Tales of Slow Brave Athena

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July 1, 2005

Poop!

It's been kind of a weird 24 hours. I went into therapy happy, and came out weepy. I came back to work and was tremendously productive. Then I rode my bicycle the three blocks to the MAX, to take the train up to my neighborhood, since I have such a short window between work and pilates.

I learned something. While my bike fits nicely on the bus racks, taking it on the MAX is another altogether. It's simply too long. If I hang it from the ceiling hook, the chrome fender is rubbing the ground. If I try to gracefully take it down so I can leave the train, it requires everyone around me to change positions.

I had a nice conversation on the train though, and a pleasant ride back to the house. I put the bike in the shed, and thought—I should get the scooter out, so I can just run in the house, change into my workout gear, and scoot?

I learned something. One, the scooter is really long. (Is this a trend?). Backing it out of the shed is treacherous. I don't know if some motorcycles have a reverse gear, but my scooter doesn't. So, I straddle-walk the 350# behemoth behind me, down a ramp, and past the car. Except, I don't have the angle right, and the scooter's exhaust is right up against the car's front bumper.

I couldn't go forward, because I couldn't push the bike up the ramp. I didn't have my scooter keys, because I only bring the keys I need. If I had had my keys, I could have turned it on, and driven it back up. But I didn't. I was stuck at a 90 degree angle, one side up against the car, holding the damn scoot up. No one was home. None of my neighbors were outside. I was, as we say, screwed.

So I did the only thing I could think to do. I laid the scooter down. Mind you, you never ever ever want to have a motorcycle on its side. The life fluids of the machine can easily drain out. Just add a cigarette and you'll have an big explosion. Or not.

I ran into the house and grabbed my car keys, moved my car, and lifted the motorcycle back up. I didn't even think about its weight or my form—I just did it. So it was on its left side for maybe 2 minutes, probably less.

I then ran back into the house and called the scooter shop. Rob picked up the phone and held my hand. I told him what happened, he asked questions, told me what I should try, and said that most likely it was going to be fine, and if it's not, to call back.

So I went out and checked the tiny rivulet of fluid. It was already dry, and I couldn't smell anything. So, I tried starting the scooter. It was flooded. While I figured this probably wasn't a big deal rationally, it felt like a huge deal. And I needed to have gotten to pilates ten minutes ago!

So I drove to pilates, all the while wondering if I had completely screwed up my scooter, and why didn't I insist on pursuing the garage idea rather than a shed?

Pilates was good. Hard. Lots of making perfect little circles. The woman who had instructed the ball class was there, and seemed bored all through it. I can't imagine being bored. Even on the exercises where I can do an entire set, it's work, hello!!

Jill and I chatted a little bit, then I went over to the Salvadorian tacqueria to pick up some pupusas. I had never been in, so I was pleased to see that the place was packed full of people. I ordered and then sat down and watched the telenovela on the TV on top of the fridge. There's something about men acting agressive and women acting catty and looking very european and expensive that is very satisfying. I also listened in on a conversation at an ajoining table.

The table had seven women, all reasonably young moms, most with infants in tow. They were having a great time, and I was loving the spanglish, how conversations went from spanish to english to spanish to spanglish effortlessly. I really wanted to join them. If only I spoke spanish!

I collected the pupusas and came home. Sweetie had started up the scooter -- it was running fine. And he had had a tuneup, with new tires, taillight and rack added on his scooter, and he said it handles 100% better. I can't wait to try it out.

So in the end, we had a nice evening. We ate the pupusas, which were really good, and watched some awful TV, and hung out with the animals.

I was hoping to spring out of bed like I did yesterday, but no. And then I found that my beloved dog had pooped by the backdoor. Lovely.

We have the strangest dog. We don't walk him very often because he becomes a nervous wreck, so we usually just let him out into the back yard. Very infrequently, he will just run out and poop, on his own, but most of the time, you have to tell him to poop, and make sure that he poops. Yes, we have a dog that poops on command, sorta.

But if you just let him outside and you don't make sure he poops, well, maybe he won't.

This is the second poop by the door incident. And it might not be the dog. It might be the world's largest cat poop. Yeah, right.

So I decided to do 15 minutes of my favorite form of gardening, killing weeds. My backyard butterfly bush is completely covered with blackberry and clematis, so I set out to kill a small section of it. And it was a small section, but so thoroughly satisfying to make it so.

I rode the scooter in—no problems. Hurrah! And the weekend looms. I'm looking so forward to some free time, some walking, some scooting, and a race!

Posted at July 1, 2005

Comments

Posted by: susan at July 2, 2005 3:47 AM

Posted by: Jon in Michigan at July 2, 2005 1:22 PM

Posted by: fran at July 8, 2005 4:17 PM