not for its intended purpose

 I've "come out" as both a person in recovery from a substance-use disorder (holy crap; that post was eleven years ago) and as a person with a mental health disorder.

I do daily exercise, and, if I'm exercising in the house, I listen to podcasts. During the pandemic isolation, the Home Cooking podcast, from Samin Nosrat and Hrishikesh Hirway, was running (and they did two Thanksgiving episodes thereafter).

I'm never going to be much of a cook, but I treasured this podcast. I found Samin's voice, and her laugh, and the interaction between her and Hrishi, soothing and comforting.

I'd save up these episodes for particularly bad days. Much of my anxiety was work-related, so after I retired, I didn't need the soothing as much, and I had two episodes I hadn't listened to yet.

This week was pretty bad (I may do a post about that), and I played one of the remaining episodes today. It still worked as I remembered. My mind is better. And there's one more in the can, and I've still got all the other episodes I can replay, if I need.

Ms Nosrat will probably never know (or, likely, care) how helpful she's been. But this podcast saved me on some of my darkest days. 

I do a daily (well, more-or-less) discipline about remembering what to be grateful for and what I need to focus on each day. Today, this podcast is going on the gratitude column.

chance of dying

 A micromort is a unit of risk defined as a one-in-a-million chance of death.

According to this page, cycling 28 miles in a day incurs a risk of one micromort.

This page tells me that getting out of bed after age 45 incurs a risk of six micromorts. Going for a swim risks twelve; playing football (the American flavor, "handegg") risks 20.

You can keep your benighted high-viz-yellow cycling gear. Put that high-viz-yellow on your swim trunks and football jerseys. 

 

 

 

you got me

 So, two days after this post about my intolerance of right-wingers, this comes up in my feed:

Oh, crap. 

Well, I'll try.

somebody else is going to have to do that

 Earlier this morning, I saw this video by journalist Michelle Pollino. She had been unable to find work as a journalist in LA, and went to work for a right-wing outlet. In the interview, she mentioned that she had a female partner, and the interviewer said that he had a gay child.

In the video, she argues that people in what she calls "left wing" media* were also biased (for example, they apparently didn't want to hear facts that contradicted their world view), and that we should be open to the views of people with whom we disagree.

Except the people with whom I disagree want to eliminate people like her; refuse to admit they have valid lives; presume that they are grooming children to take up their lifestyle. They refuse to admit the humanity of some people, sometimes going so far as to call for their elimination -- or killing them outright.

Somebody else is going to have to be fair to these people with whom I so vehemently disagree. I don't have the stomach for it.

---

*I'm led to believe it's NPR. I will agree their editorial opinion leans left (it's certainly not "left wing" enough for me!); their reporting, however, is fact-based.

on affordable bikes

 On a recent ride, several of the Insane Bike Posse were discussing how many bikes we had. The range was pretty wide: one rider has, I think, nine (Edit: I've been informed the number is five). I was the low end; I have two: the Krakow Monster, my gravel/monstercross bike, with two-inch-wide tires, built on a heavy steel Surly Cross Check frame; and the Yellow Maserati, my titanium road bike.

Knowing about my love for mechanic work, and for the beautiful lugged-steel frames, my co-riders found this hard to believe, but it’s true: I don’t have any other bikes. (We’re not counting the road bike and the hybrid that my wife has; I don’t ride those.) So the next question was about my parts collection.

I thought I had about seven wheels that were not attached to bikes (I just checked; there are actually nine, and two rims that haven't been built up into wheels yet), along with:

• Two sets of cranks;
• Three pairs of pedals;
• Four sets of shifters, including a pair of lever shifters that can be used on downtube bosses or as bar ends;
• A set of road caliper brakes;
• At least one vee-brake (supposedly a rear, but vee-brakes are interchangeable front to rear);
• Two saddles;
• A seatpost;
• Three rear derailleurs;
• Two front derailleurs;
• And various and sundry accessories I’ve picked up here and there. As well as whatever stuff I’ve forgotten to list.

None of this includes the tubes, cable, and housing that I keep for my mechanic business.

The sense of the meeting was that these do not count as an additional bike, because there’s no frame to hang them on. But it did provide a way to start this post, which has been percolating for a long time (as you'll be able to tell by its inordinate length).

I’m friends with a rider who has a collection of bikes, mostly steel-framed, all Italian, all beautiful. They are lovely machines. I could probably afford a bike like that, but, given the limited space I have, I’m going to forgo owning one.

Other riders maintain their bikes, or collections, to have the lightest bikes, or the latest-and-greatest components (these are not always the same as the lightest!), or what the winningest pros ride. Or to have bikes for every different kind of riding they do, or ever might consider doing.

Those aren’t my interests. My bikes, and the parts I’ve collected, are really about bikes that are affordable – about a balance between cost and performance.

The titanium frame I got is a brand you’ve probably never heard of (the decals were ugly and started to wear off, so I removed ‘em). My first road bike was an aluminum Giant with a carbon-fiber fork. The fork got a scratch, and, in those days, carbon fiber had a reputation for “catastrophic failure”: breaking suddenly (often without warning), possibly causing injury to the rider. (The website at "busted carbon" hasn't been updated in more than a decade, but it was scary at the time...)

I replaced the fork with a steel fork…

...and then decided I could build up a bike myself, starting with the components from the aluminum bike, and swapping out the parts bit by bit until I had the bike I wanted. I found the titanium frame for less than $1000, with geometry and measurements I could deal with (I knew a lot less about bike frame geometry than I do now; I was lucky that the frame worked out for me as well as it did) (and the frame is still available for about $1400; some of the older model are still at the original price).

The groupset I used was a SRAM Rival set, on which I got a great price. After a few years, the shifting started getting dodgy, and I replaced it with the Gevenalle set I have now, which places modified downtube-lever shifters outside the brake levers. They’re light and inexpensive, and they also change to friction-shifting mode, which I’ve been using for a few years (and they have a few other advantages, about which I’ll happily bend your ear if you give me the slightest provocation).

I’ve also tried the Sensah Empire 2x11 groupset, a mechanical groupset from a Chinese manufacturer, which I’ll put on my wife’s bike the next time her shifters need adjusting.

All of these groupsets are reasonably-priced, and they all work well. Now I see that even lower-end components for the big groupset manufacturers are going to electronic shifting. I think this will raise the entry price for bicycling… and I hate that.

All those parts I listed above? They’re mostly things I’ve tried (like the Sensah Empire set), or things I have in stock in case replacement parts for the bikes I currently have become unavailable. (My favorite saddle was a Specialized Body Geometry that the stopped making. I wore out two of ‘em, and only replaced the last one when I fell in love with the Selle Anatomica’s that I have on both bikes now. And since manufacturers either go out of business, or change models, I have a spare Selle Anatomica saddle in the box. I hate it that bike stuff just disappears.)

I’ve got no interest in upgrading to disk brakes, or electronic shifting, because I don’t want to have to buy the new frame to hang them on, and I don’t think they’ll make me a better rider. To me, they are additional expense, without improvement for the kind of riding I do.

I’ve been on more than one ride on which electronic shifting has failed due to batteries not being charged. I enjoy complaining about that, but that’s not a real reason to avoid electronic shifting. After all, I’ve also been on rides where mechanical shifters have had problems – for example, when cables have parted. My real objection to electronic shifting is the additional cost, without (as far as I can see) substantial additional benefit.

And I really have no interest in a carbon-fiber frame. I’ve been in discussion with someone who crashed on one, and who is considering having it sent for x-ray to see if there’s unseen damage that may cause one of those catastrophic failures to which I alluded earlier. I had a pretty bad crash in 2015 on the titanium bike. There’s a dimple in one side of the top tube that’s the only remnant of that mishap; I expect that the only reason I’ll have to get rid of this bike is when I’m physically unable to get a leg over it. I’ve worked on a number of other carbon-fiber frames: two of them have wear at the chainstays as if the tire had worn off the paint layer and was cutting into the plastic that holds the carbon fibers in place. Tapping with a coin does not show weakness on those frames, but I’ve not seen anything similar on metal frames. And I’ve seen what appears to be clearcoat and paint flaking off an older carbon frame. On a metal frame, this is just cosmetic damage. Are we sure that’s the case with carbon fiber?

When I bought my titanium frame, the seller said my grandchildren would ride it. He was unaware of my childless condition, but the case is still made.

It helps, too, that I like doing the bike mechanics. I don’t do that just to keep the bikes affordable (not with the amount of money I have invested in bike tools, truing stand, bike stand, various and sundry chemicals…), but it does mean I can do things for myself in order not to have to buy new much of the time.

I wrote a post some time ago about continuing to ride a bike you love. If you have beautiful bikes, and love to ride them… I hope you ride them forever and are very happy with them. If you love the latest-and-greatest gadgetry, or the stuff that the most successful pro’s use, and you have the financial wherewithal to support those habits (and let’s face it: among the people with whom I ride, many do!), then enjoy them.

But I think cycling should be available and enjoyable to people who are not wealthy (as I am not wealthy). My bikes and equipment will be affordable, based on my interest, abilities, and cashflow.

I hope there continues to be a place for them.

Edit 1/1/23: I just found (again) a post I wrote eleven years ago on more-or-less the same topic; at the time I called it "bicycle cheapskate".

what tiktok thinks of me

 If you go by the stuff that comes up in my "For You" page, TikTok apparently thinks I'm a lesbian socialist.

They may be right.

christmas eve 2022 wigilia

 

My sister-in-law decided I needed these socks to make it official.

To my Polish in-laws, the big celebration of the season isn't Christmas Day, but Christmas Eve, Wigilia, the Christmas Vigil. We don't eat meat that day (because on that day, the animals spoke, and you don't eat entities with whom you might be in conversation), so the meal is full of fish, cheese, and other non-meat comestibles -- and that means my soon-to-be-niece-in-law, who's pescatarian, can eat without suspicion or concern (we made sure to have Goldfish Crackers, but drew the line at Swedish Fish).

This is the first one without my mother-in-law, who was undoubtedly La Grande Dame (or whatever the Polish equivalent is) of the celebrations. It fell to The Excellent Wife (TEW) and me to host (who am I kidding? She did virtually all of the work; I was merely scullery and sous-chef). 

At dinner:

After dinner, there's the singing of Christmas carols, some in English, and some in Polish. We've got a couple of books of kolendy, Polish Christmas carols. I can read music, and can hammer through the Polish pronunciation well enough to sing along (the Excellent Mother-In-Law never really believed I didn't know the words, and was SURE I knew what I was singing, despite my protestations of ignorance). And then the opening of presents, glorious chaos.

It's both a very late night for me (who's usually in bed by 9) and over too soon. TEW and I spent the late night doing the dishes and making sure there wouldn't be general rot in the kitchen by morning; this morning I've dispatched the good silver to its storage, and we're packing up the Christmas china.

We've done our presents, and we're planning a quiet day, with another good dinner courtesy of The Fresh Market or Whole Foods or somebody (sheesh, doncha think TEW did ENOUGH cooking yesterday?), and then to a few loads of laundry and putting the house back together. Domestic life is good. One doesn't need drama and excitement all the time.

a couple of random thoughts

 For the past several years (except for a break for the COVID-19 debacle), The Princeton Public Library and the McCarter Theater have co-sponsored an event where readers join to read the entire text of Dickens' A Christmas Carol aloud (link to the 2022 event). The Excellent Wife (TEW) and I have done it several times. I was honored to be chosen as the first reader this year; I got to declaim, "Marley was dead, to begin with," and to drive home the 19th-century jokes with which Dickens peppered his manuscript. (The entire event is a time commitment of about three hours, but the story really is a great one to have read to you. While we could not this year due to other commitments, TEW and I have stayed for the whole thing in the past, and the variety in quality of the readers is part of the experience - yes, there are some halting and inexperienced readers, but there are great ones, and wonderful accents from many of the voices that make up Central Jersey. But you're also welcome to drop in and leave whenever you'd like.)

And one of my own personal traditions is to read the whole of A Christmas Carol for myself every December, and it reminds me that it's time to start.

The person who read after me was TEW, and the woman after her had this wonderful Indian accent (Hindu? Gujarati?). I have not heard Dickens played on that orchestra before, and it was novel and delightful... but THAT reminded me of one of my pet peeves: actors being credited with the lines they deliver. Judy Garland delivered the line, "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore*," but it was said by character Dorothy Gale, and it was written by the screenwriters (Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson, and Edgar Allan Woolf**, or at least one of them).

Some actors are marvellously smart and verbal, and able to improvise (Devid Ogden Stiers apparently came up with the "...promises you don't intend to keep" line in the Disney Beauty and the Beast), and many others are clearly not. Those great quotes that you've been taking from movies are mostly written by uncredited writers, not the glamorous actors to whom you've been accrediting them.

I'll go back to Christmas Carol now. Cratchit, after all, needs to slide on the ice a few dozen times, and then run off to Camden Town to play Blind Man's Buff.

*NOT "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." Sheesh.

**How could a person with a name like that be anything OTHER than a writer?

coming out as a mental health client

 Trigger warning: discussions of mental health and suicidal thoughts below.

People who know me, know that I’m in substance abuse recovery. I don’t drink or do drugs, and haven’t for over forty years. I don’t keep that a secret.

I also need to “come out” on my mental health problems. I thought of waiting to do a reveal in Mental Health Awareness Month, but that’s not until May.

I’ve also had problems with suicidal thoughts. So I considered Suicide Awareness Month, but that’s September, so I missed it. There are reasons I don’t want to wait (some of those reasons are pure egotism, but there’s also some discomfort with trying to hold this stuff in), so I’m putting it out there now.

I’ve been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder by a psychiatrist who has the credentials to do so, and I’ve been on medications to manage it (the ones I used didn’t reduce the subjective feeling of anxiety much, but I’m still here, so they may have been effective in reducing the suicidal thoughts to a manageable level). Now, I’m fairly sure that some neurobiologist is gonna come along and tell me, “No, it’s impossible for things to work like that; the biology of your brain doesn’t allow that to be true.” But this is the way I think my anxiety disorder works:

To have an anxiety disorder flareup, I think you need two things:

• The event or condition that causes the anxiety, and

• The psychiatric condition that inflates the anxious feelings to an unmanageable level.

I suspect most people get some anxiety sometimes; things occur to cause worry in most lives. I don’t know what the subjective experience is like for others; I only know my own experience. Sometimes, the worry is not so bad for me; I am able to continue with my daily life without much dysfunction. Other times, when the disorder flares up, I have suicidal thoughts, pain in my thighs and the backs of my upper arms, insomnia, either poor appetite or overeating, diarrhea and (rarely) vomiting. I ruminate through the night and can’t sleep. (The worst time is often 2:00 or 3:00am, because I don’t feel like I can call anyone, and there are few things I can do at those times to distract myself or get help.)

But even when I don’t have the triggering event or condition that causes the anxiety, sometimes I think the “disorder” part manifests. I can feel a general sense of unease; I get anhedonia (nothing feels right or tastes right, or “sparks joy”); I have poor concentration; I have a hard time focusing on responsibilities, or even listening to what people I care about have to say.

I’ve been going through a bout of that recently.

Some of it has to do with my suicidal thoughts. Now, except for a short time one night a few months ago, I haven’t had a serious episode of the anxiety problem since I quit working (much of my anxiety problems are tied to either work or relationship issues luckily, the latter appear to be in good standing). Suicide screening is something I know something about (I was a mental health screener for a few years – ironic, right?). And when you’re screening for suicide, one of the things you ask about is whether the person has a plan, how close or easy to achieve that plan is, and whether the plan is likely to be fatal. For example, a person who says he or she wants to suicide by overdose, but doesn’t have the pills, and doesn’t know which pills are likely to actually be fatal, and hasn’t done any research into either question, actually has a comparatively low likelihood of suicide (although that doesn’t mean you don’t take the issue seriously). The person who intends to shoot himself (usually) or herself, and has the gun and ammunition, is a much more worrisome case.

When it was really bad, my plan was to jump off a bridge. The Morris and Donald Goodkind Bridges are the bridges that carry Route 1 over the Raritan River: the northbound bridge is named for Morris and the southbound for his son Donald. Morris has more-or-less convenient parking, and does not appear to have suicide-prevention fencing or other measures in place. That’s the bridge from which I was going to jump when I was in the worst of my anxiety.

I’m not in that anxiety anymore, and have no intention of pursuing suicide. But the plan doesn’t evaporate just because I no longer have the intention. So the answer to the question, “Do you have a plan?” is yes, and the plan is both proximate and likely to be fatal… which will make the inexperienced screener commit me. But the truth is, my life is good now, and I have no intention of suicide, which is why I’m still at large and not on unpleasant medications.

Further, most of the times I cross either Morris or David, I’m reminded that, while things were bad once upon a time, they are not so, now. Every crossing of those bridges is a reminder that I’ve successfully survived this long, even though, at times, it was not clear that I would. Every crossing is a little triumph.

And the reason I didn’t want to wait for months to post this stuff, is that I was fairly sure that writing and posting it would relieve some of the craziness I’ve been feeling – and it has worked; I’m much better for having this out there. I’m lucky in that I’m retired, and my livelihood would not be affected by my honesty about my mental health condition (and, having worked in mental health and substance abuse, I’m sure that even then, I had more flexibility than most in the workaday world, although even among my peers in that field, there is some stigma to having the same problems we treat in our clients). I know that not everybody can be as honest as this about a similar condition.

But I want to be “out” as a person who has suffered from mental health problems. It’s possible that my having been honest about this might be a disincentive for some people to seek help. But if it’s possible that my experience might get another person closer to getting the help they need… then isn’t it pretty much my responsibility to do it? Especially when I now have so little at stake?

vexing, but completely unimportant, problem

 I'm doing my best to be welcoming of LGBT&c. folks, transgender folks, nonbinary, and the like. I understand that gender and sex are different. I get that the world is just more complicated than some of us would like to think it is. (I won't say I'm good at, or comfortable with, this acceptance, but I'm doing the best I can.)

But my language hasn't caught up. I generally refer to associates, acquaintances, and friends, with the usage "honorific + last name": Mr White, Ms Black; when possible (and when I'm aware) Dr Blue, Professor Green, sometimes Counselor Brown, and so on.

But I don't know a non-gendered honorific, with widespread acceptance and comprehension, for a person who doesn't have a designation. I can refer to that person by first name (and am usually directed to do so), but first, it's unseemly (to me) to use first names in the occasional address of some people, and second, when I usually use the (to me) more formal "honorific + last name" construction, to call an individual by first name seems to imply a familiarity I do not want to project.

Sometimes I have tried the construction "Friend Grey", which also implies familiarity (I stole that from the Quakers, the Religious Society of Friends; some of their more staid members refer to everyone as "Friend Grey", in the belief that the single designation removes the hierarchy that the more formal titles convey [some Friends are deeply moved to treat all people as equals]). It's not ideal.

I could, of course, revert to calling people by first name. In modern America, it's the default. But I like the little distancing implied by the construction I use. I'm both socially inept, and somewhat snobbish and anachronistic (somewhat??!), so "honorific + last name" suits my desires.

It is, of course, likely of no importance to anyone but me. And I have more important things to which to attend (like actually treating people with acceptance and respect, including myself; I've got a huge portion of pretty privilege to manage, and one of the ways that works out is how my own aging - lines on the face, grey hair, my changing body - makes me uncomfortable allowing myself actions and attitudes that others appear to take for granted).

I need to think about this. (Or maybe, as one of my acquaintances has pointed out on other, similar issues, I'm already overthinking it.)

with the change in the weather...

 The weather has turned cooler with the arrival of autumn, which means I'm back to being that guy who puts on a blazer and bow tie to go to the grocery.

good closing speech

 Youtube recently fed me a video from Psychic Derailleur through my feed. I watched it and liked it, and watched another, and liked it, and another, and now I'm smitten.

He closes his videos with a little speech: "I hope something good happens to you today. Until next time, be nice; work hard; ride bikes; play music when you can."

I like it. I might steal it.

i'm sorry it's that complicated

 This came up in one of my feeds:

...The field that grew out of this posture argued that there was nothing simple or straightforward about the way we consume a text. It’s always a negotiation, always more complicated than anyone on the outside might assume.

The problem, then, is that some people don’t want things to be complicated. They don’t want to hear people talk about why they like things, because if they listen long enough, it will challenge neat understanding of things that are “good” and “bad” — especially when it comes to children, or teens, or women. Those groups of people aren’t often trusted to know themselves well enough to articulate why something matters. Or, when they do, we simply don’t believe them.

I'm resisting the urge here to be sarcastic about the need to listen to children, teens, and women, because, as a male white Anglo-Saxon (used to be) Protestant, people too often take me seriously when I sarcastically downplay the rights of anybody who's not white, Anglo-Saxon, and male. (I'm an out-of-the-closet atheist, so people generally know when I'm getting ironic about religious idiots [not all religious people are idiots]).

I have family members who want to get back to what they consider the good old days, when there were only two sexes, and when everybody knew their place. Well, I'm sorry the world is more complicated than you think it is. I'm sorry that what you thought was promised to you because of accidents of birth is not materializing. I'm sorry that people who once hid in the shadows, who once ate only your parents' castoffs, are now demanding rights.

The world has changed. Catch up, or be lost. If you try to hold on to the corpse of the dead past, you will be defiled.

I don't know the original citation of the quote; I got it here.

bringing back the justice jersey

 Years ago, I had this jersey made up. The template is no longer available.

About 18 months ago, I retired it, out of fear that riding with it might put fellow riders at risk.

I'm bringing it back, although I'm only going to wear it on solo rides.

In addition to voting and financial donations, we need to remind the racists, misogynists, xenophobes, and the rest of the kakistocracy that we will always resist them.

martha's vineyard 1

 The Excellent Wife (TEW) and I are just back from a week in Martha's Vineyard with a selection of FreeWheelers and spouses. I'm fairly sure these posts are going to run long, so I'm going to try to post them all at once so they read in the proper order, but I make no guarantees...

We arrived on Saturday June 12, and part of our number took a house on Samoset.

Pat VH hung the quilt on the porch; it was most helpful in finding the house for the first few days before I got my bearings!

This house was down the street. I remembered it from a previous trip, nine years ago. There's a Latin and a Greek motto on the house, but the owner apparently has a sense of humor: the Latin says, "Fancy Latin Saying". My Greek is pretty doggy, but I think the Greek motto is, "If you learn Greek, you learn this". (He's also got enough money to keep the house in excellent shape.)

Oak Bluffs was celebrating Gay Pride Month.

Those people were having FAR too much fun.

We all went out to dinner at a local place that night.

The next day, Sunday, rained early...

... and later, I led a ride to Menemsha, a less-resorty town.

Monday, Ira got bagels. Note: bagels in Martha's Vineyard are bagels for Protestants. It's not that they're bad... it's just that they're a different experience from bagels in the NY Metro area. 

Uhhh... there are a lot left over.

I've been trying to persuade TEW that bikes in the living room will make us feel like we're always on vacation. So far, she's not convinced, but I'll keep trying.

We took a ride to Edgartown, parts of which are far more upscale than our digs in Oak Bluffs*. Jaclyn P had heard that we were in town, and rode out to join us. Later, she and her husband joined us for dinner.

*Oak Bluffs had an inn where African-Americans could come and be safe and relaxed, starting at the end of the 19th Century. The beach around Oak Bluffs was derisively known as "Inkwell Beach", and many white visitors avoided it, preferring the southern and western areas of the island. There are still many African-American visitors at Oak Bluffs, and "Inkwell Beach" towels, sweatshirts, and the like are now sold and worn. I love it that the locals have taken this term of derision and made it their pride.

See the "earlier posts" below for the next post about the trip.

may reconnaissance ride

 

With nothing else planned to do today except for my usual late-afternoon-early-evening shift at the New Brunswick Bike Exchange, I got out on a ride today, partly to get some info. Stuff I learned:

• This route isn't 30 miles, either, although it's a lot closer than this one was.
• When the price is reasonable, I really like bib shorts. I got a pair free from a kind neighbor who got them as part of his business (and he didn't know what to do with 'em, but he knew they were bike-y and that I ride bicycles, and he's interested in maintaining good relations). I like those well enough to ask around and do some searches; I found pairs at (what I consider) reasonable prices from The Black Bibs and Baleaf. I suspect The Black Bibs has slightly more cachet than Baleaf (although neither is gonna mean anything to the All-Rapha-All-The-Time crowd), but the Baleaf shorts have the silicone thingummies in the pants cuffs to hold 'em in place; you can get a similar thing at The Black Bibs, but it's $20 more. When bib shorts were $90, I said no way, but now that they're less than half that, they're right up my alley. (The pad on the Baleaf is not to be sneezed at, either.)
• Porta-potty alert: the porta-potties are back at the Country Classics park on Amsterdam Drive, as well as one at the tennis court at the Amsterdam School on the same road. The toilets at the fields at the Mill Pond Soccer Field were unlocked today, and there is a porta-potty in an adjacent parking lot. So there are now options to the Veteran's Park Arboretum.
• While I'm doing my best to manage my fat-shaming, I am unrepentant about my old-shaming. I keep my jerseys zipped up (despite any heat - I was overdressed today) because nobody wants to look at my scrawny, grey-haired chest (I don't even put zippers in the jerseys I make for myself). I've been shaving my legs because it makes my grey-haired, scarred-up gams a little less awful. (I'm sure I've said it here before: there are looks that are cute in your twenties, and rebellious in your thirties, that are just weird and creepy in your sixties. We patronize a health-food store, and some of my male contemporaries who are customers still adopt the unkempt hippie look; every time I see one of these guys, I give myself another [shorter] haircut.) With a body that looks like mine, I keep it covered and trimmed; it's a public service.
• After getting rained on over the weekend, the front derailleur of the Yellow Maserati was hard-shifting. Now, a few years ago, I worked on a derailleur that had locked up due to grit in the system; it did not respond to mechanical force, but it did respond (well) to the application of penetrating oil. Over the past couple of days, I'd given the Yellow Maserati derailleur the penetrating-oil treatment, and it's responded nicely. Which led me to think: at the Bike Exchange, we get a number of toy-store bikes with twist-shifters on which the front derailleurs barely move. I've been thinking the problem was the cheap shifters (and they are cheap; it's clear the cables are not intended to be replaced), but now I wonder if an application of penetrating oil on the front derailleur pivot points might relieve the problem. It's a hypothesis I intend to test. Maybe I'll remember to post results, although I doubt any of my readers are that interested.

It was a pensive couple of hours.

feeling my age

 My mother-in-law is likely failing; she's not eating, not drinking much, refusing medication. She's in the hospital as we speak, and hospice-at-home services are being discussed.

In other news, I had a 67th birthday recently. For some reason, aging seems to have been more a factor in this one, partly because of the mother-in-law, and partly for other reasons. Years ago, I named my back pain "Jacob", after the biblical story in which Jacob wrestled with an angel; the angel "touched the socket of Jacob's hip", and thereafter "he was limping because of his hip". I can't say I was touched by an angel, but the pain does seem to center on one or the other of my hips (the side varies), and the intensity varies through the day: usually worst in the morning, and passing as I move around during the day. It responds well to the TENS unit, and sometimes a cane helps (I have a collection of canes, and you probably knew that I would).

SOME of youse are satisfied with the usual "S" curve of your spine, but I went for the extra lateral curve option, and my torso shifts to the right a few degrees, and that seems to be the cause of the pain. 

The pain's been worse recently. It's a reminder that this model is aging.

It's also become clear that for some younger folks of my acquaintance, I'm now in the "cute old man" (or sometimes, "inspirational old man") contingent. In the same way I look at certain octogenarians and say, "That's the kind of 80-year-old I wanna be", some are looking at me and are apparently saying, "That's the kind of retiree I wanna be". It's a mixed blessing: I like the attention (there are worse kinds of attention, and lack of attention may be the worst), but pedestals have limited real estate, and hurt when you fall off. 

Also, there are things that are attractive when you're in your twenties, and rebellious when you're in your thirties, that are just icky when you're in your sixties.

(Every now and then, I'll be out in public, and see a particularly unkempt old man [the hippie look doesn't age well on males]. I often come home from such and encounter, and give myself another haircut. The Excellent Wife [TEW] occasionally objects to how short my hair is getting.)

It's good to be alive... but it's probably also time to get out of the way of what's coming next.

abroad 3

 Third of three posts about our 25th anniversary trip to England/Scotland/Ireland/Wales:

Later on April 22, we went to the Glyndwr Vineyard in Wales. The vineyard was neat, but the real attraction was the owner and host, who was this absolutely bonkers upper-class Brit fellow. I hope I'm descended from the same stock as this guy.

Of course he has llamas on his vineyard. Why not?

Sheep, too.

He's who I want to be when I grow up.

April 23, last day of the tour. To Bath:

Before we left, Laura OLPH asked me to try to bring her back some Mint Imperials, a kind of candy apparently sold in Britain. I had looked throughout the trip, and not found any... but in Bath was a candy vendor who specialized in the old-style stuff. He had them! So I have a small supply to deliver to Laura, when next I see her.

Then to Stonehenge. 

We would never have made a special trip just to go to Stonehenge. But I found it moving (and still do); I'm glad we went. I'm about as un-spiritual as they come these days, but there was something I can't explain away about Stonehenge.

We had one more night in the hotel, and the plane was leaving late the next day, and the Tate Britain was an easy walk away. So:

John Singer Sargent. 

Edward Burne-Jones. I'd never heard of him, and wanted to remember him.

There was a special exhibition of fairy paintings.The Fairy-Feller's Master Stroke is perhaps the most famous:

And now we're back, dealing with real life. And now I've got these posts out of the way, and can go back to normal anxiety and unrealistic self-expectation.