Dead Mom Week

Let's not beat around the bush.  It's not my style.  I've been getting crankier and crankier over the past several weeks and it's not hard to figure out why.  If I was too dense to figure it out, then mom is invading my dreams almost nightly just to make sure I get it. 

I get it.  For those you just joining us--Thursday is the day she stopped breathing (and could've gone peacefully in her sleep, but that's another rant).  Friday is the day we unplugged her and the doctor said, "It'll probably only be an hour or two once we turn off the fluids (that were keeping her blood pressure up)."  She didn't know my mom so she can't be blamed for giving us false information.  And today--well, that's when nature won out over sheer stubbornness and she slipped out on us.  But oh boy, not without a fight.

The check in calls and emails are starting to trickle in. Only one was direct.  Most are shy, unobtrusive, hesitant. Should I say something? Should I not say something?  That's up to you. I can tell you that the pain will be there either way and I'm a pretty direct girl.  Can't hurt, might help.  I probably won't answer the phone anyway. I'm just glad I didn't break down in writing class this week, that would be awkward.  It's not like someone wrote a story about their mom either.  It's just dead mom week.  It's supposed to suck.

On the good news front, her house (I continue to think of, and refer to it as 'mom's house' is FINALLY clean.  I got the dressersthatwouldn'tdie_(TM) out of there last weekend and the cleaners came on Tuesday.  They were supposed to come last Tuesday but A) they were 40 minutes late and B) there was no hot water because I forgot we had turned off the tank and in fact, the pilot light had gone out.  So they rescheduled me without a penalty charge (I would've had thrown a fit--how 'bout I charge them $35 for making me late to class?).  And we tried again this week.  This time they showed up at my house as I was leaving to meet them. Luckily they were running a little early this time and I was running a little late.  I had them follow me over and left them to it.  It took six hours, instead of the four they told me and I had to leave drawing class to go pay them, but it was done.  Clean. Smelled like a house someone might want to live in, instead of a sad museum.

I've been feeling better the last couple of days, oddly.  Could be the biking (and getting used to biking again, cause I've been exhausted for the past two weeks).  Could be the yoga, or the sun.  At any rate, there's plenty to keep me busy and I've decided I'm not just going to sit around all weekend thinkingaboutwhatIwasdoingthistimelastyear.  I got a call from an aunt who said she's spending the day celebrating--reading, reading to kids, dancing.  Sounds like the way to go.

If you call today, don't be surprised if I don't answer.  I'll be on my bike.

Ride for a Fallen Comrade

Image from Jonathan Maus

Having no obligations today other than taking Chuck to the airport this morning, I came home and indulged in taped episodes of Heroes and Battlestar Galactica. By the time I was done with that, I was well on my way to wasting what could be the last sunny day until May.

That combined with the news of yet another cyclist getting picked off by a right hook from a truck yesterday spurred me into action. I threw on my team kit, pumped up the roadie tires and headed out on a one woman memorial ride. I went where I always go when I need to pedal out some pain--Rocky Butte. It doesn't take much hill to leave me panting and Rocky Butte always does the trick.

On the way I thought about the latest crash victim, Brett Jarolimek. He worked at the Bike Gallery and was well known in the racing community and the bike comunity at large. He competed in the cross race we went to watch on Sunday. I didn't know him and never met him but I'm all too aware whenever I throw a leg over my saddle, I could very well be him. I ride down Interstate all the time. I know how crappily the lights are timed and how narrow the bike lane gets just when your speed going down the hill is the greatest. I have felt the WHOOSH of semis passing me less than two feet away and you can bet I am watching to see if they need to turn. I do not want my memorial to be some ghost bike on a corner.

Still, there's only so much you can do and then you have to let go and live life. Which is the point of going on a ride. I attacked the Rocky Butte climb harder than I ever have, not fading after the tunnel like I usually do. I just kept pushing and pushing all the way to the top. I felt my lungs, bursting, legs burning, heart pounding between my ears and was grateful to be alive and healthy and pedaling. I sent some thoughts out to Brett and all the people mourning him right now.

I started out with a notion to time-trial the whole ride, but I had to stop at the top and take in the views of Mt Hood & Mt Saint Helens, cause working so hard and not enjoying the view seemed so pointless. Then I took my sweet reward, braking only a little on the backside and hitting 41.5 mph on the way down. I didn't get any bugs in my teeth, but it wasn't because I wasn't smiling...

The rest of the ride, I spun at a comfortable pace and kept an eagle eye out to make sure I made it home safe, taking the lane at most of the lights to avoid the suicide slot.

My friend Greg wrote a heartfelt guest post on BikePortland today urging people to turn sadness into action. Inspired by that message, I went to tonight's town hall meeting on the Safe and Sound Streets proposal that could actually put some money into making our streets safer for all road users. I'm glad I live in a place where our city leaders are willing to ask hard questions and tackle overwhelming issues like the 422 million dollars in deferred maintenance liability that has built up over the years. $72 per year in energy fees and gas taxes seems like a bargain for better signal timing, more sidewalks and hundreds of new miles in bike Blvds. Especially if it'll keep more of us on the road and out of the cemetery.