bike ride across town, crackers & diapers flying

it was drizzly and a little chilly, but we put baby o in the bike trailer and headed downtown. it's a slow pace when papa p is riding a 20 lb mountain bike and dragging along a 20 pound, curly-headed creature who tosses crackers and diapers into the road. this strange creature managed to stay happy for the entire 2 1/2 hour ride, spending much of the time on his yellow plastic "phone," conversing with someone on the other end about motorcycles. thanks to either pregnancy or labor with baby o, i have a higher lactic threshold or my blood can carry more oxygen-- or something-- because climbing mt. bonnell seemed easy, so i did it twice in a row. (it used to be a struggle to get up once.) papa p took on some pretty big hills considering his cargo. like all top athletes, we stopped mid-way for a large amy's icecream at mozart's cafe. we left with fingers sticky from strawberry icecream and a toddler screaming for more.

the best place to contemplate big themes-- life, the world, the future-- is from the top of two wheels. so we discussed when papa p might leave his miserable law job. very soon we think! and we dreamed out loud about adventures to come-- maybe colorado this summer or maybe europe. that's the big upside of living below one's means: the ability to ponder such luxuries. luxuries like giving the two-week notice to your slave-master, or the possibility of exploring a distant part of the world. note: we do travel on the cheap. last time in europe, we stole lots of cheese from our bed-and-breakfast and subsisted on it all day. swiss cheese, to be exact (because we were in switzerland). to this day, swiss cheese = not appealing.

p.s. question papa p asks: why do bloggers want to make their personal thoughts public to the world? if emily dickinson were alive today, would she be blogging? doubtful. she would probably be alienated and continue hiding her poems in her underwear drawer. with that in mind, i leave with a poem, entitled "the loneliness one dare not sound":


The Loneliness One dare not sound --
And would as soon surmise
As in its Grave go plumbing
To ascertain the size --

The Loneliness whose worst alarm
Is lest itself should see --
And perish from before itself
For just a scrutiny --

The Horror not to be surveyed --
But skirted in the Dark --
With Consciousness suspended --
And Being under Lock --

I fear me this -- is Loneliness --
The Maker of the soul
Its Caverns and its Corridors
Illuminate -- or seal --


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