It happened yesterday, it took over like a plague, I knew what I was doing...yet I just couldn't stop. I remember my grandmother doing the same thing at the grocery store. She'd be having a perfectly normal conversation with a store clerk and before you could diagram it in a sentence, she'd go off subject and begin giving details that didn't interest anyone. No One! She had to see those faces turning indifferent. The glazed look overcoming everyone's face. Probably the look you have on your face right now because I haven't moved on with the subject matter. After my own personal incident I should have Googled SAS shoes and then Google comfort clothing. No, Googling would be way too cool, I should have asked that nice tattooed man in the bike shop for directions to such places in the land of sugar. That would have been completion.
My hair appointment needed to be rescheduled so I was in the land of sugar early yesterday. How ironic that I have my old lady incident right after being in one of the coolest salons ever. In fact, they were holding a training class with their staff and the coolness factor had gone to the tenth power because of the instructors from other salons leading them in the latest techniques in color. So you know the vibe was on. After my haircut, I went to the new Nord Rack that just opened and as I was leaving the Rack, I saw the bike shop my friend Kathleen had told me about. So, I stopped. The "young man" who assisted me was pleasant, but he didn't have need of any conversation, other than relating to the particular bike we were looking at. Sitting upon that bike, in that shop, making everyone nervous due to the lack of balance on my part, childhood memories rushed in and instead of keeping them to myself, I did it...I began telling them. Truthfully, I must tell you that I don't have very many good childhood memories and when a good memory happens, it surprises me. You see, I began telling this backward cap wearing, tats up the arms showing, long haired nice looking rugged outdoorsman about my first bike. My first bike was a three speed bike, but back then they were called English racers. I was in kindergarten when I was given this black, prim, proper and way too big of bike. So as I learned to ride a bike and did so on an adult sized bike. There are so many metaphors of life in that last sentence for me. So when I rode my bike I could either stand up and pedal or sit on the seat and coast. The bike in the shop was a Raleigh; my first bike was a Raleigh. No one cares....they just want to sell me a new bike without a lot of storytelling...yet I continued on telling the young man more details about that first bike. Thankfully I stopped before going on into the wooden blocks on the pedals story. I am blaming me being a chatter box old person yesterday because my body was behaving like an old person. I was racing on borrowed time and knew getting home quickly to rest was really the priority. The assurance that I was coming back with my husband to look at the bike assuaged all his fears of being trapped with an old person again...
I got to practice stealth reconnaissance this morning. Sitting here in the office working on this post and I see a parade of workmen with wheel barrels and shovels marching through our back yard. My mission, should I decided to accept it was to get back to our bedroom without being seen. Good thing I had on my stealth jammies.
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