I lost my penpal on Friday

Much more than my penpal, actually.  My grandmother passed away at the ripe old age of 98.  As it often happens with those in that age group, she fell and broke her hip a week prior (after having come through a break + surgery on the other hip about a year ago).  She came through the surgery fine and was in the nursing home for recovery.  On Friday, she wasn't feeling well and they were waiting for the doctor to figure out what was going on.  About 2 hours later, I got the call that she had passed.

I knew her time here was limited due to simple math, but there's a part of me that expected her to keep plugging along indefinitely and it's hard to believe that this fixture in my life is gone.

I feel extremely fortunate to have had her around for as long as I did.  And with that come the regrets associated with events like this.  I wish I lived closer.  I wish I had known her better.  I wish I had spent more time with her.  I wish I had asked her those family history questions that I had been meaning to ask.

They don't make them like her anymore.  She was born in 1918, and thus witnessed events that most on this planet haven't.  WWII and the Depression shaped her.  She was a single mother back when it wasn't commonplace.  She worked in a factory for over 40 years to support herself and her son.  She scrimped, she saved, and she paid cash for all of her houses.  Needless to say, she was frugal!  But she was not stingy.  She offered me a generous interest-free loan when I bought my first house because she thought that real estate was a good investment.  She lived a simple life and had a positive outlook.  She made the most of what she had and found the good in every situation.  I never heard her complain.

She loved to cook and always made delicious meals when we'd visit.  She made great spaghetti and I still haven't figured out how to replicate it.  Another regret is that I never got a lesson from her on making pigs in a blanket (cabbage rolls).  I have the recipe somewhere and will just have to muddle through it on my own one of these days.

She was also my biggest champion.  She was everyone's biggest champion, no matter what.  When she got the news that I had gotten married (we had never discussed my sexuality but grandmothers know things), she sent $20 and a wedding card with the sweetest note inside.  She made a point to welcome Lori as her new granddaughter. She was 96 at the time.

We exchanged letters during those years that we didn't live in the same city.  I could always count on her letters to be stuffed with thoughtfully curated newspaper clippings about topics she knew interested me.  Mostly dogs and bikes.  As she got older and her eyes began to fail her, she still wrote and sent the occasional clipping, though I know it was a big struggle for her to read and write.  Not being able to read the newspaper every day had to have broken her heart.  But she soldiered on with nary a complaint, making the best of every day.  I printed my recent letters in large font for her, which she appreciated.  I received my last letter from her in the form of a birthday card on Sept. 20th.  Always on time.  And a bicycle themed card, too.

We had a visit to see her on tap, with arrival slated for Oct. 10.  Selfishly, I was hoping she'd hang on until we got there, but she had other plans.  And that's okay.  She would have been so pissed to while away her remaining days confined to a bed in a nursing home.  I think she'd had enough of knee pain, limited mobility and impaired vision.  I believe she checked out on her own terms, just like she lived her life.  There are many things I will miss about her but she left behind an example for me to emulate for the rest of my years.

Her last words to me in that card were "Have a pleasant trip.  See ya,  Love Grandma Sally."  And to you, Grandma.

It made me happy to watch this

The worst winter bike commuter ever

In addition to being to possibly the worst (or one of the least consistent) bloggers around, I can also add the title of worst winter bike commuter.  Okay, I shouldn't be so hard on myself.  It's not like I NEVER rode over the winter.  I rode plenty.  When it was dry.

Maybe I'm not the worst winter bike commuter but rather a poseur.  Being a poseur might more insulting than an inconsistent or lazy rider.  I made a bunch of bluster about how I needed a 2nd bike so I could put studded tires on and leave them all winter.  Yeah, well I did that and then proceeded to ride those wonderful, pricey studded tires (only the best for me!) exactly once.  And that was a ride around the block after one of our snow storms.  I had trouble staying upright in that deep of snow, so I confined myself to the tire tracks that had already been made, turned around and came home.  Sigh.

I might as well announce it to the world by wearing one of these:

Since I'm so into jerseys and all.  Get me some lycra shorts and ride around on my $5K bike with a squeaky chain and I'll fit right in with the rest of the 'em.

When you've lost your faith in humanity, can you ever get it back?

Not exactly bike content, but my posts of late have been less focused on the bike.  This is probably a result of spending less time on my bike and the resulting effect on my disposition.  I also realize that my posts have taken a darker turn, alluding to the struggles I've faced in recent years.  I've not written much here about those struggles, which is probably why the frequency of my posts has plummeted.  I don't want this blog to turn into a pity party, but, you know, why not be frank about this stuff?  If you don't care to read it, you can certainly move on.

It's not a secret that my current lot in life is not to my liking.  Yeah, well, join the club, right?  I'd say many of us are in that position.  Either we're in a job or relationship that's not what we want or imagined, or we're spending time chasing the elusive "happiness."  I've been torn between trying to find the good in my situation and how to get out of it.  Acceptance vs. resignation.  It's not been a pleasant or successful battle.

Part of my struggle has been that my current job has me answering phones and interfacing with the public all day, neither of which I enjoy.  This is not a surprise to me, as my first job at Taco Bell taught me that dealing with the public is not high on my list.  Customer service never appeared on the multitude of aptitude tests I've taken through the years.  But, really, does anyone enjoy interfacing with "the public?"  Maybe I'm wrong, but most of us only do it because we have to.  It's a necessary evil and we deal with it the best we can.

Thus, my work day feels mostly like a full-frontal assault.  If I'm not bombarded with phone calls, then it's face-to-face interactions.  It takes it out of you, that's for sure.  Prior to my current position, yeah, sure, I worked with and encountered my fair share of assholes.  But, for the most part, I believed that most people at their core were decent.  Well, no mas.  The scales have been tipped.  Indeed, there are bad people in the world.  People willing to lie, cheat, or do whatever they can to get what they want.  And it ain't just clients, I'll leave it at that.

I don't want to be that person that automatically assumes the worst in people and who is immediately suspicious of another's motives.  At the same time, I refuse to let others walk all over me (in theory, anyway - I am awful at standing up for myself and dealing with confrontation).  My heart is hardening and I don't know how to stop the progress or how to reverse the damage that's been done.  Maybe if I was 25 instead of...a lot older than that, it might be easier to revive that rosy optimism of youth (if I ever actually had it).  The years take their toll, for sure.  That brings me back to the subject line of this post, which is how can you restore your faith in humanity?  Is it possible?

Getting into another line of work would obviously be a good start for me, and I'm working on that, but in the meantime, I'm struggling mightily to make the daily grind more tolerable and keep myself from turning into a bitter, miserable soul.

The bicycle, I'm sure, is the solution.  At least part of the solution.  I know it but have wavered in keeping it a priority and letting it guide me through the dark times.  My situation as it stands would require real effort for me to make the changes to put my butt in the saddle as often as it needs to be.  It's the classic situation where you know that riding will make you feel better both physically and emotionally, but it's a huge struggle to muster the motivation to do it.  I've not done a good job of making it happen and am suffering the consequences.  The next few weeks should bring about much-needed change that will allow me some time on the bike and for me to get a slice of my life back. Fingers crossed.

Beware of studs

I finally got the winter studs installed on the Cross Check.  I am ready for winter riding adventures, which of course means there will be no measurable snow for at least the next 3 weeks.

Also, note of caution: be careful when handling these babies!  So far, I have scratched my car door, a door frame, my hand, and possibly the floor.  Maybe a clod like me should not play with sharp things.