Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Disintegration Loops and TUEs

A moment on the front porch eating oatmeal with my son and noticing water on the grass we'd planted:

Process:
Ripped the dry and hard earth open with a hoe and he digging with a little grandma hand rake,
Opened the bag of loam from Home Depot, sprinkled it with him trying to help and making it so hard,
Worked it again with the rake and ripping out old roots and bricks and old rubble, then
Opened the seed and sowed again with him trying to sow and making it spurt in clumps and then finally
Watered every day for three weeks until it sprouted and sits here now living with drops of water on it.

And I with a dime-sized scab on my palm from the blister.

This is what it means to stop being young: to find joy in growing perfect green grass. Not just a brief joy in the windshield passing at 60 joy. Joy that keeps me going for a while. Because I've downgraded my sense of what's owed.

A healthy boy and a healthy girl sleeping hopefully upstairs, watching grass I planted grow and with our bike all ready for us to ride together to school and work.

Will we see the lady with the bandaid on her face?

Will the firetrucks and ambulances be hidden in the firehouse?

Will the cormorants be on the water?

Will there be no one on the sidewalk where the tree roots have pushed up the concrete in two spots that nearly launch us into the air when taken at speed?

William Basinski's Disintegration Loops plays the whole while, having stopped playing yesterday when I shut down my computer, having stopped actually playing when the tapes shed their metal. Here I was (am still) hearing them.

Wiggins is busy explaining himself and in the manner of our Presidential nominees: emails, income tax returns, Kenacort, Benghazi, I did not have injections with that woman.

Oprah's connection with cycling runs beyond smacking down Lance--it looks like it was she who inspired the UCI's TUE policy: Who wants a TUE? You want a TUE? Everyone, get on in here and get your hellyeahbuterol injection!

It is a great privilege not to have to worry about the ethical and the legal when it comes to riding a bike, to try to be as good as possible given my life, and to try not to measure my worth with just results.

I don't have the world's biggest team pressing me. I don't have loads of cash riding on it. I don't have a knighthood and the possibility of inspiring a country that's so pissed off with itself that it ups and Brexits the table.

I've got a boy and a girl and a bowl of oatmeal and some grass I'm trying to grow to the point where I can mow it. I've got an Electra Townie for getting him to school and I can't stop trying to go faster and feeling bad when I can't.

The morning ride was magnificent. We didn't see the lady with the bandaid on her face and the cormorants but a garbage truck was loading garbage in the driveway of the firestation. And the two bumps in the sidewalk were thankfully free of bystanders so we took them at speed and whooping, playing on a loop in my head and I hope my son's, all day.