Turning Point

I kinda lost myself (physical animal-wise) after my knee surgery. It didn’t help matters none that my entire life fell apart at pretty much the same time.

I tried to embrace cycling as an alternative to distance running. After all, I had been an avid cyclist in my youth. In fact, I was in my mid-thirties when I hand built a road racing bicycle sized to fit my peculiar geometry. I explored great lengths of asphalt in those days.

With marriage and a move back to a crowded urban environment, I lost my zest for cycling (a near fatal motorcycle accident cooled my ardor for two-wheeled locomotion in general). I became a distance runner. The road bike gathered dust. Lots of dust.

Fast forward two decades.

Marriage and knees shattered, I moved back to the land of corn and beans. It was the opportune time and place to saddle up. I tried. The road bike was a bit too much to handle, so I purchased a mild-mannered hybrid bike (yep, the one pictured). It’s admirably well-suited for my purposes. Unfortunately, my body no longer is.

While it’s true that one never forgets how to ride a bike, I can attest that one can certainly forget how to ride competently and safely. I had lost the knack. I was a terror to unsuspecting motorists and a mortal threat to myself. It didn’t help any that my hip is so corroded that mounting/dismounting that cleated-pedal bike constitutes a never-ending dramedy (ending, often enough, with me sprawled on pavement). In short, my forays on back roads weren’t exactly the serene life-enriching experiences I had hoped they’d be. And my butt hurt.

But what choice do we have as we age, except to ignore the suckage and forge ahead regardless?

And I came to discover (about one hour into my ride yesterday afternoon) that I had come to love these haphazard road adventures. It was a slow dawning.

My jaunts had been growing in time and distance. My pace has quickened. I sport the curious suntan of a cyclist (and, yes, I revel in my dark-bronze knees). My bike handling skills have improved to “barely competent,” a big step up from “WATCH OUT!”

Yesterday’s ride was the longest of the summer. I’m not exactly sure when I passed the point of no return and fell in love with the sport (again). I’m pretty sure it wasn’t moments after I inhaled that bug. But then there was the lemon-drop flash of a goldfinch. And I fell into a fugue about how satisfying the “plop” of a plump bullfrog flopping into one fulgent world from another. Then there was that pale yellow butterfly that danced in the back draft inches from my right shoulder. He/she/it kept me company for nearly half a mile. It was good for me. Was it good for the butterfly?

Well, to get back on point, I came home eager to ride again and again.

* * *

Time Stand Still

Last night, I joined my keyboardist (we began rocking in high school and never quite stopped), along with his wife and son, to see Rush in concert. I’ll admit I’m not much of a Rush fan but this prog rock power trio has certainly mastered its chops.

I mean...bless him...that’s Neil Peart on the drums...!

The venue remains one of my favorites: The Charter One Pavilion on Northerly Island. It’s an intimate outdoor concert space located mere yards from the lapping Lake Michigan shore in downtown Chicago. It was a winsome late summer night and the city shimmered. The second song to regale my ears was the only Rush tune I truly love (and have for decades): “Time Stand Still”

It was...perfect.

I turn my back to the wind
To catch my breath before I start off again
Driven on without a moment to spend
To pass an evening with a drink and a friend

I let my skin get too thin, I'd like to pause
No matter what I pretend
Like some pilgrim who learns to transcend
Learns to live as if each step was the end

(Time stand still)
I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
(Time stand still)
See more of the people and the places that surround me now
Time stand still

Freeze this moment a little bit longer
Make each sensation a little bit stronger
Experience slips away
Experience slips away
Time stand still

I turn my face to the sun
Close my eyes
Let my defenses down
All those wounds that I can't get unwound

I let my past go too fast, no time to pause
If I could slow it all down
Like some captain, whose ship runs aground
I can wait until the tide comes around

(Time stand still)
I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
(Time stand still)
See more of the people and the places that surround me now

Freeze this moment a little bit longer
Make each sensation a little bit stronger
Make each impression a little bit stronger
Freeze this motion a little bit longer

(The innocence slips away)
(The innocence slips away)
Time stand still
Time stand still

I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
See more of the people and the places that surround me now
Time stand still

Summer's going fast, nights growing colder
Children growing up, old friends growing older
Freeze this motion a little bit longer
Make each sensation a little bit stronger

Experience slips away
Experience slips away
The innocence slips away

* * *

Whap!

* * *

Matters of the Heart

I continue to be consumed by matters of the heart. Nothing “news-shattering” about that. I know no other way. But the specifics vary greatly from year to year.

I’ve come a long way in both heartache and joy since Christmas.

My (ex) mother-in-law suffered a grievous stroke in December. I’m hard-pressed to distill what that meant to me personally. Let’s just say I cascaded into deep depression for a great many reasons.

Had the story ended there, my Mother’s stroke, my emotional disintegration...well...there’d be little left to contemplate. But the story didn’t end the day my mother-in-law suffered her stroke.

Eight months have passed since the tragedy. And over the course of those eight months? My (ex) brother and sister-in-law came to my rescue. That, in itself, was not surprising. Loving hearts do what loving hearts do. What surprised me were the “outcomes.”

Months passed as I deteriorated. My “in-laws” took note. There were conversations. Notes passed back and forth. Then came acts of kindness. Then came the day when my (ex) brother-in-law (in truth, my Brother) asked if I’d like to visit “Mom.”

Yes, oh, Yes! Though trepidation cast a long shadow. I truly don’t know how I would have fared had I been met with reproach or disdain. Either reaction was possible in light of a failed marriage.

Still...

I was granted the opportunity to visit a beloved soul.

So I bought a bouquet of beauteous fleurs and traipsed behind my Brother-in-Law as we advanced up the steps to the door. I lagged behind as he rang the doorbell. Blood pounded my brain as we entered...as I tiptoed towards her...and thrust the flowers into her lap, stammering “I love you.”

I was met with a smile.

I felt healing within me.

I can’t express what it means to me to have felt both the pain and the healing.

But the story continues...

My Brother called to tell me he and my “Sister” were going on vacation. No one would be available to visit with Mom. “A good time to visit,” he opined.

So visit I did. Alone. With flowers, again, in hand. And I sat beside her for longer than I had anticipated. I tried to make her smile. Bring comfort. I wanted her to know that she is loved (even be it from a miscreant).

Through it all, because of all, I felt sanctified.

But the story continues...

Yes, indeed, there’s a whole lot more to this story. All I need are the words...

* * *

Feline Ways

Cats, when confronted by movement, resort to tried and proven ways: swat it down and stop it.

A case in point:



I, myself, have adopted sundry feline attributes. Many are the days when I try to whap old Kronos upside the head, screaming: “STOP!!!”

Hasn’t worked for me either.

Kronos laughs

* * *