Pondering Location and Home

I am currently on a last minute trip to provide assistance to relatives in California. The trip has mostly been about manual labor (something my body rebels against, yet I seem to always find myself involved in somehow), but there have been a few moments to slip away to find some reflection and recovery time. I've made trips to this location many times over the last several years and grew up not far from the area, but I've noticed on this particular visit that there are more cyclists on the roads than I've taken note of in the past.

The weather is cool here in this area (cooler than I remember for the time of year, if I'm honest), but still far warmer than it is presently at home in Colorado, so I can't help but wonder if this is a usual occurrence and I've just not noticed it in the past, or perhaps it's more to do with not being in the area often enough during this time of year.

I never seemed to have a camera handy when the cyclists went by, but I managed to catch this fellow riding a couple of days ago.

As I've found time to slip away, I've taken note of the large number of people on bicycles. At first, I was simply noticing commuters on the roads, likely using the bicycle as transportation. Then, I noticed what appeared to be individuals out on more of sport, group rides, and most recently I came in contact with several, separately traveling, touring cyclists with bicycles loaded up. Each were dressed a bit differently, but this is one of the few parts of the country where I don't find it odd seeing a cyclist in shorts and sleeveless shirt in December. It's making me dread my return home to below freezing temperatures and snow!

It's amazing to me how cycling infrastructure has changed in this small community as well. Each time I return, I notice more bicycle lanes or find new paved trails. As is the case in many areas, I did note that several of these paths or trails tend to end abruptly and without warning, causing me to wonder why the municipality didn't continue to pave the path for cyclists. Perhaps it is in the works and if I were to come back in a year's time, things would look different yet again.

This trail was fantastic, but ends just around the bend at a signal and forces riders out onto the busy road with motorized traffic.

Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have that opportunity. My family that is living in this area is preparing for a move out of state in the spring, so I likely won't have reason to visit this small community again.

Between this trip and a recent e-mail conversation with a reader, I've been pondering the things that make a community "right" for an individual. I've always loved this area because of the mild climate, and seeing more cycling infrastructure come alive causes me to appreciate this community all the more. When I was growing up, it was a very small farm community and few people actually lived here, but it has grown and changed, and I appreciate the changes that have taken place. It makes me want to live here.

Of course, there is bad to consider here as well. For instance, this area has been particularly hard hit by the California drought and has seen little in the way of rain, even though both southern and northern California have had a bit of relief with some periodic rain. Additionally, it's an expensive place to live, particularly for a community that has little in the way of providing income. The people who survive seem to be 1) farmers, 2) entrepreneurs, 3) independently wealthy, or 4) retirees who moved to the area before it got outrageously costly. I can't help but wonder what people do to make a living when they don't fit into the above categories (and they do exist). I suppose living anywhere is possible, and there is always give and take.

If I were to pick out my ideal community to live in, I think about the qualities I would want it to possess. Things like cycling infrastructure/bicycle friendly businesses and access are high on the list, as is the ability to earn a living, cost of housing and cost of living in general, temperate climate, friendly and open residents, dog friendliness (I take my pooches just about everywhere with me), and the list could go on.

As each year passes, I also realize that I likely have limited time to share with older family members, and a part of me always wants to be closer so that visiting isn't so infrequent. So, I begin to ponder the idea of following those that leave and wonder if there is a happy point that meets somewhere between my idealized mental list and absolutely none of the items I would want in a city or community.

So, I find myself posing the questions to you, reader. How do you feel and what do you think about your chosen home location. Where do you live, and what do you like about your community? Is it small or large... or somewhere in between? Did you grow up in the area or move to your current home town in adulthood? What keeps you in your community? Have you visited other communities that you prefer over your own? What prevents you from moving? I would love to hear about other places around the country (and even outside of the country) and how you and/or your family arrived or chose your place of residence. Meanwhile, I'd better get back to work!

A Catching-Up Mix

I cannot believe that May is already here. On one hand, I've longingly waited for this month to arrive through winter and early spring, but on the other it seems as though the first portion of the year has flown by. I am grateful that even though we are still receiving occasional snow, it's not sticking to the roadways for long and before I know it, the temperatures will be so high I'll be wishing for a respite from the heat.

This week is shaping up to be a busy one, so I thought I'd do a quick update on happenings and hopefully I'll have the opportunity in between to write the post I'd wanted to type this week for next.

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to southern Georgia (which I'd noted in a prior post). The reason for the trip was that my father was in the ICU there. He and I have a complicated history, but we didn't speak at all for about 15 years and I hadn't seen him in person until this visit for nearly 20 years. I had debated about whether or not to go, but my step mother felt strongly that he likely wouldn't make it home as he was extremely frail and suffering from numerous issues that wouldn't be resolved. Since she is a retired nurse, I figured she knew what she was saying and booked a flight the following day.

I don't have many photos of me and dad together - This one is probably from around 1993.

Initially, I thought I'd go into the hospital, see him for a couple of hours and then spend my days roaming the area, checking in occasionally as needed. I even thought maybe I'd have the opportunity to ride a bike while there, but I had no way of knowing what would happen, nor the emotions I'd feel as I stood by his side.

During my four days there, we had the opportunity to talk quite a bit. I ended up staying in his room every day, all day. It was a wonderful chance that not everyone gets in life to say the things that needed to be said and for both of us to find some peace. The day that I had to leave, I knew in my heart it was the last time I would see him. Leaving his side was probably one of the most painful and emotional things I've experienced in quite some time. I cried the entire three and a half hours back to the airport in Atlanta, but I knew he was receiving the best care possible and tried to hold on to hope that I would be able to make another trip to see him soon.

This past Saturday afternoon, almost exactly a week to the minute of my departure, dad passed away peacefully in the hospital. It's been difficult to come to terms with everything and not have regrets about the time that was lost. I am so grateful though that we had the opportunity to clear the air and know that we both loved each other regardless of the things that took place in the past.

I bring this up only to remind anyone who reads here that it's so important to forgive and move on. I know that there are things that happen that seem (and often are) unforgivable, but there are few that should keep us from the ones we love. I know for me, I needed time, but I am also aware that I drug things out longer than I should have and I missed out on valuable moments because there was a small part of me that couldn't let go of the past. If you've been at odds with family or friends, I hope that you'll use this as an opportunity to make amends and tell them that you love them.

On a more bike-centered note, while we've been living through a couple of spring snow storms, Sam has been building up a second hand mountain bike for me. I've been a bit leery of mountain biking over the years, but this one actually seems to fit decently. The frame that was picked up a couple of years ago was a bit large, and this one seems to have much better stand over, so I'm looking forward to trying it out soon (other than up and down the block).

I suspect most of its use will be on dirt roads and the like, but who knows what may come from it? I plan to be able to share more about it in the coming weeks and months.

For locals, I am also looking forward to a new bike shop opening up in town. Longmont isn't exactly overflowing with choices when it comes to bike shops, and we are very excited to see that the new LBS should be opening (knock on wood - as they've had several delays with construction and permits) around the middle of May.

If you're interested in learning about what they'll be carrying, you can find more at Long Mont Velo's website. I'm also hoping to do an interview with the owners soon (they've understandably had a very hectic schedule), so hopefully we can get a little more information about what they hope to achieve with the shop.

Hopefully, you are enjoying lots of bikey goodness with spring upon us. I'd love to hear about your adventures this spring, so feel free to share them. If you completed (or tried to complete) April's 30-days of biking challenge, I'd love to hear how that went as well.

Happy New Year!

A very happy New Year to all! I hope you're looking forward to the start of 2015. I know that it has been a bit of a crazy, chaotic mess for the E.V.L. household at the end of 2014. As stated prior, I knew we were in for a busy several weeks and months, but it's been no joke! The last several weeks have been challenging, sad, and somewhat fulfilling, making it a confusing end to the year, for sure.

*Image found here

The start of renovating the home we purchased has been nearly all-consuming. We wanted to do our best to get as much completed before moving in. We've managed to do much more than I anticipated thus far, but along with the projects came some frustration and realization that not everything is going as smoothly as we'd hoped.

In addition, just before Christmas, we lost one of our dogs. My heart still stings when I think about it. Our small dog, Gandolf, had been dealing with a lump on his head near his eye and I'd taken him to a variety of veterinarians in an attempt to have it removed. It was quite apparent that it was causing him much pain, but no one was taking the steps to move forward with removal.

Finally, one vet agreed to remove the lump. I was nervous, but knew it needed to be done because he was now avoiding eating due to the pain. Before surgery began, I was informed that the (as I'd been told prior) benign cyst was actually a cancerous tumor and it was very aggressively eating the bone in his skull. There was nothing they could do to help him and we suddenly found ourselves switching from how-much-is-this-surgery-going-to-cost to holy-cow-we're-going-to-lose-our-family-member.

Always digging for trouble... you'll be missed my little man.

It was crushing to say the least. I still cry and miss him because our dogs are very much our children and such a huge part of our lives. This little guy was a ray of sunshine, always protective of me, the best lap dog ever, and always looked at me as though I could do no wrong. He had a rough start in this world and sadly I couldn't protect him from the cancer that stole him too early. His just over 12 years with us were full of times I know we won't forget. It's difficult not to have him around every day, but I've tried to keep the good memories close to prevent the heartache which takes over more often than I'd prefer.

In the midst of all of dealing with the loss of our little guy, we had drama with the house closing and weren't sure it was going to take place. It did close, though not without delays and road blocks. Eventually, we were able to get into the house and put hammer to walls and scrapers to flooring and work got under way.

Through all of this, I have learned that I am not nearly as resilient or hearty as I believed prior. We've completed many home renovation projects through the years, but attempting to finish an entire house in a matter of a few weeks by ourselves is exhausting, daunting and overwhelming. Each project seems to take 2-3 times longer than anticipated, and often the costs fall in line with those same figures.

By no means are we at the end of our renovations, but soon it will be time to begin moving the household over which will no doubt bring another layer of difficulty to the process; but paying for two homes simultaneously isn't exactly prudent (or an option) either. The super messy projects will hopefully be completed before the move and the rest will be items to work on as we go forward.

In all of this, I've been pondering my inability at times to look at things in small segments or to allow things to simply be what they are rather than trying to force an outcome. I think I have done just this with the blog and allowed myself (at least during more stressful times) to feel as though I'm letting someone down by not posting. Velouria made an excellent point in her comment on my last post when she stated that perhaps I've put pressure on myself to put up posts and I should allow the freedom for posts to be more of a when-I-feel-like-posting sort of thing. Others made similar comments at various points and I've appreciated every idea and have let it all sink in.

With this, I intend to move forward with the blog, but I know it will be entirely sporadic for at least several weeks and/or there may still be a long lag time before anything remotely thoughtful is written. I believe 2014 was one of the roughest years I've experienced in some time and I'm looking forward to a better coming year. Sometimes I seem to let the life stuff get to me and it can be challenging to find equity in all parts of existence, but I have hope that with some work I can find that balance in the coming year.

Wishing you and yours a very peaceful, prosperous, and happy cycling New Year! I look forward to continuing our chats about bicycles in 2015.

A Grandmother's Tale

Over this past weekend, Sam and I wandered our way to Flagstaff, Arizona. Sam was participating in a mountain bike race, and there will be a report coming on that, but spending a few days in Arizona reminded me of some things that prompted a need to get some other thoughts out of my system. So, while this post is not in regard to bicycles, it was sparked by them in a manner of speaking, and I hope to find some relief or maybe comfort by getting it out of my mind and into a more tangible state. I never cease to be amazed by the small details which can bring about the most interesting of memories.

The last time I was in Arizona I was fourteen years old and visiting my aging grandparents in their respite-from-the-cold-Pennsylvania-winter home, located between Tempe and Mesa. It's incredible that despite the fact that both my grandparents passed away well over two decades ago, there are just certain memories that have stuck with me.

My grandmother pictured in a newspaper, illustrating how she made a "cookie tree."

My recollections of Arizona center mostly on the aforementioned region, including frequent trips into Phoenix to see the "big city" that wasn't all that large at the time.

I laugh when I think about my grandfather driving my younger brother and I into the city.  As he'd drive, his turn signal would click rhythmically through the entire trip, as he could never seem to remember it was on. He always drove at 35 mph, regardless of the sort of road he was traveling, which incensed drivers nearly as much as it does today.  He was always unfazed by what surrounded him on the roads, and I'm honestly not even certain he heard all of the honking and commotion around him on our drives. The car was a bubble of sorts, and he spoke to my younger brother and I as though we were sitting casually in the living room. He would ask us about our futures, how school was going and our grades, and he'd tell us stories of the farm back in Pennsylvania. We'd try to tell him that other people were honking, but he'd always respond with a "What?" or a "Hmm?" To this day, I don't know if he just had the greatest powers to ignore, or if he had no idea what was taking place all around him.

Their home, nestled in the southwestern part of the U.S., was my grandmothers' domain. Time spent with her was full of playing board or tile games and watching Wheel of Fortune. At the time, it was a somewhat newer game show on television, but it was one of my grandmother's favorites. She was so great at solving the puzzles long before the contestants were able to begin to form a possible answer. To this day, I cannot watch the show without thinking of her.

I remember the peach and turquoise southwestern prints that hung on the walls of their home. It was decorated so differently than their "real" home. Back in Pennsylvania, their farm house was decorated with turn-of-the-century pieces and items they'd picked up during their many travels abroad. My grandmother spoke four languages, not including English, and this skill had served them well on their many adventures overseas.

I recall the absence of the super-green, lush foliage I'd grown up with on the coast of California, and an abundance of rocks and desert/cactus plants in hers and the surrounding yards in Arizona.

I also have memories of her rising at 4am to start cooking meals for the day. A hot pot of oatmeal was inevitably sitting on the stove waiting for me when I woke, regardless of the home we were visiting. Mrs. Fields had nothing on my grandmother, and I'm convinced she was, without a doubt, the greatest cookie-maker ever to grace this earth.

She also taught me to crochet, despite my desperate attempts to escape such a task. She always told me that it was a good activity to learn for any young lady; It would keep my hands busy and my mind active.

I sent her letters regularly when we couldn't see each other. My entire youth I wrote to her at least a couple of times each month. Without fail, in the weeks that followed, I'd receive my letters back in the mail with her spelling and grammar corrections in red ink. I took offense to this for a long time, believing that she didn't appreciate that I wanted her to have something of me, something hand-written and from the heart. I often believed her "corrections" were her way of telling me I wasn't good enough. As years went by, I came to understand that this was simply her way of interacting with me and trying to help me learn something from her years of experience as an English teacher.

A portion of one of the very few letters I have left from my grandmother.

She wrote me letters too, even though I sometimes forget that part. She enjoyed updating me on all that was happening in her life, and I loved reading about the things that brought her joy or amusement.

My grandparents were quite old even when I was young. They were in their mid-40s when they had my father, and my parents were in their 30s when they had me, so the generation gap was palpable. Most grandparents are "old," but mine were of the age that I was never sure how long I'd have them around. Even without it being said, I knew they wouldn't be grandparents I'd have into adulthood, or that would be alive to see my children (if I'd had them). I tried to soak up every moment I was with them because I didn't see them as often as one would hope. Living most of the year almost 3,000 miles apart didn't allow for the kind of frequent visits kids enjoy with grandparents who live in the same region.

It didn't matter to me though. They were my grandparents and I loved being with them, particularly in my very young years.

Both grandparents were on the quiet side, my grandfather more so, or at least when it came to conversing with me. Generally, when he spoke to me it was a criticism of something I had done, was about to do, or was contemplating doing.

Neither understood my clothing choices or the fact that I had pierced ears (which was a huge issue to my grandfather in particular). How could they possibly have identified with anything I was doing or wearing or saying? God only knows how they'd react today after seeing my many tattoos.

They had lived through the Great Depression (with 4 children - my father wouldn't come along until later) and were accustomed to subdued, reasonable, and practical choices. They reused everything in a time long before recycling/reusing was part of anyone's vocabulary. It was just what they did, not something that was special, or "in," or "hip."

I was a coming-up-teenager who was struggling to have her own voice and identity recognized, and much as my parents attempted to convince me to "tone it down" around my grandparents, I was a quietly rebellious youth and chose to behave and wear what I would any other time. Some things don't change, I suppose.

Each of my grandparents had stories that fascinated me as a child, and that I hold on to dearly to this day. Most of the stories I recall though came from my grandmother. She was a fabulous story teller, weaving together thoughts that seemed incongruous, but that made her tales so much more memorable.

Despite her introverted demeanor, she would speak at various events, narrating allegories that she'd likely told more times than she could count. I still have newspaper clippings from some of her speeches, as she'd often make local news for her ability to provide motivation through her words. Long before the days of TED talks, motivational speakers, or other speaker's bureaus, grandma was the lady to hear. She was entertaining to young and old alike, and she could morph her tales to a specific audience like no other.

As I grew into more of a teenager and was nearing the end of high school, my grandfather passed away. He had been arguing with my father about financial matters (that seem so insignificant now) when we received news that he passed in his sleep during a hospital stay.

At the time, we couldn't afford to have our entire family travel to the funeral, so my father went alone. I was saddened by the news, and hoped that my grandmother would be able to make it on her own. Soon, we heard that she was moving in with one of her daughters, who also happens to be my favorite aunt. She lived just across the street from their home in Pennsylvania, so it would make for a fairly easy transition.

A few months later, my parents thought it wise for me to pay my grandmother a visit. She was not getting any younger and they wanted me to a spend a bit of time with her. I was reluctant to go as I was in my last year of high school and had so many activities taking place that seemed far more pressing. I had a job and didn't want to ask for time off either.

Begrudgingly, I made the trip back east. When I arrived, I found my grandmother to be physically in a similar state to the last time I'd seen her, but I could tell something was different. She was having difficulty moving around due to a broken hip, but my aunt was always gracious in doing whatever she could to help get her mother healed. My aunt would enter the room, smile on her face and words of encouragement dripping from her lips. I always appreciated that she was such a positive person.

As I sat with my grandmother one afternoon, she started to cry. She had never been particularly emotional, and I always thought of her as quite a tough individual, so to see her well up with emotion was odd. I, however, have never done well with crying people in that I am extremely sensitive to others emotions. Even in my selfish, teenage state, when her tears started to fall, my heart broke. She started to reminisce about the times she'd had with my grandfather and would trail off as she'd just get into a story. I wondered if she was losing her capacity to form sentences, or if she just didn't want to share times that had been so special between her and the person she'd loved for so many decades.

The last story she would ever share with me was not like the ones she'd told me in my younger years. This one was completely non-fiction, and as I sat wanting to be anywhere but where I was, she began her saga.

"I have never told anyone what I am about to tell you," she began. I'm sure I stared a bit in response, expecting that there was some sort of comical line impending. "I am serious," she reiterated.

She would start her story by telling me about the birth of her first daughter and how happy she was to have her. Soon thereafter she had two more children and they had their happy family of five. As the Great Depression was well underway, she found out that she was pregnant with child number four.

Knowing that they were struggling financially without the burden of an extra mouth, she was unsure she wanted to tell my grandfather about this new child that would be coming to their family soon. As she continued, she repeated that she didn't want to tell my grandfather that she was "with child." She feared that he wouldn't be able to handle the stress of such things, so she decided she was going to do everything in her power to lose the pregnancy.

At this point, she started to cry again. She relived to me all of the things she attempted to do to lose this child that she knew they couldn't afford. She would run up and down stairs as fast and hard as she could, she would punch herself in the stomach, hoping that it would cause a miscarriage, and, in short, she shared many things she had done that today would likely result in her being committed, jailed, or at bare minimum that would receive wide eyes and gasps from anyone hearing what she'd done.

I have to admit, I was in shock hearing such a story. This woman, who I believed to be one of the greatest people on earth, was telling me that she had tried to kill my aunt before she was even born.

I tried to fathom what life would've been like without my favorite aunt. She had always been the fun one at otherwise often boring family functions or reunions. She was one of the very few relatives of the 90-some-odd on my father's side of the family who would actually come to visit us. She was spunky and full of life.

My grandmother continued to speak with tears streaming down her cheeks. "I... I don't know how I could've done it." It was a statement, not a question. "I tried everything in my power to not have her come into this world, and now, as I sit here nearing the end of my own life, she is the one taking care of me. The one child I could not imagine having is the one here for me now. She is the strongest, kindest, and most understanding person I have known."

Now I was crying. To come to that realization that the very child she hadn't wanted, the one that she'd attempted to abort, the one that was now nursing her back to health in a most loving and caring manner, must have come as quite an ironic twist. How many years had she carried this story with her? How many sleepless nights must she have had while she mulled it over in her own mind? The sort of self-loathing ideas that must have run through her at times when she'd relive that span of time.

I both despise and love that this is the last story my grandmother would tell me. I don't particularly love that my final memory of her is one of a reenactment (of sorts) of her attempts to abort my aunt, but I appreciate the realness and perspective it gave me of her as a person. It also gave me an appreciation for humans and a capacity to understand that making mistakes is part of existence. No one gets to escape errors in judgment or behavior.  Last moments are no ones entire life, and no matter what we do, we really can't know when those final minutes will be on this earth. We have all done things we wish we could go back and change or revise or completely erase from time, but they are done and gone and already in the annals of history. We hope to learn our lessons, and we hope not to hurt anyone along the way, but not one of us is perfect. Maybe we take from those not-so-great moments an opportunity to learn something about ourselves or the future, or perhaps we can only view those instances as a part of the past.

I really miss my grandmother. I wish I could talk to her today and get her perspective on life and ideas in general. She lived nearly a century and saw so many things that I'm sure society is repeating now. I think she'd appreciate my love of bicycles, and she'd probably find it entirely amusing that I have a blog - full of grammatical errors and spelling mistakes in my haste to get thoughts out of my head. I may have driven her crazy with the way I worded things, but I would think she'd see that her love of writing carried through a bit to me (and I can even make a decent cookie), so I'd hope she would know that a little piece of her lives on - even if it's in a package she didn't always approve of or believe to be the most proper of beings.

Thankful: An Update on Life

It's been quiet here for a bit, and I feel the need to apologize. While I realize I don't owe anyone an explanation, I do seem to share so much of what's taking place in life here, that it only seems fitting to fill readers in on at least some of the details. Life has been in a bit of turmoil (I don't want to be overly dramatic because nothing that has happened is as life-altering as some have had to experience) but writing here has just had to take a back seat. After Sam returned from his mini-adventure with the new job in California, and we realized that we were staying in Colorado after all, we attempted to get out of the sale of our home, but unfortunately, there were a lot of circumstances that were simply out of our control.  The buyer wanted to carry through with purchasing the house, and we were left to wait things out. The theme for my mental state over the last few weeks has been kind of a que sera sera attitude.

Que sera sera
*Image found here

As stated in a former post, we couldn't exactly start looking for another home because there was always the possibility that the buyer could back out, or that the house wouldn't appraise. Surely (as my thought process seemed to go), our house was in no way worth what this individual was going to pay for it. Please don't misunderstand. I love our house and we've worked hard to change and add and do all the things that make it feel like home, but it's a small place that has limited potential. Although I didn't want to live in a fantasy world, I thought that the odds were likely in our favor, and that the appraiser just wouldn't see the value in the house - particularly as his job is to assess the home on facts, not emotion - and I was certain that this would be our means of staying right where we were.

But life, well, life had other plans for us. Six days from closing we got a message from our Realtor that the house had appraised and everything was set to close as scheduled. As we were told, we needed to find another place to go. Before this day arrived, we had started looking for rentals and homes for sale. Unfortunately, both are scarce in this area at the moment and there are individuals battling it out for places that normally would sit for some time. Small homes are renting for hundreds more than they should be, and purchases are no different in that they have escalated to levels we haven't seen since before the crash of several years ago. We were amazed to discover that we were one of 50 applicants at the first rental we saw. Yes, fifty. I couldn't help but believe that there was no way on earth we were going to find a place to go in less than a week, knowing that we have pets and were up against so many others who had probably been searching for weeks or even months.

In all of this, we had a friend offer to allow us to stay in his home until we secured a place to live. It was quite a relief to know that we'd have at least a temporary place to go until something came along. Unfortunately, things quickly became strained and before we even started moving any items in, the plan quickly disintegrated. I won't get into the details of this piece of things because it is a long tale all its own, but suffice to say we were completely unsure of what to do at this juncture. Sam has family to the north east part of the state, but it would be an incredibly long/difficult drive every day for an undetermined amount of time, and they have no extra space (although they very graciously offered to take us in, and we were seriously considering this as an option for a short time).

The timing of all of this couldn't have been worse and only added to the immense stress that was permeating life. Not only were we going to be homeless in a matter of days, but as quickly as we'd spot a potential home possibility, we'd quickly realize that there were dozens of applicants within a matter of a day in each instance. I was coming to understand that we were very soon going to be without a home, perhaps living in our vehicle with all of our things in storage. Having experienced homelessness first hand in the past, I was mentally preparing for what was to come. At the same time, the "whatever will be, will be" thought remained in my mind. I kept singing the songs' chorus in my head when I'd find myself ready to have a break down.... "Que sera, sera... whatever will be will be... the future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera." It has been a mantra of sorts to get me through the tough moments, hours and days.

I was trying to keep everything in perspective. No one was dead, the world was not coming to an end, and in the grand scheme of things, all of the happenings were very minor. I have to say, it's amazing what hope does for a person in times like these though. Any little possibility or small seedling of chance would bring my mood up tremendously. I continued to have people tell me that I "seemed to be handling things so well." What most didn't realize is that I was actually feeling quite fragile and alone. Some would ask why we had put the house up for sale so soon, others wondered why Sam hadn't stayed at the job for a bit longer. In my mind, all of the questions were moot because all we could do was deal with what was happening now. No one can change the past and the only choice was to use those little slivers of hope to believe that something was meant to come our way. I tried desperately to stay positive, but it was easier to say the words than it was to actually believe them.

A few days before our house was to close, Sam spotted a house for rent on Craigslist that seemed to have been miscategorized. He called to see if the house was still available, and set up a time for me to go and take a look. When I arrived, I was informed by the property manager that she'd just sold a house for another couple and had promised them first dibs at this place as they also only had a few days to find a home. She said it would be a downsize for them so they may not be interested, but I wasn't holding my breath, fully expecting that we'd get a call stating that they were going to take the house. With the market the way it is presently, how could anyone turn down any opportunity? I knew that the house would work well for our needs, but knowing that we were dealing with competition, I just couldn't let myself believe that it was even possible we'd end up with this house. To my amazement, within 24-hours we received word that the couple had passed on it. Later I would learn that they had merely missed the time cut off she'd given to them and moved on to us. Thank goodness for little favors.

I cannot express enough the relief felt when we found out that we would have a place to move. It was as if a huge weight had been removed and it seemed that we could finally move forward - particularly because we now were down to a day before we had to start moving. I spoke in my last post about the realization that I would miss sitting in our front room watching the squirrels, cyclists and walkers as they meandered by, but I have to say, I have an even better spot for such things in our new home. I feel fortunate that despite all of the feelings of sickness or being ill-at-ease with the situation, I think we've managed to land on our feet somehow.

Our "mini-city" hill. We had a bit of a haze on this particular eve.

The move has been interesting. Even though we have only been here a few days and are only about a mile from our old home, it feels almost like a different world. I have nicknamed it "mini San Francisco" because the house is on a fairly steep hill that has a decent amount of motorized traffic, as well as cyclists, dog walkers, and the convenience of almost anything we could need within walking distance. Our old street was inordinately quiet, whereas this house almost always has some sort of background noise. Some might not like it, but we were looking for a shake up, a change of sorts, and even though we are virtually in the same location, it really does feel completely different. We are still adjusting to the traffic noise, particularly at night, but we think that this will be a great spot for us to recover from the admittedly mostly self-inflicted stresses of the last month and focus on the things we enjoy once again.

We were so fortunate to have help from friends and family when it came time to move. Truly, I don't know what we would've done without them. I thought I would have a difficult time saying goodbye to our old house, but as things came down from the walls, books came off the shelves, and nick knacks were put into boxes, I realized that it wasn't home anymore. Through it all, I knew that it was merely a "thing," and that a house is not a home, but rather home is what, where, and with whom we choose to make it. The box itself is of little consequence. I was a little sad to say goodbye to my studio, the garden, and our newly finished kitchen, but again, I realize these are just things - and all things that can be replaced in time and in another location.

A little piece of the yard. I think it will be even better as the foliage begins to come in next month.

When I walked into the new place on moving day, with two friends at my side, they were excited about our new space. I couldn't help but think they were merely appeasing me as the house smelled musty, surfaces were dirty, and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach about all of it (not because of the house, but simply because of all that had transpired so quickly). When we entered the backyard, one stated that she knew where the summer BBQ parties are going to be held this year, and commented on very much liking the yard... Which, frankly, just made me smile - both outside and in. Whether known to them or not, those little encouraging comments throughout all of this have made all of it so much easier. When I had minor breakdowns about the very real possibility of having to give up one (or more) of our dogs, they offered hugs and suggestions - or just listened to me cry about giving up part of the family (as a side note, I am happy to report that all pets have and will remain with us).

As we finished taking all of our things from one house to the other, it seemed fitting that the last load to transfer was done by bicycle. My trusty Hillborne was loaded up with his trailer and I carried over the last remaining items - two of which just so happened to be our dog waste bucket and shovel. It's funny the looks one gets when riding down the road with what seems like non-typically transported-by-bike items. I wondered what others thought I was doing as the combination of items could easily be construed as being up to no good. I couldn't help but giggle a bit as I rode down the road, poop bucket strapped to the top of my trailer, and severe head winds blasting me, leaving (I'm certain) a trail of stench for anyone coming behind me. "That's right," I thought as I pedaled toward our new home, "leave all the shit behind you because you're on to better things."  I arrived feeling grateful, blessed, and loved by those around us, and I don't think I would've wanted the last trip to be any other way.

Life is starting to settle in now. It's amazing that so much transpired in a matter of less than two weeks. Hours often felt like days and days moved forward like weeks, especially with so much left to the unknown. As quickly as the stress and madness entered, it seems to have dissipated just as quickly, and for that I am beyond thankful. Who knows what is coming down the road, but for the time being we are grateful to have a place to lay our heads, our family together, and a reminder that even though we can't always control every little moment or situation, life is what we make of it. If this is the most difficult time of 2014, I will happily accept it and move on to what awaits us on the other side of this event.

Farewell (soon) to Colorful Colorado

I'm straining at the moment to find words to express all of the varying emotions taking place right now.  As mentioned in a previous post, the E.V.L. household will soon be in California (part of the household is en route as I type). It's strange to be in limbo - to know that my time is limited here, to know that I want to absorb as much as I can, do everything I can, and yet still want to be on my way so as to be a complete and reassembled family again. This is probably one of the few times in life when my uncontrollable desire to live in the future would be beneficial, and yet I cannot seem to call upon that skill when it is most needed.

*Image courtesy of Sam, as he travels west to new adventures.

We were having some minor repair work done on the furnace and one of the repair people commented on how great our house is and asked why we were selling it. Before I could answer, he continued to point out all of the things that he loved about our home. It was hard to hear because they are the very same things that I love about our home - the things that it has been easy to take for granted, even knowing that we did so much of the work ourselves to make it a place we would love. Why would we leave such a place? It's not at all difficult to question the why when in the midst of upheaval and not knowing what the outcome might be in the end, but I do believe that as much as we love our home here, there is something we will enjoy just as much over the horizon.

Personally, I've been struggling with how to say goodbye to a place that has been home for quite awhile. Not just our physical home space, but this area as a whole. When this potential moving idea started, I had put out into the universe that I really needed things to go smoothly with this move, and thus far, I have received what I had asked for in that regard (at least for the most part). Knowing that I would remain here in Colorado on my own to get things wrapped up is a bit intimidating, but we received several offers from others for assistance if/when it is needed. I am so grateful to have people in our lives who so willingly give of themselves. Let's face it, moving isn't fun and no one enjoys the process. It's nice to know that I will have some help, and if nothing else, someone to chat with during all of the packing and storing.

Throughout the craziness and seemingly never ending chores of this move, I have been thinking a lot about our time in Colorado. We have lived here for 11 years and I can't help but realize that we didn't always use our time to discover the things, places and people around us. In other words, I see that in some ways we took for granted the fact that we could always do an activity or visit a particular location another day. I don't ever want to take life or my surroundings for granted because we really don't know when something can change. When we first arrived in Colorado, we were discoverers, seekers, explorers, and sought out everything we could. Soon, we started settling into a bit of routine and found ourselves frequenting the same locations (that also happened to be closer to where we lived). I suppose this is no different than most would do when learning a new area, but it almost feels as though we got into a rut and stopped the exploration process. Of course, at some point it would likely slow on its own anyway, but there's almost always something new to find and enjoy, I think.

I was having a conversation one day with a friend and we were discussing the notion that there is "nothing to do or see here" in Colorado. Although there aren't necessarily as many things to do or places to explore as a larger metropolis, there's still quite a bit to do (especially when looking at the entire state and not just one small area), and I'm not entirely convinced that I took full advantage of the things, places, and activities at my disposal. I find myself preparing to leave with a bit of regret, wondering if I appreciated all of the beauty and greatness around me.

As we get ready (and soon) to start a new adventure in another part of the country, I keep reminding myself of the feelings I have right now, so that when I find myself getting used to or not appreciating what is around me in our new home, I will pause and ask myself if I'm doing what I should be doing. I want to be a different person. Well, perhaps I don't want to entirely change, but I want to let go of the things that sometimes hold me back or prevent me from reaching out to new people or places. I don't want to become satisfied with where I am and what I'm doing. I want to find beauty in the little things (as I do now), but continue to explore beyond my comfort zone. There's a lot to be found out in the world, regardless of where we live, and I can think of no better opportunity to explore than by bicycle.

So, as we prepare to depart, during my final weeks here in this beautiful state I am enjoying those last rides around the area and trying my best to take new routes and find new beauty, even as we stroll through March - which can typically be very bipolar with its temperatures and weather patterns. There's no time like the present to start new habits and I might as well enjoy the small amount of discovery time left in this area. Although I'm not quite done with my time here, there's a piece of me that is anxious to get things underway while simultaneously wanting to make time slow as much as possible. I've realized though that all I can do is live each day to its fullest and face potential challenges as they present themselves. I'm excited for what is to come, but thankful for the opportunity to say goodbye in a more leisurely manner.

On Life and Puppies

We did something recently that I swore up and down I absolutely would not do. We got a puppy. We lost our Golden Retriever back in the summer months and, admittedly, I have had a really tough time dealing with the grieving process. Almost daily, I find myself shedding a few tears thinking about him - even today. I even have weekly nightmares about losing him. He was just an awesome dog, particularly for our family. He was a mellow boy, but could turn on the energy just when it was needed. If we didn't feel like walking him, he was perfectly content to snore quietly at our feet. He loved people and would happily greet anyone willing to pat him on the head, give him a treat, or tell him he was a good boy. He was also incredibly patient with other dogs. I can only recall two occasions in his life with us in which he even remotely had issue with another animal (and that was only after repeated warnings to leave him alone). The winter has been particularly difficult because I am reminded of how much he loved the snow. He would roll in it until he was sopping wet, but it made him happy and that's all that mattered.

*Image found here

A few months ago, I started talking about adopting another dog. I had promised that we would not have more than two dogs again in our home, but I had spotted an older Labrador at our local shelter who had been left tied to a pole with a note stating that someone needed to "take him or he would be put down." Fortunately, two kind ladies decided to take him to the shelter so that he could find his forever home (which, as I recently learned, he did find). When I met with him, he was definitely a sweet boy. I walked him for quite awhile and even had Sam come to visit with him. He agreed that he was a great dog, but we both thought we needed to have our resident alpha Lab meet him before we made a decision to adopt. Of course, that did not go well. Our Labrador is about as opposite as a dog could be from the Golden we lost. She believes she is the ruler of the roost, she has crazy amounts of energy, and she believes that it is her personal mission to destroy every stuffed toy on this planet as well as to fetch every ball thrown (whether she's exhausted or not). We love her just as much as the Golden, but she can definitely be a handful to deal with on a daily basis. Even at seven years old, she retains her puppy attitude and energy - something our vet swore she would lose by age four.

You can see why I really wouldn't want to deal with a puppy. Already having a seven year old "puppy" in the house is enough to deal with, and I know the headaches that come with a truly young dog. Because I work from home, I knew that I would be the one dealing with the madness throughout the day. Still, in a moment of weakness, I thought that perhaps it was time to add a family member. After all, we have a 7.5 year old Labrador, and a nearly 12 year old terrier... perhaps a little additional energy would do us some good. Or not.

I believe wholeheartedly in adopting from shelters because there are far too many animals given up and there simply aren't enough homes for all of them. However, we realized quickly that having a "new" adult dog come into the house wasn't likely to work with our girl. So, we started looking for adoptable puppies. Our shelter didn't have any available that seemed suitable for our home, so we started checking other possibilities within the state. One day, while perusing Craigslist, we found a family who had some "accidental" puppies that they needed to adopt out to other families. Sometimes adoptions come from the most interesting situations, but we thought it was worth a look.

We ended up with a week(ish) to wait for our little Golden Retriever puppy to make her way home to us. In the interim, I started having doubts... started questioning the decision to bring home a third dog. It had worked in the past, but I kept finding myself asking Sam, "Do you still want to adopt the puppy?" To which he continually responded, "Yes. Why? Are you changing your mind?" I was never really sure how to answer. I know we can handle a puppy, but I was worried about how our Lab was going to handle it. Our terrier... I knew he would adapt... but the Lab - Ohhh... the Lab... she's just, well, very much her own dog who likes things her way.

Chablis and Gandolf check out the "fresh meat."

The day we brought the puppy (Bernadette) home, the two resident dogs took to sniffing her as though she were a slab of meat laced with chew treats. You can almost see the look of disgust on Chablis' (the Lab's) face above. Who is this intruder? Why is she here? She'd better be leaving soon! We've had visiting dogs in the past and it's generally fine, but it was almost as though Chablis knew this one wasn't going to leave in a few days.

Bernadette's wound healing - the knot was actually quite large at one point.
As a side note, I swear I have a better collar for her (You know, so she doesn't look like a sad orphan dog, but it doesn't quite fit her yet).

Since the puppy wasn't going to leave on her own, Chablis decided to attempt to make her go away. About a week and a half into her stay with us, Chablis was no longer tolerating this ridiculous puppy and while our backs were turned, in an instant she attacked the puppy, leaving a huge bite mark and swollen welt on the bridge of her nose. I have no doubt the puppy was trying to play and Chablis wasn't having it. We took great care to be sure the wound would heal properly and not leave Bernadette scarred for life.

An increasingly rare nap - it was a good break.

Unfortunately, Chablis' attempts to keep the puppy away did no good and by the next morning, she was once again jumping around and wanting to play. We did our best to keep them separated, but there's only so much separating that can be done when a puppy wants to play. We gave the puppy time outs in her kennel so she could rest and give the other dogs a break, and continued to give time to each of the dogs, but about a week after the first incident, when our backs were turned yet again, Chablis went on the offensive. This time, the puppy let out a long, repeated, screeching sound. As I went to her, I realized she was bleeding profusely. I picked her up and wrapped her in a towel, attempting to figure out where all the blood was coming from. One of her eyes seemed to be swelling and shutting and I couldn't tell where any punctures were on her body.

We had our first animal-related emergency room visit that evening. I was shaking, stressed, and unsure of what to do. Frankly, I wasn't sure if the wound was life-ending or not because I couldn't tell where Chablis had taken out her hostility. The puppy was spitting blood and not breathing well. It just didn't look good. After talking with the veterinarian, she assured us that we weren't doing anything wrong, but just needed to figure out a way to help them co-exist. She also said that Bernadette would be fine and that there was no permanent damage. Even her eye was fine - simply swollen from the trauma to her nose (again).

Sassing the Rat Terrier

This poor puppy! I didn't want her to grow up thinking that all dogs attack, are mean, or constantly growl. I didn't want her to think that she could never play or have fun. She's a puppy... and so small. It's my job to protect and train her - and I had failed - miserably - at my job. Maybe it was time to give Bernadette up and find her a suitable home. I just wasn't sure that Chablis would ever accept her as part of the pack, and after reading through the material given to us by the veterinarian, I was even less sure that this was going to work.

After a nearly sleepless night and lots of talking about what to do, we decided to see if someone could help. I went to the Humane Society and they suggested a puppy training course for Bernadette. In the interim (the classes still haven't started, but will soon), they reminded me to back up the older, resident dogs when they (politely and nicely) ask Bernadette to leave them alone. I was also encouraged to spend at least 15 minutes alone with each of the dogs so that no one feels left out or as though they are being replaced.

A good sign?

I don't want to be overly-optimistic, but things have been okay for the last week or so. We are doing our best to keep the puppy away from the Labrador, particularly if she's feeling super playful. We have our training classes scheduled to begin in about two weeks. We are walking the dogs individually, allowing for correction time with the pup, but also giving an opportunity to be with the older dogs on their own and appreciate them for their own special qualities.

Our Lab isn't a mean girl (crazy as she may be at times). In fact, she's really quite sweet and loyal, particularly to me. Even as I type this, she's right here with me, waiting for our next adventure. She loves people and is acutely aware of my emotions, so I am learning that I have to relax a little bit and not let the stress of a puppy take over every aspect of life. She may not love having to share my time with the other dogs, but she's slowly learning to accept this reality (I think - I hope).

As for the puppy, she's healing up nicely. Unfortunately, she's had quite a traumatic start with us. But, as with anything in life, I can't go back and change what has already taken place; however, I can work on making the future better for all of us. Part of me realizes that perhaps I should've listened to that little voice, that bit of intuition in regard to adopting another dog, but I believe we can make it work with the right assistance and training. We have enough love for each of the dogs - now we just have to work to keep them all safe, healthy and happy.

Have's and the Have-Not's

A friend of mine has been trying to figure out ways to assist her pre-teen children as they have started to express a certain degree of hopelessness over the last several months. Her eldest child has shared that he feels as though he isn't old enough to make a difference in the world, he has no money that is his to give, and nothing seems to matter anyway. After attempting to find some places the kids could volunteer to show them that helping others doesn't always have to be about money, she came up with an idea through a local youth worker to make TAG (take and give) bags to give to those in need, specifically, the homeless population that is ever-present in our community and surrounding areas (and truly, all over the world).

*Image here

The bags are small and consist of food and/or personal items such as crackers, tuna in a can, fruit cups, granola bars, bars of soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, and so on. Not every bag has the same items, but it's a way to give someone a meal and something they need without handing over cash (which many of us rarely have on hand these days anyway). The idea is to take one of the bags and keep it in your car so that it can be given to someone who is asking for money at intersections, off-ramps, and so on.

Immediately, I thought carrying one of these in my bike bag would be the best idea. I pass a number of homeless individuals regularly while riding, and often they are cycling themselves. What a great opportunity to be able to share. Of course, since putting the TAG bag into my saddlebag, I have yet to run into a single person in need of this sort of assistance. I have, however, run into folks when I'm on my road bike and have almost no ability to carry anything with me. It's as though the universe is conspiring to keep me from meeting up with the person who could use the assistance of a small meal.

All of this has had me thinking about my own youth and personal feelings of helplessness - both then and the present time. I keep recalling a very specific incident from my childhood. As a kid, I always wanted to help others, so if I had any sort of opportunity or could convince my family to help someone, I felt I was doing what I could in my own way. When I was about 8 years old, my family was at a gas station filling up when we noticed what appeared to be a homeless man sitting at the edge of the lot. My mom looked at me, handed me $5, and said, "Go on. Go and give this to that man over there." I remember smiling and feeling as though it was going to make his day.

I was a shy kid though, so the idea of talking to a stranger was sometimes more than I could handle. Slowly, I walked up to him. His head was hanging low, scraggly, dark brown hair in his face. I must've cleared my throat or made some sort of noise because he suddenly looked up to stare at me. His eyes were glazed over and even at my relatively young age, I knew he was probably intoxicated. I started to say something, but the words just weren't coming out of my mouth. It seemed like an eternity that he was watching me, but I finally had enough voice to smile and say, "Here. Hopefully, this will help you," as I handed over the five dollar bill. His response to me was, "Hey, thanks kid. Now I can go get some weed."

I returned to our family car, completely crushed. It's almost as though I can pinpoint that moment as the day I lost some of my faith in humanity. This individual... some man who I didn't know, had broken my spirit, a part of my willingness to give. He took away a small piece of my innocence that no child should lose. It's not as though I became completely hardened and never helped anyone again, but I honestly cannot recall ever giving cash to someone on the streets again after that day. My mother asked me what he said when I returned to the car, and I didn't even know how to respond. As we were driving away, I recall trying to process what had just taken place, and eventually, I was able to share what the man had said with my family.

There have been numerous occasions since that day when I've had the opportunity to help someone. If I am completely honest, I never really lost that desire to help when someone is in need; really, it just got buried behind my invisible wall of protection. I think I simply adapted and found other ways to assist like volunteering at a food bank, or offering to buy a meal for someone on the street. Somehow, it seemed safer and I wouldn't have to deal with the reality that a person may not use the cash for something that I viewed as necessary.

In many ways, I think it's easy to separate our world into the "have's" and the "have-not's," when in reality, it isn't that simple. There are many of us located on a long spectrum of possibilities between having everything and having nothing. In fact, most of us fall in between the two extremes. Perhaps we've even landed at different points on the spectrum throughout our lives, and then there's the reality that there is still time to find ourselves at either extreme. Personally, I know what it is to not have a home and to wonder from where I would find the next meal. It isn't necessarily a fun place to be, but I also remember that time of my life as one of my biggest personal growth periods. There are moments when I realize how easy it could have been to remain exactly where I was, but because of a little help from others - sometimes the smallest gesture - I was able to find a way out.

When I think about that moment as a child, that little speck of time that crushed a little bit of helping spirit within me, I try to balance it with the thought of those who helped me when I needed it later in life. I do my best to realize that some people want assistance, and others simply don't. Some are looking for a handout, others are looking for a hand up, as the saying goes.

I have decided that when I give out the TAG bag that's riding around in my saddlebag with me on my adventures around town, I'm also going to give out a bit of cash with it. Why? Because I am reclaiming that little bit of self that was lost so long ago. It no longer matters if the person uses it to buy weed, cigarettes, or alcohol, or if they choose to use it for his/her next meal or an article of clothing. I'm not saying I'll be handing out cash to everyone I see asking for it in the future, but I think it's time to reclaim my whole, true self... and perhaps this will help begin to restore me to... well, me.

Saying Goodbye

Please forgive me this deviation from typically found topics, but today, I write with a heavy heart. Unfortunately, we have lost one of the family, and as sad as I am to lose him, I can’t stand the thought of dwelling on the loss we feel at home. Instead, I want to share a story, so that not only will his memory live, but the joy he brought to others can be shared and remembered. I will always treasure him as the great dog he has always been from the first day he stole my heart.

Almost eight years ago, Sam and I were talking about getting another dog. We had two Rat Terriers at the time, and Sam really wanted a “fetching” dog. Our female Rat was aging and wasn’t quite herself anymore and we definitely didn’t want to get another dog as a “replacement,” but rather as an addition to the family. I, being an animal obsessed individual, jumped at the opportunity to bring another dog into our home. If it were up to me, we’d have a house full of rescues.

We spent a great deal of time looking at local shelters, thinking we were wanting a Labrador or something along those lines. I remember going to a rescue site in Boulder to visit with a Lab, but she just wasn’t the right fit for us at that moment in time. On my way home from my visit with that dog, I decided to stop by the Longmont Humane Society. We had just visited the shelter a couple of days prior, and I honestly didn’t expect to find the right member for our family that day, but something made me stop. As I walked around the corner, two beautiful brown eyes stared into my soul. I literally gasped as I started talking to this gorgeous Golden Retriever, and I told him I was going to the front to ask to visit with him.

A few moments later, I was walking the dog that would become known to us as Levi around the perimeter of the shelter. I called Sam at work and told him he needed to immediately stop by the shelter because I had found our dog. He came as quickly as he could and admitted right away that he was a great dog – calm, loving, yet ready to go for a walk if we so desired. We couldn’t believe he had found his way to a shelter, and even stranger still that no one had yet to adopt him.

Sam started tossing a ball around, but Levi seemed to have no interest. We chalked it up to him being nervous in the shelter setting, and were absolutely certain this was going to be our fetching dog.

Sam had to return to work, but I spent a little more time with Levi before heading to the front desk at the shelter once more. I told them I was ready to take Levi home, but they informed me that there was already a hold on him. I was heartbroken. I was absolutely convinced this was supposed to be our new family member. “I don’t need to think about it,” I informed the woman at the front. “ I will take him right now.” She smiled, but firmly informed me that the individual who had Levi on hold had two days to decide if she wanted him, so I would have to wait until Sunday morning. It was Friday afternoon and I wasn’t ready to leave him in the shelter – even if only for another day and a half. She took my name and told me I was next in line. I went back to talk to Levi and told him that I would be back for him and that he would be in his forever home very soon.

Friday evening and all of Saturday were a complete waste. All I could do was think about this dog that was supposed to be in our home. I didn’t want to wait, but Sam did his best to keep me calm and told me that we probably wouldn’t be seeing him again. I didn’t want to believe that and continued to hold out hope, but I knew Sam was right. Who could leave this dog behind?

On Sunday morning, Sam called LHS. I didn’t have it in me to hear the words that he had been adopted. I listened anxiously to Sam’s side of the conversation as he spoke to a clerk. “Really?” eventually came out of his mouth. Followed by, “We will be there as soon as you open.” Levi was still there and waiting for us to adopt him. We rushed to the shelter with leash and collar in hand, ready to take Levi home. We had new toys for him and were ready to start life with our new addition. He never did take to fetching (he would get the ball, but then ran away to hold on to it), but we loved him for the beautiful soul he was, not for his interest, or lack thereof, in fetching a ball.

I wish I could detail out all of the wonderful moments we’ve had with Levi. I wish I could explain what an impact he’s made on so many lives – not just ours. When I worked in an office, I used to take him with me and he would roam the halls greeting people (and looking for food handouts). Everybody loved Levi. It was hard not to love a dog that was so sweet and had such a calming presence. Even when he visited people with developmental and physical disabilities, he had the patience of a saint. He’d let them poke him in the eyes as they attempted to pet him, soaking up every moment of attention he could get. Honestly, he gave so much more than he received.

We don’t know the origins of Levi, how old he was when we adopted him, nor how exactly he found his way to us. He was discovered on the streets as a stray, with a microchip completely devoid of any information about his history or original family. His front teeth were worn completely to the gums and he was always afraid of tight, enclosed spaces. He trembled at the sound of thunder until his hearing gave out, but he was always close by, ready to offer comfort to those around him.

Even my brother, who’s not necessarily an animal person, adored Levi. As I said, it was hard not to love him. Over the course of the nearly eight years Levi has been part of our lives, we’ve received multiple offers from others to take him any time we were ready to let him go. Give him up? There was no way that would happen. He was meant to be with us. He was the gentle part of our dysfunctional, motley crew!

As we say goodbye to one of the family, I will remember that Levi brought joy, love, comfort, companionship, fun, and too many memories to count. He may be physically gone from our lives, but will never be forgotten. Even though my heart feels as though it can't go on, I know he will always be a part of us, and he lives on in our minds as our “child” and the best Golden Retriever ever to grace this earth. I will remember him as he was above - able bodied, and enjoying rolling in the grass, swimming in the water, dirtying himself in the mud, and basking in the warmth of the sun... truly, as the best dog ever.

Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen for Sale (and a tale about how this has come about)

The below post is several years old and that bike is sold. However, I have another 47cm A Homer Hilsen/Saluki frame for sale as of Aug 2017. You can find photos and info by clicking here.
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I started writing a post about the last couple of days, but I realize some may have no interest in the back story and just want to see the bike for sale. If that is the case, you are welcome to scroll toward the middle of the post where I've headed up the section with "Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen for Sale," or you can view additional photos of the bike here. For all others, feel free to start (or continue on) from this point. Thanks! :O)
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We had an eventful 24-hour period here in the E.V.L. household starting Monday evening. After Sam got home from work in the late afternoon, we were chatting (about bikes, of course), plotting out some final attempts with the Trek, and preparing for kickboxing, when he suddenly started having stomach pain. I thought little of it and went about my business, but after a few minutes, Sam was on the floor telling me that he could barely breathe and was in pain like he had never experienced.

"Do I need to call for an ambulance?" I asked, in a half joking tone. I truly thought he was okay and was just dramatizing a bit of gas or temporary stomach pain. Within a few minutes, I knew he wasn't kidding and we headed for the emergency room. As we traveled, Sam started saying things like, "If I die..." Not exactly what one wants to hear from his/her spouse in this sort of moment. I reassured him that he wasn't going to die (honestly, only half believing it myself because I had no idea what was going on). After arriving in the ER, it took about 2 hours to actually get a doctor and some pain medication flowing, but soon Sam was at least able to stay put without writhing in pain.

Sam waits for pain meds -
I had plenty of time for photos as the ER doesn't seem to be particularly speedy

After getting results of the blood work, the ER doctor noticed that there were elevated levels in Sam's pancreas. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on after quizzing Sam about what he'd ate, drank and done over the last few days, so he sent him in for an ultrasound. By this time, Sam was fading in and out due to the medication he'd received, but he was still aware of everything going on, attempting bad jokes with all the staff, and trying to understand himself what was going on.

The short story is that there is no definite answer to what happened. The doctors believe Sam was experiencing pancreatitis, and have no idea what triggered it or why it happened. He doesn't drink or smoke, he doesn't take any herbs or naturopathic supplements, and after the ultrasound, there were no stones anywhere to be found. They kept Sam overnight because they didn't know what had happened, nor why, and wanted to be sure that it wouldn't start up again before sending him home. They also wanted to check his triglycerides and so on, but had to wait until morning to do so. The doctor stated he could be there from 24-72 hours, depending on what happened. Thankfully, it was a pretty short stay. Sam is to eat bland foods for a week and avoid alcohol for at least two weeks. Additionally, a check up with his primary care doctor is on the books for next week. The good news is, it was a fairly quick visit to the hospital/ER and Sam is much better today. The bad news is, apparently after one gets pancreatitis, s/he is much more likely to get it again.

As I've stated before, I believe everything happens for a reason and it is all part of a bigger picture. What made me chuckle just a bit about all of this is that if Sam had actually started the job he was offered in San Francisco, rather than it being rescinded, we would have had no insurance (it wouldn't have gone into effect until July 1), and we could possibly have been paying for this visit for many years. Thankfully, we have medical insurance... but this is where the "bike for sale" part comes in to play.

Because we rarely (or in Sam's case, never) go to the doctor, we have to cover the costs of the deductible before anything will be covered by the insurance. Unfortunately for us, the deductible is a fairly sizable one which means we need to figure out how to cover this expense. Since bike shuffling has been taking place anyway, I've decided to sell off my very much loved Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen to help cover the costs of this emergency hospital visit. So, if you know of anyone who has been thinking about it, this could be the time to save a little dough and help us out of a financial pickle.

Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen for Sale
About the bike: This is a great bike for just about anything other than racing. It gets around easily and comfortably and is a solid machine built for the long haul. It would make a great commuter, light touring bike, city bike, and/or all-around fabulous bike. If you don't know much about it, info can be found here. *Please note that the frame being sold is in fact a darker color blue than what is shown in the photos through the link as it was manufactured in a different color when purchased. As you may have noticed while there, the frame/fork alone are selling new for $2300 (and complete bike builds are into the mid-$3k and up).  When I looked it over to take photos, I couldn't find any paint chips, etc. It is a used frame, so be aware that small imperfections may be visible if you were to go over it very carefully, but I noticed nothing of significance at all when looking over the bike (though there is some dirt, as it has been ridden). The bike has been well-cared for and never stored outside, as I intended to keep this bike for life. I have owned it less than a year now, and it has been a secondary bike so it has few miles on it.

Sugino triple crank (24, 36, 46)

What's included: The bike is being sold with frame/fork, headset, bottom bracket, handlebars, handlebar stem, wheels, tires (and tubes that are in them), derailleurs, rear cassette, brakes (and brake levers), shifters, seatpost, chain, crank, bottle cages, and cables. I can include a generic saddle (not the one pictured), if the buyer would like to have something to get him/her going.

What's NOT included: Saddle, pedals, any bags or electronic devices that may be pictured in other photos, and handlebar tape (only applicable if the bike is shipped as it's just been removed too many times to keep it in decent shape).

Soma New Xpress 650b tires

A bit more detailed info:
Frame: 47 cm (steel)
Top tube: 52 cm
Stand over: 73.5 cm
Crank: 170 Sugino XD2 triple (24, 36, 46 rings)
Rear cassette: 11-32
Tires: Soma New Xpress 38x650b (300 miles on them, at most)
Bottle cage spots: 3 (seat tube, down tube, and under side of down tube)
Wheels: 650b size (generic brand - see photos if you're looking for additional info or send me a note and I can attempt to get more information)
Handlebars: Nitto randonneur bars
Shifters: Shimano bar end, 3x8 (left is friction, right indexed)
Asking: $2,100 or best reasonable offer

I'm sure there are additional details that someone may want or be in need of, and if that is the case, please feel free to contact me at endlessvelolove {at} gmail {dot} com. I would very much like to sell this to someone in the area (Boulder/Denver) as I'd prefer not to deal with shipping the bicycle. However, if it ends up being sold to someone out of a reasonable meeting distance, please be aware that I will need to charge for shipping and professional packing. I've had too many issues in the past with problems in shipment and have decided it is the only way I will ship a bike. Charges will be actual (so I would need to get a quote for the individual) as I'm not looking to scam anyone out of money, but I also want the bicycle to make it in one piece without damage and it seems to work better through a bike shop. The buyer is probably looking at somewhere in the range of $200-250 (as a guess) for packing/shipping in the continental U.S. Any other questions, please feel free to drop me a note.

UPDATE: July 2013 - The Rivendell is sold. Thanks to all!! :)