November 2021 – The Spoke And Word™

November 28, 2021November 28, 2021 Jhciacb

A Holiday For All…?

We celebrated Thanksgiving in the United States last week. Like most holidays, it has evolved over generations to be something different from it’s original intentions. The Thanksgiving we celebrate today is different than the one past presidents and legislative bodies have advanced, canceled, and tweaked at their whim.

Scroll social media on Thanksgiving morning and you’ll see memes, cartoons, and outright proclamations declaring that, like Columbus Day, Thanksgiving was born from exploiting natives, setting them up for internment, slavery, and genocide. And certainly there’s truth to that at the roots. Yet I know of nobody who gathered around the table this past Thursday, held hands, and thanked the Lord Almighty for making the Indians such easy prey. Most I know were just glad to spend time with friends and family, and as is often the case, just as glad to hit the road as soon as the last bite of pie went down or the Cowboys lost — whichever came first.

And don’t get me started on Christmas or Easter. Nothing is stagnant and everything changes, holidays included. Christmas, Independence Day, Passover, even Memorial Day are all different now than at their inception. Like religions, holidays evolve and mutate based on the ever-changing facts on the ground. And as a result, every holiday from Halloween to Valentine’s Day is celebrated differently today than it was just a few generations ago. And as holidays have evolved, they’re bound to draw more people in as they push others away, reinforcing divisions in culture.

I’ve long believed we should drop one more holiday into the mix though, and probably the only one we need — because we could all use it. No, not Peace Day, Kindness Day, or even Hugs Day, but Decorum Day. Decorum Day would be secular, celebrated as a national holiday, and provide an opportunity for everyone to just be civil to one another for 24-hours. Who could argue with that…? A day of respect, right speech, and biting one’s tongue.

Of course Decorum Day would never work — not in the United States. It would have its detractors from the beginning. Decorum Day would limit free speech. Religious institutions would complain of its godlessness. It would have to be administered by the government — good luck there. And eventually, Hallmark, Lexus, and CNN would brand it and monetize it.

But the real reason Decorum Day wouldn’t work, isn’t because of the reasons I just mentioned. Decorum Day wouldn’t work because most people wouldn’t be capable of adhering to it’s simple doctrine — to conduct themselves with dignity, act with decency, speak sparingly, and deescalate when in the path of verbal confrontation. We’re just not capable of it — or are we…? I dunno 🤷🏼‍♂️.

At the end of the day, I’ve come to realize that holidays are a lot like Frankenstein — they are created by man, grow to have a life of their own, and eventually become monsters that we can’t control. Why should Decorum Day be any different…?

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 152

Climbing: 6,600’

Mph Avg: 16.0

Calories: 8,800

Seat Time: 09 hours 31 minutes

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Taj Mahal. Enjoy…

November 21, 2021November 21, 2021 Jhciacb

I’m Her Mrs. Horsley Now…

During my grade school years, my mother worked at a nearby nursing home, The Aspen Siesta. Mom was one of two RNs that worked the swing-shift, along with several medical assistants, and the kitchen staff. Mom was often the person in charge during her shifts.

The Aspen Siesta was s small, but high-end facility. The owner, Ruthann Horsley, insisted on being called Mrs. Horsley — by everyone including the staff, the residents, and even her husband, Dr. Horsley, who was the co-administrator.

Because the Aspen Siesta was close to our home, I often spent my after school hours there. My brother, four years older, was usually involved in extracurricular activities or with friends, and mom didn’t want me home alone. So long as I wasn’t disruptive or a distraction to my mom, Mrs. Horsley allowed me to be there.

I’d sit at a table in the corner of the dining room and pretend to do homework while I daydreamed about flying fighter jets, being the next Terry Bradshaw, or robbing banks — one of which was a more natural fit than the others. Each day at 4pm, a crowd of canes and wheelchairs would gather around the console television in the commons area to watch the Merv Griffin show.

Every so often, Mrs. Horsley would stop by my table to check on me. If I was lucky, she’d lay down a square of Pepperidge Farms coconut cake. Even as a kid I recognized the kindness in that gesture and always thanked her. Despite that kindness, Mrs. Horsley commanded the room whenever she entered it. Staff and residents alike listened to her every word and nobody dared talk back.

One afternoon while doing my homework, a female resident approached the table where I was seated. She quietly picked up a potted plant from the center of the table — and began taking bites from it. I was petrified. It was the first time I became aware of the vulnerability and lack of mental acuity in the elderly. Mrs. Horsley saw the woman and used her commanding voice to stop her, subsequently taking the plant from her hand. I was grateful she intervened, but her loud voice scared me just as much.

After that incident, I found myself paying more attention to the behaviors of the residents. I noticed their trembling hands, food falling from their mouths, their clumsy feet, and their faint voices. I developed an aversion to the elderly — something that would stay with me for years.

I asked my mom about it once — about how she could stand being around old people. They were so gross, I thought. She told me it was her job and taking care of them mattered to her more than the things she found offensive. She also encouraged me to see beyond it — to consider they were all children once, just like me.

I’ve been thinking about all of this lately — reflecting on my time at the Aspen Siesta.

My mother is no longer the nurse in charge — she’s now the resident. I frequently wipe food from her mouth as she eats. Her voice, especially late in the day, is often too weak to understand. She hasn’t attempted to eat a floral centerpiece yet, but she recently had a conversation with a flashlight as though it were her friend of 20-years. In helping her get in and out of bed, I occasionally see her backside. I’ve even assisted her in the bathroom a time or two. And through all of this, it’s never been gross. I see beyond it, as mom encouraged me to do 50-years ago.

And in those moments when it becomes necessary to assert my authority or gain her trust, I leverage those visceral memories by taking her back in time with me. I say things like…

Think of me as your Mrs. Horsley now…

This is your own private Aspen Siesta...

What would nurse Willie do…?

Fifty-years ago — while sitting at a table in a nursing home adding fractions in a workbook as the Merv Griffin show played in the background, and with Mrs. Horsley barking commands at the staff and residents alike, I had no idea I was in a training program for the life that I now live. I’m honestly not sure though, if I’d handle the responsibilities of caregiving in the same way had I not spent those afternoons learning what elder care is all about — the good, bad, and ugly of it all.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 146

Climbing: 6,500’

Mph Avg: 15.8

Calories: 8,300

Seat Time: 09 hours 11 minutes

November 14, 2021 Jhciacb

No Rush To Judge…

As we do most days before I ride, mom and I headed to the local airpark the other day for lunch and a walk. Lunch is usually fast food from a local drive-thru. I do my best to order the healthiest options, but she gets more of a pass than I do.

The long narrow parking lot at the airpark parallels the 2,200-foot runway. There’s a half-dozen picnic tables where families, business people, and even teens can enjoy lunch while watching small planes in action. Most days there’s a handful of cars aimed directly west watching the planes takeoff and land from north to south.

Children leave their parents to climb the short chain-link fence and get a better view, while their moms scurry to setup lunch at the picnic tables. There might be one or two aviation buffs in pickup trucks listening to scanners as they judge the quality of each landing. The cars with tinted windows, peeling Sublime stickers on the rear bumper, and smell like burning weed carry teenagers who’ve released themselves on their own recognizance from the high school a half-mile away.

The airport sits on a plateau a couple hundred feet above town, so the onshore wind is strong. Mom and I prefer to stay in the car and eat while we listen to The World on public radio. After mom’s food settles, we get out and walk the length of the parking lot a couple of times. It’s her daily workout.

One day last week, toward the end of our first lap, I saw a woman with a long brown ponytail, maybe in her 30s, sitting on a picnic table smoking a cigarette. She was all alone. I said hello as we passed, and she nodded without speaking. I didn’t think much of it. My only thought was that she looked old enough to know the dangers of cigarettes. When mom and I returned for our second lap, the woman on the table stood up and began walking toward a well-worn Jeep Cherokee. It was then I noticed she was pregnant.

I probably rushed to ten different judgments in just a few seconds, not the least of which was that I labeled her a bad person — I didn’t want to, but I did. She turned back as she opened the Jeep door and I could see in her face that she could see me judging her. It was a poignant moment.

When I rode my bike past the airpark later that day, I relived that moment of poignancy. She looked ashamed to be seen smoking while pregnant, and I felt sinful for judging her without knowing the whole story. And I’m certain there was a story far behind that moment.

Maybe it was just one cigarette. Maybe she’s had a healthy pregnancy, but had a stressful day and decided to have just one. Maybe she smokes 12 a day — maybe 20. Maybe she’s in an abusive relationship and smoking is a momentary refuge. Maybe she’s so stricken by the addiction of smoking that she can’t quit no matter how hard she’s tried. Maybe she has no support system — for the smoking or for the pregnancy. I’ll never know any of that.

The only thing I know for certain is that I was quick to judge and I shouldn’t have been. I’ve never walked a single step in her shoes. But then, I’ve never walked a single step in anyone’s but mine. My lesson from the thought-chew that afternoon was to stay in my own lane — both on the road and in life.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 174

Climbing: 7,700’

Mph Avg: 15.6

Calories: 9,900

Seat Time: 11 hours 03 minutes

November 7, 2021 Jhciacb

Keeping My Head…

Like most everyone else, my head has been spinning these last few years. Noise coming from every direction, voices getting louder, and the sense of urgency increasing with new crisis. And there’s a new crisis nearly every hour, each one with a little more gravity than the previous. And the crowd breaks as cleanly as two saltine crackers — between us and them, and the crumbs from the middle fall to the ground.

My political compass fluctuates just a few percent on either side of center. In matters of culture and social orientations, I lean a little bit to the left. In matters of fiscal accountability and defense (defense being defined as protecting our interests within our own borders), I lean a little bit to the right. In matters of conducting myself with decency and decorum, I lean straight in.

If I’ve been disappointed with anything these last few years, aside from the behaviors of our elected officials and media pundits who illuminate them, it’s with the way my fellow citizens have conducted themselves in conversations with one another. We are a nation of middle-schoolers.

I’m proud of a lot of things these days…

I’m proud that since January, I’ve taken just 12 days off riding. I’m proud that in that time I’ve hit my weekly goal of 100-miles — usually by Wednesday. I’m proud that I haven’t once looked out the window and thought it was too rainy, too windy, too hot, or too cold to ride. Okay, once. I’m proud that in the three years since I began this blog, I’ve missed only one Sunday.

Away from my bike, I’m proud of other things…

I’m proud that I’ve gotten my mom out of the house for a short walk or drive, all but a handful of days in four years — even during the pandemic. Same goes for my dog. I’m proud that I show up for work every day, even after my many sleepless nights. I’m proud that I treat each client as if they’re my only one.

I’m proud that I never let my daughter’s calls go to voicemail, that I pay my bills on time, and that I spend time in contemplative prayer every morning of my life — even when I’m running late. I’m proud that I take time each day to listen to three songs I’ve never heard before.

I’m sure that all seems a lofty, but I’m proud of those things.

The thing I’m most proud of though, through these last few years, is that I haven’t lost my head — not once. I haven’t called anyone a name. I haven’t belittled anyone. I haven’t allowed my behaviors to get ugly in public or private. I’ve conducted myself with decency and decorum.

I’ve remembered the one value my father instilled in me growing up, that mattered to him more than any other. In the words of Kipling, paraphrased, dad reminded me regularly…

“Son, if you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, then you are a man…”

I’ve certainly had my opinions in these last few years, and I’ve definitely run the gambit of emotions. I’ve wanted to throw my television set through the window. I’ve wanted to push some people down tall flights of stairs. I’ve wanted to set fire to some buildings, turn over some cars, and I’ve even wanted to drive through a crowd or two — but I’ve kept my head, because that’s what adults do.

Again, if this too sounds lofty, I get it — I’m lofty. But whatever the opposite of lofty is, I don’t want to be that — ever. There are far too many people filling that role as it is.

This is what I think about when I ride…. Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 5

Miles: 125

Climbing: 5,500’

Mph Avg: 16.0

Calories: 8,000

Seat Time: 07 hours 49 minutes