rained out

 

We shoulda known it was chancy.

Tom H sent out an invitation for a few of us to go on a ride today, in hopes that the predicted rain would hold off, but the fog should have been a sign to us, Tom's Holy Kickstand (Calcestatus Sanctus) ritual notwithstanding:

 Or maybe Peter G's stop to re-seat a tire that was out of the track should have been a sign, or his flat a few miles later.

By that time, the rain had started and stopped a few times already, Initially, we felt lucky, and tried to carry on... but it soon became clear that our luck was being washed out, and we changed direction to cut out the end of the ride.

I wound up with a flat soon after the decision (in the fixing of which, I lost a newly-become-favorite tire tool*), and then, about three miles from the end, Martin G also had a flat. He decided, rather than changing the tire, to wait in the rain when I agreed to go back for him (the seats in my car have not yet dried).

We wound up with 36 miles of a planned 48. The dryer has been going all afternoon, and I'm running out of newsprint to soak up water from items that shouldn't go in the dryer. 

I'm sure it will make a great story some day.

*Yes, I'm getting another one. It really is that good.

not ready to write an obit

 My mother-in-law died yesterday.

This post will not be enough to serve as an obituary, but I wanted to write some of my feelings about her and about her passing.

I frequently referred to Danuta Baginska Brzek (whom I called Babci, as her grandchildren did) as The Excellent Mother-In-Law, on the model of referring to my wife as The Excellent Wife (TEW). But Babci was excellent to me in her own right.

I used to joke that part of the reason that she and I got along so well was that there was only enough common language between us for each to be polite to the other, but that's not really true, and doesn't tell much of the story. Babci always seemed happy to see me. I think she knew that TEW and I got along well, and that her daughter was generally happy with me, and that made Babci happy. She also liked that I would share with her what little of my life I could do, given the language barrier (like most Americans, I have only one language; Babci was fluent in Polish and could make herself understood in English until a stroke took much of that latter capability from her).

I make no secret of the fact that my relationship with my family of origin was problematic. That never seems to have been the case with Babci; she always treated me with positive regard. When my wife would jokingly complain to her about some mistreatment I had allegedly perpetrated, Babci's response to her was often, "So what did YOU do first?".

Babci loved it that we were able to go on foreign vacations. She loved it when we would get dressed up for Christmas and Easter, and as time went on, I would dress up a bit every time I planned to see her. She was grateful for the little chores and maintenance tasks I'd perform around her house, and (as is common with Polish hospitality), would make sure I was fed, sometimes to the point of immobility.

Babci was always a happy face and always made me welcome, as few people to whom I am related have done.

I've not spoken about her experiences as a child in a labor camp during the second World War. I've  not spoken about how she and her husband sent all four of their daughters to college. Or how, with (at most) a sixth-grade education between them, they wound up with several houses, even giving one away to a nephew when he came of age. I suppose her real obituary will include that stuff. That's not what this post is.

I will miss her.

more pictures from yesterday's ride

 Sophie T sent along some more pictures from yesterday's ride, including the obverse of that selfie of which I posted the reverse:

Too many pictures on this blog of that guy, above.

Below, the selfie in question:

among the consolations of retirement

 In my last post, I was complaining about being old, and being thought of as old (which are different things). When today broke with sunshine, The Excellent Wife (TEW) hinted (HAH!) that I might benefit from a ride with The Old Guys... so off I went to Byron Johnson Park to tag along with Bill B's ride.

Although the sun was out when I left the house, clouds prevailed for most of the ride, and I was slightly underdressed (the excellent Martin G got this, with me on the right).

That's a Bristol-Myers-Squibb jersey, part of a haul with which a neighbor gifted me (three long-sleeve jerseys, those bib shorts, and some other stuff). The kit is far better quality than I would ever buy for myself, and I wear it unapologetically, despite not having done the advertised ride. But another layer would have been a good idea.

Bill did this route. I mostly behaved myself, and rode with him until the break, allowing the faster folks to go off the front.

At the stop:

After the stop, however, Martin, Sophie, Jen A, and I let excitement get the better of us, and sped off ahead of the group. I was the first to flag... Chris C came up behind, and we rolled along until we came up on Martin replacing a tube. He was replacing the tube by himself, which is unheard of on FreeWheeler rides.

Dave G rolled up...

... and I couldn't resist this of Sophie & Jen getting a selfie. This picture makes me smile.

At the parking lot at then end, I gave out a few of the too-many business cards I've had printed up about my Ramblin' Wrench bicycle maintenance venture. Hint, hint.

TEW, and everybody else who told me I needed to get a ride in, was right. I'm better. The stuff I wrote in my last post is still true, but it's not the only truth.

Life is good.

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.