e.d.

This world is not a conclusion;
A sequel stands beyond,
Invisible as music,
But positive as sound.

Emily Dickenson

Cog Napped!

Guess who ahhaaed the upstairs today?!? Yep, I don't trust him for one second. "Ima just sleep here aaaaall day long, heeere on my pillllow."

They've won. They've out snookered me. Pets 4 Hooman 0. The dog eats cat food. The cat eats dog food. The cat gets fed ON the counter. Let's be honest, Four on The Floor never really caught on with these mutts.

I'm running out of plastic bags. I need an alarm. I can't wear black. Or white. Or grey. Tan, maybe I could wear tan?

Why do we do it? Cute. Because they are cute. They are warm and cuddly and effingham CUTE!

But I still have twice as many bikes. The pets don't outnumber the bikes. No, they haven't won quite yet.

Automatic Dog

Schraeder, Presta...I have a puppy! Or rather, I have been adopted by a puppy. Because let's be honest: they OWN us, not the other way around. EVEn my easy geriatric puppy.

It's almost not fair. He sleeps, and sleeps, and nibbles, and comes house broken. It's almost like a cat. If you don't ask the cat.

Oh, they tolerate each other. And they'll figure it out. I came in today and I've got one on the counter, one down below, and the other acting like she wasn't involved in the demise of my lunch AT ALL.

The first night wasn't such a fairy tail. Poor Lucky had a rough one. He didn't seem to mind (much) and looked quite handsome in his S&M mask. It sounds much worse than it was...just a lengthy hospital visit. REALLY, no worries...just fleas. It's all good now.

Once Barley learns she can stand under Lucky like a Parker umbrella she'll lead a charmed life. And if I can keep Lucky walking back and forth beneath Parker's outstretched combing claws I'll have one pet fully groomed-sans hooman. Fluff-o-matic! It's purrrfect that they're friends.

This traffic is for the dogs!

Good Dei!

Sometimes they write themselves.

Bike Booty

As a cyclist I find stuff. All kinds of stuff. Stuff thrown from cars, blown from trash, dropped from pockets...stuff absent mindedly left on top of cars.

I pick it up. I don't collect it. I have enough junk. I like to try to get it back to its rightful owner.

It's a bit of a P.I. game. A twist on a bike scavenger hunt. An internet puzzle at times. One in which, hopefully, there is a relieved person on the other end.

Usually it's credit cards. Sometimes actual money. I don't always try to get that back...how do you find the owner of $20? Credit cards are easy...kinda. Try accessing a credit card company online when you don't know the 'password'.

Once I found a wallet...I delivered that to the address and left it at the door. A tossed purse...to a police officer. A digital camera...after many dead ends I gave it to someone who needed one. A pain in the ass cat...don't ask.

There was the time I spent over 30 minutes just trying to get a hooman on the phone to help me with a found credit card. Since I couldn't explain to the phone in one number or less what my issue was the automation ran me in circles and disconnected me more than once. Obviously no cheeseburger on the computer for my unique order. GO FISH.

Today yielded me quite a treasure! A 1950 yearbook from the historically black University of Texas Southern. Wow. Someone will surely miss this one. We're on the case...we're tracking alumni. In the meantime we are thumbing through this chronicle of history. Stay tuned...

Love,

Peace

&

Bicycle

Grease

I Hope You Slept Well

This afternoon I was all prepared to pull up my soap box and start bickering...that is, after all, what I do best. Until....my girlfriend accused me of complaining...often.

Hmmph. Well, hmmph. It's true, I do. What can I say? It sells copy.

But there on my commute I was all armed with my camera for photographic evidence. Construction. New sidewalks. Oh, the irony! A neighborhood promoting pedestrian traffic that recently outlawed train whistles. Those evil, nasty, audible, safety promoting, train whistles. The nerve!

It's just beyond Linden Bridge. You remember Linden from posts of days gone by...I'm on Linden, I lower my stance, I can see the Beltway in just one glance! On second thought, maybe it's not a 'hood proud of safety.

Then, I was heading home tonight and I realized this issue is bigger than I originally thought! This goes beyond a neighborhood trying to sleep. A girl who misses her romantical train whistle. THIS affects my ego.

Now I'm not much of a gear head, my gadgets are few and far between. But I'm big on consistency. I know how fast I ride ergo I know how far I go. But we all like our confirmation, our pats on the back, our positive reinforcement, our ego boosts.

Tonight, I was robbed of mine. There I was pumping up the hill, in the dark of night, through a beating rain storm, okay, okay more of a benign drizzle...and there was a disturbing, taunting silence. My welcome home...no longer welcoming. My pat on the back, a snub of the nose.

Oh, I heard something in the near distance...it sounded...like...well....like a freight train, go figure, but the familiar whistle greeting me in the night, letting me know my pace is right on time...FIRED!

Hmmph. Some nerve. Yeah, I'm complaining, and your point is??