Heart like a Wheel
Ever notice how a broken wheel resembles a heart?
How about: the wheel restores a broken heart?
My flckr page icon (wombatbiker) features such a wheel.
Very productive week, starting on Thursday when a bunch of ladies got together to brandish gluey toothpicks, gold, pink and red paper, and scissors around a conference table at the Marin Cancer Center.
Jane Kraft is the motherhen of the enterprise, though I’ve also produced valen-fab parties since 1983. My box of 25 years’ worth of lascivious, off-color and generally adult valentines still brings a smile to my face.
Charlie, remember the little tiny corduroy pants, complete with functioning zipper, etc? Oh YEAH! And the genuine hair we’d incorporate….(sigh).
Well, the ladies were doing more commercial-type cards. I showed one of the women how to rub a pencil on lace, or onion-bag netting, to get a nice textured effect…She showed me how to keep track of my glue-laden toothpick, and my elbow out of the glue pot.
Pedaling home afterward, it began to rain. It was dark. I was wearing the wrong clothing: jeans, cotton shirt, fortunately a very thick sweater over the flimsy tee-shirt. Normally I’d be very unhappy about the triple-threat of dark, cold and wet, but because I’d had so much time in the overheated hospital room, it was pleasant to cool down as I admired the rain ( illuminated by my feeble AA battery-powered Cateye handlebar light) bouncing off the shiny black roads.
“I wonder if murderists ever notice how the drops explode?” I thought to myself, “or are they going too fast to see such a tiny detail?”
I vowed to look up Doc Edgerton’s films.
When I got home, a hot bath put me to rights.
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Jacquie Phelan's Weblog 
Wheels heal broken hearts and hearten broken spirits. They can. They have. For me. And you.
And broken wheels are sad, but only until you recall that you get to build a new one to replace the broken one, and in the space between the wheels, you get to walk. So it goes.
J, you know I really like you and admire you, but I want to say that if you keep referring to people in cars as “murderists”, it means, to me, that you must have renounced all cars, forever. So that means that anytime you are late or in upheaval and you need a ride to, say Santa Cruz, for a talk or a book signing or whatev, you are going to say “Oh MAIS NON! I can’t ride with you. It’s against my, um, beliefs. It’s ‘wheel-y’ not good”.
IOW, I wish you would either can the car rhetoric or give equal time to tales of a**hat cyclists harassing people. Remember Myron?? Remember the stories I sent you about the belligerent bicycle thugs on the trail? Well, anyway. That’s my opinion.
Gotcha. I do remember Myron, and I dread the fools on the trails that, after causing a horse to spook heroically offer medical assistance because “I’m a fireman”. How helpful.
Will work on that story…
I like playing with words like that, but I usually just change the pronunciation.