Letters I wish I had it in me to write, part 2

Dear Trek bike person,

You made me laugh and laugh this afternoon! The final straw was when you told me you couldn’t take a look at my bike because it was (inadvertently) positioned under a birds’ nest and therefore likely to get blasted with baby bird diarrhea any minute. And when you told me that Mr. B and I should not call it quits – it showed how cool you yourself were. I’ll be ready someday, I know I will. Just not today.

Dear home of many decades,

In the end, no one thing has proved to be so stable and reliable in my life as you have. Each dark winter day I would come back and you’d be there – not preoccupied, not distant, not cold. There, every single day, reliably, waiting.

And so it is perhaps incomprehensible to some, to you, why it is that I have to leave you. I love you more than any thing in the world. Sometimes, for reasons that are complicated and convoluted, one has to focus on a future that is stark but sane. You cannot be part of my future. It in not my fault. Perhaps it is not anyone’s fault. It just is. Remember: no one will have loved you as much as I did, no one.

Dear computer,

If you die on me now I will be a beaten person. So pretend you are not old and ragged. My car is old and ragged. Much of my day feels old and ragged. But you, you are a mere babe. So act your age! I’m in no position to seek a replacement.

I'm wondering...

At what point do you tell your aging parent this: no more. You cannot continue to frown upon the life I live and the decisions I make. I will not listen anymore?

At what point do you look up and notice how good and kind friends are when you need them to be just decent (you are all that way! every one of you, temporarily or permanently out of state, emailers, dinner and/or walking companions, latte enablers – all!)?

At what point do you get a new, sexy bike helmet (I tell myself that, knowing damn well that no bike helmet is really sexy) even though you could maybe (though not certainly) get by with pounding out the dents and still strapping the old one under your chin?

At what point do you admit to your neighbors that, for reasons having to do with the soft warm air coming in from the outside and the harsh long week you’ve just had, you are drifting off to sleep, even though they are still there, in your house, engaged in a fantastically lively conversation?

At what point do you tell Oscar that his blog has been magnificent of late (while sitting and commiserating about how awful a latte is as compared to the real thing, on the other side of the ocean)?

At what point do you quit getting a charge out of spooking the neighborhood kids by showing them the extent of your hip bruise from the bike accident (they all get a thrill out of how extensive it is and I feel I am doing them a favor by shocking them into always wearing a helmet and being cautious out there on the roads)?

At what point do you hear the storm, open the patio door, stick your feet out into the rain and think: I can get through all this, really truly?

[the above? my past 24 hours in a nutshell.]

Stick with me and I guarantee at least one brush with death per day

A late afternoon at the Madison’s Memorial Union. So hot! Must be near 100. Friends decide to take out their pontoon boat. They motor over to the Hoofer’s Dock, nice, leisurely. Sandwiches, beer, snacks. The kind of hour where you get heavily engaged in the weighty issue of whether you’d prefer to be with a boring person or a smelly one. Amazingly, most choose boring.

Mmmmm, it isn’t hot anymore. Must be the cool lake breezes. No, not that. Must be the clouds. Wonder where they came from… Was so clear a minute ago.

Let’s roll over to the Governor’s Mansion. He is too pro environment. He is not! Is too! Is not! Why can’t we have Katherine Falk as governor?

Wouldn’t it be cool to swim to shore. [Here, Ocean author jumps overboard.]

Great water… A bit weedy. No bottom. Wonder why it says DANGER on those bobbin’ little numbers? No matter.. Feels wonderful, the temperature is just right. Captain of the boat is swimming as well.. All’s good here in the warm wetness of Lake Mendota. Kind of choppy in the water now. Hey captain? See that line of rain? It’s on the other side of the lake, not too far from us.

Back on board: Hey Captain? See those flashes of lightening? They’re hitting the lake. Hmmmm, not so pretty. [Ocean author wonders if she can take picture of lightening hitting lake for the blog. Ocean author fails to take picture of lightening hitting water.] Look at that! Red lights are flashing on the shore. Meaning: all boats must come in. No kidding! So, you’re scared? Nah… what are you going to do…

Hoofer types are on the dock waving pontoon boat away. Don’t dock here! Storm winds will blow the dock right into your boat! Go anchor at the cement one. Captain fearlessly ventures out into the storm to anchor at the cement one. Captain wonders if maybe leaving boat to the storm would be a good idea. Boat is insured. Captain is sick of boat and would not mind collecting the insurance money.

Storm’s coming! Bring up the chairs toward shelter. Ohh, from this perch it’s exciting! Bring it on! Hail, gusty winds – they’ll wipe the earth clean and dust off the cobwebs! Storm declines the invitation and decides to head north. Storms are that way – they taunt you and tease you out there where you’re vulnerable on the open waters and snub you when you make it safely to shore.

from the Union shore: a dazzling sun; the water tempts... 

from the Union shore: watching others sweat it out 

on the boat: those crazy hazy days of summer 

on the boat: united under unfriendly skies 

unfriendly waters whippin' around the frail wooden dock