linda says she's putting all my annoyances in her mental garbage can. it's a trick our favorite therapist, Eike, taught her.

she thinks i don't listen, i don't pay attention.

that i don't wear my thinking cap enough.

on our ride last night in the beautiful balmy evening warmth as we were sailing down tunnel i said to linda, "i thought we were going to ride to Grizzly?"

she shouted, "it's filling up!"

"where's the cap?" she asks. "always, always wear the cap."

reminds me of my conversation with a certain sanchez. we were discussing our habit of losing things, getting lost, etc that happens with a frequency that we're used to but others are not.

"i make mental notes," she said. "but i lose them."

i do too. i try not to. i think put the note there. remember the note is there. and while i'm thinking hard about where the note is, i lose my keys.

my mental notes read: the cell phone is under the bed, check you turned on the burner under the kettle, not the empty saucepan, if you leave that wheel behind the back of the truck like that, you're gonna drive over it.


"why's that woman waving at us?" i asked linda as we were backing out of the parking lot after watching a crit a few weeks ago. "she's awfully friendly."

cccrrunch!

"it's filling up!" -- linda and her garbage can. starting to wear on my nerves.

she says i'm not normal. and how does one defend one's normalcy? shouting, "i am normal!" just sounds crazy.

but what's normal? is linda's habit of saving every box, packaging container, plastic baggie normal? i don't think so.

"we might need it," she says of the box from her Giro helmet purchased in 1990 that i found stuffed in the back of the closet.

"for what?" i ask.

"for something," she says and takes the box and puts it back in the closet.

Normal?

i got dressed quickly this morning. i pulled on my fabulous orange pants that have traveled up and down the central valley and a white polo shirt with a Tour de France emblem. kinda dorky but the shirt is comfortable and, i think, goes with the orange pants.

i was walking to work, trying not to drive the one mile, wearing the back-pack that linda gave to me, when i caught a glance of myself in a window.

the back pack is from our trip to France. Big old Tour de France logo on it matching my shirt.

some kid seeing me might think who is this crazy old Tour de France lady?

but it was an accident, the TdF overload. a freakin accident. these things happen, we don't plan them. yeah from a distance they might look a little looney, but they are accidents!

"hey kid, it was just an accident!"

and that's my point: accidents happen. mental notes get lost. bike wheels get run over.

too much Tour de France shit gets worn.