How to not fall off a bike, and other observations

Friend watches me read outside Airbnb, Wellfleet

I took a little break, this time on another getaway, not as exotic as Costa Rica, but beautiful, and according to a friend who has traveled around the world, one of the most exotic places he's seen.

He was referring to Race Point, in Provincetown, and the bike ride we took through the dunes. Savoring the spring blooms still out, the beach flowers fragrant, the distinctive smell of the sea...we stayed for a while after finishing the loop. (Detouring here: Did you ever wonder how to describe that ocean smell? I looked it up and found that from poets to biologists, people had plenty to say. Why does the sea smell like the sea?, from Popular Science, takes the romance out of it but is an interesting read.)

I'd only been biking a little, and for some reason, though I went to a lot of spinning classes at the Y last year, it didn't speak to me this year. I do something most every day, so I think I filled those slots with yoga and a little more tennis because I joined an extra group.

(Tennis detour: I'm more relaxed as a "fun" player and during my outdoor summer league season with the Holyoke Dolls than in the regular leagues.  My record is pretty good with the Dolls and not so good anymore during indoor league tennis. Yesterday I played twice, first with my Monday morning group, and last night at Forest Park for the team. I was worried that I would be tired, but despite the heat and humidity, I was energized and played really well, getting balls out of range, I think  surprising the other players and also surprising myself. My excellent, fun, partner and I were a good team; I set some up and she smashed them. It was very convivial, more so than indoors, with chit chat on the side changes and laughter between two courts. We won, 6-1, 6-3. I wish this and other summer scores counted in my rating; scores in this league don't count. But, rating, shmating, it's like a test score that might not reflect what you do. I kind of understand why I didn't get asked to play this year on a senior team for which I didn't earn a win, but still, despite the "maturity" of advancing age, it's hard to always separate self-worth from tennis-worth. That's why last night was great, and it's also great that George says I'm playing my best tennis ever. It must have something to do with the light therapy on my blood, the extracorporeal photopheresis, although to be honest I can't exactly explain it except for saying it's loosened up my skin and made me more flexible.)

Therefore if I had fallen off my bike tottering in granny gear going up one of the Race Point hills, I might have had a better fall than my past crashes. But maturity overcame my desire to prove a point  when I was going so slowly up a steep hill that I could have lost my balance and fallen off. I GOT off and walked to the top, congratulating myself on knowing when I had reached a limit. I can't think of other times when I've gotten off; I didn't love doing it, but it was better than falling.

Another unusual thing for me was talking to a cat. That's Fiddle, the dog-like cat who hangs out at the sweet Airbnb where we stayed in Wellfleet, a short walk to town. Besides my cousin's (late) cat, Chloe, she's the only dog-like cat I ever knew. She sat with me when I read. I didn't do much reading, though, because I was either doing some work or doing outdoor activities with the friend who wishes to remain anonymous. Highlights included a hike around Great Island and walks along the beach and a last-day bike ride starting on the bike path in Wellfleet and then turning left for a ride to Coast Guard Beach.

We watched a couple playing with their grandson on the beach. It made me wonder how I can be a grandmother now, while, just the other day, I was in high school, riding around these beaches in a jeep with that first love who creeps into my thoughts in places that are connected to him. The beach can do that to you. I'm pretty sure that when we walked along the beach separately, me walking through the shallow water and him on the harder sand, that he was having his own thoughts too.

Entrance to Coast Guard Beach, Eastham

When we were exiting up the path, the grandpa was walking down with the lunch that he had gotten out of the car. I asked (jokingly) if we could have some. We got to doing the "where are you from" thing. He said he lives in Munson. I said I used to work for the newspaper (The Republican) that covered that area. He asked if I knew Jim Gillen. I said of course! He was an editor at the paper. The grandpa (Andre, I think, said he is a lifelong friend of Jim's and was staying in Jim's Cape house. He asked if he could take my photo and text it to Jim. I said of course; when he sent it I wrote a cutline saying "could I please have an extra inch?" That's how it used to go at the paper, with space getting smaller and reporters begging for more space.

It was the last week before the crowds arrive. The bike path can get crazy in season, but we had it almost to ourselves. It made me more relaxed because my concern on crowded bike paths is not so much falling, as it would be on a hill on the road, but bumping into kids or having kids bump into me.

I'm looking forward to going back in a couple of weeks, this time to Diane and David's, with my three (plus one grandchild). It took a lot of engineering to try to get everyone together, but I think that, with different cars, we'll manage at least one dinner and part of a day together. A friend took everyone on a cruise to accomplish a similar feat, but I'm not quite up that.

Of waterworks, Gatorade spills and a Cape escape

You may or may not have noticed that the blog has taken a break.

This is due to a series of technical and emotional difficulties that began last week when I watched Joe pack up to move out after four years of living at home.

It is ALL GOOD, and he is not going far, just to Fairfield County, and I knew it would come shortly after his master's graduation from UMass, but still watching it happen underlined what I already knew – that he has taken care of me as much as I have taken care of him, literally picking me up off the ground and going with me to the emergency room on multiple occasions.

The waterworks started with something that I can laugh about and cry about at the same time.

Me: "I just bought you your last bag of baby carrots," accompanied by tears.

Joe: "Mom, you can buy them for me again."

But once I started, it was hard to stop, and I didn't want him to see me, but he did, and we had a good conversation where we brought up the theme from the movie we had both just seen, "Inside Out," in which sadness must be accepted as a part of life.

It was well into the afternoon on this moving out day last week when I got a call from a man with an Indian accent who said that he was from Microsoft and he had information about my computer being hacked. He he said he could show me that it was being hacked in Australia and Morocco and I would need to buy a something from him to protect against these hackers. So I asked him his name and his telephone number and said I would call him back. I forget the whole number, but it was area code 302 something, and as soon as I put it in google I saw that it was a scam from various numbers in the 302 area code offering debt relief, anti-virus protection, and all sorts of other things...for a price.

(The comments that came up after I put the number in provided comic relief, such as one person reporting that he said to the caller, "Your mother would be ashamed of you," and another saying, "Maybe Donald Trump can stop these calls, because nobody else can.'")

Absorbed by this, and not paying attention to anything else, I knocked a bottle of Gatorade mixed with water onto my Macbook Air, ruining basically everything but the keyboard and frame.

Sunset on the bay

In a panic I called Apple and learned that the genius bar takes walk-ins on a first come, first served basis, so the next day I was the first one there at 10 a.m. The geniuses must also be trained in counseling, because the one who helped me said he sees it frequently, with people watering their plants over their computer or spilling coffee.

I left it there and signed off on paying an arm and a leg to get a new hard drive. Luckily I had all my important work on a flash drive.

The same day I met Katie in Boston after my photopheresis, and just seeing her brightened my mood.  From there we took off for four nights at the Cape, staying in a cute bed and breakfast in Eastham. The sun- and fun-filled days included the ocean and the bay, the pond and the bike path (three successful rides!), Provincetown dinner and stroll, and sunset at Sunken Meadow Beach, where the small group of spectators applaud as the globe sinks behind the horizon.

Then, alas, it was back home Monday to deal with the mess that I left behind in my whirlwind departure and to unpack the bags that I had accumulated over the mini-vacation and to get used to the Joe-less house.

That night I played in a match in Holyoke with the summer team I am on, the Paper Dolls. Despite the heat and humidity, it was great tennis.

You can't be sad all the time.

From fall to summer and back again

It's summer in one part of Massachusetts, but it's autumn in another.

I just returned from another lovely weekend in Wellfleet, where the gardens were colorful, the trees were green and the air was warm. Back home in Western Massachusetts, the leaves have begun to change and drift to the ground, and there's a chill in the air.

My friend Deb came with me to Diane and David's house on Cape Cod. (They weren't there, graciously giving us the place for the weekend.) On the drive back, Deb pointed out the difference in the scenery.

We felt like time travelers. I'd have preferred staying in summer, but hey, what can you do?

We had ambled to the Cape on Friday, taking a detour at Chatham to drive through the town and get out at the beach across from the grand old Chatham Bars Inn. The fog drifted in just as a wedding party gathered on a sloping lawn across from the water. To the sound of violin music, the guests, dressed mostly in black, got seated, creating a surreal tableau.

Once in Wellfleet, we managed to squeeze a lot into one-and-a-half days. The weather was mostly sunny, so it was nice for walking on the beach. I thought we might go swimming, but the water in the pond that we went to was already too cold. We toodled around town a little and had two excellent meals there: Dinner at Mac's Seafood and brunch at the Wicked Oyster.

I got up and down the steep steps to the pond and the path down to the beach with no problem.

There was also time for a drive to the bay at sunset and a visit and dinner (at the Lobster Pot) in Provincetown. It was too hectic there, with tourists crowding the streets. (I know, I guess we're tourists too.) It was nice to return to calm Wellfleet.

My re-entry was better than after the last weekend that I was away, but the house still feels strangely empty. At least I didn't feel like crying.

I got Maddie from Jim and Jane's and walked her just as it was getting dark, my feet crunching leaves instead of digging into the sand. I'm sure I'll feel better about fall when we get some of those glorious days, but it was just damp and gray, as is today also. I wasn't too happy about being back.

I launched into one of my little trots, managing to get up a couple of small hills on the Mount Holyoke campus. Then I switched to a brisk (for me) walk. We passed the greenhouse, where not too long ago I fell because my legs were too weak to keep me up.

I reminded myself to be grateful that I was taking big strides now.