I went cycling this past Sunday for a little over an hour in the local park. I chose to go by myself this time. There were several other cyclists out and runners and walkers. But it was nice to ride without talking to anyone. I noticed the leaves were turning on the Tall Beings, even more vibrant and colorful than a week ago when I rode. I saw the sun sparkling on the creek and the large rock wall that ran alongside of it. It was relaxing to just slow down and look and enjoy, the creek like a magical mirror reflecting all the trees and grasses growing next to the water. It came back to me then, how cycling is one of the best ways to be outdoors and really see your surroundings. I could hear the wind and the birds, and I watched squirrel do his amazing acrobatics up and down the trees and across the sidewalk path. I am always a little leery of squirrel, he is so quick to run in front of a bicycle, quietly chuckling I think because he knows he is quick, and knows he can make a cyclist nervous.

My mind started down Memory Lane as I rode five miles out and five miles back. So many years I have ridden on bicycle tours, for a week or a weekend. I thought of Canada, particularly the province of Ontario, and Manitoulin Island. I toured seven years straight for a week in Canada. I met so many wonderful people and a few of them I still stay in contact with, including my adopted brother Steve, who like me is American. And how could I ever forget my trip to Holland and the tulips, and Belgium and the delicious chocolates! I thought of Kentucky, Indiana, and Florida, and the beauty of each of these states seen on the seat of a bicycle. All good memories.

Later that afternoon when I was back home an old neighbor friend, Bob, called and asked if he could stop by for a few minutes. I assured him it would be great to see him and within three minutes he was knocking on my front door. We sat out on my kitchen deck and Bob explained his wife Linda was home and doing well, and that he was headed over to see his buds and play some poker, but he was a few minutes early for the card game. He didn’t want to drive home and then have to immediately drive back out. I told him he and his wife were welcome in my home anytime.

Several years ago I lived in a different house and Bob and Linda lived right behind me. To make a longer story short I bought a little, old farmhouse when my daughters were in grade school. I remember I was so scared to take on a mortgage on my own but I put my big girl pants on and did it anyway. The house was small, around a thousand square feet. And it was ugly. In fact, as most of you know I name everything, and I named that house Mr. Ugly! Let me tell you, the one bathroom had a Robin egg blue toilet, bathtub, and sink. The walls were painted mauve, and the floor had purple indoor/outdoor carpet. Gag! It also had fake mauve and purple flowers hung above the doorway. I am a flower snob. You will never see fake flowers in my home. I changed that bathroom up as soon as I could save the money. I grew to love that old house, and although I still called it Mr. Ugly it was said with real affection. :O)

Bob began to tell me a story about the man who owned Mr. Ugly and lived there before I bought it. The interstate, Gene Synder, was built years ago and cut through the fields that surrounded this old home. Lots of trees and fields were lost to the highway. But a few years before this construction took place, Bob and his fifteen years old son were out squirrel hunting. His son had taken a shot through the trees and suddenly they heard a man holler out, “I’ve been shot!” Then Bob heard three shots ring out in the woods, and he told his son to, “Lie down, hit the dirt!” The man who owned Mr. Ugly was firing at them. Bob heard him load three more shells into his rifle, and three more shots rang out in those woods. Now Bob is a great storyteller, all animated and excited. His cheeks were flushed and his bright blue eyes sparkling as he relived this adventure with his son. Bob said once the last three shots were fired he and his son raced off through the woods and found their car. He told me he never did meet that neighbor, never did know on what part of his body he had been shot, and after that experience he never wanted to, that he went out of his way to avoid him. How he made me laugh with his memories and storytelling!

Sunday was a day both Bob and I took a trip down Memory Lane. We both chose good, happy memories so it was fun. I love the photo above that I took a couple of years ago because the focus is on the existing cobweb, a gorgeous architecture glistening in the sunlight. In the background, slightly faded, is the road I presently live on. This is a great representation of living in the now versus traveling down Memory Lane. Nothing wrong with either one. Happy memories are good for us. The power of now is good for us. Now that I am writing this I think of Mr. Ugly with a smile, and I think of Our Treehouse, too. Both fill me with gratitude.

c   Love, Joan