Category Archives: People

Babble People

A lovely melange of noodles, sauce, meat and cheese

January 4, 2012 – 12:32 pm

I’ve been craving lasagna lately.

That’s what I told my Friday lunch crew when we went out to eat a couple days ago. Yeah – that was Monday. But we missed the last few Fridays because we were on holiday break, and we had to catch up.

I suggested we go to Macaroni Grill this Friday so I can satisfy my lasagna jones. Paul and Dale said Olive Garden is the way to go. And Paul and I both agree that Carrabba’s does a pretty decent job as well. But it became a moot point this morning when I saw a Facebook post from Juan, who runs the cafe in the lobby of my office building.

Roma’s Quick Cafe is serving lasagna today. I put in my order immediately.

NOTE: Ordering lunch through social networking is pretty sweet!

Now I’ve had my lasagna, and we are free to eat something other than Italian on Friday.

By the way, we used to have a fourth member of the lunch party. Our friend Josh was part of the group for many years until he pulled stakes and moved to South Canada about a year-and-a-half ago. I’m pretty sure he would vote for Fuddrucker’s.

Lasagna from Roma's.

Comment (0)
People

A carver of wood

October 22, 2011 – 10:57 pm

That Bill sure is a nice guy.

I think I met him once before. Probably a year ago, because the Lutheran church near my house has their big rummage sale at this same time every year.

My youngest son is quite fond of garage sales, rummage sales, yard sales, thrift stores and anywhere else he can get a bargain. He’s a budding little entrepreneur — often thinking ahead to how he can flip an item on eBay, Craig’s List or at his own garage sale. It’s funny to see a 9-year-old meet the gaze of someone 40 years his senior and say, “Can ya do any better?”

Yesterday my wife took him to Day One of the annual sale at the church Bill attends. Among other things, Son No. 3 came home with a set of computer speakers. This brings his stable of computer speakers to around six sets.

A kid can never have enough sound reinforcement.

Turned out one of the speakers was missing its little plastic base. So this morning, I took No. 3 to the sale as soon as it opened at 7 a.m. He wanted to get there and search for the AWOL speaker base before the Electronics Department became overly rummaged.

No luck.

That’s when Bill sidled up and asked in a working-class British accent if we found what we were looking for.

Actually, I can’t say for certain that his accent is “working class.”  But I’m going with it. Partly because he just didn’t strike me as a guy who spent his working life behind a desk.

We explained the situation and showed Bill the speaker stand we brought with us from home, thinking maybe he’d seen its mate. Bill said, “Would you like me to make one for you?”

Really?

“Well I’m quite a carver of wood,” Bill said. “It’s something to keep me busy in retirement. I make all the crosses around here. I could carve a stand to match this one. It’ll be wood instead of plastic. But it will work.”

No. 3 eagerly accepted the offer. At least he was as eager as any 9-year-old will be when forced to speak with a grandfatherly stranger who talks funny. Bill told us to stop by in a couple weeks. He’ll leave the finished piece and the original plastic stand with the church secretary.

I’m not sure how much cross-making is required at a small church. Bill implied that most of the crosses he makes are small ones worn around the neck — not the life-size, behind-the-pulpit type. So something tells me he has a few openings on his shop calendar.

Sure No. 3 looks forward to having (almost) matching speaker stands. But I have a feeling that in the end, Bill gets as much out of this deal as my son.

Comments (2)
Music People

A good Monday-morning story

August 16, 2011 – 9:38 pm

When you go to work Monday morning, people will ask about your weekend. They always do. And most of the time you give the same boring answers.

Not much … chilled out … hung with the fam … went to a movie … did some chores … had a bunch of running around to do …

Yawn.

You need something better to talk about next Monday. You should go to work bubbling with excitement about the awesome, cool thing you did. Something you never did before. Hell — something you never even heard of before!

Next Monday you should tell everyone the story about the house concert you went to Saturday night.

It’s the most amazing thing. Instead of going to a club and trying to hear a performer above the pool table, the bottles being tossed into a can by the bartender, and that one drunk guy who wants everyone in the joint to hear his conversation — you hang out with 20 or 30 like-minded people in someone’s living room and listen to a singer-songwriter in a comfortable, intimate setting.

House concerts are growing in popularity because it’s a win-win: Touring artists get to connect with music fans in a way they can’t in a club, and fans get a unique experience.

So come out this Saturday and spend an evening with singer-songwriter Kevin Montgomery. Kevin played a show at my house last December as part of his “50 States in 50 Days Tour,” and this summer he’s touring for a month before heading back to Nashville to finish his forthcoming CD, Some Comfort. You’ll enjoy hanging with Kevin. He has been in the music business for more than 20 years and has a million great stories.  He’s been down the major label road, lived in LA, and now he has a successful indie career.

As a sidebar (and to give your water cooler story even more juice on Monday morning), Kevin’s dad, Bob Montgomery, grew up in Lubbock, Texas, where he performed and wrote with Buddy Holly.

We hope to have Kev back at the Terry pad for next year’s “50 States” tour. But the honor of hosting this show goes to my buddy Mike, who lives just a few minutes away from me and finally gets to realize his dream of being a concert promoter.

Let me know if you’re interested in attending Saturday night, and I’ll give you the details. Or check out the Facebook invite: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=161898557217754

EDIT: I’ve been told the above link doesn’t work for some people. So here are the deets:

Location: The Nelson’s house — 363 Brushwood Lane Winter Springs
Doors: 7 p.m.
Showtime: 8ish
Donation: $15 per person to cover Kevin’s expenses
Drink: BYOB

To get you in the mood, check out something old and something new from Kevin Montgomery:

Comment (1)
Babble Family People

Everything’s gonna be all right

April 9, 2011 – 7:57 pm

I never met Alix Bonhomme Jr., but I think I know a little bit about what he was thinking in the minutes before he died Tuesday morning in Butts County, Ga. The paragraph I’ve read several times now says it all:

Paramedics found the 4-year-old boy, Alix Bonhomme III, wrapped in the arms of his father, Alix Bonhomme Jr., in a sight so wrenching that even grizzled rescuers wept. Miraculously, a younger son in the bedroom wasn’t hurt, nor was Bonhomme’s fiancee, Marcie Moorer, who was sleeping in another room.

All Mr. Bonhomme wanted was to protect his little boy. And I’m sure little Alix felt safe and protected in his dad’s arms. He might have been scared — but he probably thought everything would be OK because Dad had him.

I bet Mr. Bonhomme said all the right things. The things we’re programmed to say whether we believe them or not.

“Don’t worry.”

“Daddy has you.”

“Everything’s gonna be all right.”

No one thinks about a moment like that before they have kids. At least I didn’t. You think about all the good times to come. Zoos and birthday parties and teaching them how to ride a bike.

You don’t think about hunkering down.

We joke about that term in Florida because it’s so cliche here. We hear it over and over during the hurricane season. Meteorologists, anchors and reporters sound like a parody of themselves when they say things like, “While you hunker down and ride out this powerful storm, our team will hold your hand as we report from throughout Central Florida.”

A view of the back yard from the roof.

It’s funny to us because despite all the watches, warnings and evacuations, nothing ever really happens. Hurricanes are wobbly beasts that are easily nudged one way or another. We know we’re safe if the seven-day model shows a storm passing over the western edge of Cuba, into the Gulf and then turning back toward the Sunshine State. Because the seven-day model almost always turns out to be a bust.

But it ceases to be a joke when the hurricane is 100 or so miles away and still coming your way. When you realize Your Actual House is in the path and the sonofabitch doesn’t seem to be turning, then you get concerned. That’s when the boards go up on the windows, the water jugs get filled, and all the flashlights and candles are piled onto the kitchen table.

I gained a little more respect for hurricanes during the summer of 2004. That’s when three of them visited Orlando in six weeks. Charley, Frances and Jeanne left us pretty battered. It took months for all the limbs and uprooted trees to be cut up and hauled away. It was a year or more before all the blue tarps disappeared and the roofs were replaced. A lot of areas looked rough for a long time.

But those memories fade after a while.

The memory that sticks with me is being camped out ["hunkered down" in other words] in the hallway as Charley pushed his way northeast from the Gulf Coast toward Orlando. That hall was the most protected area in our house. Me, my wife, three boys, pillows, blankets, snacks, flashlights, a laptop for DVD viewing and a portable TV tuned to the local Super Doppler 3000 Severe Weather Center StormWatch Non-Stop Coverage.

The kids were 10, 6 and 2 at the time, and they didn’t seem too concerned. It was kind of a game to them. But that’s partly because my wife and I played it so cool. We made it fun. We didn’t act stressed or worried. At least I don’t think we did.

The disc swing was a few feet off the ground before Charley gave the tree a big shove.

One of the strange things about the Charley experience was that despite all the wind, we never lost electricity at our house. We were in this weird little isolated spot that was spared the power outages. That meant I was able to keep watching the TV coverage during the worst part of the storm.

It was pretty obvious that Charley was heading straight for us. And I don’t mean “us” as in “Central Florida,” or “Orlando” or “Winter Springs.” I mean … my house. Seriously, when the guys on TV pointed at the darkest, ugliest, most menacing colors on SuperDoppler StormWatch and showed the projected path, it passed right over my house. And this time it wasn’t the seven-day path. The one you know will change in a few days. No — this was the 15-20 minute path.

WFTV meteorologist Tom Terry (no relation) shared the news that Charley was shredding a bunch of 100-year-old trees in downtown Orlando before setting his sights on Seminole County.

Downtown Orlando … Baldwin Park … Winter Park … Goldenrod … Red Bug Lake Park … Dodd Road …

As the sandhill crane flies, that’s the path to my house.

The next hour or so was stressful to say the least. I had never heard my house, or any house, make sounds like that. Lots of eerie creaking and groaning. We heard trees cracking and huge limbs hitting the ground. Crunching sounds in the back yard as a tree brought down part of my fence. And there were mysterious things that went bump on the roof. When the sun came up, I could tell those sounds were a combination of heavy oak limbs and pieces of my neighbor’s roof. But we were lucky. We escaped with some missing shingles and had a few small leaks.

And we all lived to tell the story, which is what really matters.

It’s too bad Alix Bonhomme Jr. isn’t around to tell his storm story. And I hope that when the tree hit his house, Alix III wasn’t aware of anything other than Daddy being right there with him.

These baby squirrels were on the ground under a tree. Note the quarter to their left.

Comment (0)
Music People

Don’t be afraid — you know you want you some

January 27, 2011 – 5:30 pm

I sat down a couple days ago to write about Donovan Lyman’s show coming up this Sunday night at the Hard Rock Cafe in Atlanta.

First I tried an anecdote about the dozens of meals Donovan and I have had together at Beefy King in Orlando. But I wasn’t feeling it. Then I tried something clever about all the boy bands that came out of Orlando in the ’90s. That just seemed cheesy. Then I attempted a theme-park tie-in (I pretty much hate them). It fell flat.

Seems like I’ve had four or five false starts on this topic in the past few days. I guess I felt the need to be clever because I know Donovan will read this. He’s an amazing, talented lyricist, and I didn’t want to write anything he would sneer at. And trust me, the man can turn on a serious sneer if he wants to. But what the hell, all I really want to do is convince anyone I can reach in Atlanta that they should go see my friend play on Sunday night. So if you live in Atlanta … or near Atlanta … or if you have an abnormally long layover at Hartsfield on Sunday night … then you really need to check him out. Doors open at 7, first act at 8, and Donovan should be on before 9.

Quick little background on Mr. Lyman: He founded an Orlando band called Blue Meridian in 1994. Donovan is the singer, songwriter and soul behind the band. After almost a decade of filling clubs in Orlando and getting a respectable amount of local airplay, Donovan relocated to Los Angeles about 10 years ago and formed a West Coast version of Blue Meridian. I guess it was 10 years ago. Hard to remember for sure. But I remember sitting in his living room before he moved, going through old show posters and eating take-out from Beefy King.

It’s all about the King.

I could write a lot about all the great Blue Meridian albums, the inspired live performances, and the successful US and UK tours. But this isn’t the time or place for a full retrospective. I just want to give you a taste so you’ll show up at the Hard Rock in Atlanta this Sunday night. Take a look at the video below for your appetizer.

If you know anyone who lives in Atlanta, please send them this link. And if it helps motivate you, I’ll mention that Mark Ballas is also on the bill. In addition to being a musician, he apparently has a side gig as a professional ballroom dancer on “Dancing With the Stars.”

Comment (0)
Music People

Calling All Gods

January 22, 2011 – 1:32 pm

I’d like you to hear a song written and recorded by my friend Dennie Middleton. He wrote the song about two years ago, but my story starts way back in the leisure-suit days of the ’70s.

When you’re a dorky high school freshman, it’s good to have a friend who is a cool senior. It wasn’t like I was an outcast or anything. I had plenty of friends. It’s a small town, so everybody pretty much knows everybody else. But having a senior friend is kind of like an insurance policy against gratuitous hassling from upperclassmen.

Dennie was my insurance policy. He was in the class of  ’79 at Sparta High School in Sparta, Michigan. I was class of ’82. Our older brothers graduated in ’76 and were buddies. Our dads were in a golf league together and drank with the same group of guys. So I guess I knew Dennie from the time I was 7 or 8 years old.

The main thing we had in common was a love of music. Dennie and I were both huge Beatles fans. He turned me onto Cheap Trick my freshman year. When I didn’t have any money for an amp after buying a used SG-knockoff bass, Dennie loaned me a little practice amp he wasn’t using.

Unlike me, however, Dennie had talent. For years his band, Early Blue, played every school dance, wedding reception and basement party in northern Kent County. All Den ever wanted to do was make a living playing music, and he’s one of the few guys I know who have managed to do it. After playing a thousand bars, honing his chops with a showcase band in a summer resort town, and then doing some time in Los Angeles, Dennie carved out a niche back in West Michigan with the Bimini Brothers.

The Bims are a rock ‘n’ roll comedy duo with Dennie on piano and Nick Lewis on bass. Nick has been Den’s best bud since fifth grade, and he was the bass player in Early Blue. They really hit their stride in the Bimini Brothers with song parodies and originals that are raunchy, sick, twisted and just plain wrong. I love them.

After more than 25 years the Bims are still a huge draw in the Grand Rapids area, but Dennie diversified as he got older. He fronted a great band called The Hype, and also developed a following as a solo piano artist and a dueling pianos jokester. But there’s always been another side. Den also wrote a lot of really good serious material and released some of it on a solo album called … “There’s Another Side.”

And that brings us to “Calling All Gods.”

The song is Dennie’s plea for peace. After a lifetime of being the funny, entertaining piano man, it’s the song he wants to be remembered for and the one he wants the world to hear. So give it a listen, and pass the link along to your friends and family … even your enemies. The first link below is the studio version of the song (which ramps up into a nice gospel romp), and the second one is part of a live performance I shot when Den played a few gigs in Florida last year.

If you like the song and spend 99 cents on the iTunes download, all proceeds will go to the construction of a memorial to fallen soldiers from West Michigan.

Now — please tell me the final score.

Comments (2)
Family People

A toast to Mom

January 15, 2011 – 1:22 am

It’s been a little more than four months since my mom passed away.

I still have those occasional moments when, totally out of the blue, I’m struck with flashes of disbelief that she’s gone. Sometimes I’m sitting in my office when it hits me. Other times I’m driving or watching TV. But more often than not, thoughts of Mom are related to breakfast.

The woman made breakfast for me pretty much every day for the first 18 years of my life, so the connection makes sense. My brother and sister are seven and five years older, so they were usually on a different schedule. That meant it was typically me sitting by myself on a stool at the breakfast counter, watching Mom in the kitchen as she hooked me up with something warm and tasty before I trotted off to school. More often than not it was hot cereal. I ate plenty of Oatmeal, but my primary hot-cereal vice was CoCo Wheats. I think it was a Midwest thing, because people outside of that region don’t seem to be familiar with the chocolate delight of Coco Wheats.

Another favorite breakfast treat was cinnamon toast.

Not Cinnamon Toast Crunch, the cereal. Forget about those pre-fab wafers infused with industrial cinnamon dust. I’m talking about honest-to-God white toast (made with Spartan bread — always three for $1 at Emmons Supermarket) slathered with butter and sprinkled with mom’s perfect mix of cinnamon and sugar from the cinnamon bear. Mmmmmmm.

I don’t know where the cinnamon bear came from, but it was always a fixture in our kitchen. I think it was there before I was born, and I can’t think of any other single object that I associate more with my childhood and good thoughts of home. That’s why 10 or 12 years ago I asked my mom for it. This was long before she had cancer. She was probably around 60 at the time, and I figured she would be around for another 20 or 30 years. But one day when I was at Mom and Dad’s house I spotted the cinnamon bear in a kitchen cabinet and told Mom that, while I didn’t expect her to go anytime soon, I wanted dibs on the cinnamon bear.

Then she broke the news: My sister had already asked her for it.

What? Seriously?

I stated my case.

“Mom. Here’s the deal. I really don’t care about anything else. She can have Grandma’s antique, pedal-operated sewing machine. She can have jewelry. All the photo albums. Dishes. Whatever. But I really want the bear.”

Mom then dismissed me with some kind of “first-come, first-served” comment, and that was that.

A year or so later, my wife was in an antiques shop and spotted a lookalike cinnamon bear. She bought it, brought it home, and told me that if I couldn’t have the real thing, at least I could have a twin. That was really sweet, and our kids have grown up using that cinnamon bear.

But it wasn’t THE cinnamon bear.

I eventually forgot about Beargate and somehow managed to move on and live a fairly productive life. Then Mom got sick with The Cancer, struggled for a couple years and finally lost the battle on Sept. 10, 2010. The day before my 46th birthday.

Four days later we had a memorial service. The next night I drove by myself to Mom and Dad’s house to have dinner with Dad, my brother and my aunt and uncles — Dad’s sister and two brothers. They were hanging out for a few more days to help dad with the transition. Two of the three had been through it themselves.

I was really looking forward to dinner that night. After weeks of emotional ups and downs, and lots of visitors, I was ready catch up with Aunt Nancy, Uncle George and Uncle Dick. I wanted to laugh with them and hear more of the old stories. The only one missing, other than Mom, was my sister. She had spent most of the previous month by Mom’s side, and it was time for her to get back to Michigan with her family. So she and my brother-in-law had flown back earlier in the day.

But the evening started off with an unexpected twist. When I arrived and walked into the kitchen, my dad immediately walked over to a cabinet, opened the door, then turned around and handed me the cinnamon bear.

“Here. Mom wanted you to have this.”

“But. Um. This was supposed to go to Sherry. She asked for it first.”

“Oh well. Mom told me to be sure you got it. Sherry can have anything else she wants.”

I haven’t told my sister yet. Probably ought to call her or send a text before she reads this.

Now I keep the Original Cinnamon Bear in a separate cabinet, away from the one my wife bought. Original Bear still contains what’s left of the last batch of cinnamon and sugar Mom mixed up, and I’m selfishly keeping it for my own toast.

The original cinnamon bear on my kitchen island.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , | Comments (4)
Music People

Real music. Just listen.

January 5, 2011 – 9:43 pm

“Yeah, JT. Andrea is the goods!”

That’s what my friend Donovan Lyman wrote about singer-songwriter Andrea Marchant a few years ago after Andrea and I both commented on Donovan’s Facebook status. That endorsement was enough to make me search for Andrea’s MySpace page and YouTube videos. I listened … I watched … I found out quickly that Donovan was right.

Now Andrea has her first full album available on iTunes, and this is my commercial for it.

I have some friends who are really talented songwriters, and I promote them whenever I can. If a buddy of mine is playing a show near you and I have your e-mail address, or we’re connected through social media, I make sure you know about it. But unlike those guys, I’ve never had beers with Andrea. We’ve never hung out. I’ve never met her family.

I’m just a fan.

About all I can tell you about Andrea is that she’s from Colorado, she moved to Los Angeles a few years ago to pursue her dream, she writes great songs and I dig her voice. And like all good singer-songwriters, she has an honesty and vulnerability in her songs that’s very appealing.

So here’s the deal: Taylor Swift already made plenty of money off her latest record. So did Eminem, Katy Perry and Lady Antebellum. They won’t miss your $9.99 if you decide to spend it elsewhere — like on “Counting Down” by Andrea Marchant.

So why don’t ya mosey on over to iTunes and invest a ten-dollar bill in an independent, unsigned artist who does it for the love of the music. And if for some reason Andrea isn’t your cup o’ tea, then seek out independent artists who make the kind of music you like — and buy it.

Now to give you a taste of what you can expect, here is the live version of the song “Seattle,” which is the first track on “Counting Down.” Check it … and please support independent music.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that I totally ripped off the headline for this post. My friends Vaughan and Dave Rhea used it as the slogan for their duo and band for many years. Those guys had a nice ride and went from being bar stars in Orlando to a major-label release on Elektra, touring the country with the likes of Creed and Three Doors Down, TV appearances, and hearing Casey Kasem say their names on Sunday morning. That record is still available on Amazon. Their fabulous first CD, “Panes,” sold out years ago, but I might be willing to make a copy if you ask real nice.

Tags , , | Comments (3)
Family People

Home sweet home

August 30, 2010 – 4:02 pm

I guess Trike Lady was right, because something good did happen. My sister was able to hop on a plane with very short notice and get down here to Florida. She made those plans on Saturday after Mom had a really rough 24 hours.

By the time I picked up Sherry from the airport yesterday and got her to Mom and Dad’s place in Lake County, Mom was up out of bed and had a bit of an appetite. She sat in the living room for a while and chatted with me, Dad, Jeff and Sherry while we watched the last few holes of The Barclays tournament.

Just the five of us. The family.

Mom didn’t do much talking.  I did a fair amount.

She’s always been a fairly quiet, reserved woman. But I can really make her laugh sometimes. And that’s what happened when I told the story of Trike Lady and I got to the part about the lady offering me a towel to wipe my hands on and saying, “It’s OK. It’s dirty.”

Mom really laughed at that. And it was the first smile I’d seen on her face in the past 24 hours.

Something good did happen. Trike Lady was right.

Today is not a good day. We know for certain that the trip to Michigan will not happen. Mom is going home soon, but it’s not to Michigan.

I don’t know who first said “life ain’t fair.” But that guy damn sure knew what he was talking about.

Tags , , | Comments (5)
People

Something good

August 28, 2010 – 1:43 am

I was nearing the end of a particularly nasty commute home Wednesday night when I ran into another delay. With apologies to those of you not familiar with Orlando, I  was cruising north on 17-92 from Lee Road toward Horatio when I came up over a little rise near The Enzian Theater and saw nothing but brake lights.

Traffic inched along for a few minutes, and eventually I could see far enough to make out three or four police cars and a few tow trucks. About the same time, I heard a traffic report telling me the left lane was blocked.

As I got closer to the accident scene, I saw an older woman crossing 17-92 on a bike. Well … not really a bike … it was one of those adult trikes with a big basket on the back. She had the slightly disheveled look that raises the “crazy” flag for me. The oversized bag, too many layers of clothes for a muggy 95-degree day, crazy-lady hair.

I’m not saying she looked scary crazy. More like cat-lady crazy.

And seeing her made me think immediately of a guy named Arnie Katzenberg.

When I was growing up in Sparta, Michigan, Arnie was one of those local characters who made small-town life interesting. The little old guy with big bug eyes was sort of the self-appointed cleaning man for the village. He wandered around every day picking up cans, bottles, cigarette packs, scraps of paper, and any other trash he found lying around. He collected it, threw it away, then went back out for more.

I don’t want to give the impression that we were a town of inconsiderate slobs. But you always have a few pigs who think the world is their garbage can. Luckily, we had Arnie to pick up after them.

Arnie might have been retired. Or maybe he was disabled. Rumor was he didn’t have any family. I think I was a little scared of Arnie when I was young, but my dad always talked to him on the street and I eventually realized the guy was OK. One year Dad organized an Arnie Katzenberg Appreciation Day with the Rotary Club. They had a lunch in Arnie’s honor, and presented him with an adult trike so he could get around town without walking all the time. Apparently Arnie didn’t drive.

From that day on, Arnie rode around on his trike and carried trash in the big basket on the back. He really seemed to love his ride.

I guess my dad had a soft spot for Arnie, because the man even had Thanksgiving dinner at our house one year. I remember it was a white Thanksgiving, and I was out for a snowmobile ride when Dad drove into town and picked up Arnie. I was way out in the field when they pulled into our place, and I took my time getting back to the house because I was a little nervous about having the trash picker-upper at our dining room table. But in the end everything was cool, and I probably received a subconscious lesson in being a decent human being.

So Wednesday night when I watched the lady riding her trike across the six lanes of 17-92, I got a little concerned when I saw her suddenly lose power in the middle of the road. Her chain had come off.

She was halfway across. I was in the far right lane. Northbound traffic was bumper-to-bumper, and there wasn’t much I could do. I figured some decent human being on the southbound side would stop to help her. I kept looking back, and no one was stopping.

I really wanted to get home.

Still, no one stopped.

Damnit!

After I passed the accident, I worked my way into the left turn lane, went over a block and then south a few blocks to the cross-street where I last saw Trike Lady. She was standing in the street looking at her disabled vehicle. I put down my window and asked  if she wanted help.

She nodded yes.

Trike Lady was either on her way to or from the laundry, so I took her laundry bag and detergent bottle out of the basket and put them on the ground. Then I put the trike on its side and worked the chain back onto the sprockets. I told her it should be OK for now, but that her chain was too loose and she needed to have a link removed. Unfortunately I didn’t have any tools with me, but she said she could take it somewhere.

After I righted the trike and re-loaded her basket, she reached into the laundry bag and took out a towel for me to clean my hands with. I said that was OK, I didn’t want to get grease on it. She said the towel was already dirty — which didn’t make me eager to touch it.  But it seemed important to her, so I wiped my hands on a stranger’s dirty towel.

Then she said thank you and told me that something good will happen to me.

So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

A quick fix, and she was on her way.

Tags , , , | Comments (4)

Next Page »

Next Page »