Penny for my own thoughts

Dear Penny,

Don't you think it might be time to retire?

It's quite obvious that we the people will never be able to reach a consensus on your future (just like healthcare.). It costs more than a penny to make a penny. And when the metals market rises, it costs way more than a penny to make a penny. But then on the other hand, you're a part of history and culture and tradition and that kind of smitherish. So people will always want you around, just for kicks.

But the truth is, Penny, your time is nearing it's end. And here's how I know. Oftentimes, I notice people drop a coin, they look down to find it, then realise it's a penny, and just walk away. Bending to pick up the penny is not worth the effort.

Does that make sense to you? That's not how you'd like to be remembered, is it? So why not quit while you're ahead? Let's gently, and respectfully (but firmly), tuck you into bed.

And likewise I hope, one day when I'm doddering around pointlessly, you'll look out for me and tell me the same.

Death by uphill

This past weekend, Delta and I participated in a 50-mile bikeride in the Jersey Highlands area. I'd meant to put up a picture or two from our glorious and victorious moments, but as it turned out we clean forgot to take any pics at all. Of course, could have had something to do with how we very nearly died trying to make it up those last hills, and let me tell you, when you're so close to death, taking pictures of yourself really doesn't seem like much of a priority.

So you'll just have to make do with my fumbling verbal description of the event.

The day actually turned out to be a beautiful one, cool enough, hot enough, a little bit of sunshine but not too much, basically, perfect conditions for biking. Unlike, of course, the last time we did this in May.

We started the ride with some very steep unhill, and somehow I convinced myself that we'd got the worst over with, and it would only get easier from here on out.

And then, for the next four and a half hours, proceeded to prove myself wrong. Again. And again. And again.

"I've driven out there before," Guster had told us before the ride. "It's really pretty flat out there. Nothing for you to worry about."
We shouldn't have believed him of course. It's quite easy for all the land to look flat and smooth when you're sitting comfortably behind the wheel of a beemer. It's safe to say Delta and I had never done a ride quite this difficult ever before. Every ten miles or so, we stopped for a break, and greedily downed the PBJs so lovingly made by all the bike support volunteers.

It was all ok until about mile 30, and then, all of a sudden, we rounded the corner to find ourselves at the bottom of (yet) another long and steep hill. And I suddenly knew that death was a near and distinct possibility. But somewhere there in the depths of my own misery, I realised I'm a competitive little bugger. Every time I saw another biker dismount and start to walk their bikes up the hill, it filled me with renewed determination.
I'm not going to be like THAT biker, I'd think to myself, and doggedly forge onwards.

And somehow, painfully, slowly, we made it to the end.
"I think I'm going to be quite miserable tomorrow," I said to Delta, grinning through my triumph, but knowing my quads would have a thing or two to say about this the next day.

But at that point, tomorrow was still a whole day away. At that point, all we had to was get back on the ferry and start our return journey home, relaxed and basking in our own personal triumph of what we'd achieved.

A busy September

I guess I should start with an apology for my silence. This blog doesn't have many readers, but for those of you who do read it regularly, I'm sorry for the sudden and complete absence over the last month.

The truth is, for the past few weeks I've been busily running around like a crazy woman. It all started at the end of August, with a trip to Seattle for work. Work trips are always fun anyway, but all the better when you can combine them with meeting the Cos, her hubby, and their pink, asquidgy new squealer.

"Do you want to hold him?" the Cos asked me generously. But I was too scared. I shouldn't even by allowed near anything more fragile than a brick, let alone to hold a baby. Just as well that I declined anyway, because right after that the little critter let out a yowl and a holler, and I'm sure (although they'd never admit it of course) that right then he must have pooped himself.

Of course, as soon as he'd sorted out his own GI tract quibbles, the kiddo started smiling at us beatifically and wiggling his little pink toes, and even me, hardened as my heart is to all things baby-like, I felt myself melting just a little.

And then, when I'd just got back and barely had a chance to catch my breath, began Delta's month of retirement. Yes. A whole month without work. Can you imagine that? It was like a month of heaven, except better because he didn't have to wear white robes or shiny things on his head.

"What are you going to do with all your time?!" I asked him in vicarious excitement, as the month stretched before us like an unending summer vacation. "Imagine! A whole month off!"

"Oh, I have lots of goals," was his peremptory response.

"Like?"

"I want to learn to play the guitar like Bono."

I tried not to visibly fall off my seat, but I couldnt' quite conceal the look of outright surprise.
"Erm. Anything else?"

"And learn to speak Spanish. Fluently."

And I guess I'd say, after the month's over, that he didn't quite master either of those, but we managed to pack in a bundle of goodness anyway.

There was a weekend on the shore at the Cranes', where we got to spend time with the motely crew, the three kids, and their crazy cockerpoodledoodle dogs. And Delta and I got to watch the Labour Day fireworks on the beach, sifting through the silky sand with our toes as the fireworks burst in brilliant splendour across the skies above us.

And then there was a weekend in the Catskills, where Delta and I set up camp for two days, to go hiking through the woods. And every vista, every escarpment (and sometimes just the uphill scramble!) took our breath away.

And of course, there it was a special month for Queen Jaffa too. She learnt that in September, the sun is at exactly the right height for a direct shaft of light to hit a corner of our living room floor, for precisely half an hour each morning - the perfect nap situation for a cat. Only for September though - I wonder if she'll remember it again next year.