Life and How to Live It

Last weekend I was talking to someone who is at a crossroads. He was asking for advice on which path to take. Anyone who sees my car and my apartment would probably suggest this wandering soul look elsewhere for enlightenment.

The question brought back a conversation I had with Ms. Bella a while back. I don't recall what we were talking about other than the reasons for doing what you do. I'm sure I had some sort of duty to social justice in my head, and she said something along the lines of, "Or for passion." I remember thinking, "You do all of that work that you do, and you feel passionate?" I always thought that passion was super exciting and fun all of the time. I didn't think it involved emails and databases, mortgages and car payments. I knew for sure that it included riding bikes, and everyone's favorite: sex. Ms. Bella has got the passion, though. What a role model.

But there's so much more, isn't there?

I think I've figured it out, this living passionately thing. It's about choosing what you do, choosing to do it well, and cutting your losses once they're obvious.

One of my co-workers' daughters is very, very ill. He spent a half an hour explaining everything to us. She has a 10% chance of living a year, a lower chance of living until she's five. This guy lives more passionately than anyone I've ever met. There's so much love, joy, and excitement in him, and what's happening to him is unreal. And it is not fair. He talked about having to choose whether or not his baby should get chemo, or to just let her go. He talked about his suffering. And he finished with this, "I am luckier than most parents. I get to know how valuable my family is. I get to know what is important. This suffering has taught me how to live."

He blew my mind. We were crying for his pain, and then he made us feel better.

That's the ultimate in living passionately.

So, what advice did I give to the seeker?

Do what you love, show your children how to live passionately.

Don't live resentfully by working for only security.

Make life happen with as little compromise as you can.

How long do we really have, afterall?

Hmmmm....

On January 16 the tech guy emailed everyone to tell them the internet was down at work. We all got the email after the internet was back up.

Is it just me?

Commitophobia

Tired. work can do that. but only when you've been on three weeks of vacation, then, suddenly, life has structure again. It's the damn alarm that I can't get used to.

So, daily writing is a cool idea, but there are too many ideas in my head. Swirling around like crazy, none will be caught and developed.

Sitting leads to sleeping lately.

At least the bikes are getting the QT they deserve.

And old lost novels are being read.

Damn, life is good.

Turns out I'm a Tweener

I guess I always knew, in the back of my mind, but denial is so powerful. I think some of my friends have known for a while, they just wouldn't tell me - trying to save my feelings, I guess.

I faced it a couple of days ago. Too slow for the fast pack. Too skilled for the slow group. Bumming stuck behind a sketchy wheel while my braver, long-suffering pals zoom away, happy to sustain the hurt while they hug the wheel of a trustworthy ass in front of their face.

Thank God they caught us on the way back - finally, some of them were tired. Finally, I could ride in style for a while, smooth, close, and secure in the confidence of those who know themselves on their bike.

Can't blame the fast people, they've been working at it for a while, and their love is so pure. I am almost jealous enough to train a little, but, then, I know where my true love lies. Climbing up a hill with the pack, I saw a portion of the pavement raised by some geologic force. I shout, "Berm!" and rush to it. It's not as fun on the road bike, and no one else was excited like me. But it did make me lick my chops, my new toy that much closer to being built.


Hug wheels, or learn to fly?







So, I'm a roadie tweener. Life begins again in the dirt.

And yes - that's me! Sweet, eh?

When did I become the Hunchback?

Back in elementary school only one kid was taller than me - Kevin Connelley. Every picture day we'd line up in order of height, and there we were, in the same order. Kevin, then me. Yep, I'm smack dab in the middle of the top row in everyone of those class pictures. I wonder who Kevin married - do you think it was someone short, or someone tall, like me?

I don't know when I started to slouch, probably about the time I became a junior high school wall-flower. Not only was I tall, but I was big-boned. Not like Cartman. Like a woman. I never got to be small. I never got to wear dittos.

I hate to say it, but the bike has made it worse. I love to ride, but these days I feel like an ape still stuck in my drops long after I'm done with a ride. I think it's either less bike time in the work week, and more yoga, or I need to start shopping for my cane collection.

Ugly Curtains

I don't understand - how do ugly curtains make my apartment look better from the street?

I spent way too much over the holiday, and NOW my landlord wants me to get curtains. Okay - so I was using sheets because I'd rather build a new bike than buy pretty curtains. I have been accused of being an all-or-nothing gal before, and I guess my decision to put sheets up because I'm too busy buying bike parts to buy nice curtains, but I have to have nice curtains, so I hang sheets until I am willing to buy nice ones, reflects that observation.

So, my landlord takes matters into his own hands, and buys me UGLY curtains. Do they look better from the street? I guess that two sheets of gold separated by a vertical strip of light is superior to one blob of white cotton...

I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond to get some pretty curtains for my bedroom at least. I can't look at ugly curtains in there. Bed is way too important.

Doin' it for the ride

So many of my friends here in Nor Cal say, "I could never live in Texas." I think they see that giant red blob on an election map and get left coast blind. "I've heard Austin is cool, though," and it is. If it wasn't for the sweet mountain biking trails out here, I'd be moving to Austin. Here's why:

I'm spoiled by love and good cooking when I'm out there. My little niece and nephews say, "Auntie, me like you," (except the five year old whose education has taught him that I is the correct subject pronoun) a few times a day, and we wrestle on their trampoline. My dad takes me shopping like I'm not a grown woman with a salary, and lets me drive his sweet car. Both my sister and my stepmom are awesome cooks.

I could buy two whole houses with big yards out there for the price of a condo out here. At this point, I can only dream of having my own garage.

A man can go to church on Sunday and have lunch at a topless restaurant on Monday, all while carrying a concealed weapon. How free is that?

Road riding down the dog gauntlet of County Road 474 makes you faster. One of those freakin' dogs was still racing me at 25 mph. And they show you their sharp little canines while they chase you. And bark. Loud.

Drive-through Starbucks with employees on the intercom who say "Whoo whee, aren't you a brave one?" when you order the bran muffin, then sing to you before you drive up to the pick-up window only to find that he (she?) looks like Pat from Saturday Night Live when you get there.
True story. Go to the drive-through Starbucks in Temple, see for yourself.

Wide open spaces. Even in the mobile home parks there's lots of yard space around each double-wide. At first I was freaked out driving down the road with a lack of mountains holding me down on the earth, but when I got used to it, I really realized how the Bay Area is a land of sardine packed homes, many large with dinky yards.

Warnings, not speeding tickets. So, daddy's sweet car is so smooth, I didn't notice I was speeding. The State Troopers pulled me over, and I was so sure my California license would send the trooper into fits of throwing the book at the silly liberal (I've seen too many movies about the civil rights era, I guess). He ran my license, then had me sign a warning. I asked him what a warning was, and he said, "You just promised to drive more safely on our highways, ma'am." When was the last time the CHP did that for you?

And besides that, Austin feels like a cowboy's Santa Cruz. So mellow, and ever so Texas friendly. Healthy looking people, lesbian bookstores, fashionable people, a little blue-state paradise in the middle of red-ville.

I'm telling ya', if they only had the sweet mountains, I'd suffer through the 107 degree summer for these perks. But I lust for the sweet dirt of the Santa Cruz mountains. How did Superdownhill Girl stay away for so long? But, you notice, she's back.

Back in Cali

Just flew in from Tejas, and boy are my arms tired...hardee har har.

Stay tuned for more fantastic tales of wonder and amusement as I get my energy back up. Two weeks with the TWF (Toddler Wrestling Federation) has worn me out.

Ciao Bellas and Bellos!