Posts Tagged ‘Sanchez’

Scrolling Face

December 4, 2015

Crack is not going to write my blog.

Ugh.

I have just had a flat day.

The most exciting thing about today was riding to work in a down pour and saying  the serenity prayer on a loop in my head.

You know it’s gnarly weather when I get off my bike to cross the street on foot by the MUNI tracks, Sanchez and 17th.

They are the worst.

I have nightmares about them.

I got to work fine but it was stressful, the sound of the rain on the road and the woosh of the cars going by, getting soaked before being a quarter of the way there.

But I did get there and there is where I will be doing a lot of being.

Tomorrow that is.

It’s the mom’s birthday so I will be going in at my regular time and staying three hours past so that mom and dad can go out to dinner at Michael Minna.

Go dad.

I am going to take a car in.

I took a car home.

The dad paid for it.

And I felt weird because part of me just wanted to be on my bicycle and now how the hell am I going to get my bicycle back?

I’m riding back in to work on their dime, which is cool.

But I have my bike in the garage and it’s a little cluster fucked.

I could, I suppose, just leave it there the weekend.

I’m not going to be using it.

I’ll be on my scooter during the day Saturday and hopefully that night I will be hanging with a friend for sushi and Christmas tree hauling.

If he’s not sick.

Sick sucks.

Lot of folks been sick this flu season.

So far.

Knock on wood.

I have not.

Grateful for my health and the flu shot I got a month ago.

Anyway.

I figure, I wasn’t supposed to be on my bike coming home and it did throw a little snag in my evening’s plans, but I was happy to get a ride home–the rain has stopped but the streets are still wet and slick and it’s cold and dark.

Not the best times for riding a bicycle.

Despite working longer hours tomorrow I am super happy it’s Friday.

The week has gone by in a rather stretchy, long, nebulous way.

I think it’s because I have homework looming.

Probably.

And I miss my friend who’s been sick.

And the days are short and the night’s long.

It’s holidaze.

Although I do like the lights and the trees and the present wrapping and card writing.

I picked up my holiday stamps today while out running errands with the boys.

I have no idea why I like cards so much.

I’m a paper kind of gal.

There’s something about writing a card, wishing a sentiment, placing the stamp, putting it in the mailbox.

It’s special.

Even the boys, ages 3 and 5, know that it’s special to mail something off, they argue fiercely to get to be the helper who puts the cards in the post box.

And the oldest one is constantly folding paper and stapling it and drawing and now writing on it, making “books” and sealing envelopes.

Cards and letter writing is special.

All writing is special.

Plus.

There’s something about sending a card, I know how good I feel when I get one in the mail, I actually prolong opening personal mail until I am fully in the house and all my bags and sweatshirts and stuff are put away, lights are on candles lit, music playing.

I like ambiance you could say.

And then.

I open the envelope.

Savoring the feel of the paper.

The contents of the card.

Or note.

Or letter.

I know I am a tad old fashioned.

I can’t seem to help myself.

And I don’t think I want to change it now.

I remember being sad when the e-card phase was happening.

I don’t like getting a fabricated video card or a weird GIF with family members heads cut off and stuck on elves.

I would rather get something in the post.

Then.

When I get the card I string it up on a piece of curled green twine with a little bit of red ribbon and possibly a silver bell and hang the cards in cascades down the string.

They are a cheap and easy Christmas decoration and they make me feel good and special and loved.

Viscerally loved.

Perhaps that is why I love them so.

And the best cards.

I save.

I’m a little picky.

But that’s me.

Some I know are instantly going in the recycling after the holidays are past.

Some, however, go in a special stack and once in a while I will go through them and be filled with love for that person and their thoughts.

I am really blessed.

I have so much love in my life.

I am always taken care of.

See car ride home.

And even when the wrapping paper is not what I want it to be, the gifts always astound me.

So whatever I can bring.

Whatever small song of love I can send out into the world.

I will.

It just takes a moment.

Putting pen to paper.

Placing the Charlie Brown Holiday stamp in the top right corner.

Throwing some glitter in there.

It’s not Christmas without glitter.

Just sayin’.

And posting the cards up in the mail.

Not quite letters for Santa.

Or.

Romantic love letters.

But love nonetheless.

In letters bold and sweet and still swooping in my funny cursive across the red envelopes.

A Christmas wish for you.

Like bright chinaberries against the snow.

And the low light of the North star in the sky.

Helping to find your way home.

I wish you love.

Joy.

Happiness.

Prosperity.

Abundance.

And more.

Love.

Always yours.

Carmen.IMG_7440

 

 

Everybody’s Got Their Own Agenda

March 24, 2015

I heard her voice in my head as I shouted at the woman who passed me on the right and pushed me into traffic on the commute into work.

I had already had a few moments of uneasiness on my bicycle.

It rained last night.

Not a lot.

But enough.

The roads were slick this morning and as I was pedaling across Lincoln at 20th my back wheel slipped under me a moment.

I righted and breathed and continued forward, cautious, but aware.

Again the wheel slipped, just a touch, rounding a corner in the Pan Handle.

When it’s just damp enough to cause all the street oil to sluice up to the top of the pavement it feels scarier then when it is a full on down pour.

Slick roads are worse in my estimation than rain.

I thought about the rest of the commute and that I had time.

I always give myself ten minutes more than I need to get to work.

I like to get off my bike, stretch out my shoulders, wiggle out any kinks in my legs and drink some water.

I like to also have caught my breath and had a moment to get centered before entering the fray.

Monday’s especially can be a ruckus, especially after having two days with mom and dad, the charges are not always grateful to see me, despite having fun moments after I arrive.

Upon arrival I often hear a “no!” or “go away!” or the pitter patter of feet running to mom and dad.

That’s ok.

I’m used to it kid.

Sometimes I get the opposite response, but not always.

So, lots of time for me to travel my way cross town.

Monday’s are also a challenge for me as a bicycle commuter.

It is the one day of the week that I go into work early and as such I am in actual commuter traffic.

Not just car commuter and Google Bus commuter, but bicycle commuter, traffic.

I will forget, have forgotten, most other days that there are many, many, many more bicycles on the road then there used to be and also that four days of the week I am riding in to work outside of busy rush hour traffic.

Not so Mondays.

I generally am hitting the end of the rush, but I can get caught in it, or catch up to it, almost always on the Wiggle, sometimes in the Pan Handle if the lights are not in my favor.

I was doing alright after negotiating the Wiggle until I crossed Duboce and hopped onto Sanchez.

As I was crossing over Market headed toward 17th, a rider passed me on the right.

DON’T PASS ON THE RIGHT!

I yelled, startled.

Damn it lady.

You’re forcing me into traffic and riding in my blind spot.

Stupid lady.

I didn’t say bitch.

No.

I was annoyed though and thought about giving her a lecture on being polite to other bicyclists.

I mean, I pass cars all the time on the right, except when they are signaling a right turn, then I go around to the left.

Bicyclists and pedestrians, though, I always pass on the left.

And yes.

I am that annoying person who hollers out, “on your left.”

Sometimes I will whistle sharply if I think a person can’t hear me who may be crossing an intersection while looking at their phone screen.

But most of the time I pass on the left and I let you know that I am there.

It’s something I learned on training rides in 2010 when I rode in the Aids LifeCycle tour from San Francisco to Los Angeles.

I learned a lot on those rides.

How to fix a flat, how to carry momentum to get up a hill, how to ride clipless, how to ride a back to back, how to ride a Century (100 miles) what it felt like to bonk, what I needed to do to not bonk, how it felt riding Whites Hill in Marin the first time.

How it felt climbing Mount Tam and doing the Southern Hills Climb.

How saddle sores felt.

I happily will skip having that experience again.

I occasionally rue not having registered for the ride this year, I was thinking about it a lot, but I decide to apply to graduate school and go to Atlanta for the International Conference, and see my grandmother in Chula Vista and go to Burning Man.

That’s more than enough for my plate this year.

And I still have a few ideas up my sleeve for travel.

I learned a lot of courtesy on those rides and what it felt like when another rider did not extend the same courtesy to me.

Sometimes I can be an asshole and need to prove a point and I could feel that come up in me when I saw the woman on her bicycle stopped at the traffic light at Sanchez and 16th.

I wanted to lecture her.

I wanted to tell her how it’s done.

I know better though.

It’s not my place to tell another person how to live their life and I had a flash of a driver yelling out the window at me to “wear a fucking helmet!”

Which doesn’t do much from saving my startled self when I get screamed at.

Hey asshat, when you are so focused on the behavior of someone else you’re ignoring yourself.

Just saying.

So when I coasted in to a stop at 16th and Sanchez I held my tongue.

I looked at the woman.

She was oblivious.

She was not seeing me as I was straddling my bike waiting for the light to change.

She also was fiddling with her phone and had ear phones in, so the likelihood that she heard me holler about passing on the right was nil, and she wasn’t going to hear me and my “friendly” I know better bicycle protocol about passing on the right.

I paused.

And I brought my attention to the road ahead of me.

The trickiest part of the commute, especially when its slick, the turn at Sanchez onto 17th.

There’s a great bike lane on 17th, but turning left I have to cross two sets of MUNI train tracks at a parallel instead of simply cutting straight across.

It is far to easy too slip on them.

I have in the past, but never gone down.

I kept my counsel, the light changed.

The woman hadn’t seen the light change, she was a bit behind me.

I signalled a left turn.

I signalled that I was slowing down, that’s a flat open palm hanging down at a right angle waving back and forth (think of a reverse beauty pageant queen on a float waving).

Then I signalled that I was coming to a slow stop.

A squeezing in of my hand into a ball.

I turned left.

I crossed at a diagonal and made it completely over the tracks with no slippage, I turned my head, the woman was directly to my left, riding in between the train tracks, not even in the bicycle lane.

“It’s your life lady,” I thought to myself and then, out of no where, I should move over, she’s going to pass me and cut me off again at the light.

I could just feel it.

Except.

Well.

She wiped out on the tracks.

She went down.

Hard.

I am still not sure how I avoided hitting her.

She was passing me and her bicycle nearly toppled me, I weaved to the right, and rolled off my pedals, sliding my feet out of my foot retention straps (oh how do I love thee my Hold Fast straps) and squeezing slow and steady on my brake so I wouldn’t slip too.

It all happened in slow motion.

I can still see her right hand, fingers spread, reaching to catch her fall, I can see how if I hadn’t swerved just at that moment, how I would have rolled over her hand.

I shudder.

She broke her basket on her bike and bananas flew into the street.

A car drove over one and the smell of ripe banana wafted over the tracks and assaulted my nose.

“Are you ok?” I asked, stopping, looking back, “do you need help?”

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” she stood.

I watched her pick up her bicycle and shakily run her hands over her body.

“Are you sure?” I asked again.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said and waved me off.

The car that had rolled over the banana was stopped a few feet a head of me.

I rolled up on her.

“She ok?” The driver leaned out the window.

“Yeah, she’s ok,” I smiled.

The driver smiled.

“Whew.”

Be careful out there kids.

I was a little discombulated but so grateful that I hadn’t yelled at her.

That I kept my lecture to myself.

I am certain she learned what she needed.

That’s the thing.

We all learn exactly what we need when we need it and I can’t hurry any one’s process up.

Mine included.

I can be right.

Or.

I can be happy.

And today I was very happy to make it to work in one piece.

Very happy.


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