Needless to say, we got the food, likely Mom and Dad paid, we ate, and I rode my bike home hoping that a Casey-like phenomenon wasn't in the cars that sped close to my wheels. That's the power of journaling. You can remember the day to day moments that capture memory, history, and the way it once was.
That poor bike hasn't been out in years. Chitunga rode it for a long time, and then I got him another so we could ride together, but I much preferred running and never caught onto the calloused crotch phenomenon. Not my thing, although I love/loved the amount of territory you could cover.
I made dinner for friends last night which turned into, "I'm hungover; I won't make it," and "my car broke down and I'm stuck in Hartford. I can't come," which is the way such things go, so I cooked anyways and brought it to Pam's to eat with Rico Suave Dorado and her. Their loss. Made surf and turf with steak and shrimp. Pam made potatoes and asparagus.
The friends and I will try again on Wednesday.
Seventeen years ago, I was also 36, younger than Kaitlin, Patrick, and Rhiannon, and just a couple of years older than where Abu, Lossine, Edem, Akech, and Kanyea are now. Perspective is wild.
I was thinking about this, too, when Kwame swung through town and I was sharing specific memories of where we both were at that time and he's like, "Dude. How do you remember all this? I go blank."
I guess it's because I capture the day...the moments...as they happen, and on nights like last night, when plans don't go as they were planned, you start reading memory lane and think, "Hmmmm, I wonder who I was on this day when I was in the doctoral program and first starting blogging at the request of my students."
Well, I was a bike rider then, looking out for aggravated, anti-cycling drivers like my younger sister, I guess.
