Rosie

I bought Arianna a new bike today. Sharon said that my spending an hour or so on the phone calling every Electra dealer within 50 miles of Sleepy Hollow was over indulgent. I suppose she’s right. I mean, the owner of the local bike shop in C’ville would have gladly ordered the bike for us. Of course, then Arianna would not have had a new bike to ride while she was on Spring Break.

Well, since circumstances presented themselves the way they did I thought I had no choice but to follow through. Since the owner / manager of the shop in Lake Geneva (WI) thought his store in Kenilworth had the bike in stock, I called. And sure enough. Of the dozen or so shops that I telephoned today, RRB was the only one that actually stocked the bike Arianna wanted.

So, at 3 o’clock we got in the car and headed to the North Shore. In point of fact, the shop’s address was on Green Bay Rd between Willow and Lake – in other words, no farther north than [ ], where I work. 

Arianna acted just like a kid going on vacation. Every few minutes, she asked me if we “were almost there yet.” And when I miscalculated on the number of cross street until we reached Green Bay Rd . . . . 

“Here’re a lot of stores; maybe it’s here.”

“No; it’s not here.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I wrote down the address, before I left the house.”

We walked into the shop and the bike was standing right out front. Arianna recognized it immediately. The owner / manager, Walt, – a grey haired gentleman in his fifties – grabbed a wrench and adjusted the saddle for her. Arianna was shy, in part, because I revealed that this would be her first real bike – without training wheels.

“In that case, I better drop the saddle another quarter inch.”

The drive home seemed to go much quicker. Every now and again, Arianna turned in her seat and touched the bike laying on its side in the cargo hold of our station wagon. When we got home, I unloaded the bike while Arianna ran into the house to tell Mommy. I helped her around the drive way a few times before supper and then again later before sunset.

Arianna’s awkward, timid, scared of my letting go of the seat, but in time – I assured here – she’ll be riding her bike all over the backyard and down to Lake Sharon.

Yellow Ribbon

Arianna won a yellow ribbon at the Academic Fair for her story, Mystery Castle. She had found out that she placed third while still at school and was hard pressed not to share the news with the rest of the family. So, after supper, we headed on over to St. Catherine’s almost as soon as the Fair began. And sure enough. Fastened to Arianna’s story, was the yellow ribbon.

It’s a high achievement, placing third among 30 other students. What makes it even more impressive to Sharon and me is the fact that Arianna is in Mrs. Schmidt’s “special” reading class.

I don’t know how Arianna feels about all this fuss. I mean, all I’m certain of is the fact that she had said she didn’t want to just receive a Participation ribbon. And, she didn’t.

*

Our walking the halls of St. Catherine’s fills me with gratitude. We are fortunate – no, blest – to have been afforded the opportunity to enroll Arianna in St. Catherine’s.

Of course, as I walk the halls of St. Catherine’s I recollect Guardian Angels and can’t help wondering if she’ll be prepared for high school. And I don’t mean academically. St. Catherine’s is so small. –30 classmates; Arianna’ll graduate with 29 other kids. And then . . . . Well, why concern myself other the future.

*

Bruno had a difficult time of it tonight. I felt bad for him. The stairs up and then down to the lunch room left him more than winded. To how many more Academic Fairs will he accompany us?

Bicycle Shopping

The absurdity of American culture diminishes even the most seemingly benign of activities.

When I was a kid, growing up on the East side of Detroit, the name plate at the front of your bicycle defined the prestige – or lack thereof – of “your ride.” In many respects, the choice – or the ability of choose – was no different than the prestige afforded to the make and model of your Father’s automobile. Just as a Chevy could not be reasonably compared to a Cadillac, bikes purchased from Sears or Montgomery Ward were considered second rate when compared to a Schwinn.

Today, perhaps because all bicycles are manufactured similarly (and overseas), children must decide upon the affiliate branding that they will pedal around their neighborhoods. I pity the children who do not outgrow bikes emblazoned with the logos and color schemes of Spiderman or Bratz dolls, before these statements of cultural iconography become passé.

Like any shopping trip these days, my desire to keep my daughter from becoming a billboard for what is, in my opinion, trash (Bratz dolls? Not in my house!), extends to the selection of a simple, traditional, 20” girls bicycle. Target, Toys R Us, Amazon, all participate in this unseemly charade of the not-so-subtle manipulation of a child’s imagination (and values). 

Luckily, Electra, is providing like-minded parents (are there any parents who share my convictions?), with a bicycle – plain and simple. Of course, one pays for the luxury of traditionalist simplicity. But, it is well worth it.

Good dog, Jack.

Old Charles Ingalls and his family are on the move again. This time to the Dakota Territory.

We finished reading On the Banks of Plum Creek and have begun By the Shores of Silver Lake.

Sentimental old fool that I am, I could not read the episode of the passing of the Ingalls’ dog, Jack. As I handed the book back to Sharon, I freely admitted that I couldn’t help but think of Miss Kitty’s last days.

As we begin the last book of the set Arianna received as a Christmas gift from her God father Greg and his wife, Ronda, both Sharon and I are astonished at the restlessness of Mr. Ingalls. As well, I can’t help thinking how optimistic he is. Regardless of how dire his circumstances, he remains confident that prosperity lay just around the bend.

I am thankful for having had the opportunity to read these books to Arianna.

*

Unseasonably warm weather – 70+ degrees in Chicagoland today. Driving home from work today, it was an odd site to see the ponds and lakes still covered with soft ice.

Crocuses

With Mahler’s 4^th Symphony playing on the Victrola.

The family has gone to Huntley to deliver Girl Scour cookies to Aunt Myra and Uncle Lester. I was left behind to bury Miss Kitty, who has been tucked safely away in a corner of the garage for a month. Grisly as this may sound, the bitter cold has worked to our advantage in preserving her boxed remains. However, despite the receding snow, the swale full of running water, and the appearance of yellow, white, and purple crocuses on the front lawn, the ground is still frozen solid. So, after conceding the point to Mother Nature, I shambled across the yard and retrieved the fallen wind chimes and collected sticks for the burn pit.

We are so easily seduced by sunshine and warm breezes. It is a glorious day. But, it is still Winter. And as I explained to Arianna, who jumped for joy at the sight of the crocuses, in Chicagoland, frost is still a possibility until May 15.

Tomorrow, HMS Pinafore. 

Promotion

After years of watching colleagues “fall up the ladder,” I have received a promotion. Frankly, I don’t know what to think. If I had received such a nod from Leadership two years ago, I would have thought that I had honestly earned their recognition. But, since I am only in my new role six months, and haven’t really accomplished anything significant, the news of my promotion was incomprehensible.

Der Alte Hund

Arianna ensured yesterday’s birthday celebration was joyous. She so enjoys preparing for birthdays and holidays. When I got home from work, crepe hung from the door and balloons dangled from the ceiling fan in the dining room. Even as I grow older, Arianna’s presence in my life fills my heart with warmth and gladness.

Quiet

Sharon and Arianna are in Chicago this afternoon. They are attending a Chinese New Year performance at the Auditorium Theatre. I was invited, but I do not mark time by the calendar of the Chinese.

Due to yet another snow fall, I’ve had to shovel the drive again (and again, and again). Last night’s commute was insufferable. I left the office in what I thought was more than sufficient time to attend the last hour of Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction and then the Stations of the Cross. To my chagrin, I approached St. Catherine’s at 7:20 p.m. – about midway through Stations.

Wind and snow that was reminiscent of January circa 1977 snarled traffic for miles. At one point in the commute – on Algonquin Road, east of Barrington Road – I watched a Ford Mustang slip and slide as it tried to climb the grade.

Although I won’t be surprised to see more snow, I’m hopeful this is the last. I can’t remember the last time there’s been snow on the ground at my birthday.

*

With a Pepper cat on my lap.

Since Miss Kitty’s death Pepper has sought all our attentions more frequently.

*

A day of writing. Letters to Germany and to an old friend, one of the few who has remained in touch “over the years and across the miles.”

*

Steeleye Span on the Victrolla – a birthday gift to myself. Maddy Prior and Gay Woods voices blended so well on that first album. I love it.