I forget in the winter.
I forget, in the winter, all the wondrous things that warmer days allow.
I forget how my skin smells after a day in the sun. I forget the smell of a summer rain storm and the fresh, clean feeling it leaves in its wake. I forget the smell of cherry blossoms and I forget the feel of wind on bare legs.
But most of all I forget how it feels to almost fly!
Though some may remember me tossing myself out of a plane, to me, that was more of a controlled fall than an almost flight. For me almost flight happens, occasionally, when I'm riding my bike.
It happens on those rare occasions when the workings of the legs, feet, pedals, crank-arms, chain ring, chain and wheels all combine in a perfect symphony of sport. When it all feels almost effortless; as if you were soaring though space - untethered, unfettered and unbound - just you, your bike and the symphony of cycling. The wind in my face, wind that I'm generating in my seemingly seamless movement of body and bike. Feeling like I did when I was a child, cycling along pretending to be on the back of a horse or in my own Star Wars Landspeeder imagining effortless propulsion.
I forget about this Almost Flight in the bleakness of winter. I forget because it's better that way. I forget because in the bounds and confines of winter to remember would be too disheartening.
In the winter darkness when I soldier to spin class and cycle fettered to the spot - back wheel unable to propel me forward - I need to forget the freedom.
Instead, as we spin, we swap war stories...
"There was this time when I was attacked by red-winged blackbirds and had to fend them off with my bike pump..."
"There was this time when it was so windy and wet out that I was cycling along with my head down and rode right into the back of a parked truck..."
"There was this time when my husband and I were riding together and I crashed into a ditch and he didn't notice I wasn't with him for about 45 minutes..."
"There was this time when I was hit in the head by a stray golf ball from the nearby driving range and almost fell off my bike..."
Back and forth we would banter - a verbal reminiscent oneupmanship of the worst and the hardest that cycling and triathlon have to offer - the hills, the wind, the wild animals, the weather and the wipe outs.
But the freedom of almost flight is forgotten - like a dormant seed, it waits, waits until the weather improves, the snow goes, the roads are cleared of the sandy debris of the bygone winter, waits until, once again, rider and bike can be loosed and the joy of almost flight can germinate again.
And the day that I remember what it feels to attain Almost Flight is the day I remember all that is good and fun and freeing of cycling and it reminds me why I soldier to spin in the dark of winter.
And, in that wonderful moment of Almost Flight I also forget the hills, the wind, the wild animals, the weather and the wipe outs.
I forget because it's better that way!
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
On Little Cat Feet
My Mum and I have long held to the theory that her cat can count; we’re not talking major mathematics, at best it could be arguably be considered feline fractions.
Misty (the cat in question) was rescued from the SPCA by my mum several years ago. She (the cat, not my mum) had been abandoned and possibly abused as a kitten and though she bonded well with my mum, she’s never really had a lot of time for anyone else and will, for the most part, runaway when she sees someone other than my mum or she simply disappears a the first sound of strangers.
This is the main reason I believe that Misty learned to count. You see, for the most part there are only two people that she needs to keep track of – my mum and my dad. On rare occasions, when Mum has dinner parties or bridge evenings, then Misty, at the first sounding of the doorbell vanishes not to resurface until well after the last party guest has departed. The problem for Misty arises on those rare (and most likely annoying, for her) times when the guests don’t go home. From time to time (mostly Christmas and most Thanksgivings) Mum and Dad play host to their kids; my sister and myself.
Now, if it were just me being there, after about a day Misty recovers and she will, occasionally, allow me to stoke her and pay her some attention. On even more rare occasions she has been known to come up to me and announce her presence with a “meerrrowww” though most of the occasions, it can be argued that she has mistaken me for my mother and generally she stops dead in her tracks when she sees it is me and give me the kind of glare that only a cat can give as if to say “You are not my person, how dare you impersonate them” before stalking off to return to the safety of my mum’s duvet.
This is why I think Misty can count to three. Three people she can quite easily track as they wander about her domain. She can hear the gruff noisy walker down stairs reading his book; she can hear the stranger walking down the stairs and she can hear her favourite person clicking away on that strange grey platform with all the little knobby bits on it [translation: my mum typing on the computer keyboard]. Three she can keep track of, three, she can deal with, any more than three and she tends to completely disappear surfacing only in the wee small hours when only my Mum is awake.
I was thinking about Misty’s inability to cope with marauding multitudes (since no doubt that’s how she sees it) as I was struggling with my own inability to cope with masses of people. I experienced, for my first time ever, a large Easter gathering.
In the past I have blogged about being an Easter Orphan and have lamented not being able to spend Easter with my family. Even when I was able to spend Easter or other holidays with my family – “family” consists of 1 sister and 2 parents for a grand total of 4 humans, including me! I am so ill prepared to cope with meeting and chatting with 17 other people.
This year I was honoured (and I say that with all sincerity) to be able to spend Easter with C’s family. Having only met his kids a couple of times and having only met his mom and sister once I faced the prospect of spending 36 hours of Easter Weekend with them – not to mention the 12 Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and various others I was about to meet – with a combination of anticipation and panic. I wanted to meet his family, I wanted to get to know them, I wanted them to get to know me, I wanted them to like me. I wanted to not make a complete hash of things – and I wasn’t at all sure that I could do it.
I will admit, it was overwhelming and more than once I wanted to take a page out of Misty’s Big Book of Coping and run away and hide under the duvet. But Alas, I am not a cat and a grown woman hiding under the duvet in the middle of the day would seem too eccentric – even for me.
I will also admit it was wonderful. It reinforced my belief that C is one of the most understanding and patient men on the planet and I discovered that his sister (hmm, also a C – this is going to get complicated – maybe she should be Cf for Female) is also a very caring and understanding individual.
C was first tested on the Saturday morning when I discovered my wardrobe lacked anything even remotely Easter-like. Ok, actually C was first tested about a week prior when my “I’m spending the night at C’s sister’s place with C and his kids” panic set in and remained with me until well after I went to bed on the night I spent the night at C’s sister’s place. But the first set of tears came when I did have the face the fact (a fact I had known about for a few days) that I had nothing remotely Easter-like to wear and that this was a perfect indication of how ill prepared I was to undertake this Easter Escapade.
The second came when I discovered I was displacing one of C’s kids from the hotly contested “spare room”, I felt that I was wrecking the natural balance of things and that I was simultaneously in the way and on the periphery – I was the only one with a door separating me from the rest of the clan. I lay awake for almost two hours that night feeling overwhelmed with the prospect of having to spend the entire next day with C’s family – don’t get me wrong, they are wonderful people, the kids are great and his mom and sister both made me feel very welcome – I was afraid I might say or do something inappropriate.
I was put at ease (well, at least a bit, for a short space of time) by C’s sister Cf with whom I got to spend a quite breakfast, just the two of us – while C and his kids slept downstairs. Cf was wonderful, suggesting that, if I needed to “just disappear” at some point in time that it would be fine. She must have read “Misty’s Big Book of Coping” too!
It was during breakfast that I had my stroke of brilliance for the day – I offered to help Cf in the kitchen and spent the rest of the morning and while the guests were arriving, busying myself in the kitchen – thereby being able to limit my exposure to my “small talk with strangers” phobia. Thus Opertation: "Hide in Plain Sight" began.
To make a long blog a little less long (have you ever noticed that blog and long are very similar words) – everyone survived the day! I only made one small gaff and had one medium sized panic attack (complete with tears – have I mentioned how wonderful & understanding C is?).
Looking back on it – I wish I hadn’t panicked and tears are never welcome, but self-recrimination aside, I had a good time. I was welcomed into C’s family and quite enjoyed the experience. Though I will probably keep Misty’s Big Book of Coping” near by – after all, Thanksgiving is only 6 months away!
Misty (the cat in question) was rescued from the SPCA by my mum several years ago. She (the cat, not my mum) had been abandoned and possibly abused as a kitten and though she bonded well with my mum, she’s never really had a lot of time for anyone else and will, for the most part, runaway when she sees someone other than my mum or she simply disappears a the first sound of strangers.
This is the main reason I believe that Misty learned to count. You see, for the most part there are only two people that she needs to keep track of – my mum and my dad. On rare occasions, when Mum has dinner parties or bridge evenings, then Misty, at the first sounding of the doorbell vanishes not to resurface until well after the last party guest has departed. The problem for Misty arises on those rare (and most likely annoying, for her) times when the guests don’t go home. From time to time (mostly Christmas and most Thanksgivings) Mum and Dad play host to their kids; my sister and myself.
Now, if it were just me being there, after about a day Misty recovers and she will, occasionally, allow me to stoke her and pay her some attention. On even more rare occasions she has been known to come up to me and announce her presence with a “meerrrowww” though most of the occasions, it can be argued that she has mistaken me for my mother and generally she stops dead in her tracks when she sees it is me and give me the kind of glare that only a cat can give as if to say “You are not my person, how dare you impersonate them” before stalking off to return to the safety of my mum’s duvet.
This is why I think Misty can count to three. Three people she can quite easily track as they wander about her domain. She can hear the gruff noisy walker down stairs reading his book; she can hear the stranger walking down the stairs and she can hear her favourite person clicking away on that strange grey platform with all the little knobby bits on it [translation: my mum typing on the computer keyboard]. Three she can keep track of, three, she can deal with, any more than three and she tends to completely disappear surfacing only in the wee small hours when only my Mum is awake.
I was thinking about Misty’s inability to cope with marauding multitudes (since no doubt that’s how she sees it) as I was struggling with my own inability to cope with masses of people. I experienced, for my first time ever, a large Easter gathering.
In the past I have blogged about being an Easter Orphan and have lamented not being able to spend Easter with my family. Even when I was able to spend Easter or other holidays with my family – “family” consists of 1 sister and 2 parents for a grand total of 4 humans, including me! I am so ill prepared to cope with meeting and chatting with 17 other people.
This year I was honoured (and I say that with all sincerity) to be able to spend Easter with C’s family. Having only met his kids a couple of times and having only met his mom and sister once I faced the prospect of spending 36 hours of Easter Weekend with them – not to mention the 12 Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and various others I was about to meet – with a combination of anticipation and panic. I wanted to meet his family, I wanted to get to know them, I wanted them to get to know me, I wanted them to like me. I wanted to not make a complete hash of things – and I wasn’t at all sure that I could do it.
I will admit, it was overwhelming and more than once I wanted to take a page out of Misty’s Big Book of Coping and run away and hide under the duvet. But Alas, I am not a cat and a grown woman hiding under the duvet in the middle of the day would seem too eccentric – even for me.
I will also admit it was wonderful. It reinforced my belief that C is one of the most understanding and patient men on the planet and I discovered that his sister (hmm, also a C – this is going to get complicated – maybe she should be Cf for Female) is also a very caring and understanding individual.
C was first tested on the Saturday morning when I discovered my wardrobe lacked anything even remotely Easter-like. Ok, actually C was first tested about a week prior when my “I’m spending the night at C’s sister’s place with C and his kids” panic set in and remained with me until well after I went to bed on the night I spent the night at C’s sister’s place. But the first set of tears came when I did have the face the fact (a fact I had known about for a few days) that I had nothing remotely Easter-like to wear and that this was a perfect indication of how ill prepared I was to undertake this Easter Escapade.
The second came when I discovered I was displacing one of C’s kids from the hotly contested “spare room”, I felt that I was wrecking the natural balance of things and that I was simultaneously in the way and on the periphery – I was the only one with a door separating me from the rest of the clan. I lay awake for almost two hours that night feeling overwhelmed with the prospect of having to spend the entire next day with C’s family – don’t get me wrong, they are wonderful people, the kids are great and his mom and sister both made me feel very welcome – I was afraid I might say or do something inappropriate.
I was put at ease (well, at least a bit, for a short space of time) by C’s sister Cf with whom I got to spend a quite breakfast, just the two of us – while C and his kids slept downstairs. Cf was wonderful, suggesting that, if I needed to “just disappear” at some point in time that it would be fine. She must have read “Misty’s Big Book of Coping” too!
It was during breakfast that I had my stroke of brilliance for the day – I offered to help Cf in the kitchen and spent the rest of the morning and while the guests were arriving, busying myself in the kitchen – thereby being able to limit my exposure to my “small talk with strangers” phobia. Thus Opertation: "Hide in Plain Sight" began.
To make a long blog a little less long (have you ever noticed that blog and long are very similar words) – everyone survived the day! I only made one small gaff and had one medium sized panic attack (complete with tears – have I mentioned how wonderful & understanding C is?).
Looking back on it – I wish I hadn’t panicked and tears are never welcome, but self-recrimination aside, I had a good time. I was welcomed into C’s family and quite enjoyed the experience. Though I will probably keep Misty’s Big Book of Coping” near by – after all, Thanksgiving is only 6 months away!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The Boy Scout and the Basket Case
I use a little padlock on a locker at work – it is my favourite lock – not because of its reliability and sturdiness, for if it was truly tested I fear it would be neither. This lock has endeared itself to me not because of anything it did (it was just doing what it was designed to do – lock a locker) but because every time I look at the lock I remember the day I needed a hero to come to my rescue.
Besides the aforementioned lock, there are three main players in the melodrama I am about to regale you with – the two title ones – you can guess which of the two of them I am. If you need a hint – I’m no boy scout; that honour goes to my main man C. The third player in this tale, who incidentally has a tail, is my dog Beau.
Now Beau had a problem all his life – which I never understood the origin of – his problem is a fear of abandonment. Every time I leave he’d make a big production out of it. Whining and yapping at the door – as if I was never going to return – which would make me feel very guilty.
I tried to allay his fears; I would sit him down and explained to him where I was going, how long I’d be gone – but it never seemed to help. I also tried to reason with him; explaining that I have always returned in the past and there is no reason to assume that will change – but alas, there is no reasoning or consoling a dog – they just don’t get it.
So I modified my behaviour to help mollify my dog when I’d leave; I’d give him a treat, and I’d try to plan my outings in such a way that I wasn’t coming and going from my apartment over and over again in a day.
This behaviour on my part lead to the events that transpired on the day that I competed in the Toastmaster’s Area International Speech Contest back in 2006.
I had spin class in the morning and the contest in the afternoon – I knew I’d only have about half an hour to go home, shower, change and then leave for the Contest. I decided rather than bother Beau I would take everything I needed for spin class, the contest, and afterwards – plus all my shower supplies and would shower and change in the locker room adjacent to the Jacuzzi in my building.
I got back from spin class and I was right on schedule – C (the afore mentioned Boy Scout) was coming to pick me up and I had about half an hour to get ready. I went into the locker room; opened up a locker, put my keys on the top shelf and stowed my sweaty spin stuff down below. I showered and put the shower stuff in the locker and started putting on my outfit for the contest. I had a bag with a change of clothes for after the contest and some food. I was prepared.
I stood before the locker fully dressed (minus the blouse I hadn’t put on yet) and did a quick double check: – shoes for afterwards, bag containing change of clothes food, water bottle, shirt, padlock
Ok, good to go.
Shut the locker door and lock the lock and…
Oh crap – anyone remember where I set my keys??
The feeling hit me like a kick to the stomach. “No, no no no no no no!” I screamed at the locked lock.
I started pulling on the lock – desperate to open it – I had set my keys, including the key to the lock currently securing my possessions in the locker –
In.the.locker!
Enter; The Basket Case.
There I was, standing in the locker room – shoes, socks, pants, and bra on – and the panic set it. I have to get my keys!! I have to get help!
So I turn and race out the locker room door into the Jacuzzi area – realize that my top is still hanging on the door of another locker – return for it, race out again, buttoning a few buttons as I go and realize I can’t leave the Jacuzzi room because the door will lock behind me and then I will really be in trouble – I need something to prop doors open with.. So back I go again into the locker room and grab my spare shoes, bag and empty water bottle – because you never know when you’ll need an empty water bottle.
The Jacuzzi room door I was able to prop open with it’s own dead bolt; then I raced into the lobby – in total panic mode and searched in vain for help – the office was closed – no maintenance on duty – I asked a guy as he entered the building if he had lock cutters – he looked at me like I was crazy. I tried to explain that I had locked my keys in a locker in the Jacuzzi room and he said – more or less – “Good luck with that” and left. – I needed to find C.
C and I had agreed to meet in the Park adjacent to my apartment building. I was going to have to leave the building. Now the only problem with that was the same problem I faced with in the Jacuzzi room – how do I prevent myself from being locked out of the building? I grabbed my bag and propped open the front door of the building and started hoping to whatever deity I believed in at the time that no one would come along and un-prop the door while I was finding C.
So I left the building. Bag (along with wallet) in doorway and shoes and an empty water bottle lying on the floor in the lobby… Luckily for me I had my watch on and I could tell how far behind schedule I was falling.
Now the water works begin – I start to cry. I race out towards the street and see his car parked next to the curb, but no C. I look left towards the park at the first set of benches where I anticipate him sitting, but no C.
I had to venture further from the front door…I turn left and start slowly running towards the park in dress shoes and dress clothes. I enter the park and start looking around wildly. Repeating his name under my breath – hoping that the universe will hear me and put me in touch with him; like some telepathic cell phone call.
Almost at the far end of the park, across an open field, sitting calmly on a bench looking up at what I can only imagine he imagined was my balcony was the object of my frantic search – C.
I charge across the field towards him full-tilt in my dress shoes (thankfully not high heels), heart pounding tears streaming down my face and mentally I’m yelling at him to look over and see the basket case hurtling towards him.
When I arrived in front of him and he recognized the whirling dervish as the woman he’d just started hanging out with, I apologized for being in a total state of panic; looking and acting my worst, told him the problem and then quickly turned around and started running back to the front door.
I’m not sure how much of my verbal frenzy he actually understood, but dutifully he began running after me but his speed was hindered by the leather slip on sandals he was wearing – even less conducive to running in than dress shoes – apparently…
I was really afraid someone would take the bag away and lock me out of the building entirely – so I sprinted up to the front door of the building and was relieved to see the door was still propped open.
We entered the lobby and by then I was in total melt-down mode – 100% Pure Basket Case. We saw an emergency maintenance phone number so C said he’d go get his cell phone from the car can call it. He hesitated – reluctant to leave me since I was so distraught. I told him – go – I’ll be fine… So he went out to his car.
In his absence I attempt to regain some composure. I pick up my shoes and empty water bottle and put my bag on my shoulder. Try to stop the shaking – me – the human tuning fork.
C came back a few minutes later with a toolbox and wearing his running shoes – always best to be prepared.
He thought he might be able to break the lock open, so, rather than call the maintenance number I rapidly led the way back into the Jacuzzi room C close at my heels so he could try his luck with the lock.
I burst into the Woman’s locker room and he paused at the door. I turned to him to see what the problem was and he asked me if it was empty – It was – the thought that there might be someone in there had never entered my mind.
I pointed out the offending locker. He set down his tool box and carefully examined the lock. He opened the tool box and got out a small pry-bar and a hammer. With one hit – he opened the lock!
He stood up and took the lock off the locker and opened the locker door. – As he stepped back I threw my arms around him and hugged him. The tears came again, but this time they were tears of joy.
In my dizzy state of total relief I almost said – “I LOVE YOU!!” – but caught myself in time and said – “You’re my hero”.
I think I repeated those words to him several times that day. He was cool, calm and collected when I was anything but. Handy spending time with a guy that carries a tool box around in his trunk – all I have in my trunk is an assortment of bungee cords – not sure how many dire situations they’d prove useful in.
C continues to be my hero and my boy scout – but most of all, he is My Man and I am very fortunate that he is.
Besides the aforementioned lock, there are three main players in the melodrama I am about to regale you with – the two title ones – you can guess which of the two of them I am. If you need a hint – I’m no boy scout; that honour goes to my main man C. The third player in this tale, who incidentally has a tail, is my dog Beau.
Now Beau had a problem all his life – which I never understood the origin of – his problem is a fear of abandonment. Every time I leave he’d make a big production out of it. Whining and yapping at the door – as if I was never going to return – which would make me feel very guilty.
I tried to allay his fears; I would sit him down and explained to him where I was going, how long I’d be gone – but it never seemed to help. I also tried to reason with him; explaining that I have always returned in the past and there is no reason to assume that will change – but alas, there is no reasoning or consoling a dog – they just don’t get it.
So I modified my behaviour to help mollify my dog when I’d leave; I’d give him a treat, and I’d try to plan my outings in such a way that I wasn’t coming and going from my apartment over and over again in a day.
This behaviour on my part lead to the events that transpired on the day that I competed in the Toastmaster’s Area International Speech Contest back in 2006.
I had spin class in the morning and the contest in the afternoon – I knew I’d only have about half an hour to go home, shower, change and then leave for the Contest. I decided rather than bother Beau I would take everything I needed for spin class, the contest, and afterwards – plus all my shower supplies and would shower and change in the locker room adjacent to the Jacuzzi in my building.
I got back from spin class and I was right on schedule – C (the afore mentioned Boy Scout) was coming to pick me up and I had about half an hour to get ready. I went into the locker room; opened up a locker, put my keys on the top shelf and stowed my sweaty spin stuff down below. I showered and put the shower stuff in the locker and started putting on my outfit for the contest. I had a bag with a change of clothes for after the contest and some food. I was prepared.
I stood before the locker fully dressed (minus the blouse I hadn’t put on yet) and did a quick double check: – shoes for afterwards, bag containing change of clothes food, water bottle, shirt, padlock
Ok, good to go.
Shut the locker door and lock the lock and…
Oh crap – anyone remember where I set my keys??
The feeling hit me like a kick to the stomach. “No, no no no no no no!” I screamed at the locked lock.
I started pulling on the lock – desperate to open it – I had set my keys, including the key to the lock currently securing my possessions in the locker –
In.the.locker!
Enter; The Basket Case.
There I was, standing in the locker room – shoes, socks, pants, and bra on – and the panic set it. I have to get my keys!! I have to get help!
So I turn and race out the locker room door into the Jacuzzi area – realize that my top is still hanging on the door of another locker – return for it, race out again, buttoning a few buttons as I go and realize I can’t leave the Jacuzzi room because the door will lock behind me and then I will really be in trouble – I need something to prop doors open with.. So back I go again into the locker room and grab my spare shoes, bag and empty water bottle – because you never know when you’ll need an empty water bottle.
The Jacuzzi room door I was able to prop open with it’s own dead bolt; then I raced into the lobby – in total panic mode and searched in vain for help – the office was closed – no maintenance on duty – I asked a guy as he entered the building if he had lock cutters – he looked at me like I was crazy. I tried to explain that I had locked my keys in a locker in the Jacuzzi room and he said – more or less – “Good luck with that” and left. – I needed to find C.
C and I had agreed to meet in the Park adjacent to my apartment building. I was going to have to leave the building. Now the only problem with that was the same problem I faced with in the Jacuzzi room – how do I prevent myself from being locked out of the building? I grabbed my bag and propped open the front door of the building and started hoping to whatever deity I believed in at the time that no one would come along and un-prop the door while I was finding C.
So I left the building. Bag (along with wallet) in doorway and shoes and an empty water bottle lying on the floor in the lobby… Luckily for me I had my watch on and I could tell how far behind schedule I was falling.
Now the water works begin – I start to cry. I race out towards the street and see his car parked next to the curb, but no C. I look left towards the park at the first set of benches where I anticipate him sitting, but no C.
I had to venture further from the front door…I turn left and start slowly running towards the park in dress shoes and dress clothes. I enter the park and start looking around wildly. Repeating his name under my breath – hoping that the universe will hear me and put me in touch with him; like some telepathic cell phone call.
Almost at the far end of the park, across an open field, sitting calmly on a bench looking up at what I can only imagine he imagined was my balcony was the object of my frantic search – C.
I charge across the field towards him full-tilt in my dress shoes (thankfully not high heels), heart pounding tears streaming down my face and mentally I’m yelling at him to look over and see the basket case hurtling towards him.
When I arrived in front of him and he recognized the whirling dervish as the woman he’d just started hanging out with, I apologized for being in a total state of panic; looking and acting my worst, told him the problem and then quickly turned around and started running back to the front door.
I’m not sure how much of my verbal frenzy he actually understood, but dutifully he began running after me but his speed was hindered by the leather slip on sandals he was wearing – even less conducive to running in than dress shoes – apparently…
I was really afraid someone would take the bag away and lock me out of the building entirely – so I sprinted up to the front door of the building and was relieved to see the door was still propped open.
We entered the lobby and by then I was in total melt-down mode – 100% Pure Basket Case. We saw an emergency maintenance phone number so C said he’d go get his cell phone from the car can call it. He hesitated – reluctant to leave me since I was so distraught. I told him – go – I’ll be fine… So he went out to his car.
In his absence I attempt to regain some composure. I pick up my shoes and empty water bottle and put my bag on my shoulder. Try to stop the shaking – me – the human tuning fork.
C came back a few minutes later with a toolbox and wearing his running shoes – always best to be prepared.
He thought he might be able to break the lock open, so, rather than call the maintenance number I rapidly led the way back into the Jacuzzi room C close at my heels so he could try his luck with the lock.
I burst into the Woman’s locker room and he paused at the door. I turned to him to see what the problem was and he asked me if it was empty – It was – the thought that there might be someone in there had never entered my mind.
I pointed out the offending locker. He set down his tool box and carefully examined the lock. He opened the tool box and got out a small pry-bar and a hammer. With one hit – he opened the lock!
He stood up and took the lock off the locker and opened the locker door. – As he stepped back I threw my arms around him and hugged him. The tears came again, but this time they were tears of joy.
In my dizzy state of total relief I almost said – “I LOVE YOU!!” – but caught myself in time and said – “You’re my hero”.
I think I repeated those words to him several times that day. He was cool, calm and collected when I was anything but. Handy spending time with a guy that carries a tool box around in his trunk – all I have in my trunk is an assortment of bungee cords – not sure how many dire situations they’d prove useful in.
C continues to be my hero and my boy scout – but most of all, he is My Man and I am very fortunate that he is.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
