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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Because He Loves Me
Frida I rode Frida down into the valley again this afternoon, stopping at a cafe where Max (who had followed along in the car) planned to study. We got coffees and a triple ginger cookie to split, and took a table. I wrote for a bit in the new yellow-covered, waterproof journal that I keep in my motorcycle jacket pocket, but I was too restless to really focus on the journal, so I got up and went outside to smoke. Another biker had pulled up soon after we took a table, and he had his daughter on the back of the bike. They had taken a table outside, the table I would have taken, on the periphery of the crowd. I smoked and listened to the conversation going on around me and came to realize that the biker and his daughter (an absolutley adorable four- or five-year-old) were chatting about my motorcycle. I heard him say, "Do you like it because of the color?" (Frida is bright, lipstick red.) She nodded. I wanted to run over and say, "Honey, that's why I fell in love with her too!" but a cooler head prevailed, and I just smiled at the biker and his daughter. Later, still restless, I went to look in the bookstore next door to the cafe. As I was standing outside, checking out the carts of marked-down books, another man came out of the cafe with his family. He had his young son (maybe ten?) with him and he said to his son, "Who do you think rode all those bikes?" (By then about five more motorcycles had been parked near mine, which had been, when I pulled in, the only bike in the motorcycle only parking area in front of the cafe.) The boy gestured to me and said, "There's one. That woman over there in black." And can I just say? I love that. I love it when Frida and I draw attention. I love the biker mystique and especially love the particular brand of biker mystique that women bikers have. It's just unusual enough for a woman to be on a motorcycle that it draws the attention of others in such mundane settings as bookstores and cafes. It catches the attention of children and adults both. I love provoking that attention that puts me at the center without my having to participate. Biker Chow But I have this problem when I am on the bike, this problem of my blood sugar dropping and my ending up having to stop everywhere for food. I don't like doing this for several reasons, not the least of which is the fact that so many places have very little that I can eat, so I end up having something sweet and then regretting the engagement of the sugar high that's followed too quickly by the sugar low. I was telling this to Max, who suggested that I carry some energy bar with me for quick fuel, but I don't like to do that either, as those things are just like candy for adults. And me? If I have candy on me, I eat the candy. I don't wait for an emergency, for when I'm hungry and need to refuel. No, I wouldn't save the candy. I'd eat the candy while I was warming up the bike in the driveway. So I jokingly said to Max, "Maybe I should carry around some dog biscuits or something instead." And he laughed, but it was like a lightbulb went on over my head. I went on, "I'll make some dog biscuits and put them in bags and call it 'BikerChow.'" He laughed harder. But, seriously, I came home and looked on the web for some vegan dog biscuit recipes to make. The idea of having a little bag of Bikerchow kibbles on me, for emergency use only, is very appealing to me in a Mad Max kind of way. (Remember in Mad Max when Mel's character eats the can of dog food for dinner? Well, like that.) It has that hardened, whatever-it-takes edge to it, and the fantasy in my head includes the picture of pulling off onto the side of some godforsaken road and pulling my bag of BikerChow out and chowing down. Maybe adding some water from the bottle in my tank bag to make gravy in my little ziplock baggie and eating it with a plastic spork or something... Continued So the universe is, as I had mentioned in an earlier entry, finally talking to me again. Yesterday, after our walk, I came into Judi's place to sit and chat and smoke, and to pet my beloved dog, Cooper. Cooper is very intelligent and aggressive, so Judi has taught him to interact with people through a toy that he holds in his mouth. This keeps the barking and growling down to a dull roar, and also keeps the petting (which is overstimulating sometimes to Cooper) down to a minimum, as Cooper will back away if he has a toy in his mouth and someone tries to pet him. He'd rather play tug of war. I have come around to the point where I pet Coop, then absent-mindedly play one-handed tug-of-war with Coop as I chat with Judi. This I was doing yesterday, then suddenly Coop dropped the toy in my lap and went and sat behind my chair, his back to me. I was surprised at this, his sudden disinterest and the gesture of going to sit in the corner dejectedly. I raised my eyebrows at Judi, and said to Coop, "What's the matter, Coop?" He didn't respond, so I reached behind and pet him. He lifted his head and did something he's never done to me before: He gave me little doggie kisses on the mouth. (Normally, I don't like little slobbery doggie kisses and try to keep dogs from doing it, but this is Coop we're talking about here. I was flattered and honored.) Then he did a strange thing: He put his muzzle in my armpit and began to nibble at my shirt. I looked at Judi. "He's grooming you," she said. "He loves you." That dog. I love that damn dog.
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