sounds familiar

They cleared out a homeless camp that was in a patch of woods I pass daily on my bike ride to and from work.

It was just one person “living” there. There are a few one-person camps I pass on my route, tucked away off the bike trail and main roads. Some hidden better than others, having taken several rides right past them before I glimpsed them.

I’m better at recognizing the signs of where a camp might be: worn trails off the asphalt and into the bush, or has been: cleared brush and multiple “No Trespassing” signs. I know where most of the regulars stay or hang around during the daylight hours.

The camp they cleared away was fairly established. Had a tent with a real mattress, held off the ground on a platform of pallets. Had camp chairs and a line of suitcases. Had a stand mirror and traps strung around as makeshift walls. Had several shopping carts of stuff.

I only saw the resident twice in six months of riding, but one time he was panhandling at the corner and he gave me a smile and a fist bump.

Sleeping rough in the city, even if it’s in the woods, especially in Florida, must be challenging. I don’t envy those in that unfortunate position.

Hope that dude found another place he can tuck into and have some sense of safety.

Hugs.

You know that dream?

The one where you’re in college again and, like, months into school you remember there’s a class you’ve forgotten to go to the entire semester. You went on day one, but just completely forgot you were even in the class after that. That feeling; a sudden and pointed guilt because you can’t believe you could screw up so bad.

Sometimes I have that same feeling in the waking world. Not often, but occasionally, the thought will just hit me that I’ve not spoken to my mom in forever. A wave of shame and sadness descends; how could I be such an awful son? When was the last time I even called my mother? What kind of cruel uncaring beast of a son just forgets to call his mom?

The kind whose mom has been dead for years, I guess. That kind.

The brain is funny like that.

Outside on the porch watching the sunrise.

Sipping coffee and listening to the sounds of the morning. City sounds: jets flying overhead (we’re close to the airport), the pneumatics of a garbage truck a neighborhood or two over, cars on some distant road , the little refrigerator I keep beer in cycling on and off. But also some country sounds: a rooster crowing in the new day, birds chirping, squirrels chittering, a turtle or fish or something disturbing the water just a little.

Already dressed for my ride. Been cycling the 6mi to (and back from) work for about six months now, started in March. I loved it from the day I started, and am surprised how much I still enjoy and look forward to each day’s ride. Takes me right about 30min each way. I shower and change clothes and get ready in the gym locker room at the office building after arriving dripping in sweat. Lost some weight in the first few weeks but not from the gut or upper body. Since then it seems only to continue strengthening my legs.

This year has been good for new habits. Cycling to work, doing my own vehicle repairs, and cooking more. I want to add a return to writing and “art.” I’ve long wished I had some artistic outlet.

There’s fog, or steam, or condensation on the lake. Floating over it, moving across it in billows. It’s pretty.

Time to pack for the ride.

It’s not going to be possible to “catch up” here.

Too much has happened since I was writing consistently and regularly. I guess no one’s reading this chronologically, anyway. But I think the weight of all the years not writing does often feel to me like a block or weight that keeps me from starting again. Maybe acknowledging that won’t be fixed will help me be free of that feeling.

I’m on the back porch in the sun, looking out over the lake. This is our home now. Sometimes I miss California, the mountains and the weather and the people, but this place is definitely our home now. A cinder block house we own outright, on a small lake. Place is in good shape and I do my best to take care of it so it’ll last. I’m proud of where I am personally, the changes I’ve made and the person I am.

Our kids are so old. Our marriage, too. Proud of all that, also. I like what we bring to this earth, I’m pleased with our energy. I feel like we’re all doing a good job trying to learn and grow as we mature. We’re doing a good job. Sometimes I wish my parents were able to see our family; how we’re doing, how similar our route so far ended up being to theirs in some ways, how much better in others.

I’ve felt inspired to write for over a year but I’ve just not done it. I have the time, too. I’ve just not made it part of my routine.

Love.

Yesterday was such a beautiful day.

Usually a typical Saturday for me means projects. Working in the yard, on or around the house, on a car. But yesterday I decided to do nothing. The first weekend of college football, cast iron pizzas with homemade dough, cards with the wife, and a spiked Arnold Palmer.

While the weather in Florida is far from turning to Fall or what passes for Winter, I feel like you can, if you look at the things, just begin to tell that things are beginning to change. Today was quite pleasant, as Florida goes.

I’m happy, content these days. I want to write more. I’m writing now on my phone, thinking maybe I can get into the habit again. Just quick hits to start, something I can sustain. I’ll try.

Hugs.

I want to write about Keaton getting older, growing up, but I don’t have a good start, so there it was.

Seventeen, driving, about to enter her senior year. This summer she’ll be spending four weeks away from us, on her own, in the heart of New York City. Living in a dorm and studying theater. I’m bubbling with vicarious excitement for her, but also feel some pretty strong pangs of sadness when I think about (1) her being gone for four weeks and (2) the confrontation of reality the time away represents: she’s not going to be here forever.

I want her to have the greatest time, the best experience, to grow strong as she steps out into independence. I’ve decided I’m going to write here a short note that I’ll send with her, telling her how proud of her I am and recommending some things she do and try while she’s a “big girl on her own in NYC.”

It blows my mind that we’re here already. It goes so fast. I wonder if the post-kids space feels just as fast, or slower? It must slow down a little bit as you get older?

Going to miss her a lot. Going to worry about her and want to talk to her and text her and hear about all the fun she’s having. And then she’s back for one more year of high school and who knows what after that. Cohen also feels that milestone nearing – tells me he doesn’t want Keaton to leave; he’ll be bored, he’ll be sad.

Me too buddy, me too.

I live about six miles from work, and as long as I’ve been working here I’ve thought about the idea of riding my bike into the office instead of driving.

Being Florida, there are plenty of reasons this is perhaps not as feasible as it would be in a less tropical locale… but still the idea would nag me. So, while the car was in the shop last month I decided to first map out the route online – just to see how much of it would be road riding (less desirable) vs. trail-riding. After doing a virtual ride on Google Street View and noting that the majority of the ride (~75%) would be trails vs. roads… I convinced myself to give it a go.

I loved it. I’m still doing it, five weeks later, and I’m still loving it.

I get to wave to and say “hello” and “good morning” to so many strangers. I get to be outside. I get to listen to more music. And the bonus, like hiding a dog’s worm pill in a chunk of cheese, all those things smush around and hide from me the fact that it’s exercise and it’s good for me. Not only that, but it’s brought a whole new set of routines into my life, and you know how I love optimizing and living in good routines.

I have a little backpack. I pack it every morning with my work clothes and unpack it every afternoon. I shower in the gym at work. I jump in the pool after getting home to stifle the sweat and cool down and give my riding clothes a rinse until the next day. I got a small microfiber towel I use after my post-ride shower. I properly launder everything each weekend. So, many, routines! So much efficiency and repetition and predictability to be enjoyed.

In my life I’ve only ever managed to make exercise “stick” when I was either (1) not doing it because it’s exercise or (2) doing it as penance. Hopefully this bike riding will continue to fall into bucket #1 and I’ll keep doing it because I’m enjoying it.

So far so good.