Widdershins-On-The-Lake

The move was horrendous. Here are the salient points.

~ It was raining. really, really raining, with an occasional lost snowflake dropping in just to chortle at the state of affairs.

~ Moving-truck driver challenged a chestnut tree to a duel. Chestnut tree won and truck lost its side loading door. Completely. Ripped the thing right off.

~ The half-loaded, and doorless, truck is unloaded, in anticipation of replacement truck’s immanent arrival. Large raindrops have joined the snowflakes’ gleeful chorus.

~ Accidents happen. Movers seem to be dealing with it, so we head off to the lake, in anticipation of new carpet arriving, before our possessions. (The original carpet is a gruesome combination of 70’s sculptured yellow and 4 decades of hard usage) – ‘scuse me, I have to take a moment to mourn that the 70’s was so long ago. Le sigh!

~ We wait.

~ Still raining.

~ Still waiting.

~ Carpet arrives and we roll it out before our possessions turn up.

~ They don’t.

~ We wait some more, and have expensive cell-phone conversations with new moving truck driver who appears to be lost. How can someone work in the moving business not have a map?

~ Owner of moving business, states, and I quote, “What do you want me to do about it?”

~ Eventually we drive into town to guide the driver in.

~ Still raining.

~ Unloading starts. We discover they have left behind our rather expensive bicycles … not in the apartment, not even in the building foyer. Oh no. These idjits left them OUTSIDE the building.

~ My bicycle is modified to compensate for the missing half of my right knee, and therefore expensive to replace.

~ Only be the grace of Herself, and the fact that the neighbourhood is a very bike friendly place, are our bikes still there after 2 hours. They are rescued and are to be delivered by the idjit who forgot them, several days forward from this one.

~ Mover tries to charge us for the extra time it took to complete the job. He survived the encounter only because he still had to deliver the bikes.

~ Five days after the move, our bikes arrive.

~ Move is complete.

~ Still raining.

~ A week after the move, the sun is shining, the lake is all blue-green and shiny. Widdercat has ventured forth past the front step. It’s a good day.

~ I wonder if I’ll ever figure out why there are so many more bolts and screws than I’ll ever need to put the bookshelves back together again.

P.S. Will have pics of lake when I find the camera – the one in my cell phone refuses to speak to me.

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“It’s been a long time since I’ve written old-fashioned sword and sorcery; I’m hoping it’s like riding a bicycle”Lynn Abbey

Taking the Scenic Route

If you’ve ever perused my ‘About Me’ page, you’ll see that one of the things I am is a bicyclist. In truth, I’m a great many more than would ever fit on a list as short at that one, but who wants to know about the time I … well, that’s another story for another post.

Let’s begin with my bicycle. It’s not your everyday bicycle. It’s a little top heavy, being rather high in the saddle and short in the shanks. This is because I can only bend my right knee so far, the result of a rather unfortunate three-way collision between myself, my motorcycle, and a very large truck, more than a quarter of a century ago. I explained this to the folk at the bike shop and they very kindly spent the afternoon adapting a bike to suit my needs. Here’s a shout out to them 

Not long after I purchased my beautiful green bicycle, (the summer of 2008) I fell over when standing still at an intersection. (I recall I did exactly the same thing when I first rode my motorcycle way back in 1981!) The only excuse I could come up with at the time was that the bicycle and I were not well acquainted with each other. Once I got that first and embarrassing fall out of the way I never looked back, nor have I fallen off again, which is quite an achievement given how clumsy my first few weeks of bicycling were.

I don’t look like your everyday bicyclist either. I’m not the type to wear snug fitting, brightly coloured spandex, or any other fabric ending in ‘ex’.  Give me something loose-fitting that flaps in the breeze so I can really feel as though I’m moving along. Although, now that it’s November in Vancouver, I’m more likely to be seen wearing a tasteful bright yellow rain poncho over lots of layers and as many flashing lights as I can possible attach to all parts of my person and my bicycle.

Nor do I race along the road as though my very life depended on it with muscles poised to jump out of the afore-mentioned tight clothes at a moments notice. I do have muscles, but they are discreetly covered by an abundance of other sorts of body tissue. I don’t speed along anywhere unless it’s downhill. (As far as I’m concerned, the only up side of a hill is the down side) Then I tend to yell, a lot! Other than that, I amble.

I ride along the by-ways, and bike tracks that are so abundant in my city, and avoid major roads where I can. The last thing I want to breathe are the out-gassings of internal combustion engines, no matter how ‘fuel-efficient’ and ‘green’ they are.

So, I amble along via the scenic route. There’s so much more to be seen that way. That’s probably why I like writing novels. There’s so much more to my stories than just getting from ‘Chapter 1 – The Beginning’ to ‘The End’ in the straightest line possible.

And just so you know, I have never started a story with ‘Chapter 1 – The Beginning’!

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“Whenever I see an adult on a bicycle, I have hope for the human race”H.G. Wells