Arse 1000

Ok, it's actually the ARS 1000, but who am I to spoil a good joke.

That's the name of the seat on my brand new bike.

After hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers logged on my hyrid (including that effityeffpigdog 28km mountain at the end of day one of the Ride to Conquer Cancer), I felt that I had earned a road bike. The issue was finding one that fit a person with my lack of altitude. I was really, really wishing for a Giant Defy Advanced 3 (2?, 1?), but there were no x-smalls to be found and no date when I might be expect one to arrive. I tried a Cannondale Synapse, and a Cervelo S1. The problem there was the customer service at Bow Cycle. I know they're busy, but damn... their expectation was that I pay them for a bike that was uncomfortable to ride, and then they would make the changes that they felt would make the bike fit me. I was told that their techs didn't have the time to waste 5 hours making changes to a bike I hadn't purchased just so that it would fit me. Alright Bow Cycle.... see ya. Then I went to Calgary Cycle, and in three visits, I was able to get someone to acknowledge me once, and he was just too busy to help me (that's fair.. it happens). Then there was Cyclepath. I didn't bother going because IK and Mr. IK tried to buy a road and a mountain bike, but weren't able to get acknowledged by the staff. (Their money went to Bike Bros., who have absolutely fantastic customer service)

Meanwhile, I was losing sleep over the issue. I'll bet you're thinking that I'm just a tiny bit crazy overall; cuz really.. wasn't there a cruiser hanging from the living room wall? A TREK mountain bike in the shed? And, don't forget Mildred (she's my favorite; I must admit it). And don't I have a perfectly good Cannondale Quick Fem 4?

So here's the thing. August is really tough for me. I go some shade of crazy every August as I try to get through the anniversary of my son's death. Each and every year I am focused on something, trying to dampen the pain, and this year was entitled THE YEAR I HAD TO HAVE A NEW ROAD BIKE. (or I might die)

Finally, finally.. I walked into Speed Theory and there it was. A 2010 Argon18 Krypton in white, black and red. Full carbon. Light. Fast. From a Canadian company. Extra Small.

(And Bow Cycle? The guy at Speed Theory did make the changes he thought would be necessary. He watched me ride. He made adjustments. He spent some time with me. In exchange I gave him a lot of money)

I can't afford to pay attention, but I have my bike. And yes, it did help. She helped me climb the 2010 anniversary of losing my beloved HC. That's worth something.

This is a list

I'm going to be sad when I have to start riding in the light again. BFML bought me a new headlight, and it rocks the free world. I can see so clearly... I could actually read a discarded chocolate bar wrapper on the pathway. I could see what was a hole, and what was a bump, what was a rock and what was a leaf. I could see a ninja well before I was near her (her.. I knew it was a woman). She was walking away from me.

I have a new route, and it's calm; peaceful. I have more lights, everywhere. My Dollybird gave me wind pants, and fleece pants to go under them. She also gave me a wicking shirt, all of which I wore today. I was warm.

My new route gently runs downhill, so I get to cruise for approximately 15 blocks.

I stopped listening to my iPod, because it messes up the quiet.

I smell... leaves burning. Chicken dinners. A joint. The river. Coffee.

I see... the river in darkness, smoother and satiny. The interior of houses at dinner time. A dog with a florescent collar. The park, in pitch dark.

There are... no more skateboarders. Hardly any pedestrians. No black dogs on long leashes. No more rollerbladers. Not many cyclists. I'm almost never passed. I almost never have to pass.

There was no wind on the way home. Not even a breeze.

I thought the night was going to be my worst case scenario. With a little planning and a few changes, it turned into something really special... like that one rainy day that I rode through. Such a pleasant surprise.

Today a number of miracles happened to me.

Rose and Correna helped me at the shop. I was buried alive in yarn that had arrived, I needed to prepare/execute three orders, and the store was jam packed. With their help almost everything was handled.

I saw JSmoothie and Fiona. That was such an unexpected pleasure. Fiona isn't a toddler any more, that's for sure.

There's a middle miracle that isn't my story - so I'm dispensing with details. A friend, Leanne, became an answer to prayer.. she came with information, contacts and support. I don't have words to address how much it meant to me, and how much I needed her today.

When I got home today, BFML met me at the door to let me know that Genetics had called. I've been approved for genetic research regarding Long QT Syndrome. My DNA leaves for Italy this week. We'll hear something in 6 months to a year; to me that sounds fast, I've been waiting 7 years so far.

Sweet Jennifer donated to my Ride to Conquer Cancer fund.

And I safely road home in the dark.

There was lasagna.

There was knitting.

Dear Butterfly,

Dear bird, dear star.

If you came to me today, that would be good.

Mommy

Saving up

I have two favorite bloggers; one who writes on most weekdays, and the other who writes on days ending in 'every so often'. I adore them both for different reasons.

There was a time in my life when I wasn't consumed by knitting and spinning, but by reading. I spent quite a bit of my time alone, and that is how I chose to use my evenings and weekends. Overall I'd say I am quite well read (or.. at least I was; now I am quite well knitted). In my history as a reader, only one author ever wrote what I considered to be the perfect sentence. It was Truman Capote, and he described someone in a way that left a taste in my mouth; I purely and completely understood the character.

Sometimes The Enchanting Juno makes me feel the same way.

Backround information on this moment in time:

Currently girls aged 14, 13 and 12 live in our house. Enough said.
I have been sick since September, and only just realized I'm having a flareup.
I'm about to lose a job I have loved.
Another Christmas is around the corner, and my son, the angel, persists in not being tangible. His death has had me in a straight jacket for six years now (God forbid I ever get out of it, because uncontained I believe I could scream buildings into rubble).
I was in 80's recession, and the very word strikes fear into my heart.
Canadian politics.

Every Christmas, and every August I work up a head of steam while I try different ways to control my feelings. Something always comes along that triggers a release, and I re-discover the truth of being the mother of a dead child. The pain doesn't go away. Cramming it down, trying to ignore or reform it doesn't work; it will find it's way to the surface somehow. Twice each year the top blows off, and then I feel somewhat better and can buck the hell up....

This was my Christmas vent button. It was firmly pressed.

And this is a gem... It put me so firmly and completely in her moment that the red drained from the back of my eyes... became lavender. Make sense? I saw she had posted and I actually saved it up for 1/2 a day before I read it. I picked the perfect time, and she did not disappoint.

Perhaps now I can rest.

Booms

It was sad. But not all sad. It was Nini's first time, and she really, really, really liked all those 'booms'. She released Dida's balloon, and later Dida said that she might always let her do it, because it is so hard to let the balloon go. It brings everything back; the letting go. She said 'I can't get it back'.. and that is exactly right. Let that balloon go, and it begins it's journey no matter how you feel about it.

Here's a link to a few pictures.

To everyone who wrote, and sent flowers, and called, and who held me and my family tight.. and who understand that he remains deeply loved and dearly missed.. to you, thank you so much. You make this walk so much less lonely. And you make me feel.. sane. It's your strength that bolsters us, and lets us release the ribbon - knowing full well the symbolism, and that *he* can never come back. Hating to let go, but needing that kiss to make it to him the only way we know how.

And that's such a good thing. Thank you.

HC Ritter

Your heart stopped beating six years ago today, and part of mine went with you. I don't mind; you owned that part after all.

Tomorrow is your birthday. Your 6th. Only 6 years since my lips touched your cheek and I held you so close. Wishing. Hardly believing.

Never was there a boy so loved; though I didn't ever feel your breath against my neck. It doesn't matter, and it never will. When I lift my hands to my face, I can still feel you in them.. as small as a kitten. My son.

Tomorrow I'm going to the elementary school, and I'm going to send your balloon from there. You'd start grade one in a few short days, and I wish that I could hold your hand and take you in to meet your teacher. I wish so many things.

Instead, I'll send your birthday balloon with my kiss upon it. I'll watch it until it disappears. And I'll wish. As always.

Love,
Mommy
xoxoxo