Bike Culture

While discussing the topic of American bike culture with our new found friend Geoff, he explained how no such thing existed while he lived in Amsterdam.

Huh?

How can that be? How can the city where bikes have the privilege of having roads made specifically for them, where every one rides a bicycle, have no bike culture. Further discussion on the matter lead to some enlightening conclusions that come at you like a bus full of Vegas bound retirees. And it seemed so obvious in hind sight, in a way not so unlike the cartoon light bulb going off.

The discussion started with a simple question not unfamiliar to American cyclists: "What kind of cyclist are you?". Most American cyclist will have a natural answer at the ready. The terms "weekend warrior", "roadie", "mountain biker", "downhiller", "BMXer" come to mind. Yet that very same question would perplex someone from Amsterdam. The bicycle is so ingrained into the every life of the Amsterdamer, that they no longer think of it as a facet of their lives.

Suppose I posed to you this multiple choice question: "What kind of driver are you?", with the available answers as "off roader", "race weenie", "mileage counter", etc. It would seem rather absurd wouldn't it? The bicycle is such a large part of the average Amsterdamer's life, just like the automobile is a part of the average American life, that the very idea of "bike culture" just doesn't make sense to them. It's just part of their culture, much the same as American culture is car-centric.

So to have Americans integrate bicycles into their lives, all we need to do is rid ourselves of bike culture, right? Until then... Down with bike culture. Long live the bike.

Micro Blogging

There! Now back to your regularly scheduled (meaning few and far in-between) programming.

Tippy Canoe and O'Chans, Too!

Two years ago, the whole family became hooked on kayaking. Cameron had expressed an interest in kayaking around the San Juan Islands after seeing a story about it on TV. So for his birthday, I took him to Tomales Bay for a lesson and paddle. He loved it so much, we sent him to a week long kayaking camp (which he will go to again this year). The dilemma has always been whether or not we should get our own equipment. Renting equipment for the whole family is expensive, but purchasing is just as bad.

While searching for a part for our bicycle rack on Craig's List (what a fantastic thing that is!!), James accidentally found a listing for two kayaks, with almost all of the equipment and rack parts that are compatible to our system, for $800! The boats are hardly used and in perfect condition. The two of them together, new with none of the equipment (paddles, life vests...) would have cost us $1500, so we jumped on it.

We pick them up on Thursday. We have to clean out the garage so that they can be stored properly (something that has needed to be done for a very long time). I refuse to allow us to use them until the garage is done, so Saturday is clean up day!! Sunday, we will paddle into the horizon!

Catch Up and Other Condiments

My goodness, it has been a long while! So much has happened, recently, it is hard to know where to start. How about a breakdown?

James-
After a whole lotta years, James' job has finally come to an end. He was layed off a few months ago and has been on the search for a new job (which began, today, in Mill Valley). It was an interesting journey- because James is self-taught, finding work can be challenging. Everyone wants someone with a 'degree'. I know that there is some fabulous reason for this, but it seems a bit short sighted to me. So many of these companies were started by guys who dropped out of college! This new job feels that James' lack of formal education is an asset! Enlightened corporation.

While looking for permanent work, James was working a temp job in downtown San Francisco. Instead of trying to find parking everyday, he started riding his bicycle to work everyday and has rediscovered his great love of bicycles. Since the beginning of the year, James has built or redone 4 bikes, and is planning on racing one of them later this year!

Adrienne-

Well I have been busy! I have decided to reduce my driving by 80% over the next year, which is challenging. I have been riding my bike to work as often as possible (that, alone, can take up to 150 miles a week out of my driving!) and have begun to ride around town for errands and things. As we live smack dab in the middle of a mountain, it is a hill in every direction! My knees are not as young as they once were! The greatest challenge is learning how to negotiate traffic- cars are really damn big!

Earlier this year, I started reading "A New Earth", by Eckhart Tolle as a part of the Oprah Winfrey Book Club. There was an on-line web class involved with it. I now find myself in the interesting, and improbable (for me) position of spiritual seeker. Through this experience I have found an interesting community of people who are seeking a deeper understanding of the Universe beyond our vision. I have begun meditation, I am undertaking an informal study of Buddhism (primarily the teachings of Thicht Naht Hanh), and have even gone so far as to start a blog for those on the spiritual path. I have to admit, I am not sure where this is all going to take me, but I am sure it will be somewhere interesting.

Cameron-

Our oldest boy, has managed to grow to 6' with size 13 shoes! He hasn't hit that big growth spurt that should be coming up soon. I can't imagine what it will be like to have to look up to him! James having to look up to him will be too much.

Despite a refusal to do his math homework, Cameron has graduated from middle school and will be a high school freshman in the fall ( I shake my head as I write this). He will be attending Balboa High School which is a measly 5 minutes from home on his bicycle (he has to bug, too) and wants to join the fencing team. He will not be able to join the orchestra until his sophomore year, so he and I are thinking of taking night classes at City College to learn guitar.

Úna-

Úna is growing up so fast, it is dizzying. She has been offered a full scholarship to the San Francisco School of Ballet and is currently a blue belt in Hapkido. She has the bike bug, and has learned how to negotiate the streets like a true native.

Starting in the fall, she has decided to take violin lessons at school (I am not looking forward to it). I keep trying to get the kids to start an electric hillbilly band. I think it would be cool, but I think I am alone on this.

Declan-

He is three. He is very articulate. He is very dramatic. He is a little metal head and wants to have a 'big guitar that plays loud!'. He loves scary movies. He embodies the fullness of three.

That should just about do it. There have been many things happening and keeping up with it is difficult. But I will try to do better. The writer's strike has cured me of 90% of my TV watching, so I have more time!

From the Ludite

Today I write from the comfort of Cameron and Una's Hapkido class. I am typing with my thumbs on a tiny little pocket computer via someone's unprotected wi-fi connection (thank you, whoever you are. No one keeps their connections open anymore, and I don't want to pay for a media package.) For most people of my age group this is not terribly unusual. I, however, am fascinated by this possibility. A computer in my pocket? How did I get from wanting an electric typewriter to having the internet in my purse? When did it become expected that I could carry around an entire encyclopedia at the same time I am shopping for shoes (theoretically), all from my hand held electronic device? I am living the Star Trek dream, minus dating captains! Fascinating.

Ruminations

It is interesting just what comes to mind while you are parked on the tarmac, in an over crowded tuna can airplane. Mostly, I find myself ruminating on things that I would otherwise never notice- how large my feet are (in comparison to what is described as ‘ greatest legroom in the industry’), the breathing pattern of the person behind me, what the odd sounds the plane are making are, how greatly this experience differs from the first-class experience to Paris I dream about daily...

I have already been through the security experience that inevitably makes no sense and makes me want to run through the airport yelling ‘shoebombershoebombershoebomber’. Sitting here does not necessarily dampen that desire. In fact, boredom seems to increase my destructive tendencies and I am now ready to start mumbling, loudly, about god’s plan being ready. I could get cagey and repeat over and over, ‘now is the time, now is the time. get ready, get ready’. This would be just vague enough to cause some excitement, but not enough for actual imprisonment.

What if we could just fly off somewhere else? SFO doesn't want us right now. Maybe the Virgin Islands would take a plane full of frustrated Americans in need of umbrella drinks. Bellarouge? Topeka?

There is a TV in front of me as i am on Jet Blue (A+ for the TV, F for the tarmac parking). I find my self watching an add for ‘full figured’ Playtex bras. Never thought it would take sitting in an extra long mailing tube to find out big boobed girls can have lace undergarments. Of interest here- there is no language censoring on airplanes that play ‘South Park’. ‘Asshole’ is less offensive when the censor knows you are stuck on a fucking tarmac.

How cool is it that I can blog in this situation? Can we quantify this?

I really want a shot of my beautiful Manacmore. 120 proof, single malt, Scottish gift to humanity. A couple of shots of that would make this a great deal more interesting. If I gave some to everyone on the plane, maybe we could get some karaoke going. Or even turn into a plane full of soccer hooligans!’

If I call ‘Domino’s’ for a pizza, and they can’t get through security in 30 minutes, do I get the pizza for free? My goodness, I am hungry.

We should be landing by now, and yet we are still parked. Maybe we could all perform Chinese fire drills.

Now and Laters

For once, I am at a loss for words.

As most people who know me are aware, seven weeks before my 17th birthday, I gave up my first baby for adoption. Suffice it to say, I took a great deal of trouble to find her wonderful parents, I kept in touch with her over the years and we both moved on with the job of living. This was a task that, I think, was harder for me than her- but that is always the way of it with children.

When I first gave Rachael up, her parents lived in Campbell, CA. It never occurred to me they might move far away, as they had said they wanted to settle in the Bay Area. By the time Rachael was two, she was living in Long Beach. I was so angry at their departure, I couldn't put it into words. One of the things that made giving Rachael up livable was having her close enough to see her from time to time.

When Susan and Robert told me they were moving to Pittsburgh, PA, I cried for two days. It was like giving her up all over again.

Going to visit Rachael has always been challenging, largely because despite it being the good thing to do, I have never been able to convince myself that giving my child to others was the right thing to do. Having my kids didn't soften that feeling, either (although many people who had never experienced anything like this assured me it would.) I am always acutely aware of where the kids are when they are not with me. I am always aware that Rachael is very far away.

After twenty years of waiting, I finally got to spend some time with my first born daughter without her parents. It has left me with thoughts and feelings that I have difficulty expressing. There is no lexicon of language for something like this. Maybe that is why people make movies- so many things can only be expressed in pictures. Maybe it is the pictures in my head that I should describe. But which ones?

Then - I am lying in my hospital bed, with a large window to my right. Rachael is sleeping on me, in a sun beam. She is so small and the light makes her hair sparkle. I am, briefly, blissfully happy and all seems right with the world. All I want is to stay in that moment, with no one else there to remind me she is only mine for that moment. We are both content to lie together in the warm sunlight, breathing and dozing. I know we are in a bubble, and that very soon it will pop. I can hear the nurse coming to take her away and even though I ask her not to, she insists.

Now - I am lying in my king sized bed here at home, reading Harry Potter. The kids are in their room, pretending to be annoyed with one another. Rachael asks if she can come in and read with me. She lies across the foot of the bed and opens her enormous book. She asks if she can read some of it to me. As she reads, I think that her hair still has that little hint of red it had in our sunbeam. I think that the last time we spent time like this, all I wanted was for it not to end. Now I realize that a part of me is still in that day, stuck in that moment. I think how strange it is that she is old enough to describe how amazing it is that this book is so "maximalist". How strange to be alone with this person who is no longer a baby and how that day in the hospital was the last time she thought of me as "mother". I think it is wonderful that she is so much like Cameron and my father. I am so aware of what twenty years can mean. Just how deeply you can bury something if you really want to. Rachael keeps reading, she has no idea what flies through my mind. She is so happy with her book and the chance to share it. I dropped out of college, once, because I loved books like that. Loved reading them out loud to other people. Funny thing to pass on. Part of me wants the moment to last, the other wants the other shoe to drop because it is damn hard to keep all my parts together.

Then - Rachael is sitting on the living room couch of her home in Pittsburgh, PA. She is seven and a half. She doesn't look like me any more. We are visiting so she can meet her little brother (we haven't figured that part out quite yet). Rachael wants Cameron to sit with her and I have to show her how to hold him because three month old babies don't sit very well. She has him on her lap, and she is beaming. She isn't old enough to feel awkward about having half siblings. She wants to read a book to him and Cameron is happy to be read to. I am taking pictures of the two of them together, musing over how little they look alike. I wonder if they will ever have a true relationship with one another? I hope so but don't know how to make that happen, because these trips to Pittsburgh always hurt. For now, they are awfully cute together and Cameron loves the book.

Now - We are all sitting in a restaurant in Santa Cruz. James, Dirk and I are on one side of the table. Rachael sits across from us with Cameron, Una and Declan. Una insists on sitting next to Rachael. After years of Una hero worshiping Cameron, he has been usurped. Rachael can do no wrong in Una's eyes. Declan sits with Cameron (his hero) and the two of them play race car with the pepper shaker. We discuss the possibility of Cameron visiting Rachael at school for a couple of days this year. Una wedges in closer to her sister. Declan tries to drive the pepper car over Rachael's hand. They are siblings! They have all accepted one another without condition. It is almost hard to look at them, because this is exactly what I wanted for them all. I don't want to break it.

Now - Rachael, Dirk and I are talking about how Dirk and I answer the "how many kids do you have?" question. Dirk and I differ on this point. Dirk hasn't figured out how to answer that question because he has told so few people. I say there are "three people" and there are "four people". What determines the difference is quite complicated and depends on how much time/ desire I have to describe why my oldest isn't here and that I am indeed old enough to have a twenty year old daughter and that yes I was young when she was born and no...... More often than not, I say I have four children and leave it at that. Rachael smiles and says she is glad I say four. Her reaction is like a salve on a very old wound.

Then - There are too many people in my life. All of them want me to make them feel better. If I am having a bad day, I get a constant flow of "What's wrong?", "Are you OK?", "Are you sure everything is all right?"... I want to throw things at them and yell at them and tell them to fuck off. Of course I am not all right. No, there is no way that I am OK. I am so far from OK I don't know what it would feel like to be close to it. And there is nothing anyone can do, because I am giving my baby away and it does not matter that Susan and Robert are wonderful people. I am going to feel like shit about it for a long time and if that makes anyone uncomfortable too god damned bad because you couldn't feel a thousandth as horrible as I do and it is my right to feel bad. That is what I get. That is mine. I don't have to make you understand. I don't need to make you feel better. But... I wasn't brought up that way. I get up for old people on the bus. I say please and thank you all the time. I do not air my feelings because I am stoic and that is what I was taught to be. If I say I feel wretched and minuscule and invaded you will ask questions, and I will get uncomfortable because admitting weakness is not the British way. So I keep it in. Really I am fine. This is the best thing I could do. We will all be better off.

Now - I still find people want me to make them feel better. No one ever really wants to know what it was like to be me in 1987. Sometimes someone will ask me a question, awkwardly. They are always fearful of hearing, of knowing, what it was really like. Most people want to think that everything ended up great, with no sadness, no shame, no guilt. No regrets. So I let them think it. My life now is only because my life was. There is no possibility of change. Still, my sadness, my regret, my memories are mine. Maybe others can't hear it because this is what is supposed to be mine. This was the road I had to take to know how to hold on to my life now.

Then - Susan and Robert have their blue Ford Escort parked in front of my apartment. I hate that car. Before, I hated the way the stupid shift light would flash on at exactly the wrong time to do anything but drive 15 miles an hour. Now, it seems like Hades' chariot sent to take Persephone back to hell. Except it isn't. Persephone only went to the Underworld for three months of the year. Rachael is going to live with her... parents. Forever. Everyone wants me to put Rachael in her car seat. Why? I hope this isn't some kind of honor being bestowed upon me. It sure as hell better not be a reminder that I promised to go through with all of this. Some stupid ritual to help me "let go" and get "closure"? The back of the car is too tight for me to be comfortable and I have never done this before. I strap her in and she is ludicrously tiny in this huge car throne. We have crossed the line. Everyone is patient, but I know that they all want to get on with life, even if it is just a tiny voice in the back of their heads telling them so. Can anything I tell her now find a small space somewhere in her conscience so she can access it in the future? Just the feeling would be OK.

"I love you. I always will. I don't want you to go, but we have to do this. Don't forget. I love you."

Susan and Robert hug me good-bye. Susan is crying a bit. I can't handle it. They need to leave now. Right this moment I hate them and I am not sure that will ever change. Right now I hate everyone.

Then - Una and I are buying shoes together. She is seven, and she has "the gene". Aside from being beautiful, smart, funny and very put together, Una loves shoes. She loves shoes the way I love books. We are in Nordstrom, looking at racks of sale shoes when we realize that Una wears a woman's size four shoe!! She is beautiful, with enormous feet. True to form, Una starts trying on Ferragamo, and Prada, and even a pair of Jimmy Choos! "Oooooooh, Mommy! Look at these! They fit and they go with my jeans!" She's got it bad. On sale those shoes are two hundred dollars, and scattered on the rack like they are, they are the equivalent of the candy racks in the check out aisle. I tell her we are going to Target.

Now - Rachael and I are at Target. Looking at shoes. She has "the Gene". There is a huge rack of five dollar sale shoes, most of them dangerous in their alttitudinal potential. She is trying on a pair of turquoise, platform, slingback... stilts. If I were by myself, I would be a tad less judgmental about them, but there is a biological connection here that can not be denied, so I have an opinion about them. I limit my comment to "My God! You'll break you're ankle!". Una would get a sound "No way!". Rachael informs me her mother would hate them and shake her head in disapproval (knew there was a reason I liked Susan). They do look nice on her. And they are only five dollars... where do you think she got "the Gene" from?

Now - I am watching Rachael wind her way through airport security (she is wearing the turquoise stilts). Still just a little bit of red in her hair. Dirk is hanging on the partition that I guess is supposed to prevent shoe bombers from... whatever it is that shoe bombers do. I don't want her to go, but it seems right that she is leaving. I am so happy that she was here. She is all I could have hoped for. I see my Dad in her. My Mom, my Grandpa. Rachael is smart, and confident and herself. All I want for any of my kids is for them to be themselves. And maybe just enough of me to come home from time to time - to offset those good-bye's. They are awfully hard. I am surprised to realize I don't mind that I am not her "Mom". I haven't been for so long, I am used to that. It is clear that she is my daughter (she has my sharp tongue, god help her), but what am I? The term "birth mother" has always been distasteful to me. We have been jokingly using "Alternate Parental Unit". "Friend" is inadequate. I guess it is just, Adrienne. Hope it is enough, 'cause it is all I got.

This may seem like a long post. Lots of words. But there is no way I can put what flashes through my head into this. The pictures run by too fast, the feelings kick a bit too hard. It all leaves me a bit breathless. I start to write, and the pictures take over...