Like Riding a Bike / Como Conducir Una Bici

La versión español está después de la versión inglés.

SAN GERALDO ASKED me today which was considered better exercise, walking or bicycling. I was so proud of him for not gagging on the word “exercise.” He’s not buying a bicycle but the question made me take a stroll down Memory Lane. I’m missing one photo of my father on a tricycle when he was a little boy. I scanned it and put it somewhere “safe.” I hope to share it soon. It’s priceless.

SAN GERALDO ME preguntó hoy que se consideró mejor ejercicio, caminar o andar en bicicleta. Estaba tan orgulloso de él por no haber amordazado con la palabra “ejercicio”. Él no está comprando una bicicleta, pero la pregunta me hizo dar un paseo por el camino del recuerdo. Me falta una foto de mi padre en un triciclo cuando era un niño pequeño. Lo escaneé y lo puse en algún lugar “seguro”. Espero compartirlo pronto. No tiene precio.

MY FATHER, SCHWABACH, GERMANY, AUGUST 1947.
MI PADRE, SCHWABACH, ALEMANIA, AGOSTO 1947.

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, 1954. ON MY SISTER DALE’S TRICYCLE.
EN EL TRICICLO DE MI HERMANA DALE.

SG’S FATHER AND UNCLE (ON THE HANDLEBARS), EARLY 1930S.
EL PADRE DE SG Y EL TÍO (EN LOS MANILLARES), AL PRINCIPIO DE LOS AÑOS 1930.

SG’S WONDERFUL MOTHER, ALICE, 1940S. / LA MADRE EXCEPCIONAL DE SG, ALICE, AÑOS 1940.
ME ON DALE’S HAND-ME-DOWN BIKE IN 1961. AT LEAST I HAD MY OWN CONVERSE HI-TOP SNEAKERS! / ESTOY EN LA BICICLETA DE SEGUNDA MANO DE DALE EN 1961. ¡AL MENOS TENGO MI PROPIA ZAPATILLOS HIGH-TOP DE CONVERSE!
1985. WITH SAN GERALDO; 34 MILES ROUNDTRIP FROM GEORGETOWN. EXERCISE CAN BE FUN. / CON SAN GERALDO; 34 MILLAS DE VIAJE IDA Y VUELTA DE GEORGETOWN. EL EJERCICIO PUEDE SER DIVERTIDO.

Middleton One Row

La versión español está después de la versión inglés.

I RECEIVED THE below photo at left from my sister, Dale, in 1972. It was sent from Darlington, South Yorkshire, England, where she was living with her new husband. With the photo was a letter telling me she was pregnant. Three months later I was there for a visit and we went together to the same spot. What memories a photo can illicit.

The place is called Middleton One Row. I thought at the time that it was the name of the street across from the river and hillside. I just learned, after nearly 47 years, that Middleton One Row is the name of the village, which is near the city of Darlington. In Medieval times, villages normally had houses on facing sides of the village green. Because this village drops off immediately to the River Tees on the south, it only had one row of houses (as seen in the postcard at top). Hence, Middleton ONE ROW. Fascinating, huh?

RECIBÍ LA FOTO de abajo a la izaquierda de mi hermana, Dale, en 1972. Fue enviada desde Darlington, South Yorkshire, Inglaterra, donde vivía con su nuevo marido. Con la foto había una carta que me decía que estaba embarazada. Tres meses después, estuve de visita y fuimos juntos al mismo lugar. Qué recuerdos puede sacar una foto ilícita.

El lugar se llama Middleton One Row [que significa Middleton Una Fila]. En ese momento pensé que era el nombre de la calle frente al río y la ladera. Acabo de enterarme, después de casi 47 años, que Middleton One Row es el nombre del pueblo, que está cerca de la ciudad de Darlington. En la época medieval, los pueblos normalmente tenían casas en los lados de la plaza del pueblo. Debido a que esta aldea cae inmediatamente al Río Tees en el sur, solo tenía una fila de casas (como se muestra en la tarjeta postal en la parte superior). Por lo tanto, Middleton ONE ROW. Fascinante, ¿no?

Good Things

While walking in sunshine the other day (before the storm, the rain, the clouds, and the rough seas), I was listening to music on my 15-year-old iPod. “Good Thing” by the Fine Young Cannibals came on. A great workout song.

I heard “Good thing, where have you gone?” and an image of my sister Dale flashed in my head.

I started crying.

I kept on walking at my vigourous, happy pace. I kept on crying.

It’s been 36 years (March 7) since she died. My good thing, you’ve been gone too long.

Dale would have adored San Geraldo and these other two good things in my life.

SIBLINGS…

Say, Watermelon!

My sister Dale used to say “Watermelon!!!” instead of “Cheese!!!” when she smiled for a photo. It would result in a big, still cheesy, smile.

WATERMELON!!!

As for San Geraldo, this is his idea of lunch. A bit of egg salad and a little slice of watermelon.

NO CHEESE.

A Trail Of Memories

I had my regular psychiatrist appointment yesterday. It’s not much more than a “med check” to ensure all is well. All is not well with one of my two meds, which I’ve been on for most of the 4-1/2 years we’ve been in Spain. I’ve noticed I’m experiencing some side-effects in recent months. Really very minor, but enough for us to make a change. So, I’m phasing off this one and will probably try something new soon.

(Click any image to make the trails — all bird prints — more clear.)

My visit was a revelation (I’d say Epiphany, but that was Wednesday). I can now easily speak with my psychiatrist, in Spanish, on any subject.

A WALK ON THE BEACH.

During our brief conversation, as I answered a question, it dawned on me that despite all the bumps in the road it turns out my life is the kind of life I fantasized about as a child. My sister Dale had the same kinds of childhood fantasies and, although her life was filled with bumps and only lasted 29 years, I think a lot of her fantasies came true, as well.

We both imagined lives different from most of our friends and family (not better, just different). We both imagined foreign lands, foreign loves. Dale traveled the world, married young, and lived in England with her foreign prince.

I met San Geraldo from South Dakota (even more foreign to a New Yorker than someone from England). We moved often, constantly re-imagining our lives. And now we’ve made a foreign land our home — and no longer foreign. And we’re still constantly re-imagining our lives.

The psychiatrist  asked me if I felt that Dale was traveling with me through life. Without hesitation, I said, “Absolutely.”

I was never a fan of author Louis L’Amour, but I like this:

“No memory is ever alone;
 it’s at the end of a trail of memories,
a dozen trails that each have their own associations.”


Where are you going?