Friday, April 28, 2017

New wheels and such

Last Saturday, I attended our city's bicycle auction, sponsored by the local police department. It's amazing how many lost/stolen bikes they end up with in a given year. Hundreds of them! I have been riding my Craigslist bike for nearly a decade, so I decided it was time to see if I could get something a bit newer. I am not a daily rider or anything like that, so I didn't want to spend hundreds of dollars on a bike. Me so cheap.

I arrived at the fairgrounds just after 8 a.m. to register for the auction.  They give you an hour to look at the stuff (they also had surplus equipment and stuff like fishing poles and folding chairs). I made my way up and down rows of bikes. I kept thinking of that scene from Pee Wee's Big Adventure when he topples a whole row of motorcycles.  Whenever I saw a bike I might like, I added its number to a list I was keeping in my phone. Some of the bikes looked like they'd been run over by a semi, but there were some really nice ones, too. I had my eye on a powder blue Schwinn that appeared to be in perfect condition and another one with an aluminum frame that looked really nice, too. I also listed a few decent back-up selections.

When 9:00 rolled around, I climbed up to a spot on the bleachers. I picked a seat next to an adorable couple in hopes that they might chat with me during the long morning auction. They just seemed interesting, I guess.  They were the best dressed at the auction, that's for sure. What is it with gay men always looking cuter than the rest of us?

The first bike I wanted was number 197, so I had to sit there for an eternity first. They start with number 1, as you might imagine. Auctions are pretty entertaining, though. The auctioneer would rattle off some be-de-be-de stuff in his secret auctioneer language. When 197 (one of my back-ups) finally rolled around, I decided to hold off for 223 - the powder-blue Schwinn.  When that one hit the stage, I waited for the bidding to start and flung my auction bid card into the air. I was having a hard time following what was happening, but what I did discern was that some jackass was bidding against me.  I flung my number into the air a couple more times and then gave up when the bidding went over $100.00.  Up until that point, no bike had gone for more than around $20.  Just my luck.

The couple behind me bid high on a super fancy bike and got it.  Deep pockets on those gentlemen, I guess. Apparently they don't have a spoiled tween at home bleeding them dry. 

The aluminum-frame bike came up shortly thereafter.  Again, the bidding quickly escalated beyond what I was comfortable bidding.  The bikes are all "as is" so I was worried about spending a hundred bucks on a bike and then finding that it needs all new everything.

I climbed down from the stands and took another peek at the other bikes that had been on my list.  I decided they weren't worth waiting around for.  I was disappointed, but I left empty-handed.

Since I already had a bike rack attached to the back of my car, I thought I should take one more shot at getting my hands on a bike.  I ran a couple of errands and then stopped at a used sporting goods store. They had a couple of nice bikes that seemed like a good fit. I ended up choosing a Huffy that's in great condition. Plus, the seat was easy to adjust. A couple years ago, my husband went to the police auction and bought me a mountain bike. However, I've never been able to ride it because he wasn't able to raise the seat. Instead of casting a wider net to figure out a way to adjust the seat (I think it was just rusted in place), he ended up getting annoyed with me about the length of my legs instead. True love, that's what we have.

So, I am the proud owner of new-to-me wheels. My daughter got a new bike for Christmas and she and I are entered in a cycling event this summer. So, that was another reason why I wanted a new bike. So far I've only ridden it around the neighborhood, but I think I made a good decision.

Since Saturday was such a beautiful day, I decided to get Grover saddled up and take him to a recreation trail. We walked for several miles and had a great afternoon together. There were tons of people on the trail because the weather was so nice. Cyclists, walkers, and rollerbladers galore. Grover has decided that rollerbladers, collectively, can go suck an egg. He does not have any love for those shifty characters with wheels on their shoes.

Other than that, there hasn't been much going on lately. Tomorrow is the kid's birthday party. I think we are expected to worship her for the next week, at least (her birthday is on the 3rd). She asked for a Ukulele (which we are getting for her) and, um, a Macbook. You know, just in case we have $1300 sitting around and were hoping to part with it toute de suite. In other news, apparently I am still largely ineffective in my attempt to teach her highness how money works.

Sunday, April 9, 2017

11 and 11/12

I wrote this poem for a poetry service at church so I figured I may as well dump it here, too. It barely qualifies as a poem (more like prose), but what the heck.

11 and 11/12

“What is this?” I ask, plucking a shred of neon paper from the carpet in her bedroom.
She shrugs. She must have limber shoulders from all that shrugging, I think to myself.
“Wash your plate when you’re done with your dinner, please.” I deliver my request in a measured tone.
Later, I find that the plate has been washed but not the fork. I didn’t mention the fork, after all.
I gently inquire about some missing assignments for math and science classes.
In response, the eyes roll back so far that I sometimes wonder just how far they can go.
“I think you need a shower,” I suggest, delicately at first and then less delicately.
She agrees, but requires me to turn on the water and check the temperature for her.
For the next hour, she sings Adele songs into the showerhead and drains the city’s water reserves.

Adolescence, it seems, has replaced my Dora-watching cherub with a determined yet tentative almost-twelve-year-old.
Her face, framed by wild cascades of curls, is both the baby I cradled and the woman I will someday know.
She spends more and more time away from me now, at sleepovers and choir tours and such.
I give her some money and she’s off, never bringing me any change when she comes back.
Her burgeoning independence glistens like a newborn calf, leaving us both unsure of its boundaries.
The days are a blur of boys and classes, clubs and performances, friends that come and go.
Mascara and text messages. Tears shed over slights large and small. Jeans that cannot be worn if I picked them out.

But at night, I still must close her closet doors fully before she can go to sleep
The monster cannot open doors, you see.
I lean down to kiss her good-night and she throws her arms around my neck.
“I love you,Goober” I say.
“I love you more,” she responds.