The other shoe turned up. I spotted it out walking Wolf Dog about 100 yards east of here, in the alley behind a house under construction.

Hard to know what to do with this. Technically, no crime occurred, unless I can charge the guy with illegal dumping. Does EPA care what one does with old rubber thongs?

Maybe I should wear them about, just to see if anyone looks at me a little too long.

pre-father's day spoiled me. Tomorrow cannot top today, when Squinx prevailed on me to buy her a set of training wheels at Big Box. We had accepted a hand-me-down bicycle from a parishioner two weeks ago, and the only hitch was, no training wheels came with it. Squinx having just barely mastered the tricycle, we set the bike aside and figured it would be months before she'd be willing to mount it.

Peer pressure prevailed, however. A neighbor girl leads her family out cycling at least once a week, and although their name isn't Jones, the competition proved persuasive.

So this afternoon I got out the tools and set 'er up for the road. (Curiously, the bike was not metric. It felt strange and comforting to hold a 9/16 ratchet end-wrench again.)

With the seat at the right height, her only challenge was figuring out the pedals. Trikes are direct-drive: Once you get the forward and backward down, that's all there is to learn. Bicycles take a master's degree in locomotion, relatively speaking. There's that coaster brake, for one thing. Then there's the coast feature, a strange and probably unnerving sensation of neither input nor output, nor feedback. The pedals just hang there and the bike continues along on its mysterious, stored-up momentum.

I think that's when the relationship begins between man and machine. We put our labor into it, and it pays us back on demand. The trike, you just crank it and it goes. Stop, and it stops. But the bicycle remembers all your legwork, and saves it up to pay back when your muscles tire.

We pedaled halfway down the block, where new neighbors were moving in with four little girls age 10 months to 5½. Naturally, they had to show Squinx their hobbyhorse, even as their parents were struggling to cart things into the house. Squeeky invited them all to join the Village Women on the next sunny afternoon. This looks to be a long, pleasant summer.

We capped the day off by taking advantage of the 74º evening at the fire pit. I had a few pounds of piñon wood and no place to store it all summer, so we lit it off and toasted marshmallows. Squinx demonstrated a healthy respect for flames, refusing to light a match when I asked her for help with the kindling. "Maybe when I'm five," she answered, and I was reminded once again what a blessing we have in her mother, who spends all day exploring the world with her.

her italian godfather was supposed to fly in today, but when his plane got delayed four hours by weather we agreed that was too long to spend at an airport only three hours away by car. We'll try to make up the time next week.

Middle of June, and I feel as if spring has just begun here. Maybe it's all the rains. I'm just happy to be where and who I am today.

Posted by: Michael Rittenhouse at 07:49 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 574 words, total size 4 kb.