Stories
These are recollections of things that I’m pretty sure happened to me, recently or in a time long ago. Some embellishment, purposeful or due to the passing of time, may have occurred.
Featured Recollection
Birkenstocks and Socks
I have a Schwinn Cruiser SS. It’s a beach bike. Heavy. Weighing in around 30 pounds. No gears. Coaster brakes. I got it many, many years ago when I used to work at the bank by redeeming some recognition points that they were using to reward employees for “doing the right thing”. I’ve added blue and white handle bar streamers, a parrot squeaky horn and a couple of home made dice valve stem caps (perpetually rolled up to lucking number 7). It’s a great bike. It still will coast for a long time without peddling.
I rode my bike to Publix (about a mile-and-a-half away) to pick up some yogurt and some soft flour tortillas. I was locking up my bike at the bike rack. Another person was unlocking their bike right next to me. He stops and stares directly at my feet. Without looking up he says “What year is it?”. I’m wearing my Birkenstocks (Arizonas) and white socks. He’s staring right at them and repeats “What year is it?” I immediately think that he is making a snarky remark about my choice of footwear. I imagined his next line was going to be “What is this, the Sixties?”.
So in order to defend my footwear fashion choice I said, “I like Birkenstocks. They are comfortable. I wear socks with them because my feet sweat and I don’t want my feet slipping on the footbed. Plus, it’s extremely comfortable no matter if people think that it’s not a fashionable look”
He finally looks up at me, and with a questioning look on his face says, “No. The bike. What year is it? My hobby is restoring old bikes and I wanted to know if this was an original Schwinn Cruiser SS or a reproduction.” He wasn’t looking at my Birkenstock and Socks, he was looking at the label on the frame to see if he could tell what year the bike was.
“It’s a 2004 I think.”
“Yeah. It’s a reproduction of the classic original. Still, it’s a nice looking bike.”
“Thanks.” I said sheepishly. I went in to Publix and got my yogurt and fajita wraps.
Aunt Jenny
Did I ever tell you about my Aunt Jenny? In her prime, she looked like Elizabeth Taylor in her prime. Aunt Jenny was a beautiful person. I love her.
Once, she came to my rescue when I had just moved out of my parents house and I got my first job working for the Exchange Bank in downtown Tampa. I was on a tight budget so a few days a week I would ride my bike to work instead of driving my car. It was about three miles.
One day, I was about half way to work when it began to pour rain. I pulled over on my bike and huddled under an overpass. To far to go back home. Couldn’t be late. Couldn’t get to work soaking wet with no change of clothers. A white Nova pulled up. It was my Aunt Jenny. I put my bike in the trunk and she drove me work.
But that’s another story. This story is about when I was probably around five-years-old. Aunt Jenny had come over to our house for dinner. After dinner, my mother made espresso.
This is like one of those video memories. I just don’t remember it, I can see it like I’m watching a video. I’ll always remember seeing Aunt Jenny take a sip of espresso out of one of these cups and she looked like she had gone to heaven. I came up to her and I asked if I could taste some. She said “No. You are too young for coffee. But one day you will know how wonderful this is.” She was so right! And I always think of Aunt Jenny when I have an espresso. Especially when I use one of the same cups that I got from my mom.
