Another beautiful day dawns sunny and bright. Last night I had promised my daughter I would not set foot inside my sewing room, devoting my time to her alone. This proves harder than I’d thought; but I keep not only my body but my mind sew-abstinent, as promised.
After taking my son to school my daughter is given the choice of where to go for our date; she picks, not surprisingly, our favorite diner. It’s busier than usual at 1 PM. For my help in running delivery and ringing out a few customers I am comped a delicious lunch: a beer-baked brat, potato skins, bacon and avo salad, mocha breve; my daughter a hot dog and watermelon Italian soda. Delicious, but a little filling considering I am getting on the bike right now to go across town.
Back home and geared up on our two wheels to pick up Nels. I am traveling against a headwind which does not feel nice, but I am consoled knowing I will have its help on the way back. (Note: if you take too much time in Aberdeen, the wind can switch directions on Cherry so you’re battling it both ways. My dad used to do a run on this backroad and testified to the switching).
Halfway down the strip another biking mama and intersect. She has a cute outerwear coat, a girlie bike with plastic basket and a trailer that doesn’t look secondhand. She smiles and says, “Hey!” in that way that tells me she thinks I’m someone else (isn’t it amazing how we can read tone and body language?). No; we don’t know one another, and the mistake passes with a good-natured laugh. But as we pass I introduce myself and ask for her name. There are, I don’t know, five of us in the bike “scene” around here. So I have secured more info in order to stalk her (first stop: Terry’s).
In order to be warm enough on the trip I have to put enough layers on I end up unhappily sweaty – there’s something about having a cold face and hands and hot neck and body that does not appeal. I have forseen this event so have also donned an absorbent cotton bra, etc, so I can strip the layers off when I get home. After picking up the kids (and talking chicknz with another mama) I take my kids to the park and try not to puke watching them on the merry-go-round (I have been prone to motion sickness ever since conceiving children, funnily enough).
My little bike contraption still gets a lot of looks. And mostly smiles and compliments. Sophie does me the honor of hopping off at the hill and jogging alongside, much to my amusement. I love time alone with her; it brings out the best in both of us. As we pass the alley behind the tobacconist’s she pipes up with, “Well there’s a beautiful couch!”, indicating a forlorn piece of furniture stacked up on a decrepit washing machine, out in a back yard. “There’s one cushion missing,” she adds, lest I should become swept up in envious desire.