Another Post in the Rain

 

 

 

We had a one day break from the rain, Sunday, so I put a new set of tires on the cruiser.  I've been riding on  a set of cheapies  that I bought just when the lockdowns and mask nazi's took over the world. Even bicycle tires were in short supply. The La Habra shop had no ballooners, so I went to another shop close by. All the customers, and employees wore the face diaper. I refused. I walked in there bare faced, and got the stink-eye from a few customers. This shop had some Brand X tires in the right size. I bought the tires and paid cash. I've put three hard years on those crappy tires, and they were close to worn out.  I popped for a new set of Schwalbe Fat Franks, and a new pair of thorn-proof tubes. The Fat Franks are, no surprise, fatter than the tires I replaced. Standard balloon is 26 x 2.125", the Franks are 26 x 1.35", and they hold 50 psi. 

Sunday morning it was cold, but dry so I got to work on the bike.  Once I had the bike flipped over, and the rear wheel off, I pulled the chain, and flushed the sand and grit out of the links.  I gave the old cruiser a good cleaning. It's amazing how much difference a good tire makes. The Fat Franks ride smooth as oil, and they roll like soft skateboard wheels. I took it out for fifteen miles in the cold afternoon. Bike rides sweet, and life is good.

 

I try to get a post up every Monday morning, but it's like having a job without a boss.  No one there to tell you you can't take a day off. Mostly I rely on updates on the stone projects, but it's been rainy, and cold, and I've made no progress on the stone. But more than that, the post I was working on was starting to sound like a whole lot of stuff I read on line these days: a long list of things that are going wrong, bad trends, and ever diminishing hope. The daily  tour through the bookmarks yields plenty of stuff to make me angry, scared, or depressed;  little, or nothing enlightening, or edifying.

 

The World.> Hell.> Handbasket.

 

I get it. The free floating sense of dismay is pretty hard to avoid. I'm sick of it. So I nuked the post, and now I'm starting over.

  I've tuned out the signal when it comes to news and current events.  More and more, I realize that much of my reason for going on line at all was to see what what was new at VanderLeun's site. Like most of the gang, I keep clicking over there. I want see what's up with everyone.  But it's over. Gerard is gone. No one else could do what he did, and do it so well. We who found our way into the community of commenters there at American Digest experienced something new in the world. We've been a part of something wonderful. But that something depended on the extraordinary effort, and breath taking talent of one gifted man. His time here has passed.

I'd love to come up with some incisive simile.

 

 It's like going to[....] but [....] is gone.

 

 But it's hard to make a comparison. The internet is, as I just mentioned, something (relatively) new in the world. There has never before been anything quite like a blog, or a blogger. What can compare to an internet host and his following of readers?

 

Anyway-

For right now I want to put my focus on the Good.

Life has been extraordinarily good to me; I have a lot to be grateful for. 

It's Wednesday, the first of March. I came awake about quarter to four this morning. The house was cold. We got wind and rain again. As I got out of bed, Buddy the Cat, and The Most Mysterious Skinamalink charged down the hall, and waited all howling, and meowling in the kitchen. The cats get their fish before I get to make coffee. Shows you who's boss around here. Buddy sits at my feet  while I wait in the living room for the coffee. I have to bend over to scratch his old head.

 The machine slurps and gurgles in the kitchen. Coffee is ready. Step out on the porch for a w&b in the cold wind, and rain. Back in to the smell of coffee in the warming kitchen. Stop on the way back to the den; give Mary's foot a squeeze. She stirs.

Settle into the futon. Snug with a comforter, and sixteen ounces of hot black coffee. Rain, and the wind chimes singing in the dark wet yard. Furnace whooshing warmth into the room. Skinnies hops up, and curls up purring in my lap. Consciousness floats on the hot  coffee, while the sativa opens up like a lotus flower blooming in my head. Halfway between worlds, freefalling into that cascade of thoughtdreaming... drifting into prayers for the morning.

 Making some plans on the day.

And the day begins with a sense of gratitude. I'm warm in my home. The cat is snug in my lap. After twenty three years of marriage I'm still in love with my wife. Our needs are well met, and we have a simple, sweet life together. The creative fire is still burning, and I'm eager to get back to work. I have the bike gang. We have good friends. Happiness is not measured by the number of zeros in the bank account. When it comes to the things that really matter we are wealthy.  So that's about it, for now. 

 

Next post I'm going to talk a little bit about the Red Bike. It's been with me for a while, now, and it has a story of its own.