This is the moon which rose hours before Jimmy Buffet died. I hope he was able to see it.
I’m on a list for a knee replacement. The old knee, after a lifetime of abuse is mush. I know that. With old age comes memory loss and I keep forgetting that I am not nineteen any more.
Only driven by a geezer.
I’ve been blipping around on a tiny motor-scooter, often feeling like a pig on a roller skate and it is time to find a bigger ride. My bowed legs are stubby little numbers and finding a proper motorcycle with a low enough seat which I can still load into my own into a trailer, and afford, it’s an exhaustive search. There’s a voice on my shoulder telling me I’m too old to be messing around on motor bikes. It can go to hell.
So, I’m visiting a local motorcycle dealer and finding myself interested in a Royal Enfield Himalayan. I want simple, reliable and affordable. This particular bike is more than one hundred pounds over my weight stipulation but it is well-balanced and smooth-riding. It also reminds me of the British bikes of my youth. Royal Enfield is built in India and as I joked to the dealer “Who else has been to the moon lately?” The dealer tossed me some keys and said, “that’s the one, take it for a ride!” And so I did. It was short. The seat height is perfect, but there were cargo racks in the way and swinging my stiff wee legs over was a challenge. I retracted the kick stand, put it in gear, let out the clutch, stalled the engine, and promptly dropped the bike on top of myself. My old knee had folded up. End of ride. Fortunately, no-one was watching but my ego was crushed. I knew to not be so stupid as to try to ride away. Home I came on my little red scooter. I’m humiliated and angry, to say the least. There are plenty of old farts motorcycling around, I just need to buy a can of good attitude.
Libby, the wee dog who sleeps beside me, woke up with a tiny growl to a wonderful music. Rain was hammering on the bedroom skylight. In my dreamy state, it sounded like thick bunches of sweet grapes. It was a brief reprieve and certainly heartening. We have a few days of sprinkles, which seem to always come when the days of summer become cooler and then more autumnal. Now we’re used to the heat, it’s fading away, a short Mexico primer.
They can bark in harmony.
A poster from the early 70’s promotes “Women’s Lib.” I’ve lifted this image right off my computer screen, I don’t know who holds the copywrite but after fifty years it may be pretty thin. I wonder what the non-binary x-y chromosome gang think of this.
September 2nd… The day the world learned that Jimmy Buffet has died. His music and spirit will never pass. We just have to live on in a world without him. I was never a “Parrot Head” but truly admired his songwriting acumen and ability to impress other folks with his joy for life. Well played.
Last night a dragonfly trapped itself in the living room skylight. It made a helluva racket, clattering its wings up in that soundbox. I taped a broom handle onto a mop and stood on a ladder to reach the big beauty. It climbed aboard. I gently transported that big insect outside and shook it free. Once I was a small farm boy who would take his .22 rifle out looking for things to kill, anything at all. Little song birds, furry harmless little animal, every creature that has more right to life on this planet than I did. Now I take extra effort to help things live. There are different ways of growing up. I’m glad I’ve discovered that. Then this morning I learned Jimmy was gone. End of blog. Jimmy’s passing reminds us that we are all moving closer to the head of the line. Let’s make the most of it while we can can.
“ Some people will never like you because your spirit irritates their demons.”
Denzel Washington
(Of course, maybe it is your demons that are irritating their spirit.)
The Royal Enfield is an admiral choice. I remember riding one of those through the Indian Himalayas and thinking when I get back to Canada I’ll buy one but never did – the PNW is not my idea of a great area to motorbike – wonderful scenery but unpredictable weather.
As for JB – I remember going to see him in Calgary in ’77 but we were really there to see David Bromberg. Well, I was in the minority and I hadn’t even heard of JB and everyone else had never heard of Bromberg. I guess I’ll always out of synch!!
Tony, The Royal Enfield is a beauty of old tech/retro. It’s a bit crude which suits me. They don’t have a bench seat but rather a saddle which puts my bones all in the wrong place. All that weight on a boney ass!
It’ll all work out. PS and this bog trotter has never heard of Bromberg. Hmmmm. F