For As Long As You Can

I was looking at my supply of insights, deciding which one I’d post for tomorrow.  If I don’t do that then writing on the day of delivery takes most of the day and I’ve other things I must accomplish during today’s waking hours.

    We’re getting ready to sell my Harley Davidson. Yes, someone called and we’ve arranged to meet at a local gas station.  I bought BB (Blue Blaze) a sweet Roaster 1200cx going on ten years ago.  I was flush with money at the time as a fellow soldier was in a bind for cash; one of those unintentional trades:  he really didn’t want to part with it, and I really didn’t need it but it seemed like a good idea at the time for us both. 

   I’ve enjoyed having the bike and I drove it well enough, but the time of different had arrived; I have no wish to give my new bride cause to worry.  She doesn’t complain about my riding, but I can hear dread in her voice as she lingers at the door whenever I decide to go for a spin: It began to wrench my heart.  Perhaps this part of the tale set me up to observe an otherwise invisible overarching theme; the sale interconnected to a previous experience I happen to notice just the other day. 

    Kids were in a playground being kids. I noticed how they throw themselves into everything they do.  Boys don’t just ‘go over’ to cluster of other boys playing in the dirt, oh no, they run and slide into the pocket of giggling heads.  I had to laugh, and it struck me that was how we did things when I was a kid too. We laughed a lot; at everything and anything.  Just the other day I saw something funny in a movie and it really made me laugh hard.  So hard that I felt it was foreign to me.  I finally composed myself after the outburst, brushing away the tears and all. But the oddest thing was that I couldn’t laugh enough to get it out.  I mean, for a few moments there I thought I was going to actually vomit.  The sad thing was, I wasn’t surprised at this since I had recognized the effect.  When did I become comfortable with feeling it was ok to accept I couldn’t laugh totally without getting sick? 

   I guess in the same vein of walking with a limp, it just sort of all of a sudden seemed like I always had.  I know whenever my doctor asks me how long have I been feeling a certain way, I get a bit annoyed;  I don’t keep record of those kinds of things, so I’ve no idea.  Maybe I should?

As for laughing out loud and as hard as I could I don’t remember when that eased-back.  I’d venture a guess that when I took on the responsibility of making a living and thinking it was, in fact, important.  There were those decades when I lived a bohemian lifestyle.  Where living room décor was an assortment of bookcases of cinderblocks and raw wood planks; where the kitchen table was a spent industrial wire spindle with a company logo burned into its ends.  I didn’t care about rug burns from my friend’s cigarettes because the rug had already war wounds from the occupants before me.  I had roommates who were not friends; I had them to afford the place. So laying down any kind of rules about cleanliness was akin to telling kids they laugh too loud during recess.  Yeah, things shifted without a lot of fanfare; as did the small crowd of friends I hung around.  It was like a renowned author once commented on people and gravity.  He said we were all on an invisible journey towards those who shared the same frequency of attitude about the world.  Much like the power of magnetism; 

we’d drift towards our individual poles like iron shavings sought out magnets.  Just turns out you realize that one day you’re being careful not to ruin the things you purchased, and you’re less likely to let loose with a belly laugh.  It’s no value system I’m talking about, you just sort of ease into it the way I mentioned the limp.  Only when you see or hear the contrast do you remember being there once, a long time ago. 

  I guess I’m in this mood because soon enough that bike will no longer be sitting in the garage waiting to whisk me away.  Once I don’t see it, I’ll eventually learn not to miss it.  Until of course I see someone on bike breeze by me.  Just like those kids in the playground lost in their enjoyment.  I traded that in for something else, and what that is, right now, I couldn’t tell you.  But I know this much, when I have that sense of limitless thrill, when it arrives again unannounced, I’m going to hold on to it for as long as can.  

And force it to break free from me with a kiss so I get to say good-bye passionately.