Mary, I'm not really here. Could you repeat the question?" I'm usually like Horshack, "OOOOH! OOOOH! OOOOH!" with my arm stuck up in the air, chomping at the bit to contribute. It's very frustrating because she always calls on people that don't know the answers. I think my lack of response took her by suprise. I was praying she wouldn't ask, but she did. "How are you?" I was able to maintain an appearance of normalcy for a minute, but as the class started laughing I started crying, and I was forced to say it. "My friend died Saturday." Only a few tears escaped until the lady who sits behind me handed me a bunch of tissue, then the flood gates opened. The rest of the day at school was waves of grief and tears.
I came home to a voice mail of a lady telling me she was thinking of me. She said she was sorry she couldn't get to me sooner, but she's been kinda busy. She said she was sorry that my friend died. I started weeping all over again.
This is the lady on my voice mail. She's been busy making funeral arrangements for the father of her two boys that you see in the picture. That's Gabe and Jake with there Momma Marnie. Jake is one now, and Gabe just turned two on Friday. The pic is a bit old.
This is their Daddy. He is her husband. They love each other with a fierceness I have never seen before.
His Face book page is flooding with comments from lives he touched. Most of the people say things like "I'm a better person for having known you!" Josh was one of those people that as soon as you stepped into his presence you knew that you were loved and accepted. As is. No warranties. No refunds. That made my life better. Whether or not I am a better person having known him remains "too be seen."
February 25, 2009
8:00am
Some time has passed since I started writing this. I went to the funeral home last night. There was no where to park. The line for the viewing was leaking out the doors. He is being buried today. The funeral is at the same church they were married in. That was a beautiful day.
9:23pm
I just got back from the party that was thrown for you. Remember on our rides how we talked about this day? One of our many conversations was about funerals in general. I told you that no matter what, I didn't want anybody blowing sunshine up my ass at my funeral. I wanted them to be able to honor my life with the truth. You agreed. Well,they had an open mic and several people spoke. Some had funny little stories, and some poured their hearts out. Your little sister made me cry, the way she described how you loved her as only you could. She talked about how you told her she was beautiful and that you loved her no matter what, especially when she couldn't love herself. It wasn't so far of a stretch to imagine what it must be like to be your sister. Listening to her I realized you did the same for me. I didn't say anything because I can't talk much without crying. I didn't think it would be cool to blow snot rockets all over the mic at your funeral. Other people wanted to use that thing too ya know? They went on and on blowing sunshine up your butt. One thing is for sure; no one lied about you.
The girl who was sitting next to me in English on Monday during The Great Flood is in my Tuesday math class as well. I guess she told our instructor that I may not be in class because I had a family memember die. When I walked into Class late this week my instuctor told me he was sorry to hear about the loss of my relative. For a brief second I considered correcting him, but he wasn't wrong. I love you brother.
I was in English class today not able to concentrate. I thought about staying home, but it would have only made matters worse. Now I am so jacked up on caffeine I couldn't sleep if I wanted to; my brain is full from studying and my heart is breaking with grief. I don't know how I'm going to pull this off. I've tried suspending these feelings until the weekend without much success. I end up emoting at inappropriate times, but I'm fine when I'm by myself. My instructor called on me. I still couldn't tell you what the question was, but I responded. "I'm sorry Mary, I'm not really here. Could you repeat the question?" I'm usually like Horshack, "OOOOH! OOOOH! OOOOH!" with my arm stuck up in the air, chomping at the bit to contribute. It's very frustrating because she always calls on people that don't know the answers. I think my lack of response took her by suprise. I was praying she wouldn't ask, but she did. "How are you?" I was able to maintain an appearance of normalcy for a minute, but as the class started laughing I started crying, and I was forced to say it. "My friend died Saturday." Only a few tears escaped until the lady who sits behind me handed me a bunch of tissue, then the flood gates opened. The rest of the day at school was waves of grief and tears.
I came home to a voice mail of a lady telling me she was thinking of me. She said she was sorry she couldn't get to me sooner, but she's been kinda busy. She said she was sorry that my friend died. I started weeping all over again.
This is the lady on my voice mail. She's been busy making funeral arrangements for the father of her two boys that you see in the picture. That's Gabe and Jake with there Momma Marnie. Jake is one now, and Gabe just turned two on Friday. The pic is a bit old.
This is their Daddy. He is her husband. They love each other with a fierceness I have never seen before.
His Face book page is flooding with comments from lives he touched. Most of the people say things like "I'm a better person for having known you!" Josh was one of those people that as soon as you stepped into his presence you knew that you were loved and accepted. As is. No warranties. No refunds. That made my life better. Whether or not I am a better person having known him remains "too be seen."
February 25, 2009
8:00am
Some time has passed since I started writing this. I went to the funeral home last night. There was no where to park. The line for the viewing was leaking out the doors. He is being buried today. The funeral is at the same church they were married in. That was a beautiful day.
9:23pm
I just got back from the party that was thrown for you. Remember on our rides how we talked about this day? One of our many conversations was about funerals in general. I told you that no matter what, I didn't want anybody blowing sunshine up my ass at my funeral. I wanted them to be able to honor my life with the truth. You agreed. Well,they had an open mic and several people spoke. Some had funny little stories, and some poured their hearts out. Your little sister made me cry, the way she described how you loved her as only you could. She talked about how you told her she was beautiful and that you loved her no matter what, especially when she couldn't love herself. It wasn't so far of a stretch to imagine what it must be like to be your sister. Listening to her I realized you did the same for me. I didn't say anything because I can't talk much without crying. I didn't think it would be cool to blow snot rockets all over the mic at your funeral. Other people wanted to use that thing too ya know? They went on and on blowing sunshine up your butt. One thing is for sure; no one lied about you.
The girl who was sitting next to me in English on Monday during The Great Flood is in my Tuesday math class as well. I guess she told our instructor that I may not be in class because I had a family memember die. When I walked into Class late this week my instuctor told me he was sorry to hear about the loss of my relative. For a brief second I considered correcting him, but he wasn't wrong. I love you brother.
Private Name/ Private Number
Saturday, February 28, 2009
I didn't sleep well last night because the "What if" scenarios would not stop playing in my mind. I hate “What if Hill.” It doesn’t matter if the images are positive or negative. I never seem to make it to the top. I was tired when I woke up, but I was fully prepared to trainerbate (yes, I just said that) when I got home from dropping my daughter off at school. I turned the computer on to do just that, but the door wouldn't open so I could put my trainer video in. AAAUUUGGHH. This whole trainer thing has been a major production for the past 4 weeks. Finally everything is in place and BAMB! I can’t play the video. Have you ever seen one of these things? My friend Eric gave me a copy. I laugh when I'm watching it. It's like they hired a low budget porn production company to film it; complete with slow motion shots of the riders from an upward angle. It looks like they are looking down into the camera, with glistening brow and bulging veins galore. One dude is actually wearing his riding glasses indoors with the dark lenses in. I imagine he is high. Some things are so sad one has to laugh at them.
My frustration mounts because, I didn't have time to ride out side or go to the gym. I shoot out an S.O.S via email and phone calls. It's too late now. I left for my hair appointment hoping one of my geek friends will call in the mean time. As my girl was washing my hair I started thinking how she is one of the two people who have come remotely close to touching me in an intimate manner in...Let’s just say a very long time. The other is my gynecologist. I pay them both. Contemplating this made me sad.
I had to drop my SS off at the shop to make sure it’s all good for the warm weather that is coming. This is difficult for me. It’s worse than having a pelvic exam. Although I have only been on this bike about 7 times, we know each other. I don’t like strange hands roaming all over my bike, especially if they are inexperienced. It’s like the equivalent of knowing someone else is touching your significant other. Maybe I should add “knows a bit about working on bikes” to my list of who I’d like to meet. http://ransomedtoride.blogspot.com/2008/10/who-id-like-to-meet.html.
I automatically hold any young pimply faced tech in contempt, and I have preconceived ideas that they don’t know what they are doing. The tech started asking me questions about gearing, which I know nothing about, when Brian the shop manager came out. Thank God he was there. We’ve ridden together before and he is a SS fixed gear freak. I really have no clue about this gearing stuff for a few reasons. One, because I’ve only been on the bike maybe 7 times: two, I am brand new to single speeding, although all last summer I pretty much road in one gear (big ring) fantasizing about a SS bike. Finally there is the reason that beats all reasons. I don’t care. I just want to ride my bike, and I know me. I will acclimate to whatever is put on the bike anyway and possibly do serious injury to myself in the mean time. He said although I’m an animal (we’ve ridden together) I probably should go 34 until I get really familiar with single speeding. With my ego in check I reluctantly submitted to his advice. I left the shop with one last glance at the love of my life. My dining room looks empty without him, and my morning coffee won’t be the same until his return.
I didn’t get to ride today. “What if Hill” is looming large on my pillow. Of all the important worthwhile things my mind could be contemplating it hones in on the unknown calls I’ve been getting since I was published in D.R. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I typically don’t get these kinds of calls. One came tonight when I was on my way home from Fowlerville. They’ve always come at times when I am not home. I’m sure my mind will calculate the millions of different scenarios that could transpire if Private Name Private Number or Unknown Caller ever gets a hold of me. What if....
I didn't sleep well last night because the "What if" scenarios would not stop playing in my mind. I hate “What if Hill.” It doesn’t matter if the images are positive or negative. I never seem to make it to the top. I was tired when I woke up, but I was fully prepared to trainerbate (yes, I just said that) when I got home from dropping my daughter off at school. I turned the computer on to do just that, but the door wouldn't open so I could put my trainer video in. AAAUUUGGHH. This whole trainer thing has been a major production for the past 4 weeks. Finally everything is in place and BAMB! I can’t play the video. Have you ever seen one of these things? My friend Eric gave me a copy. I laugh when I'm watching it. It's like they hired a low budget porn production company to film it; complete with slow motion shots of the riders from an upward angle. It looks like they are looking down into the camera, with glistening brow and bulging veins galore. One dude is actually wearing his riding glasses indoors with the dark lenses in. I imagine he is high. Some things are so sad one has to laugh at them.
My frustration mounts because, I didn't have time to ride out side or go to the gym. I shoot out an S.O.S via email and phone calls. It's too late now. I left for my hair appointment hoping one of my geek friends will call in the mean time. As my girl was washing my hair I started thinking how she is one of the two people who have come remotely close to touching me in an intimate manner in...Let’s just say a very long time. The other is my gynecologist. I pay them both. Contemplating this made me sad.
I had to drop my SS off at the shop to make sure it’s all good for the warm weather that is coming. This is difficult for me. It’s worse than having a pelvic exam. Although I have only been on this bike about 7 times, we know each other. I don’t like strange hands roaming all over my bike, especially if they are inexperienced. It’s like the equivalent of knowing someone else is touching your significant other. Maybe I should add “knows a bit about working on bikes” to my list of who I’d like to meet. http://ransomedtoride.blogspot.com/2008/10/who-id-like-to-meet.html.
I automatically hold any young pimply faced tech in contempt, and I have preconceived ideas that they don’t know what they are doing. The tech started asking me questions about gearing, which I know nothing about, when Brian the shop manager came out. Thank God he was there. We’ve ridden together before and he is a SS fixed gear freak. I really have no clue about this gearing stuff for a few reasons. One, because I’ve only been on the bike maybe 7 times: two, I am brand new to single speeding, although all last summer I pretty much road in one gear (big ring) fantasizing about a SS bike. Finally there is the reason that beats all reasons. I don’t care. I just want to ride my bike, and I know me. I will acclimate to whatever is put on the bike anyway and possibly do serious injury to myself in the mean time. He said although I’m an animal (we’ve ridden together) I probably should go 34 until I get really familiar with single speeding. With my ego in check I reluctantly submitted to his advice. I left the shop with one last glance at the love of my life. My dining room looks empty without him, and my morning coffee won’t be the same until his return.
I didn’t get to ride today. “What if Hill” is looming large on my pillow. Of all the important worthwhile things my mind could be contemplating it hones in on the unknown calls I’ve been getting since I was published in D.R. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I typically don’t get these kinds of calls. One came tonight when I was on my way home from Fowlerville. They’ve always come at times when I am not home. I’m sure my mind will calculate the millions of different scenarios that could transpire if Private Name Private Number or Unknown Caller ever gets a hold of me. What if....
Clearing out the Cobwebs
Friday, February 20, 2009
It’s really happening. I’m going to school. I started January 12. I sat down to write about how this whole surreal, terrifying, exciting experience started, so I got out my journal. You should know that I absolutely suck at keeping a journal, but every now and then something I deem remarkable happens and I write it down. Here it is:
January 16, 2008
I was looking through one of those gossip magazines at work the day before yesterday. I casually glanced at my horoscope for kicks. It said to write down my career goals on the 14th. It happened to be the 14th. It seemed strange. I rarely look at these things and the one day that I do, it tells me to do something on the very day it just happens to be. I almost didn’t do it because I don’t believe in these things, and I don’t have any goals. After careful consideration I came up with nothing, so I wrote down “Call SSD and ask them to send information on the “Ticket to work Program.” I tossed the paper in my purse and forgot about it. When I got home the information was in the mail box. *SHOCK* Thank God Thank God Thank God! So I get up yesterday. I look in the mirror. My eyelids are baggy. I sigh, turn around and look at my butt. It’s four inches lower than it was before I went to bed. I turn on the shower. No hot water. It’s going to be one of those days. I call Eric and tell him. He says “I was just meditating and praying about how fortunate we are to have water at all. Poor countries don’t have any water.”
“I’m a poor country” I say. “No you have water. It’s just not hot” “Thanks a lot you Ass!” and I switch the subject to him and Deb. He’s feeling unworthy or something similar. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. I start to tell him that I think he deserves a woman that will be good to him. I tell him I think he’s a good man. I can tell he’s crying. He says he values my opinion. We hang up. The whole conversation lasted about 2 minutes. As I get off the toilet I ponder showering in cold water. I wash my hands. The water is hot. I dial him back. “Your water is hot isn’t it!” he says before I can tell him. Again I say Thank God, Thank God, Thank God!
Now, some may say the horoscope thing is absolutely coincidental. I’ll allow them that, but for me these kinds of “happenings” usually set into motion circumstances that I couldn’t have orchestrated, that are beyond my control. It gives me that feeling that Life is living me instead of the other way around. Feeling a bit like Neo in The Matrix, I do the next thing put in front of me. I called about the “Ticket to Work Program.” They did lots of evaluations, ability, and interest test. This process took months. Once I got things narrowed down I did a job shadow at a rehab hospital. This sealed the deal for me. What I saw during my time spent there was nothing short of progress in seemingly hopeless situations. It reminded me of…my life. I was hooked. Given my circumstances mobility is pretty fricken important to me, which would explain why I get frustrated by people who don’t move when they are perfectly capable. Do you know the type? I’m talking about seemingly physically healthy individuals that just don’t like to move. I don’t like it that I am judgmental like that, and I really try not to be. I certainly don’t know each person’s circumstances, but it’s like watching someone waste food or water when you’re not sure how long your own supply is going to last.
Anyway, it appears that you have to be a math magician to be accepted into the PTA program. Algebra is a requirement. I’m missing that chip, so I’m starting at the bottom of the mathematical mountain and I’m grinding my way up, only now I don’t have any gears. (I don’t just mean that metaphorically. I did finally get a Single Speed! WoooHooo!) Math is painful for me. Even the basics frustrate me to the point of tears. Just when I think I’m going to stall out, that I’m not going to stay on top of that pedal stroke, it breaks way underneath me, and understanding floods my mathematical muscles, but only momentarily. That old saying, “It’s just like riding a bike” isn’t true for me and math. Every time I get back on it I seem to have no memory of the rules it laid down on our last ride. Come to think of it I’ve never been good at following rules. I think my brain actually exploded in class today. We are forever destined to be strangers, Math and I, wondering what makes each other tick.
Math, along with everything else in my life reminds me of when I first learned to ride single track. I was always in the wrong gear. I picked the worst lines. I crashed a lot and I lost sight of what was in front of me frequently. I’d have rather walked down a hill than ride it for fear of crashing. Flow was rare and I needed new brake pads after every ride, and the soreness of, well you know… EVERYTHING was too much to bear the next day. This is how math makes me feel.
Sometimes when I’m in class I think about climbing the double at the ski area on my geared bike. I used to sit at the bottom of that hill and watch the crazy SOB’s that climbed it. I thought I would never be able to do it. Thank God I’m usually wrong about my abilities. I think about how it never gets physically “easier” to climb that hill, but the accomplishment and satisfaction that is felt when I’m at the top is worth the pain. I can’t put into words the confidence that is built just by riding a bike up a hill. I tried to recruit Eric into climbing it. I’ve never actually timed it but I bet it takes an Eternity to get to the top, if not five minutes. He followed me once about a third of the way up, called me crazy and went back down. The funny thing is he’s the one who told me the secret to climbing. He said my only concern is the five feet in front of me. That’s what he told me, so that’s what I do, and I make it… every time. I pray that the same will hold true with math.
Enough about math mountains; here I am a year later going to school. I’m excited and terrified about the decisions I’ve made. It’s taken some adjustment. Juggling kids, school, work and exercise is a double time job, and just as things start to feel right, my car takes a dump. The transmission died on the last day of the first week of class. Things just tend to work out for me like that. It did however carry me all the way back from Muskegon to my apartment in Grandville. In my mind this new development serves as confirmation that I won’t be going to school after all, and how could I be silly enough to believe that I was supposed to? I mean this whole thing developed from a random reading of a horoscope right? Psycho! So I do the next right thing. I discard the idea that I might be able to commute on my bike, and then...I panic. I realize how alone and wrong I am about pretty much everything. I call the ladies from my bible study to inform them that God answered their prayers by killing my car. I had just asked them the week before to pray for it, because it’s old, and I have to drive 80 miles a day for school. While I was telling Sue (our bible study leader) about my predicament she says “Well Jody, my Jodi is in Europe this week. You can just use her car.” Here I go chasing the white rabbit again.
I decide it’s too late to withdraw from classes and get a full refund. My car is too old and the transmission is to expensive fix. I don’t know how I’m going to finish the term, let alone my degree. I’ll never pass math anyway, and I could be in a chair any day now. I may as well give up. It was never realistic for me to go to school. I hate that my thinking takes a nose dive like this. I can chuckle now, but at the time this is all that is real to me. Fortunately instead of succumbing to what my head tells me I jump on her offer. Along with the relief comes the next wave of panic. What am I going to do after Jodi gets back?
I call my friend Speedy, who is a partial quadriplegic. He is in part what inspired my program choice. This guy is incredible. He does more than most able bodied people I know. He used to be a car salesman. He has connections. He said he would try to help me out. As he is hanging up the phone he tells me not to worry and he adds “Think Toyota!” Whatever, I’m just thinking wheels at this point. I don’t care what kind. I spend the next several days looking for a dirt cheap car, and putting the word out that I need help. Fortunately for me, my niece who isn’t allowed to drive lets me borrow her car for the time being while I try to figure something out.
In the midst of all this I get a call from a friend of mine who just broke up with her fiance`. She is very upset and just needs to talk. She goes on to tell me that before she met him she made a list of what she wants in a mate. He fit that description to a “T”. There is only one problem. She’s no longer attracted to him. I did what I do in these types of situations. I said something highly inappropriate but hilarious. “Yeah I feel your pain. The next list I make I’m going to ask that he not look like Yoda!” It worked. She laughed. The only reason I even mention this is because it loosely ties into my next coincidence.
At the end of January I received an email from my friend who works at the church. She told me that she had a friend who had a car he wanted to donate. She sent me pictures. It was a Toyota and the pictures were titled Yoda! It’s a stretch but my brain will make the leap if it means a good laugh. He’s ugly but he’s got a really good heart. The cool thing is the rust feature. The spots are bi-laterally symmetrical. Michelle gave me a “LOVE WINS” sticker when I brought in a thank-you card for her to give to her anonymous friend. On my way to bible study Tuesday night I stopped at the wash so I could put the sticker on a clean surface. Another bonus feature of the car was revealed. I no longer have to wash my left breast or pit on days that I take it through the wash. This could save time in the mornings. I’ve decided to keep toiletries in the console. As I get out of the car to put the sicker on the bumper I am literally overcome by the beauty of rust, and I know as I peel the backing off my sticker I am once again blessed beyond my comprehension.
I was taking my daughter to her friend’s house last night. She’s an 18 yr old Hippie living in 2009. She’s been performing at a coffee house with her friends. She sings to me because my car doesn’t have a radio. She sang “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” by the Fairport Convention. I know …right? She sings from the back seat to the music on her I-pod. When her own voice breaks through her attempts to sound like someone else, I tear up. She’s good.
I briefly wonder if we have the same effect on God.
I got an obscure email from a stranger yesterday about cobwebs on my blog so I logged in. Sure enough there were cobwebs and much to my surprise new followers. I checked out his blog. I love this guy’s dedication to his family and his creative struggles with time. I’m thinking about a picture of his daughter in her bike helmet and the content of this particular entry as mine is singing. It makes me think of her at that age. The song she is singing is so fitting to what is going on in my head although she is unaware. Who knows where the time goes? My little girl is 18. A year has passed since a wish cast into the universe is manifest. My best friend is getting married. It’s been 3 months since I posted a blog. Who knows where the time goes? All this is running through my head as I offer her words of encouragement on her singing. I give her a few pointers on breathing that I learned in choir back in school. As she is getting out of the car she leans down and peers in at me. “I like how you encourage me mom. You’re good at it.” I cry all the way home knowing it’s been far too long since I’ve cleared out the cobwebs. It’s time to use my “voice” again. Just saying.
It’s really happening. I’m going to school. I started January 12. I sat down to write about how this whole surreal, terrifying, exciting experience started, so I got out my journal. You should know that I absolutely suck at keeping a journal, but every now and then something I deem remarkable happens and I write it down. Here it is:
January 16, 2008
I was looking through one of those gossip magazines at work the day before yesterday. I casually glanced at my horoscope for kicks. It said to write down my career goals on the 14th. It happened to be the 14th. It seemed strange. I rarely look at these things and the one day that I do, it tells me to do something on the very day it just happens to be. I almost didn’t do it because I don’t believe in these things, and I don’t have any goals. After careful consideration I came up with nothing, so I wrote down “Call SSD and ask them to send information on the “Ticket to work Program.” I tossed the paper in my purse and forgot about it. When I got home the information was in the mail box. *SHOCK* Thank God Thank God Thank God! So I get up yesterday. I look in the mirror. My eyelids are baggy. I sigh, turn around and look at my butt. It’s four inches lower than it was before I went to bed. I turn on the shower. No hot water. It’s going to be one of those days. I call Eric and tell him. He says “I was just meditating and praying about how fortunate we are to have water at all. Poor countries don’t have any water.”
“I’m a poor country” I say. “No you have water. It’s just not hot” “Thanks a lot you Ass!” and I switch the subject to him and Deb. He’s feeling unworthy or something similar. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. I start to tell him that I think he deserves a woman that will be good to him. I tell him I think he’s a good man. I can tell he’s crying. He says he values my opinion. We hang up. The whole conversation lasted about 2 minutes. As I get off the toilet I ponder showering in cold water. I wash my hands. The water is hot. I dial him back. “Your water is hot isn’t it!” he says before I can tell him. Again I say Thank God, Thank God, Thank God!
Now, some may say the horoscope thing is absolutely coincidental. I’ll allow them that, but for me these kinds of “happenings” usually set into motion circumstances that I couldn’t have orchestrated, that are beyond my control. It gives me that feeling that Life is living me instead of the other way around. Feeling a bit like Neo in The Matrix, I do the next thing put in front of me. I called about the “Ticket to Work Program.” They did lots of evaluations, ability, and interest test. This process took months. Once I got things narrowed down I did a job shadow at a rehab hospital. This sealed the deal for me. What I saw during my time spent there was nothing short of progress in seemingly hopeless situations. It reminded me of…my life. I was hooked. Given my circumstances mobility is pretty fricken important to me, which would explain why I get frustrated by people who don’t move when they are perfectly capable. Do you know the type? I’m talking about seemingly physically healthy individuals that just don’t like to move. I don’t like it that I am judgmental like that, and I really try not to be. I certainly don’t know each person’s circumstances, but it’s like watching someone waste food or water when you’re not sure how long your own supply is going to last.
Anyway, it appears that you have to be a math magician to be accepted into the PTA program. Algebra is a requirement. I’m missing that chip, so I’m starting at the bottom of the mathematical mountain and I’m grinding my way up, only now I don’t have any gears. (I don’t just mean that metaphorically. I did finally get a Single Speed! WoooHooo!) Math is painful for me. Even the basics frustrate me to the point of tears. Just when I think I’m going to stall out, that I’m not going to stay on top of that pedal stroke, it breaks way underneath me, and understanding floods my mathematical muscles, but only momentarily. That old saying, “It’s just like riding a bike” isn’t true for me and math. Every time I get back on it I seem to have no memory of the rules it laid down on our last ride. Come to think of it I’ve never been good at following rules. I think my brain actually exploded in class today. We are forever destined to be strangers, Math and I, wondering what makes each other tick.
Math, along with everything else in my life reminds me of when I first learned to ride single track. I was always in the wrong gear. I picked the worst lines. I crashed a lot and I lost sight of what was in front of me frequently. I’d have rather walked down a hill than ride it for fear of crashing. Flow was rare and I needed new brake pads after every ride, and the soreness of, well you know… EVERYTHING was too much to bear the next day. This is how math makes me feel.
Sometimes when I’m in class I think about climbing the double at the ski area on my geared bike. I used to sit at the bottom of that hill and watch the crazy SOB’s that climbed it. I thought I would never be able to do it. Thank God I’m usually wrong about my abilities. I think about how it never gets physically “easier” to climb that hill, but the accomplishment and satisfaction that is felt when I’m at the top is worth the pain. I can’t put into words the confidence that is built just by riding a bike up a hill. I tried to recruit Eric into climbing it. I’ve never actually timed it but I bet it takes an Eternity to get to the top, if not five minutes. He followed me once about a third of the way up, called me crazy and went back down. The funny thing is he’s the one who told me the secret to climbing. He said my only concern is the five feet in front of me. That’s what he told me, so that’s what I do, and I make it… every time. I pray that the same will hold true with math.
Enough about math mountains; here I am a year later going to school. I’m excited and terrified about the decisions I’ve made. It’s taken some adjustment. Juggling kids, school, work and exercise is a double time job, and just as things start to feel right, my car takes a dump. The transmission died on the last day of the first week of class. Things just tend to work out for me like that. It did however carry me all the way back from Muskegon to my apartment in Grandville. In my mind this new development serves as confirmation that I won’t be going to school after all, and how could I be silly enough to believe that I was supposed to? I mean this whole thing developed from a random reading of a horoscope right? Psycho! So I do the next right thing. I discard the idea that I might be able to commute on my bike, and then...I panic. I realize how alone and wrong I am about pretty much everything. I call the ladies from my bible study to inform them that God answered their prayers by killing my car. I had just asked them the week before to pray for it, because it’s old, and I have to drive 80 miles a day for school. While I was telling Sue (our bible study leader) about my predicament she says “Well Jody, my Jodi is in Europe this week. You can just use her car.” Here I go chasing the white rabbit again.
I decide it’s too late to withdraw from classes and get a full refund. My car is too old and the transmission is to expensive fix. I don’t know how I’m going to finish the term, let alone my degree. I’ll never pass math anyway, and I could be in a chair any day now. I may as well give up. It was never realistic for me to go to school. I hate that my thinking takes a nose dive like this. I can chuckle now, but at the time this is all that is real to me. Fortunately instead of succumbing to what my head tells me I jump on her offer. Along with the relief comes the next wave of panic. What am I going to do after Jodi gets back?
I call my friend Speedy, who is a partial quadriplegic. He is in part what inspired my program choice. This guy is incredible. He does more than most able bodied people I know. He used to be a car salesman. He has connections. He said he would try to help me out. As he is hanging up the phone he tells me not to worry and he adds “Think Toyota!” Whatever, I’m just thinking wheels at this point. I don’t care what kind. I spend the next several days looking for a dirt cheap car, and putting the word out that I need help. Fortunately for me, my niece who isn’t allowed to drive lets me borrow her car for the time being while I try to figure something out.
In the midst of all this I get a call from a friend of mine who just broke up with her fiance`. She is very upset and just needs to talk. She goes on to tell me that before she met him she made a list of what she wants in a mate. He fit that description to a “T”. There is only one problem. She’s no longer attracted to him. I did what I do in these types of situations. I said something highly inappropriate but hilarious. “Yeah I feel your pain. The next list I make I’m going to ask that he not look like Yoda!” It worked. She laughed. The only reason I even mention this is because it loosely ties into my next coincidence.
At the end of January I received an email from my friend who works at the church. She told me that she had a friend who had a car he wanted to donate. She sent me pictures. It was a Toyota and the pictures were titled Yoda! It’s a stretch but my brain will make the leap if it means a good laugh. He’s ugly but he’s got a really good heart. The cool thing is the rust feature. The spots are bi-laterally symmetrical. Michelle gave me a “LOVE WINS” sticker when I brought in a thank-you card for her to give to her anonymous friend. On my way to bible study Tuesday night I stopped at the wash so I could put the sticker on a clean surface. Another bonus feature of the car was revealed. I no longer have to wash my left breast or pit on days that I take it through the wash. This could save time in the mornings. I’ve decided to keep toiletries in the console. As I get out of the car to put the sicker on the bumper I am literally overcome by the beauty of rust, and I know as I peel the backing off my sticker I am once again blessed beyond my comprehension.
I was taking my daughter to her friend’s house last night. She’s an 18 yr old Hippie living in 2009. She’s been performing at a coffee house with her friends. She sings to me because my car doesn’t have a radio. She sang “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” by the Fairport Convention. I know …right? She sings from the back seat to the music on her I-pod. When her own voice breaks through her attempts to sound like someone else, I tear up. She’s good.
I briefly wonder if we have the same effect on God.
I got an obscure email from a stranger yesterday about cobwebs on my blog so I logged in. Sure enough there were cobwebs and much to my surprise new followers. I checked out his blog. I love this guy’s dedication to his family and his creative struggles with time. I’m thinking about a picture of his daughter in her bike helmet and the content of this particular entry as mine is singing. It makes me think of her at that age. The song she is singing is so fitting to what is going on in my head although she is unaware. Who knows where the time goes? My little girl is 18. A year has passed since a wish cast into the universe is manifest. My best friend is getting married. It’s been 3 months since I posted a blog. Who knows where the time goes? All this is running through my head as I offer her words of encouragement on her singing. I give her a few pointers on breathing that I learned in choir back in school. As she is getting out of the car she leans down and peers in at me. “I like how you encourage me mom. You’re good at it.” I cry all the way home knowing it’s been far too long since I’ve cleared out the cobwebs. It’s time to use my “voice” again. Just saying.
Cinnamon Toast
October 8, 2008,
Last week was something else! I had to go to Mi Works every morning to attend these personal growth classes. I wasn’t necessarily jazzed about going. Red tape to get the funding for school right? I had just listened to a sermon last Sunday about grumbling and complaining so I decided to approach it with the “Ok God, I’m listening” frame of mind. Who would of thought I would learn a lesson about my own blindness.
The first class was about potential, how our beliefs are built, and accountability. We watched videos and had group discussion but my favorite part of these things are the group experiments. I find them fascinating. I always go into them thinking I‘ve got some kind of slant on things and I am always humbled. Our instructor handed out these cards with shapes on them. They were odd random shapes. I have no clue what you would even call them. One looked like a sideways hat, a faucet, ect. She asked what we thought the shapes were. We all started saying sideways hats and faucets ect. Then the most remarkable thing happened. She told us it was actually a word and as she said that I was actually able to see the word. The card said FLY. Later she handed out another card with a black and white photo on it. She asked us what we thought it was a picture of. I said dead skin! A guy in the class said it looked like a leaf. A majority said it was definitely a duck. When she told us it was a cow I almost fell out of my chair. I still couldn’t see it. She came around and showed each of us individually and sure enough there was a cow there. After watching a few more videos and more group excersises I’m starting to see how blind I am, and how my blindness affects others.
Check this out. The next card she handed out had a sentence on it. “Finished files are the result of many years of scientific study combined with the experience of many years.” She told us to circle the f’s in the sentence. No problem I said to myself. I’m not blind! I can recognize an f when I see one right? So I promptly blurted out "I count three!” My brilliance is shining so brightly people are putting on their sunglasses. It turns out there are other geniuses in the room as well. The three people to my left agreed with me. Then one of the ladies sitting kitty corner says she counted six. The guy across from me pipes up and says six as well. I look at my card. It’s definitely a full blow conspiracy now. They just want me to look dumb. The guy even had a smug look on his face. Can you believe that? I ask if everyone got the same card. Of course we did. The first sixer lady and I exchange cards. I look at hers and sure enough there are six f’s on that thing. I look at her and do you know what she says? (This is a remarkable example of how we influence each other’s reality.) “There are only three f’s on your card!” I’m shocked because by this time I know the truth. I’ve got her card in my hand! I have to tell her to look again. It took a minute but she was finally able to come back to the truth. I was dumbfounded. I could hardly hear anything the rest of the class. Now I am not only aware of my present blindness but I am also deaf and speechless.
For the rest of the day memories came flooding back and I wondered what the truth is anymore. For the longest time I believed there was nothing good about my childhood. If I tried to look for anything positive I couldn’t see it. This phenomenon is called a scotoma. That’s Greek for blindness, not being able to see what’s clearly in front of you and I suffer from it.
On of my biggest challenges is having a healthy relationship with my daughter. Saturday night we had it out. She’s almost 18. Lately, like the last five years we don’t get along at all. Sometimes in the heat of things I get this surreal feeling. It’s like I’m arguing with myself. Anybody that has ever argued with me knows that they can’t win! So you can imagine how drained I was by the end of the weekend. She wanted to go back to her dad’s early. Normally I wouldn’t let her but I just didn’t have the will to continue with our pattern for the weekend. As I walked out the door for church she was standing outside waiting for her Dad, a picture of my failure to just love her the way she is. I turned to look at her. Her pride shining like a crystal prism. Refracting the truth until the origin is a blur and the shards of light are blinding. Just like me. I’m sad. I see her scotoma. She can’t see anything good right now.
Fighting yet another mental death spiral into the same frame of mind I open the garage door. I see my bike propped against the wall. It’s coated from the ride with my Private Poet the morning before. It reminds me of cinnamon and sugar. I think about the ride and how beautiful Yankee is at sunrise. It inspired me to write poetry. It’s a good memory with good company in this childhood that I get to relive. A warmth rushes over me as I ponder the coating on my bike. It reminds me of something good from my childhood. Cinnamon toast after school. Sometimes half a loaf before I would escape on my bike. It was a comfort in the midst of uncertainty. I never knew what I was walking into. I still don’t. But I have a glimpse of the truth today. I’m being shown through my bike and the people I ride with. You’re like my cinnamon toast. Thank –you.
Last week was something else! I had to go to Mi Works every morning to attend these personal growth classes. I wasn’t necessarily jazzed about going. Red tape to get the funding for school right? I had just listened to a sermon last Sunday about grumbling and complaining so I decided to approach it with the “Ok God, I’m listening” frame of mind. Who would of thought I would learn a lesson about my own blindness.
The first class was about potential, how our beliefs are built, and accountability. We watched videos and had group discussion but my favorite part of these things are the group experiments. I find them fascinating. I always go into them thinking I‘ve got some kind of slant on things and I am always humbled. Our instructor handed out these cards with shapes on them. They were odd random shapes. I have no clue what you would even call them. One looked like a sideways hat, a faucet, ect. She asked what we thought the shapes were. We all started saying sideways hats and faucets ect. Then the most remarkable thing happened. She told us it was actually a word and as she said that I was actually able to see the word. The card said FLY. Later she handed out another card with a black and white photo on it. She asked us what we thought it was a picture of. I said dead skin! A guy in the class said it looked like a leaf. A majority said it was definitely a duck. When she told us it was a cow I almost fell out of my chair. I still couldn’t see it. She came around and showed each of us individually and sure enough there was a cow there. After watching a few more videos and more group excersises I’m starting to see how blind I am, and how my blindness affects others.
Check this out. The next card she handed out had a sentence on it. “Finished files are the result of many years of scientific study combined with the experience of many years.” She told us to circle the f’s in the sentence. No problem I said to myself. I’m not blind! I can recognize an f when I see one right? So I promptly blurted out "I count three!” My brilliance is shining so brightly people are putting on their sunglasses. It turns out there are other geniuses in the room as well. The three people to my left agreed with me. Then one of the ladies sitting kitty corner says she counted six. The guy across from me pipes up and says six as well. I look at my card. It’s definitely a full blow conspiracy now. They just want me to look dumb. The guy even had a smug look on his face. Can you believe that? I ask if everyone got the same card. Of course we did. The first sixer lady and I exchange cards. I look at hers and sure enough there are six f’s on that thing. I look at her and do you know what she says? (This is a remarkable example of how we influence each other’s reality.) “There are only three f’s on your card!” I’m shocked because by this time I know the truth. I’ve got her card in my hand! I have to tell her to look again. It took a minute but she was finally able to come back to the truth. I was dumbfounded. I could hardly hear anything the rest of the class. Now I am not only aware of my present blindness but I am also deaf and speechless.
For the rest of the day memories came flooding back and I wondered what the truth is anymore. For the longest time I believed there was nothing good about my childhood. If I tried to look for anything positive I couldn’t see it. This phenomenon is called a scotoma. That’s Greek for blindness, not being able to see what’s clearly in front of you and I suffer from it.
On of my biggest challenges is having a healthy relationship with my daughter. Saturday night we had it out. She’s almost 18. Lately, like the last five years we don’t get along at all. Sometimes in the heat of things I get this surreal feeling. It’s like I’m arguing with myself. Anybody that has ever argued with me knows that they can’t win! So you can imagine how drained I was by the end of the weekend. She wanted to go back to her dad’s early. Normally I wouldn’t let her but I just didn’t have the will to continue with our pattern for the weekend. As I walked out the door for church she was standing outside waiting for her Dad, a picture of my failure to just love her the way she is. I turned to look at her. Her pride shining like a crystal prism. Refracting the truth until the origin is a blur and the shards of light are blinding. Just like me. I’m sad. I see her scotoma. She can’t see anything good right now.
Fighting yet another mental death spiral into the same frame of mind I open the garage door. I see my bike propped against the wall. It’s coated from the ride with my Private Poet the morning before. It reminds me of cinnamon and sugar. I think about the ride and how beautiful Yankee is at sunrise. It inspired me to write poetry. It’s a good memory with good company in this childhood that I get to relive. A warmth rushes over me as I ponder the coating on my bike. It reminds me of something good from my childhood. Cinnamon toast after school. Sometimes half a loaf before I would escape on my bike. It was a comfort in the midst of uncertainty. I never knew what I was walking into. I still don’t. But I have a glimpse of the truth today. I’m being shown through my bike and the people I ride with. You’re like my cinnamon toast. Thank –you.
Purpose
Monday, October 13, 2008
Hovering in the night
over my heart
The eye opens and I
I awake to the truth.
With each breath I take
this brokenness reveals itself
to be the purpose
of my existence.
Open wide the arms
preparing to embrace
the severity…
I cry out.
You hear me not
and I feel
and I feel…
The luring of
rebirth,
gentle and innocent.
As you make me
with this purpose
new again.
Again
and
again~
Hovering in the night
over my heart
The eye opens and I
I awake to the truth.
With each breath I take
this brokenness reveals itself
to be the purpose
of my existence.
Open wide the arms
preparing to embrace
the severity…
I cry out.
You hear me not
and I feel
and I feel…
The luring of
rebirth,
gentle and innocent.
As you make me
with this purpose
new again.
Again
and
again~
Charlotte Speaks
Dec 15, 2008
It’s been a few weeks since I have actually been on my bike and I am suffering greatly for it. I’ve been kind of depressed lately. Actually I’ve been very depressed. I haven’t been taking care of myself like I should. It started right after Iceman. It seems like after every race I’ve competed in so far I have this lull that sets in about three days later. The excitement of actually racing subsides by then and the critical thinking begins. Things like “You shouldn’t have been so gung ho and led the pack out, and then maybe you wouldn’t have started shaking like a dog shitting razor blades before you even got into the woods!” or “If you would have taken it easy instead of riding like a spaz a few months prior then maybe your ribs wouldn’t have been broken and you could have actually trained for the race!” Then there is the “You should have know that that chick in front of you was going to bite it in the first sand pit.” And as always there is the nagging voice that says “You really could have done better.” Ad infinitum. To top off these thoughts the opportunities to ride quickly decreased due to weather and daylight. Because of the financial crunch I slipped out of the gluten free diet and I am paying for it both mentally and physically. I haven’t been riding enough to be inspired to write anything and I haven’t even been journaling much at all. All of these variables lead to a very unhappy, uninspired, unenergetic, and pathetic me coupled with the anxiety of school starting January 12th. I’m terrified of the commitment. I’m terrified that God forbid I won’t be able to complete the program. I don’t want to waste the scholarships and grant money. Then the “what if’s “and the “what are you going to do’s” start rolling. It’s that same old self sabotage and visions of wheelchairs instead of sugar plums are dancing in my head this Holiday season. The fear takes over and I unwittingly stop taking care of myself which will ensure that my fears manifest. So slowly but surely it’s been a slow decline in energy and attitude. My joints are staring to hurt again and the sharp pains in my head have returned. I’m having difficulty with my gate in the morning but it seems to subside as the day progresses. The sensation of having a glove on my left hand is increasing. I’m having trouble grasping objects and I’ve been sleeping a lot. I have no motivation to do anything. Everything is out of balance.
So Saturday after the T.M.I. (www.mibike.org) Christmas Party I went to Bass. I had too. The lack of opportunity was turning into a lack of interest. I was approaching that point where I wouldn’t have road my bike if it was 70 degrees and sunny. I was going crazy with no physical activity. I could have been going to the gym this whole time but I’m a brat and if I can’t have what I want then I don’t want anything. More brilliance on my part. Anyway, I’m contemplating all the aforementioned things as I’m driving out there. I have this thought that if I can just get to the trail and get on my bike then somehow everything is going to be okay. That thought is immediately replaced with “That’s crazy! Riding a bike will solve nothing!” Can you see how fruity I get when I haven’t been riding? As I pull into the drive at Bass I utter “Help!” I’m famous for that one word prayer.
I step out of the car and breathe a sigh of relief. The crispness of the air and the crunch of the snow serve as an immediate pacifier to the woes in my head and as always nature begins to massage my soul. With great anticipation I get geared up. I brought my new single speed. I’m excited to ride it but the snow is deep and I feel like I am setting myself up for failure, (much like the school venture) but I have to do this.
I spy the snow mobile tracks and I vaguely remember Tom posting something about them being easier to ride so I push off into it. Nothing easy about it. I tell myself that it’s because I’m on my single speed, but the truth is that the snow is just too deep and the track isn’t packed down enough. I can’t turn back though. The wheel chair is not an option today. I follow the tracks for a bit. On the bike, falling off the bike, on the bike, falling off the bike till I finally reach the service road. I think “Arctic Oasis! Comfort and security at last! Immediately I notice how smooth it is. Not icy, just smooth and very hard packed. So I’m pedaling away and it feels good. The legs are pumping and I pick up speed. It’s reminiscent of summer. Fantasies of getting into the flow enter my mind and then whamo! My oasis is just a mirage. It’s funny this hard packed two track. Once you get into a groove on it, it’s damned near impossible to get out of it without falling. It’s like an invisible monster comes along and kicks your rear tire out from underneath you. I really don’t have the right tires for this type of riding. I’m about ready to pack it in because continuous falling on hard pack snow isn’t altogether enjoyable. I’m not ready to go home though. I’m enjoying being outside in spite of the riding conditions. I head back to the trail head and I notice the foot prints leading into the single-track and I decide to go for it. How much worse can it be than the snow mobile tracks or the service road right? What I discovered is for the most part, it was more rideable than my previous adventures. If you’ve ever ridden in the snow you are aware of how slow it is and how much more balance and handling it takes to stay upright. The tiny little “climbs” feel like the Double at Cannonsburg Ski Area. Well sort of. The Double is actually do-able in the summer! This is more challenging in a different way. There is more to think about that just pedaling. So I’m concentrating on the five feet in front of me. I’m pedaling; steering and breathing all while trying to keep the bike upright on this “climb” that is completely flat. It’s a delicate balance but things are going good and just as I’m wondering exactly how long I will be able to keep this up, I see a spider crawling on top of the snow as if it’s the middle of July. It’s a big black spider. It almost looked like it had fur on it. It struck me just how beautiful and out of place it looked on the snow but it was as though it was used to living in these conditions. It moved cautiously, discerning the magnitude of each step it traveled. I was able to take all this in without stopping because like the spider, I too was moving slowly, cautiously through the snow just trying to keep it upright. I’d never seen a spider in the snow before. I thought spiders died in the winter but after doing a little research I found out that there are some species that do “hibernate” and sometimes come out on mild winter days in search of food.
My ride wasn’t complete without an encounter with the boogey man of winter riding. It had to happen in the deepest can’t stay on the bike snowiest part of the trail. I was getting frustrated and I was about to let out an “AAAUGGGGHHHH!!!” when I sensed that I was being watched. I looked up and sure enough there was a blur of orange dead ahead of me. He was watching me and it appeared that he was trying not to laugh at me out loud. I realized how stupid this biking in the snow may appear to him. I smiled back in complete silence and continued on with one foot clipped in and the other pushing off the ground, like a limp sort of... I didn’t have time to stop and explain to him that although this looks like nonsense to the average Joe I was actually solving all my problems.
As I was approaching the car after my ride it occurred to me that going to school might be a bit like riding a bike in the winter. It will be slow moving and difficult to adjust and shortly after I start I’ll wonder why I’m doing this. After the first fall I’ll be sure it was all just a big mistake and perhaps a misunderstanding on my part as to what God really wants me to do. But I’ll continue because it’s better than being stuck “indoors”. Of the three types of snowy trails that I experienced that day, the one I thought would be the hardest actually was the most fruitful, and it didn’t kill me. May this be found true for school as well. Hopefully no invisible monsters will kick my wheels out from under me. There may even be the random Boogey Man watching that thinks what I’m doing doesn’t make sense. I’ve already encountered this (in regards to biking and school) because of my diagnosis. I won’t have time to tell him I’m solving my problems. I’ll be rushing to my next class. I pray I will remember this ride in the midst of the frustration and monotony. I want to recall the sheer satisfaction of arriving back at the trail head, knowing that although the ride wasn’t clean I had done my best to face the challenge head on. (If I forget could someone please shout it out as I’m walking across the stage at graduation?) Conditions might suck but it is do-able and after all, it’s only conditions. I’m sure, as riding in the snow has proved; school will be worth every ounce of fear and frustration. It’s just going to require a little more balance, technique and focus on the five feet in front of me to keep things upright.
***
As I was getting ready to wrap this writing up I decided to look up the spiritual significance of spiders in my “mumbo jumbo don’t really believe this crap” book about nature and spirituality.
There is a bunch of crazy stuff in this book and much of the information is borrowed from several different cultures and mythologies but it never fails to pertain to what is going on in my life. Again I am creeped out but not surprised at what I find. The following is a much condensed version of what the text says:
Keynote: Creativity and the weaving of fate
….Spider teaches you to maintain a balance—between past and future, physical and spiritual, male and female…The spider awakens creative sensibilities…it reminds us that the past always subtly influences the present and future…Spiders remind us that the world is woven around us. We are the keepers and the writers of our own destiny, weaving a web by our thoughts feelings and actions… Spiders are the guardians of ancient languages and alphabets…they teach the magic of writing…The spider is associated with death and rebirth…it is also a lunar symbol with ties to the waxing and waning of the moon. For those with this totem, this pattern is a reminder to maintain balance and polarity in all aspects of life. Spiders teach that through polarity and balance creativity is stimulated.*
I don’t know where the author gets this stuff but after my ride and reflecting on what I wrote much of it just seemed to fit. I was out of balance physically and spiritually. It’s odd sometimes how God chooses to reveal an answer to a simple “Help me” prayer. After that I did the only thing I know these days to do. I road my bike. I saw a spider. I felt like writing, which in turn got me reading about them. Who knew the answer was within a spider? I wouldn’t have thought to ask one.
I’m not going argue with myself anymore about fixing my problems through riding my bike. It works every time.
*Animal Speak by Ted Andrews
It’s been a few weeks since I have actually been on my bike and I am suffering greatly for it. I’ve been kind of depressed lately. Actually I’ve been very depressed. I haven’t been taking care of myself like I should. It started right after Iceman. It seems like after every race I’ve competed in so far I have this lull that sets in about three days later. The excitement of actually racing subsides by then and the critical thinking begins. Things like “You shouldn’t have been so gung ho and led the pack out, and then maybe you wouldn’t have started shaking like a dog shitting razor blades before you even got into the woods!” or “If you would have taken it easy instead of riding like a spaz a few months prior then maybe your ribs wouldn’t have been broken and you could have actually trained for the race!” Then there is the “You should have know that that chick in front of you was going to bite it in the first sand pit.” And as always there is the nagging voice that says “You really could have done better.” Ad infinitum. To top off these thoughts the opportunities to ride quickly decreased due to weather and daylight. Because of the financial crunch I slipped out of the gluten free diet and I am paying for it both mentally and physically. I haven’t been riding enough to be inspired to write anything and I haven’t even been journaling much at all. All of these variables lead to a very unhappy, uninspired, unenergetic, and pathetic me coupled with the anxiety of school starting January 12th. I’m terrified of the commitment. I’m terrified that God forbid I won’t be able to complete the program. I don’t want to waste the scholarships and grant money. Then the “what if’s “and the “what are you going to do’s” start rolling. It’s that same old self sabotage and visions of wheelchairs instead of sugar plums are dancing in my head this Holiday season. The fear takes over and I unwittingly stop taking care of myself which will ensure that my fears manifest. So slowly but surely it’s been a slow decline in energy and attitude. My joints are staring to hurt again and the sharp pains in my head have returned. I’m having difficulty with my gate in the morning but it seems to subside as the day progresses. The sensation of having a glove on my left hand is increasing. I’m having trouble grasping objects and I’ve been sleeping a lot. I have no motivation to do anything. Everything is out of balance.
So Saturday after the T.M.I. (www.mibike.org) Christmas Party I went to Bass. I had too. The lack of opportunity was turning into a lack of interest. I was approaching that point where I wouldn’t have road my bike if it was 70 degrees and sunny. I was going crazy with no physical activity. I could have been going to the gym this whole time but I’m a brat and if I can’t have what I want then I don’t want anything. More brilliance on my part. Anyway, I’m contemplating all the aforementioned things as I’m driving out there. I have this thought that if I can just get to the trail and get on my bike then somehow everything is going to be okay. That thought is immediately replaced with “That’s crazy! Riding a bike will solve nothing!” Can you see how fruity I get when I haven’t been riding? As I pull into the drive at Bass I utter “Help!” I’m famous for that one word prayer.
I step out of the car and breathe a sigh of relief. The crispness of the air and the crunch of the snow serve as an immediate pacifier to the woes in my head and as always nature begins to massage my soul. With great anticipation I get geared up. I brought my new single speed. I’m excited to ride it but the snow is deep and I feel like I am setting myself up for failure, (much like the school venture) but I have to do this.
I spy the snow mobile tracks and I vaguely remember Tom posting something about them being easier to ride so I push off into it. Nothing easy about it. I tell myself that it’s because I’m on my single speed, but the truth is that the snow is just too deep and the track isn’t packed down enough. I can’t turn back though. The wheel chair is not an option today. I follow the tracks for a bit. On the bike, falling off the bike, on the bike, falling off the bike till I finally reach the service road. I think “Arctic Oasis! Comfort and security at last! Immediately I notice how smooth it is. Not icy, just smooth and very hard packed. So I’m pedaling away and it feels good. The legs are pumping and I pick up speed. It’s reminiscent of summer. Fantasies of getting into the flow enter my mind and then whamo! My oasis is just a mirage. It’s funny this hard packed two track. Once you get into a groove on it, it’s damned near impossible to get out of it without falling. It’s like an invisible monster comes along and kicks your rear tire out from underneath you. I really don’t have the right tires for this type of riding. I’m about ready to pack it in because continuous falling on hard pack snow isn’t altogether enjoyable. I’m not ready to go home though. I’m enjoying being outside in spite of the riding conditions. I head back to the trail head and I notice the foot prints leading into the single-track and I decide to go for it. How much worse can it be than the snow mobile tracks or the service road right? What I discovered is for the most part, it was more rideable than my previous adventures. If you’ve ever ridden in the snow you are aware of how slow it is and how much more balance and handling it takes to stay upright. The tiny little “climbs” feel like the Double at Cannonsburg Ski Area. Well sort of. The Double is actually do-able in the summer! This is more challenging in a different way. There is more to think about that just pedaling. So I’m concentrating on the five feet in front of me. I’m pedaling; steering and breathing all while trying to keep the bike upright on this “climb” that is completely flat. It’s a delicate balance but things are going good and just as I’m wondering exactly how long I will be able to keep this up, I see a spider crawling on top of the snow as if it’s the middle of July. It’s a big black spider. It almost looked like it had fur on it. It struck me just how beautiful and out of place it looked on the snow but it was as though it was used to living in these conditions. It moved cautiously, discerning the magnitude of each step it traveled. I was able to take all this in without stopping because like the spider, I too was moving slowly, cautiously through the snow just trying to keep it upright. I’d never seen a spider in the snow before. I thought spiders died in the winter but after doing a little research I found out that there are some species that do “hibernate” and sometimes come out on mild winter days in search of food.
My ride wasn’t complete without an encounter with the boogey man of winter riding. It had to happen in the deepest can’t stay on the bike snowiest part of the trail. I was getting frustrated and I was about to let out an “AAAUGGGGHHHH!!!” when I sensed that I was being watched. I looked up and sure enough there was a blur of orange dead ahead of me. He was watching me and it appeared that he was trying not to laugh at me out loud. I realized how stupid this biking in the snow may appear to him. I smiled back in complete silence and continued on with one foot clipped in and the other pushing off the ground, like a limp sort of... I didn’t have time to stop and explain to him that although this looks like nonsense to the average Joe I was actually solving all my problems.
As I was approaching the car after my ride it occurred to me that going to school might be a bit like riding a bike in the winter. It will be slow moving and difficult to adjust and shortly after I start I’ll wonder why I’m doing this. After the first fall I’ll be sure it was all just a big mistake and perhaps a misunderstanding on my part as to what God really wants me to do. But I’ll continue because it’s better than being stuck “indoors”. Of the three types of snowy trails that I experienced that day, the one I thought would be the hardest actually was the most fruitful, and it didn’t kill me. May this be found true for school as well. Hopefully no invisible monsters will kick my wheels out from under me. There may even be the random Boogey Man watching that thinks what I’m doing doesn’t make sense. I’ve already encountered this (in regards to biking and school) because of my diagnosis. I won’t have time to tell him I’m solving my problems. I’ll be rushing to my next class. I pray I will remember this ride in the midst of the frustration and monotony. I want to recall the sheer satisfaction of arriving back at the trail head, knowing that although the ride wasn’t clean I had done my best to face the challenge head on. (If I forget could someone please shout it out as I’m walking across the stage at graduation?) Conditions might suck but it is do-able and after all, it’s only conditions. I’m sure, as riding in the snow has proved; school will be worth every ounce of fear and frustration. It’s just going to require a little more balance, technique and focus on the five feet in front of me to keep things upright.
***
As I was getting ready to wrap this writing up I decided to look up the spiritual significance of spiders in my “mumbo jumbo don’t really believe this crap” book about nature and spirituality.
There is a bunch of crazy stuff in this book and much of the information is borrowed from several different cultures and mythologies but it never fails to pertain to what is going on in my life. Again I am creeped out but not surprised at what I find. The following is a much condensed version of what the text says:
Keynote: Creativity and the weaving of fate
….Spider teaches you to maintain a balance—between past and future, physical and spiritual, male and female…The spider awakens creative sensibilities…it reminds us that the past always subtly influences the present and future…Spiders remind us that the world is woven around us. We are the keepers and the writers of our own destiny, weaving a web by our thoughts feelings and actions… Spiders are the guardians of ancient languages and alphabets…they teach the magic of writing…The spider is associated with death and rebirth…it is also a lunar symbol with ties to the waxing and waning of the moon. For those with this totem, this pattern is a reminder to maintain balance and polarity in all aspects of life. Spiders teach that through polarity and balance creativity is stimulated.*
I don’t know where the author gets this stuff but after my ride and reflecting on what I wrote much of it just seemed to fit. I was out of balance physically and spiritually. It’s odd sometimes how God chooses to reveal an answer to a simple “Help me” prayer. After that I did the only thing I know these days to do. I road my bike. I saw a spider. I felt like writing, which in turn got me reading about them. Who knew the answer was within a spider? I wouldn’t have thought to ask one.
I’m not going argue with myself anymore about fixing my problems through riding my bike. It works every time.
*Animal Speak by Ted Andrews
...till Saturday
Saturday died on a Thursday night.
Friday Morning rubbed the dream
like sleep from
her eyes
How will she make it to Sunday?
I hate Thursday nights.
Friday Morning rubbed the dream
like sleep from
her eyes
How will she make it to Sunday?
I hate Thursday nights.
Fall Back
Fall Back
As I stir I still feel the ache you left me with.
Every touch from you
leaves a wound,
a brokenness I cannot hide.
My eyes burn with sweat and tears.
I tremble as I rise up
damp and breathless
wanting you,
but your there and I’m here.
It’s too soon to tell
and it’s too dark,
much to dark to see.
So I will come to you
when the voyeuristic sun opens her eyes.
I’ll transverse your chiseled features.
Caressing your precipice
while you undulate
beneath me.
And I’ll grasp for your ever changing form
hidden beneath the beauty
of the colors of death
where you remind me the limits
are not mine~
but yours.
As I stir I still feel the ache you left me with.
Every touch from you
leaves a wound,
a brokenness I cannot hide.
My eyes burn with sweat and tears.
I tremble as I rise up
damp and breathless
wanting you,
but your there and I’m here.
It’s too soon to tell
and it’s too dark,
much to dark to see.
So I will come to you
when the voyeuristic sun opens her eyes.
I’ll transverse your chiseled features.
Caressing your precipice
while you undulate
beneath me.
And I’ll grasp for your ever changing form
hidden beneath the beauty
of the colors of death
where you remind me the limits
are not mine~
but yours.
Random Example Guy
There was silence
but for the echo of your words
long after they were spoken.
You said my name.
Never heard it like that,
and I don’t know what to do
with these thoughts
of you. Coming gently
at first… like rain
on a trailer roof
can’t be ignored.
getting louder
I shut my eyes
drowning in the sound
of what it might be like
knowing you.
but for the echo of your words
long after they were spoken.
You said my name.
Never heard it like that,
and I don’t know what to do
with these thoughts
of you. Coming gently
at first… like rain
on a trailer roof
can’t be ignored.
getting louder
I shut my eyes
drowning in the sound
of what it might be like
knowing you.
Self Checkout
I had to grab a few things for dinner last night. I hate, I repeat hate shopping. No I am not your typical women in this regard. I generally find the whole experience appalling, from the assault on the senses to the constant push of things new and improved. Couple that with the rising cost of everything under the sun and an inability to buy what I truly want makes for an unpleasant experience on a good day. Add loneliness I can’t put my finger on and you may find me standing in the SELF checkout line in my sweat pants and a baseball hat with tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks like a glass of milk at the dinner table.
That is how you would have found me yesterday. I was buying food for dinner with my son. My daughter didn’t come. The relationship is very strained at the moment. Matt form Mary Free Bed is coming in the morning with my new computer/printer. I’m apprehensive about this for a few reasons. My apartment isn’t clean. I have a lingering cold thing happening and I’m in pain from my current biking brokenness. Plus receiving that computer is another step into the unknown which brings more questions. Another step into responsibility and growing up. Another step into commitment which I am not good at. Not that I don't want to be responsible and committed. I do. I really do want to be. But that is the problem with SELF. It’s sabotaging.
I stood there in line contemplating this subject matter. The lane I chose was the new and improved self check out model with an actual belt plus rollers. I thought by picking this “new and improved” lane I would be getting a new and improved experience. I watched every single customer struggle; each in a different way with the SELF checkout. The lady in front of me had to keep going to the end of the belt because her purchases kept bottling up at the end preventing the computer from receiving her next item. Her frustration mounted. She sighed. She ended her order and tried to pay. The machine wouldn’t accept her payment. Every register was in the same state of half finished, half functioning, half assed existence. The attendant was working harder running from register to register than she would have in a regular checkout lane. I looked over to the regular lanes. You know the ones I’m talking about. There’s generally a human standing at the register hopefully eager to do their job. They may even talk to you. Occasionally they smile as well. I had an instant longing to be in one of the lanes with a cashier.
Someday my life seems like a self checkout lane. It malfunctions. It jams up. Other people like a scanner read me wrong. Or I don’t make myself clear. It malfunctions. A head light is out. I need new tires and my transmission is shifting hard. Rent is going up along with everything else but my income actually down. The sense that I’m a complete odd ball uncomfortable in my own skin is on the rise. Maladjusted to life. This lane just isn’t working right. It all jams up at the end of the belt and I can’t process anything else.
I had a psychologist once tell me she believed I might be on the autistic spectrum. I remember her telling me this as I was standing in line. Aspergers she called it. I remember how I was offended. My mom used to tell me I was retarded; now I had a psychologist confirming it so I thought at the time. I didn’t really know what autism was then but now I think she may have been right. My ears hurt from the overhead blasting music and the random employee announcement. Every lane has a monitor running with different “you must buy” ads. The colors in the store are magnified to the tenth power, and I can literally feel the hum of the mercury lights along with every beep and buzz of electronic devices all around me. I have no defense against the negativity surrounding me and I’m going it alone. I think of that psychologist again and curse her under my breath. Loneliness mounted as my lane finally cleared. I quickly checked my things out. I dashed out the automatic doors into the cool of the night. Sensory overload. The tears fell like hot oil on my face.
It‘s on these days that I long for the other lane. You know the one I’m talking about. Coffee in the morning, sharing the dreams we had during the night, wrapped up together in a flannel blanket stroking each other’s skin. Reading to each other. I’d rub your back as you stretch like a cat and as you yawn I stick my finger in your mouth. You of course would gag and WWF smack down would follow as you try to take me down and tickle me(not too much though ‘cause I can’t stand being tickled) ‘till I piss on the floor. Then it’s off to the shower to help each other prepare for the day. These moments I would not want to end but as “real life” beckoned me out the door I could face the day a little braver and more assured knowing that you left as well with me on your heart. Trust. This is what I imagine a morning in the other lane would be like. I’ve never had that.
I’ve succeeded through much prayer and acceptance to be okay with being alone, for the most part. I try to get outside as much as possible where I am reminded of God and his creation. I’ve tried to stay focused on doing the next right thing and asking him for guidance. I’ve asked him to fill that pit of loneliness that I was born with. Some days it’s not so noticeable. These days I can’t get away from it. I turned on the TV last night to distract myself from it. P.B.S. was running a documentary on Johnny Cash. I think it was mostly home movie clips. He and June are sitting on the couch with a few close friends and family around. He’s strumming his guitar and singing songs that had not been recorded. He starts singing about the beauty of nature and how it feeds his spirit but flesh and blood need flesh and blood. I get the feeling once again that my heart has been hi-jacked and somebody stole my words. I closed my eyes because they start to sting again. I love Johnny Cash. I’d marry him except he’s dead and his heart totally belongs to June. He’s another perfect choice for me.
In an attempt to quell these feelings of loneliness I have recently started posting and bantering back and forth with people on line. I’ve met a few of them. It’s been fun. There was one who sent me a private message about wanting to meet but said he was not “available” This is where the self sabotage kicks in without me even realizing it. It’s hard to see the movie when you’re the star of the show right? To make a long story short I started a shit storm on line totally ensuring that this guy would never want to meet me. I already knew a few things about him; just enough for me to know that he was “out of my league.” Eric told me he was definitely not my type which I took as code for “He’s not a loser and he has his shit together” which translates to “You’re really not his type Jody.” It proved to be so and that’s ok. In his own words he’ll make a “great friend.”
After the shit storm clouds dissipated he sent me another private message. In part it went like this: “It's worth it to take the time to learn to love yourself and to appreciate your own strengths. When you have done that, your life will blossom in ways that may be hard for you to contemplate now. Your best is yet to come.” When I first read that I cried because I thought once again I am being misunderstood. Hell I love myself so well that it hurts on a good day. Reading it again today it has new meaning. My strength today is knowing what my weakness is. At first glance it would seem to me and everyone else that loneliness is my number one weaknesses. It has proven to be in the past. Perhaps it is but at the core of that is a desire for true intimacy and that will be my strength in the end. I believe that God wants the best for me today. I may not always believe I deserve it, but I do believe that it is what God truly wants. Always. For this reason I know I don’t have to settle for anything less than Who I’d like to meet. God willing I won’t. That list is added too almost daily as I meet different people. They reinforce what I don’t want and almost always give examples of what needs to be added.
The more I do the right thing and love myself the lonelier it seems at times. A well meaning friend of mine said that maybe I couldn’t afford to be so picky given my circumstances. That was a lie I believed most of my life no matter what the circumstances were. Not anymore. I told him it’s because of my circumstances that I can’t afford not to be picky. And so I’ll stay in the self checkout lane for now. It’s okay there most days. I’m willing to stay there until the real deal comes along. Until then I’ll kick back with Johnny and wait…
Beside a singing' mountain stream
Where the willow grew,
Where the silver leaf of maple,
Sparkled in the morning' dew,
I braided twigs of willows,
Made a string of buckeye beads.
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
and you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
I leaned against a bark of birch,
And I breathed the honey dew.
I saw a northbound flock of geese,
Against a sky of baby blue.
Beside the lily pads,
I carved a whistle from a reed.
Mother Nature's quite a lady,
But you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
A cardinal sang just for me,
And I thanked him for the song.
Then the sun went slowly down the west,
And I had to move along.
These were some of the things,
On which my mind and spirit feed.
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
So when this day was ended,
I was still not satisfied.
For I knew ev'rything I touched,
Would wither and would die.
And love is all that will remain,
And grow from all these seeds.
Mother Nature's quite a lady,
But you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
That is how you would have found me yesterday. I was buying food for dinner with my son. My daughter didn’t come. The relationship is very strained at the moment. Matt form Mary Free Bed is coming in the morning with my new computer/printer. I’m apprehensive about this for a few reasons. My apartment isn’t clean. I have a lingering cold thing happening and I’m in pain from my current biking brokenness. Plus receiving that computer is another step into the unknown which brings more questions. Another step into responsibility and growing up. Another step into commitment which I am not good at. Not that I don't want to be responsible and committed. I do. I really do want to be. But that is the problem with SELF. It’s sabotaging.
I stood there in line contemplating this subject matter. The lane I chose was the new and improved self check out model with an actual belt plus rollers. I thought by picking this “new and improved” lane I would be getting a new and improved experience. I watched every single customer struggle; each in a different way with the SELF checkout. The lady in front of me had to keep going to the end of the belt because her purchases kept bottling up at the end preventing the computer from receiving her next item. Her frustration mounted. She sighed. She ended her order and tried to pay. The machine wouldn’t accept her payment. Every register was in the same state of half finished, half functioning, half assed existence. The attendant was working harder running from register to register than she would have in a regular checkout lane. I looked over to the regular lanes. You know the ones I’m talking about. There’s generally a human standing at the register hopefully eager to do their job. They may even talk to you. Occasionally they smile as well. I had an instant longing to be in one of the lanes with a cashier.
Someday my life seems like a self checkout lane. It malfunctions. It jams up. Other people like a scanner read me wrong. Or I don’t make myself clear. It malfunctions. A head light is out. I need new tires and my transmission is shifting hard. Rent is going up along with everything else but my income actually down. The sense that I’m a complete odd ball uncomfortable in my own skin is on the rise. Maladjusted to life. This lane just isn’t working right. It all jams up at the end of the belt and I can’t process anything else.
I had a psychologist once tell me she believed I might be on the autistic spectrum. I remember her telling me this as I was standing in line. Aspergers she called it. I remember how I was offended. My mom used to tell me I was retarded; now I had a psychologist confirming it so I thought at the time. I didn’t really know what autism was then but now I think she may have been right. My ears hurt from the overhead blasting music and the random employee announcement. Every lane has a monitor running with different “you must buy” ads. The colors in the store are magnified to the tenth power, and I can literally feel the hum of the mercury lights along with every beep and buzz of electronic devices all around me. I have no defense against the negativity surrounding me and I’m going it alone. I think of that psychologist again and curse her under my breath. Loneliness mounted as my lane finally cleared. I quickly checked my things out. I dashed out the automatic doors into the cool of the night. Sensory overload. The tears fell like hot oil on my face.
It‘s on these days that I long for the other lane. You know the one I’m talking about. Coffee in the morning, sharing the dreams we had during the night, wrapped up together in a flannel blanket stroking each other’s skin. Reading to each other. I’d rub your back as you stretch like a cat and as you yawn I stick my finger in your mouth. You of course would gag and WWF smack down would follow as you try to take me down and tickle me(not too much though ‘cause I can’t stand being tickled) ‘till I piss on the floor. Then it’s off to the shower to help each other prepare for the day. These moments I would not want to end but as “real life” beckoned me out the door I could face the day a little braver and more assured knowing that you left as well with me on your heart. Trust. This is what I imagine a morning in the other lane would be like. I’ve never had that.
I’ve succeeded through much prayer and acceptance to be okay with being alone, for the most part. I try to get outside as much as possible where I am reminded of God and his creation. I’ve tried to stay focused on doing the next right thing and asking him for guidance. I’ve asked him to fill that pit of loneliness that I was born with. Some days it’s not so noticeable. These days I can’t get away from it. I turned on the TV last night to distract myself from it. P.B.S. was running a documentary on Johnny Cash. I think it was mostly home movie clips. He and June are sitting on the couch with a few close friends and family around. He’s strumming his guitar and singing songs that had not been recorded. He starts singing about the beauty of nature and how it feeds his spirit but flesh and blood need flesh and blood. I get the feeling once again that my heart has been hi-jacked and somebody stole my words. I closed my eyes because they start to sting again. I love Johnny Cash. I’d marry him except he’s dead and his heart totally belongs to June. He’s another perfect choice for me.
In an attempt to quell these feelings of loneliness I have recently started posting and bantering back and forth with people on line. I’ve met a few of them. It’s been fun. There was one who sent me a private message about wanting to meet but said he was not “available” This is where the self sabotage kicks in without me even realizing it. It’s hard to see the movie when you’re the star of the show right? To make a long story short I started a shit storm on line totally ensuring that this guy would never want to meet me. I already knew a few things about him; just enough for me to know that he was “out of my league.” Eric told me he was definitely not my type which I took as code for “He’s not a loser and he has his shit together” which translates to “You’re really not his type Jody.” It proved to be so and that’s ok. In his own words he’ll make a “great friend.”
After the shit storm clouds dissipated he sent me another private message. In part it went like this: “It's worth it to take the time to learn to love yourself and to appreciate your own strengths. When you have done that, your life will blossom in ways that may be hard for you to contemplate now. Your best is yet to come.” When I first read that I cried because I thought once again I am being misunderstood. Hell I love myself so well that it hurts on a good day. Reading it again today it has new meaning. My strength today is knowing what my weakness is. At first glance it would seem to me and everyone else that loneliness is my number one weaknesses. It has proven to be in the past. Perhaps it is but at the core of that is a desire for true intimacy and that will be my strength in the end. I believe that God wants the best for me today. I may not always believe I deserve it, but I do believe that it is what God truly wants. Always. For this reason I know I don’t have to settle for anything less than Who I’d like to meet. God willing I won’t. That list is added too almost daily as I meet different people. They reinforce what I don’t want and almost always give examples of what needs to be added.
The more I do the right thing and love myself the lonelier it seems at times. A well meaning friend of mine said that maybe I couldn’t afford to be so picky given my circumstances. That was a lie I believed most of my life no matter what the circumstances were. Not anymore. I told him it’s because of my circumstances that I can’t afford not to be picky. And so I’ll stay in the self checkout lane for now. It’s okay there most days. I’m willing to stay there until the real deal comes along. Until then I’ll kick back with Johnny and wait…
Beside a singing' mountain stream
Where the willow grew,
Where the silver leaf of maple,
Sparkled in the morning' dew,
I braided twigs of willows,
Made a string of buckeye beads.
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
and you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
I leaned against a bark of birch,
And I breathed the honey dew.
I saw a northbound flock of geese,
Against a sky of baby blue.
Beside the lily pads,
I carved a whistle from a reed.
Mother Nature's quite a lady,
But you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
A cardinal sang just for me,
And I thanked him for the song.
Then the sun went slowly down the west,
And I had to move along.
These were some of the things,
On which my mind and spirit feed.
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
So when this day was ended,
I was still not satisfied.
For I knew ev'rything I touched,
Would wither and would die.
And love is all that will remain,
And grow from all these seeds.
Mother Nature's quite a lady,
But you're the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,
And you're the one I need.
No Chai
He put his hand
On the small of my back
Drawing me forward
closer to him.
“What would you like?”
I couldn’t say,
So I ordered a latte instead
.
He fidgets;
“It’s almost eleven…”
Diversons
Unavailable
Begging preservation.
Or maybe I just make him
Nervous.
On the small of my back
Drawing me forward
closer to him.
“What would you like?”
I couldn’t say,
So I ordered a latte instead
.
He fidgets;
“It’s almost eleven…”
Diversons
Unavailable
Begging preservation.
Or maybe I just make him
Nervous.
Dependence
Dependence
I kneel in heart at the foot of you,
head bowed toward the earth.
You beg me “Look up!”
Your silhouette
as the sun detonates
in its worship,
my eyes cannot comprehend
the austerity,
the vastness of you.
Yet you beckon me
to abandon my will.
A recklessness
annihilating my sufficiency.
Claiming my gaze upon you
Taking my brokenness,
Your poor it upon yourself
The hill I climb.
This ache
Crescendos in all
my being.
I offer it to you,
my feeble sacrifice.
I stand at the peak
Empty and bare.
Your hand of Mercy
bends my knee once more
and again
I kneel in heart at the foot of you.
I kneel in heart at the foot of you,
head bowed toward the earth.
You beg me “Look up!”
Your silhouette
as the sun detonates
in its worship,
my eyes cannot comprehend
the austerity,
the vastness of you.
Yet you beckon me
to abandon my will.
A recklessness
annihilating my sufficiency.
Claiming my gaze upon you
Taking my brokenness,
Your poor it upon yourself
The hill I climb.
This ache
Crescendos in all
my being.
I offer it to you,
my feeble sacrifice.
I stand at the peak
Empty and bare.
Your hand of Mercy
bends my knee once more
and again
I kneel in heart at the foot of you.
My Private Poet
Sunday, October 5, 2008
He grinds
Over their toes
Cresting the hill
They weep.
The arms of the sun wrap around
His body and I see
His spirit escape;
Disinherited.
Transcending the atmosphere
To be drawn in again
Deeper
Suffering…
The augmentation of his soul ~
It’s like poetry.
He grinds
Over their toes
Cresting the hill
They weep.
The arms of the sun wrap around
His body and I see
His spirit escape;
Disinherited.
Transcending the atmosphere
To be drawn in again
Deeper
Suffering…
The augmentation of his soul ~
It’s like poetry.
Flat Pedals
Monday, September 22, 2008
A lot has happened in the last 2 weeks. I’m terrified. Back in June I threw up my hands in regard to school and I said to God ”If this is the way you want me to go then you are going to have to make it evident because I’m deaf and blind and I don’t know what to do.” As a result it seems that all the roadblocks to school are frickin dissolving before my very eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter what the particular hindrance is. A caseworker that is not advocating, an inability to type, or not being able to afford gas, they’re all dissolving just the same. I was particularly focused on the next wave of present imaginary problems. Reliable transportation. To distract my self I went to a class at church. It was called Rhyming with Orange. The class is about sparking the creative thinking process, and the habits of creative thinking people. It doesn’t much matter what your creation or endeavor is. It could be art, writing, starting a business or developing the courage to bomb down a hill on single track in the dark. It’s about the process. We were taught about how our environment and community impact our ability to succeed. It’s important to be influenced by people who believe you can do it, whatever “it” is. Sitting there listening I received a message on how this impacts more than just the creative process. It impacts the heart.
The instructor held a demonstration. Two volunteers went into the hallway. They would be assigned a task. The only clues we could give would be to cheer or boo. Like we used to play Hot and Cold when I was a kid. The instructor put a marker on top of one of the speakers. Locating the marker was Donna’s task. When she entered the room he told her she had a task. Nothing more. He said we would cheer or boo to indicate if she was making progress on completing the task. Donna located the marker on our cheers and boos alone in less than a minute and a half. Sue was given the same instruction when she came in. The only difference in our instruction was that we were only aloud to boo. That’s it. No cheering. Sue started out excited to meet the challenge, but after several minutes of constant booing even when she was close to accomplishing her task, she turned to the group threw up her hands and said “I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do?” I saw. I heard. That was me. That was my daughter. That was my son. I understood. I almost had to leave the room. I haven’t known what to do much of my life. I’ve always done the wrong thing because of it. No direction just floundering. A lifetime of knee jerk emotional reactions to the crap life has thrown at me has brought me to this. Thirty-nine years old, alone, uneducated with a potentially progressive chronic illness under this seemingly healthy exterior. The only thing I have left to do is ask, “What do you want me to do next?”
It would seem that I was the only one who had such an emotional reaction to this simple demonstration. I really didn’t learn anything that night that I don’t already know cognitively. It’s the difference between knowing that 8 is the answer to 4+4 and knowing how 8 is the answer. I sat through the rest of the class choking back the tears because I also understood the difference between my life now and my life a year ago. Encouragement and a bicycle. Nothing more. In some strange hocus pocus kind of way whenever I have received encouragement from someone about mountain biking it has transcended itself into every other area of my life. The basic principles of riding single track seem to apply everywhere. Another reason why my panties get in a bunch when my bike isn’t functioning properly. My bike and myself are on the injured list as I sit here typing. This is the story.
My friend Nate asked me if I wanted to go for a night ride. We meet at the trailhead at dusk. Donning our spelunking attire we head out on the first loop. That sensation that we are being watched creeps upon me. I dare to glance away from the trail and I can see their eyes glinting back at me. The boogey men of the single-track night. Shadows cast changing the trails terrain. Familiar but new at the same time. Like an old friend that you haven’t seen in years. After a few miles the comfort of the ride settles in. Eyes have adjusted to the darkness and we start chit chatting. Nate happens to mention someone that we both know. My attention wanders because of this as we descend upon the down hill root wall. Endo. Handlebar in chest. Face plant. Nate checks my teeth with his light. It’s all good. I get up and get back on my bike but my left foot won’t clip into the pedal. At the top of the hill we look at it. I’ve blown out the bottom of my sole. I was grateful that I wasn’t paralyzed and my teeth were still good but at that moment when I saw my cleat still clipped into my pedal and a hole in the bottom of my shoe I did a mental death spiral. In my imagination I had to sell my Ice Man entry because I don’t have any cold weather gear especially now that I can't afford new shoes and I’ll have to back out of school because there is no way I’ll be able to do any of this if I can’t ride my bike and I can’t ride my bike if my shoe is blown out and I can’t afford new shoes because I have to pay a speeding ticket and if I don’t pay my speeding ticket then I’ll lose my driving privileges and if I lose my driving privileges I’ll have to ride my bike that I can’t ride because the shoe is blown out so I’ll have to use flat pedals and that makes as much sense as getting back together with my ex-boyfriend and the thought of this makes me want to throw up.
Thank God for friends who are willing to extend a hand of encouragement into the pit and pull me out. Double D told me to go to the shop I bought them from. Trout Smith told me I would find away. Speedy reminded me of how good my life is. The Jode offered to give me a pair of her shoes. 1 Guy 1 Gear told me I have nice legs and Kristina told me I’d be back to work on Monday telling some phenomenal story equivalent to red dragonflies and owls and how God provided what I needed. Like wings their words carried me out of my despair to the land of milk and honey once again. My new shoes will be here by the end of the week and I don’t have to get back with my ex-boyfriend.
In the mean time I’m going crazy because I haven’t been on my bike. I broke down yesterday and had my friend Thomas put on the flat pedals. I was going to go to Yankee but I thought perhaps I should test them out first. It was exactly like I imagine getting back with my ex would be. A waste of time, energy and unexpectedly painful. Literally. I felt a pop in the sore spot on my chest where I impaled myself the other night. Ouch! My feet wouldn’t stay connected on the upstroke. They would bounce off at the slightest bump and I wondered how I ever survived without my pedals and shoes before. That got me thinking about my life before I was aware that God cares. I was once again reminded of the importance of staying connected with Him and the people He has brought into my life. This is how my bike talks to me. It's a language that I can understand. It reconnects my head with my heart, God Almighty, and to you, my encouragers who cheer me on toward the marker on the speaker. My salvation truly is a group effort.
That being said; both adjustment knobs are broken on my fork and if I can’t adjust my fork then I can’t……. Okay God, what do you want me to do next?
A lot has happened in the last 2 weeks. I’m terrified. Back in June I threw up my hands in regard to school and I said to God ”If this is the way you want me to go then you are going to have to make it evident because I’m deaf and blind and I don’t know what to do.” As a result it seems that all the roadblocks to school are frickin dissolving before my very eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter what the particular hindrance is. A caseworker that is not advocating, an inability to type, or not being able to afford gas, they’re all dissolving just the same. I was particularly focused on the next wave of present imaginary problems. Reliable transportation. To distract my self I went to a class at church. It was called Rhyming with Orange. The class is about sparking the creative thinking process, and the habits of creative thinking people. It doesn’t much matter what your creation or endeavor is. It could be art, writing, starting a business or developing the courage to bomb down a hill on single track in the dark. It’s about the process. We were taught about how our environment and community impact our ability to succeed. It’s important to be influenced by people who believe you can do it, whatever “it” is. Sitting there listening I received a message on how this impacts more than just the creative process. It impacts the heart.
The instructor held a demonstration. Two volunteers went into the hallway. They would be assigned a task. The only clues we could give would be to cheer or boo. Like we used to play Hot and Cold when I was a kid. The instructor put a marker on top of one of the speakers. Locating the marker was Donna’s task. When she entered the room he told her she had a task. Nothing more. He said we would cheer or boo to indicate if she was making progress on completing the task. Donna located the marker on our cheers and boos alone in less than a minute and a half. Sue was given the same instruction when she came in. The only difference in our instruction was that we were only aloud to boo. That’s it. No cheering. Sue started out excited to meet the challenge, but after several minutes of constant booing even when she was close to accomplishing her task, she turned to the group threw up her hands and said “I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do?” I saw. I heard. That was me. That was my daughter. That was my son. I understood. I almost had to leave the room. I haven’t known what to do much of my life. I’ve always done the wrong thing because of it. No direction just floundering. A lifetime of knee jerk emotional reactions to the crap life has thrown at me has brought me to this. Thirty-nine years old, alone, uneducated with a potentially progressive chronic illness under this seemingly healthy exterior. The only thing I have left to do is ask, “What do you want me to do next?”
It would seem that I was the only one who had such an emotional reaction to this simple demonstration. I really didn’t learn anything that night that I don’t already know cognitively. It’s the difference between knowing that 8 is the answer to 4+4 and knowing how 8 is the answer. I sat through the rest of the class choking back the tears because I also understood the difference between my life now and my life a year ago. Encouragement and a bicycle. Nothing more. In some strange hocus pocus kind of way whenever I have received encouragement from someone about mountain biking it has transcended itself into every other area of my life. The basic principles of riding single track seem to apply everywhere. Another reason why my panties get in a bunch when my bike isn’t functioning properly. My bike and myself are on the injured list as I sit here typing. This is the story.
My friend Nate asked me if I wanted to go for a night ride. We meet at the trailhead at dusk. Donning our spelunking attire we head out on the first loop. That sensation that we are being watched creeps upon me. I dare to glance away from the trail and I can see their eyes glinting back at me. The boogey men of the single-track night. Shadows cast changing the trails terrain. Familiar but new at the same time. Like an old friend that you haven’t seen in years. After a few miles the comfort of the ride settles in. Eyes have adjusted to the darkness and we start chit chatting. Nate happens to mention someone that we both know. My attention wanders because of this as we descend upon the down hill root wall. Endo. Handlebar in chest. Face plant. Nate checks my teeth with his light. It’s all good. I get up and get back on my bike but my left foot won’t clip into the pedal. At the top of the hill we look at it. I’ve blown out the bottom of my sole. I was grateful that I wasn’t paralyzed and my teeth were still good but at that moment when I saw my cleat still clipped into my pedal and a hole in the bottom of my shoe I did a mental death spiral. In my imagination I had to sell my Ice Man entry because I don’t have any cold weather gear especially now that I can't afford new shoes and I’ll have to back out of school because there is no way I’ll be able to do any of this if I can’t ride my bike and I can’t ride my bike if my shoe is blown out and I can’t afford new shoes because I have to pay a speeding ticket and if I don’t pay my speeding ticket then I’ll lose my driving privileges and if I lose my driving privileges I’ll have to ride my bike that I can’t ride because the shoe is blown out so I’ll have to use flat pedals and that makes as much sense as getting back together with my ex-boyfriend and the thought of this makes me want to throw up.
Thank God for friends who are willing to extend a hand of encouragement into the pit and pull me out. Double D told me to go to the shop I bought them from. Trout Smith told me I would find away. Speedy reminded me of how good my life is. The Jode offered to give me a pair of her shoes. 1 Guy 1 Gear told me I have nice legs and Kristina told me I’d be back to work on Monday telling some phenomenal story equivalent to red dragonflies and owls and how God provided what I needed. Like wings their words carried me out of my despair to the land of milk and honey once again. My new shoes will be here by the end of the week and I don’t have to get back with my ex-boyfriend.
In the mean time I’m going crazy because I haven’t been on my bike. I broke down yesterday and had my friend Thomas put on the flat pedals. I was going to go to Yankee but I thought perhaps I should test them out first. It was exactly like I imagine getting back with my ex would be. A waste of time, energy and unexpectedly painful. Literally. I felt a pop in the sore spot on my chest where I impaled myself the other night. Ouch! My feet wouldn’t stay connected on the upstroke. They would bounce off at the slightest bump and I wondered how I ever survived without my pedals and shoes before. That got me thinking about my life before I was aware that God cares. I was once again reminded of the importance of staying connected with Him and the people He has brought into my life. This is how my bike talks to me. It's a language that I can understand. It reconnects my head with my heart, God Almighty, and to you, my encouragers who cheer me on toward the marker on the speaker. My salvation truly is a group effort.
That being said; both adjustment knobs are broken on my fork and if I can’t adjust my fork then I can’t……. Okay God, what do you want me to do next?
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