You Are A Gem

“I just wanted to let you know that,” she said to me at the Crepevine as I was sitting and waiting for my meal to arrive.

“I mean, really, such a gem,” she came back to pat my hand and then added, “and so beautiful, you just look stunning.”

That’s so nice to hear.

Especially when I felt a bit blown out and tender and had been crying and well, of course I was wearing eyeliner, duh.

I didn’t have a bad day.

No.

It was challenging.

Lots happened.

Lots didn’t happen too.

When I reflect on the day, it was successful in its own way.

I did sleep in, a teeny, tiny bit.

I did slow down a bit.

I wrote a lot.

I rode my bike a bit.

Not my scooter at all.

Although I addressed it.

And for a moment, felt like I was getting slapped around by the Universe.

But really.

I saw it.

So clear.

It’s all God’s.

It’s God’s money, its God’s Vespa.

Apparently it’s God’s Vespa from Vietnam.

Oops.

“This, this, this,” he rattled them off at me, “Asia, Vietnam, yes, the engine is new, but it’s not Italian, it’s Indian, as in, from India.”

I teared up.

I couldn’t help it.

The side panel on the ground, the whipsaw denigration of my sweet, cute, sassy little ride.

Then being told to go dump it in the bay because it’s not worth anything and they didn’t want to touch it.

Well.

You could say that wasn’t the news I wanted to hear.

The owner of the shop saw my distress and took me back inside and offered me a soda or a cup of water and had me sit down on the bench in the store and his big English bulldog came over and leaned on me and let me scratch his ears, while listening to the various scenarios being played out for my scooter’s life.

None of which sounded all that great.

At one point I stopped him, touched his shoulder and said, “I need you to slow down, I don’t understand anything you are saying.”

Aside from the fact that my scooter was  piece of crap.

His words.

Poor little scooter.

Don’t take it personally.

I kept telling myself, there maybe something to be done, but it’s not happening now, I’m too upset, the owner’s mechanic refused to do anything to it, “nope, it’s a “Nammer, I’m not touching it.”

I am not my scooter.

Nor am I hurt, dead, owing of money to anyone.

I felt momentarily bowled over.

Oh, that’s for sure.

But.

The owner of the shop said, listen you know a lot of people, a lot of the same people he too knows, talk to your guys, ask for help, see what they say.  He agreed to keep it at the shop and see if there was anything they could do and I should “sleep on it” and call back on Wednesday or Thursday.

He even called the mechanic who had worked on it for my friend who sold it to me and got the story of the scooter.

I was at the shop for a good long while and pretty blasted by the end of the afternoon.

I text a friend in the neighborhood and walked over and had tea in the Mission.

On the way I saw a party happening at Public Works and an old acquaintance an old friend, a guy I had not seen in years, on the side-walk outside Public Works, making a phone call, smoking a cigarette.

I thought, oh my God, that’s ______________.

I almost waved to him.

Then I looked closer.

He did not look well.

Heavy.

Smoking.

Dissolute.

He looked like the bottom of a shoe that has been scraped on the side-walk outside the End Up and the all black wardrobe did not hide the beer gut and double chin.

Oh honey.

Problems?

Luxury problems.

I got no problems.

All is good in my hood.

I opted to not cross over or say hello, I breathed deep and sent him a big mental hug and instead continued up the street and went to my friend’s place for a hot cup of tea and a quick catch up.

Then over to the Inner Sunset to 7th and Irving to catch a brilliant stage adaptation of “The Hellgrammite Method” The New Twilight Zone, Season 3 (1988) written by William Selby and “Passage for a Trumpet” The Twilight Zone, Season 1 (1960) written by Rod Sterling.

On the way, I swung into Flax and let myself have an artist date, because retail therapy and art supplies go hand in hand.

I caught the N-Judah (bus, since the train line was being repaired) and reached out to some friends and asked for help, suggestions, ideas, I confirmed my coffee date with my friend who sold me the Vespa and I’ll get to see him tomorrow and see what he thinks too.

Ultimately.

I know that there is nothing wrong.

It’s just another experience to be had.

And if God doesn’t want me to have a Vespa, well, I have a bicycle.

And a wonderful cozy home.

A healthy, body.

Good friends who love me.

Sobriety.

Abstinence.

Love.

I really have all that I need.

And the sound track of some Chet Baker on the stereo.

Tomorrow is another day of adventures and what ever happens.

Really.

Truly.

I am absolutely ok with.

I’m not on the side-walk in the middle of the afternoon trying to score.

I’m not a homeless kid in the park with a stray dog and a skateboard.

I’m a beautiful, sober woman with a full amazing life, living in one of the most beautiful places on earth with friends and recovery and art and theater, with new French notebooks on my table, and wild, wonderful, pink hair.

Problems?

Not a one.

Perspective?

Galore.

Movement

Yes.

After a lot of internal struggle and a lot of writing.

A lot.

I am finally fixing my scooter.

I can’t tell you exactly what, fear, has taken me so long, but there it is.

It just has.

I prayed for acceptance, I’ve been in awareness now for sometime–it don’t work for me, it needs to be checked out, I don’t know how to fix it, maybe I’ll ask for help–to actual action.

And in the end.

It was easy.

I’ll be taking my Vespa over to Scooter Center this Saturday to have Barry Gwinn take a look at her, I told him who referred me and he just laughed, “you know a bunch of characters,” he said.

I do.

This was after he exhaustively grilled me on whether or not my Vespa had ever been in Vietnam or any part of Asia.

I didn’t understand at first, but after he continued with the questioning I realized that there was a faint ring of a bell somewhere in my head and I recalled that the market in the United States had been flooded with scooters from Vietnam and no scooter shop worth it’s chops will work on a scooter from there.

I had no idea, but I know the person who I bought it from and he had never mentioned it and out of the blue, I said I know what the problem is but the person who was working on it is no longer available.

I was getting the impression that Barry was thinking I’m a girl and don’t know what I’m dealing with.

And it’s true.

I don’t know how to fix my scooter, but I have friends who are scooter fan boys and they know their stuff.

I also told Barry that it had a new engine.

“Who put the new engine in it?” He asked.

“Christopher Ward,” I replied, “he’s done maintenance work on it, but isn’t available anymore and he recommended you.”

“Oh! Chris Ward, well then it’s definitely not from Vietnam,” he stated.

Glad to know.

I didn’t think it was.

Barry had wanted me to send him photographs to assure him it was not a Vietnam Vespa, but when he heard that Chris had done the engine he didn’t need more convincing.

Thank goodness.

We chatted a little more and he’s going to take a look at it on Saturday.

Then I walked through some more fear and called the scooter tow guy and what do you know, it’s not so bad, he quoted me $45 for anywhere in San Francisco.

The last quote I had gotten was $75, so that was a nice surprise.

The tow guy is going to come out to my house at 2p.m. on Saturday and take me and my Vespa to the Scooter Centre and I am finally going to get it dealt with.

Maybe it’s been all the soreness in my knees and the stretching and strengthening exercises I do every night when I get home from my bike ride (and may I say, they freaking hurt, my knees hurt, my hips hurt, my hamstrings hurt, but I can tell that the hip muscles are getting stronger and just a tiny bit more flexible) or the thought of graduate school looming on the horizon, but I finally got fed up with myself for being in financial fear.

I paid $2650 for the scooter.

And it’s just been collecting dust.

The scooter is actually worth more than the $2650 I paid for it, especially considering that my friend who sold it to me dropped a brand new engine into it, so I could be selling it for $3,000 or possibly more.

I think originally he spent close to $4,000 on it.

He cut me a deal.

He’s got a car and another Vespa and he’s a friend, so I got a break.

Then, of course, I almost broke my ankle on it.

And I’m sure that has something to do with it.

But I want to get back on the horse.

And if not on this Vespa, then at least fix her up, it’s a small issue to remedy, and pop the little dent out of the front fender and if I don’t ride her, sell her.

I’ve been thinking about a car.

Gasp.

Which I haven’t had in over 12 years.

I am jumping ahead of myself.

I think once the Vespa gets cleaned up and fixed I’ll be fine with it and I can have some get about with her on the weekends, take more of a break with my bicycle and see about riding it in to work occasionally.

My employers have enough room in their garage to fit a scooter.

And with Yoga Beach opening up a half block away from my house in a couple of weeks I could do some yoga in the time I would be doing my bicycle commute–keep stretching out my hips and strengthening them.

It certainly can’t hurt.

Restorative.

Anyway.

Jumping ahead.

Suffice to say.

I am just happy that I finally took some action, funny how small it really is, just a few phone calls, and now I am moving forward and getting it dealt with.

I don’t always understand my process and why it is the way it is, but I can see when I am balking and I didn’t want to be balking anymore.

Especially when I went out to the grocery store this past Sunday and saw a spider web on it–normally I come in through the garage and my scooter is parked in the foyer of the front of the house so I don’t see it every day.

That was it.

Last straw!

I wiped the dust of the seat and vowed I was going to take care of it.

I contacted my friend on Monday and asked for Chris Ward’s number and the guy that he recommends for tows and got both numbers today via text.

First up was Chris.

Who, as it turns out, has retired from hobbyist Vespa repairs.

He is too busy with his current job and referred me to Barry.

A call to Barry.

A call to Dave.

And voila!

It’s being taken care of.

And I have the resources to care for it.

There’s a little money left over in savings from after I bought my new laptop and I can afford to do this.

I’m excited at the prospect of getting back in the saddle and scooting around the city.

My legs could use a break.