Swing Ride

I wish all the time that I could go back in time to grab pictures from my life that I wish had been taken. I have these scenarios in my head - some of them memories, and others simply vignettes of life as I wish it had played itself out. One such photo that I'd loved to hold in my hand to pore over time and time again would be one of my grandma and me on her back porch swing, she cutting a ripe peach into slices for us both. Actually, it's not so much desiring the photo itself that I long for, but to go back to that moment as I remember it frozen in time - a summer afternoon like any other except for my memory of her and me swinging back and forth slowly and eating that peach one patient slice at a time as if life would last forever and there was nowhere we needed to be but right then and there to create that memory that would last me a lifetime.

It was a ride on a similar swing last evening that brought back the crystal clear memory of that moment from my childhood - no doubt from when I was even too young to be in school. I never ride in a wooden slat swing on chains without remembering Grandma and that peach and wishing that she and I could do it all over again. The older I get the more and more I wish I could go back to such simple times and places as those in which I grew up. As I find so often, the scenes I want to revisit aren't by any objective standard special. They're plain. Simple. Nobody except myself would understand what about them remains so precious years and years later, and sometimes, like right now, even I couldn't explain why they stand out as they do in my heart.

I was my grandma's favorite. I was her first grandchild. She never took me anywhere fantastic nor did I share with her even a single moment that anybody on the outside looking in might think of as something that would stand out as significant. Yet, my memories of the times I spent with her, doing the simplest of things, are among the best I have of growing up and becoming who I grew up to be.

I don't remember the email that ends with the end of somebody's life in which he exclaims right before checking out, "That was one hell of a ride," but I'd like to think that Grandma left us thinking just that. I hope she loved her life as much as she loved me and that the first thing she said to our God when she met Him face to face was, "Thank You," for having created her and given her the life she shared with all of us. If I were to clutch my chest at the end of this sentence and find myself on the other side of life, that's the first thing I'd say to Him for having blessed me with the life I've had - a life in which the memory of eating a single peach with somebody who loved me could stand out as something almost sacred.

For now, I'll keep riding for as long as He allows - on swings, on wheels, on life itself, and I'll keep making memories of being loved in the most simple of life's places and times. And at the end I'll want to make a photo album if He'll let me, on the other side. One that I can take to Him, sit on His lap and point to each of the pictures, and say, "Thank You for that, and that, and that!" If I'm really lucky, He'll slice us a peach, and grandma will be there too, and we'll all be on the neatest back porch swing ever made.

The last picture taken of grandma and me. Three months later she left us.

A Scooter Dream

I'd deny dreaming often except for the body of documented research that says that we all dream every night but simply don't remember most of our dreams. I suppose in my case that forgetting is a good thing because I can remember in lurid, horrifying detail some of the nightmares I had before I was even old enough to go to school. It's rare that I can awaken on any particular morning with any recollection of even a wisp of a dream, but this morning I came awake remembering quite a bit about a dream in which I was riding a scooter.

Now, remember, this is a dream so what I was riding wasn't just any scooter. It was an awesome one! It was the City of Wilkes-Barre's street cleaning scooter! The city, during waking hours, actually has those big white monstrosities that most municipalities have with the huge brushes (that seem to move street dirt around without actually picking it up) and operator's controls on both sides of the cab. At night, however, in scooter riders' dreams, the city brings out the cherry red monster scooters with single brushes beneath them, and last night it was my turn to clean the streets.

The scooter itself was enormous. Thank God I hadn't had to slow enough to had to have to put my feet down because I'd have gone over in a heartbeat. For scale purposes I doctored this image of my old Fly50 to show you the approximate size of the street cleaning scooter compared to the diminutive stance of its operator.

I distinctly recall someone in the dream calling out to me, "How did you learn to ride that?" as well as my response: "I started on a much smaller scooter, learned on that, and then worked my way up!" I remember riding for a while over the tree lawn near the river before making my way onto the street. At that point I woke up which was good because if I had looked for the switch to have started up that big brush under the scooter, well - I can't imagine that my balance would have been maintained much longer. One of my big clod hoppers would have had to have come down and disaster would have been right on its heels.

I rolled over and went back to sleep. Sometime between then and when my alarm went off I dropped by my deceased father-in-law's house for a beer at lunchtime on a work day. He waved to me as I made my way to his refrigerator for a cold one. He looked remarkably good for having been departed for five years.

A Little Rain Didn't Stop Me

I woke up to rain this morning. The forecast on Yahoo and the Doppler radar image from the local TV station promised more of it. I went riding anyway! After not having had the BV for a week it would have taken a deluge to have kept me in the house. Okay, so I only rode for an hour because there were groceries to get and put away, a tux to rent, two pans of lasagna to start, and a pot of chicken soup to get made, but ride I did! For the record, I usually stay off the bike when it's raining not because I'm wary of riding in it. I just don't like to be cold and wet.

As in the winter when there's a break from the snow and other slippery stuff and I can sneak out for a ride, today's excursion was extra good because of the involuntary hiatus while the bike was in the shop. I didn't go far nor to anywhere particularly exciting, but it felt darned good to be out and about on two wheels again!

There was a decided seasonable chill in the air and I enjoyed it. Though the leaves aren't quite changing en masse yet there were a few patches of early changers that delighted me. Strangely, the sight of the empty parking lot at one of the municipal parks that I frequently haunt in the summer filled me with a certain glee as it sunk in that Fall is surely just around the corner.

Tomorrow is part of family weekend at the college and the trip out to see the kid will take up most of the day so there won't be much riding. During the week, if I'm lucky, the weather will allow me to ride to school and back most days. Next weekend, I'll be on the road out west again. The weekend after, though, ought to be a good one for a longer trip - maybe my last one before the drear of pre-winter starts to visit. For not having gotten on a cycle till my late 40's I'll always feel like I have so much time to make up for. I'll take what I can get when I can!