Letting go

Still being in the recovery stage from a five week trip, I am trying to avoid falling into habitual patterns, steering clear of potential ruts. And, incredibly, I am trying to take it easy. The latter being a somewhat foreign concept. While, it must be said, pouring on the neuromuscular steam when required. Which explains why I fairly leapt upon the exercycle again this very morning. And off I was, pedaling to rousing schmaltz, and determined to get close to my aerobic and muscular capacities. Which, I am pleased to report, Gentle Reader, yielded big time. I did my usual 30 minutes on the exercycle.

After which I was shattered. But probably no worse than usual. This is one of those things I am trying to pay attention to. I am jettisoning the notion that once my two or three hours of morning exercise and stretching conclude…that the workday should immediately begin. And what is the workday? Writing my book. Dealing with various realities. One of which is getting back behind the wheel of my Chrysler and rolling about this hilly town. Which, uncharacteristically, I abandoned. Not just for the day, but owing to challenges of getting the driver’s seat in and out for Jane’s use in longer trips…I won’t be driving for the next six days. In other words, I let it go.

The Chrysler, however, did not let go. At 11 AM it sounded the alarm. The car alarm, to be exact. Shrieking and honking in protest of something. A passing bicyclist might have slapped it, for example. A passing Honda might have given it a dirty look. Whatever the cause, there it was alarming not only me but Jane and the neighbors. It was one of those moments that tells you absolutely that you are back in town. The party is over. The trip is done.

But the saga of the car alarm was not quite over. By the time I got in the elevator, downstairs and out the front door, Jane was already behind the wheel trying to make the alarm stop. She could not work it out. In the same situation, behind the wheel that is, I would have been just as clueless. Meanwhile, a helpful neighbor across the street, was yelling from her doorstep, insisting that we “stop it.” Very helpful.

And in a general way, maybe the whole thing was. Helpful, that is. For I tend to see these post-trip events as portentous. More than meets the eye. Such as the van trying to tell me something. Which could be “right on” or “don’t forget me” or something. In any case, I did note the contrast. The driving was hanging over my head, me fearing the moment when I got back behind the perilous wheel. But that moment has been delayed. Which may be just fine.

The other thing to delay is the New York Times. I am rather addicted. But with an ongoing national crisis, coupled with an ongoing global crisis, one does need to limit the dosage. I began reading about Republicans in the primaries, how only the spookiest seem to be winning in many states. The Confederate flag waving proudly throughout the South, of course. Turn to page 16, the article said. I didn’t.

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