Granny Busts A Hip. Again.

Spent a day farting around with Mr. X, my 50-year old gentleman friend who has a fitness addiction, and the physique of a gymnast*.  We are both cyclists, although he’s a bit more serious as both a commuter and a long-distance rider.

He’s currently sporting a boot on his left calf, due to a bone fracture acquired during one of his weekly roller hockey bouts.  Me?  A knee brace, due to a gentle mis-step while dancing on a Honduran bar during a foam party.

Since we were both feeling pretty gimpy, we decided to bag our usual bike ride, and just take in a matinée.  Even giving in to using a car for the five-mile trip…

By the time we were done with a late lunch, the sun had emerged, and it turned into a gorgeous day.  So we played with his bicycle collection!  He’s got a recumbent, a tandem and even a recumbent tandem!  Mostly, though, i wanted to play with his kickbike**.  Taking it out for a spin through the residential street where he lives, i eventually got the hang of it – knee brace notwithstanding!

Decided to try his recumbent bike, too, as i’ve never ridden one.  As i was playing with that, he got on the kickbike to play around a little, too.  With his broken leg in a boot…

We farted around with his entire fleet for a bit – and if anyone had seen us out there, we’d have certainly looked insane…

While yakking with The Girl this morning, i was filling her in on my day out… explaining our varying degrees of decrepit which didn’t quite deter us from farting around on the wheeled toys.

The Girl:  You crazy old folks!  Always*** falling down and breaking bones…

this image, and more happy hippie gear, can be found here

* Six-pack.  And i’m not talking about what’s in his fridge…

** Not entirely a euphemism

*** This is not the first time i’ve been ‘walking wounded’ over a stupid dance-related injury, or worse – being an eeejit on a playground.  The Girl has seen me limping more often than walking…

“I feel happy!”

“I’m not dead. I’m getting better…”

After the latest reanimation of my old Camry following another mechanical meltdown, my feeling was “No you’re not, you’ll be stone dead in a moment.”

With The Girl now living in Turkey, i acquired her Honda.  An actual CAR.  With operational AIR CONDITIONING.  This is new for me.   Over 100,000 miles on it, but it’s paid for, reliable, and sips gas like a supermodel sips watered-down Diet Coke.  

A bad valve, and an un-repairable oil leak are the known defects.  Time to send it to the crusher.  Knowing the flaws, there was no way in hell i could sell it.  Donating it to charity, and taking the tax credit, seemed like the right thing to do.

As i looked for charitable organizations accepting junk cars, i heard a tale of a young girl in need of transport.  She works multiple minimum wage jobs, and takes side projects, to help pay the bills.  She was looking for a cheap car, and not fussy about amenities.  Without access to wheels, she’s been hitching rides with friends, or walking, to get to her various places of employment.  

“Not quite dead yet” indeed. 

i decided to just give her the blasted heap, and hopefully she could put a few miles on it before it takes that final automotive shit.  My mechanic had told me that as long as i kept dumping oil in it, it would likely go a bit further.

Cute Girl [dancing, upon getting a title to a car with her name on it]:  Oh, my god! i can’t believe this!  You have no idea how much we* appreciate this!  

daisyfae: Just remember to keep checking the oil, and i’m hopeful it can keep running for you…

We did a walk around, and i showed her the dents from where The Boy hit a mailbox, and how the passenger side window never quite goes all the way up, without assistance.  We popped the hood, and she checked the oil.  Even asked when i last put tires on it, and how old the battery was… 

As she drove away, it made me happy.  Perhaps the planets had aligned and the old girl had some legs left…

Two hours later, i got a text from her.

Cute Girl:  Thank you AGAIN for your most generous gift!  And by the way, how long has the engine light been on?

daisyfae:  Um… that’s new.  Best get your uncle** to take a look at that soon…

Sending a text to The Boy the next morning:

daisyfae: Pulled the audio gear out of the Camry and it has a new home.  Gave it to a cute theater gal.  Guess it was reinCARnated.

The Boy [30 minutes later]:  The “Twig and Berries”  Act of 1802 states: “bad puns shall henceforce nay be texted before the 16th hour on any weekday….” so you may want to watch those puns because as a god-fearing ‘merican I would be compelled to report you to the proper authorities if you should slip up again.

daisyfae:  But your old car will now be transporting a pod of lesbitarians!  That’s good CARma!  Forgive an old broad her puns…

The Boy:  Are they hot?  They travel in pods now?  I’ll allow the puns, it’s just that waking up to a text with a bad pun is like waking up to a Carrot Top alarm clock, and no one wants that.

Given the glowing engine light, i had a bad feeling that the happy dance hadn’t lasted long, and that she was stuck right back where she started.   But i got a text from her today, answering my unasked question:

Cute Girl:  “Carma” is running beautifully, and has allowed us to see family we haven’t seen in weeks!  Hoping engine light is just an oxygen sensor, but having uncle check later this week.  Have a beautiful day!

They named it “Carma”.  How fucking adorable is that? 

Long may you run, long may you run

Although these changes have come

With your chrome heart shining in the sun

Long may you run…

 

* “we” refers to her and her partner.  The gals work hard, have a young child with them, and her partner has a recently wrecked car that barely runs.  They need wheels.  They probably could use a lottery win, too…

** There’s an uncle with an auto shop… Thankfully.

Mother’s Day – Part Deux

Preparing to head off to The Park to take Ma out for a belated Mother’s Day dinner… Couldn’t take her out last weekend, since i spent both days in a motorcycle rider’s course – getting myself legally certified to ride a two-wheeled death machine. 

Nice way to spend Mother’s Day, i think…

Speaking with my children after passing the course, we somehow got to the subject of death and The Boy (again) enquired about my post-death plans.

The Boy:  Are you planning to be buried when you die?

daisyfae:  My preference is to be cremated.  Hate to take up space.  But if the two of you decide you want a “place” where you can go to remember me, it’s up to you.  i certainly won’t give a shit at that point…

The Boy:  I just think it would be cool to go to your grave on Mother’s Day, pour out half of a forty, and say “Missin’ you, Moms”.

daisyfae:  Why does it have to be my grave?  Wouldn’t it be just as much fun to do it every year to a dead stranger?

Another Mother’s Day

My two spawn are pretty good with the Mother’s Day presents.  In 2008, it was a party – with a great cake.  Last year? It was a silly multi-generational dinner, topped off with a great card.

We tend toward the simple when it comes to holidays, preferring a very low-key approach.  Upon my return from my motorcycle test, i found this on the dining room table…

Once again?  They get it right…

Flowers, a pack of smokes and single malt scotch...

Upon closer inspection?  It was the thoughtful addition of “BK Technology” from the floor of The Boy’s car that made me giggle this year…  Just in case i need to inhale that bottle of scotch through a half-inch “pipe”?  i’ll have one handy…

The BK Pipe. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em...

* Personal note to The Unbearable Banishment?  Told ya… i know my kids, and they know their Ma…

Paperless

As always, i’m staying at least marginally connected to my offspring while fucking off with pay on extended business travel.  Things seem to happen while i’m on the road, and i get naturally edgy.

While mincing about in the rainforest this afternoon, i decided to shake my maternal butt in the endzone – makes ’em tough.  i sent a pic of the incredible scenery to both of my children.

i sent this:

Rainforest...

Shortly thereafter, i received this from The Boy, who is spending his spring break looking for a job:

Bathroom...

Heading Check

It seems that when i am on extended travel, something goes whack at the homestead.  From small electrical fires to unexpected encounters with the local gendarmes, i have gotten the occasional call that can jack up my vacation time…

So i check in with my adult children to see how things are going… frequently using text messaging.

daisyfae:  Hope things are going well.  How’s the brown dog?

The Boy:  Lost most of his fur in the fire.

daisyfae:  The cat?

The Boy:  You mean “the hat”*?

daisyfae:  i’m not EVEN going to ask how The Girl is doing…

~~~~~~~~~~

* Our new cat has a rather remarkable ‘squirrel’ tail.  i commented that it would look quite nice flying from my car antenna.  After the cat passes away, of course.  The Boy?  His preference would be to turn the pelt into a Davy Crockett-style hat… yeah.  we’re weird.

cardiac kid…

My son, who is just a few months short of his 21st birthday, has inherited a self-destructive bent from his mother.  Although he’s very smart, and doing well at the university, i still worry about him.  A lot. 

While home on my lunch hour this week, we had a lovely mother-son text exchange.  Out of the blue, i got this:

The Boy:  Do you know my blood type?

daisyfae:  O pos – Why are you asking?

The Boy:  Well, I’m at this hospital, and they think it might be relevant.  Just kidding.  We were going over it in biology and I was curious.

daisyfae:  Fuck. You.

My mantra regarding my son is “keep him alive til he’s 25”.  Frequently, i wonder if his ol’ lady is the greatest threat to his continued existence…