My Daily Journal: My Bicycle and African-American Glory

This wasn't the most exciting day. I spent it mostly alone. Just my Daily Journal...

And, yet, I spent the day reminiscing. I took a bicycle ride through Bloomington. I peddled softly. I measured every rotation of the pedals.

I coasted past the wooden houses on 6th Street. The Near West Side is the moniker for the area. A green wooden sign with golden trim and lettering proclaims the area as; "Living in Diversity Since the 1880's."

That's refreshing since I'm a mutt of an American. Mostly Latino with Native American ancestry. Then there's the German side of me. My only friend here in Bloomington has frequently reminded me about my German heritage now that my hair is growing out. I tend to keep it short... usually. But since the coronavirus lockdown, I haven't been able to get a haircut.

I apparently have German curly hair. I'm ready to chop it off. My hair salon appointment is set for June 10th. I can't wait.

But... so much for that. What did I learn today? Well... I thought about my bicycle. A $500 Schwinn. Incidentally, the Schwinn has a German legacy. Go figure. Ignaz Schwinn was born in Baden, Germany. He later immigrated to the United States in 1891 to do what we all are able to do here: pursue dreams.

Dreams... Yes. America is the place for dreams. This German immigrant, by the way, made a bicycle here in this United States that … wait for it... allowed an African-American to shine in 1896. Yes. way back in the 1800s.

Major Taylor became the first world champion African-American professional cyclist riding a Schwinn bicycle. A few years after 1896, Taylor was dubbed Mile-a-Minute Murphy and the first man - White, Black, Red, Yellow, Green, Purple or whatever - to go 60 mph by bicycle.

Sigh... I wish I could have talked to Major Taylor. I wonder what he might have said about current events.

So... I'm riding along on my German-named bicycle today. I pass the town square. Protestors are still angry. Signs say "Black Lives Matter."

Of course they do. All human being's lives matter. I couldn't help wondering. Ignaz Schwinn was a small business owner when he started. He made a product... that eventually gave a man of color, Major Taylor, an opportunity to shine. Schwinn's life mattered. Taylor's life mattered.

I look at my bicycle now very differently. Yes. It is a Schwinn. German origin. But... now it is an American bike. It has a history. That history includes giving an African-American an unrivaled glory way back in 1896. Go figure. Maybe America isn't so bad, after all.

Traumatic Experiences Are Writing Material

OMG... Life sucks... But... wait.... we can use it as writer.

So... I'm writing... And I have a thought.

I almost died before seeing my 10th birthday. Death. I hate it. Am I the only one who hates Death?  

I don’t think I’m alone. Truly... Even if you won’t acknowledge it. Like me. I won’t accept it. If you are like me. I don’t want to think of death. I Can’t accept it. I refuse. I don’t want to... I want to live forever.  

I want to live forever.  

Alas... I can’t 

And... now... I'm writing page after page... Writing my thoughts. Write through your trauma, too.

Daily Journal: I am a social animal

The threat of rain hovered over Bloomington for most of today. By late afternoon, a drizzle was settling. The unmistakable hissing of water-droplet static and the petrichor, or more specifically, the pleasant earthy scent of wet cement, filled the air.

But before the dampness coated the southern Indiana landscape, I enjoyed a sunny day out and about visiting two artsy landmarks: the T.C. State Historic Site and the town of Nashville.

It may not sound like the most remarkable of days to some. Then again after weeks upon weeks of coronavirus lockdown, getting out to walk amongst the living anywhere was a welcome change. And, as a writer always looking for new experiences, I could not imagine a more perfect way to enjoy another day of life in this flawed and magnificent country of my birth.

"Man is by nature a social animal." So said Aristotle. He continued to say that if you did not mix socially with others, then you were "either a beast or a god." Today, socialization is an even more important component of our American experience because of the traumatic amputation of our freedoms during this prolonged lockdown.

As this is simply one of my Daily Journal Entries, I will not completely address my take on the present situation in our nation. That is coming in one of my essays in progress. This blog post is simply providing a window into my day's activities and how I processed them as a writer in this historic time of ours. If you are an aspiring writer, take note. You are living in historic times. Write down your experiences. Make your personal experiences part of our universal experience. I will be writing more about that in the days to come.

What did I learn today that might make me a better writer?  That is the question you must ask yourself. Regardless of what you did. Maybe it was an uneventful, boring day. Wrong. There is no such thing. Every day is filled with enough experiences to write several insightful essays or dramatic short stories or novels. You simply must pay attention.

So... back to my nearly-perfect day. I never knew who T.C. Steele or his wife Selma were before today. My beautiful guide surprised me by taking me to their estate, which includes their home built in 1907, as well as, rolling hills and breathtaking vistas filled with the majestic trees that once covered Indiana.

More on this historic site in a future post. After visiting the T.C. Steele site, we traveled to Nashville, established as an artists' colony in the early 20th Century. We strolled the town's sidewalks.

I never knew how much I cherished a simple stroll with a lovely companion, stepping arm in arm window shopping along a township's retail markets, until that freedom was taken from me. 

That is all for now. But... tomorrow is another possible day of new experiences. Here's to hoping... 

A Writing Exercise On Regret

This year has not gone as I had expected.  I'm sure everyone can say that. In January,  I didnt even know what "social distancing" meant. Now it is a term we are forced to keep ever present on our minds as we navigate the day.
I spend most of my time alone now. No more journaling at the coffee shop, browsing through books at the library or going out for drinks with friends.
I am forced to reach into my thoughts - a limited repository of scattered memories and regrets mostly.
This is the year I turned 50. So, I can categorize my adult reflections by decades - my 20s, my 30s, my 40s. Time to bare my soul.
It is an exercise I can undertake without much interruption since we aren't able to go out and do much.
Regret. Regret. Regret. So much during each decade.
I've only been 50 for about a month. But, I already could fill a notebook writing about the regrets I have regarding just the last few weeks.
So let's begin.

Is This For Real?

I'm tired of the news. I'm getting fat watching Netflix.
Now what?
This is nothing like I have ever been through before. I remember  Y2K.
A joke.
I remember 9-11.
That was horrible,  but in a different way.
I dont know if I will survive  after today. I could breathe an invisible terrorist that would kill me and all I am exposed to.
So... in some ways I have had to think about what's important.  What do I treasure? What do I love? What do I want to hold on to like there's no tomorrow- in case there isn't.
And so... I think of relationships with those I care about. That is what I want to focus on while I can... in case....

Valentine's Day - Love it or Hate it

Valentine's  Day once again.

Ahh...the holiday of love. You either love it, or hate it.

I've held both sentiments throughout my life. But...in the end, I'm a hopeless romantic. Quote me Elizabeth Barrett Browning's classic: "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

Isn't that a wonderful exercise to share with your heart's desire. Count the ways you love him or her. Count the ways you want to love him or her.

The latter could get really fun.

Looking up Valentine's  traditions from the past, one that I found rather hilarious was the Victorian Age practice of sending "vinegar valentines." 

These were sent to unwanted suitors.

One of these Valentines I saw on The History Channel's Web Site went a little something like this:

     To my Valentine

     Tis a lemon that I hand you and bid you know.       'skiddoo,'

     Because I love another-there is no chance for         you!

Today, I'm more likely to take a moment to appreciate lines like:

"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair..." Neruda

"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart) i am never without it..." Cummings

"The modern biographers ask the rude, irrelevant question of our age, as if the event of two bodies meshing together establishes the degree of love, forgetting how softly Eros walked in the nineteenth-century, how a hand held overlong or a gaze anchored in someone's eyes could unseat a heart..." Mueller.

Those lines have meaning.

Then I think of spirit animals. Butterflies come to mind. They seem appropriate for me.

Native Americans saw butterflies as messengers of transformation. I am on a journey of transformation. 

And according to Whatismyspiritanimal.com, in China, "newlyweds were often given gifts bearing two butterfly images to insure their marital happiness and harmony."

Sweet.

Quite a few marriage proposals are made on Valentine's  Day. Many flowers, cards, chocolates and jewelry are purchased on this day as well.

Hmmm... as for purchases... I guess I bought three out of the four.

Is Your Life On Hold?

  I was traveling from Dallas to Austin on Interstate 35 recently with a colleague when she noticed the sky ahead. The sun was setting.The serene horizon was dotted with leaveless trees and the occasional building silhouetted in blacks and grays. Orange, pink and blue shaded clouds floated above us.

A recording of one of Les Brown's motivational sessions spewed from the car radio. My colleague prefers listening to Audible on her commutes.

She pointed out the sunset, the landscape. Our conversation moved to painting. 

"I love painting, she said. It is her way of relaxing when she's not busy, which isn't often.

She is married, a mother of a toddler and works fulltime.

Then Les Brown chimed in, mentioning how he put his life on hold for 10 years. He had lost confidence in himself after experiencing failure in his professional life. 

I love painting, too. I love writing, as well. I snapped a few pictures of the scene outside the car. 

Brown's and my colleague's voice melted away. The humming of the car cruising along the highway muted. 

Just my inner voice drummed in my inner ears.

"Have I been on hold? Yeah, I have."

Asked and answered. 

It doesn't take much, I guess, for a person to lose confidence. Whether it is a setback at work or a failure in a romantic relationship, for example, it doesn't take much to force us to retreat into our comfort zone where it is safe.

So we think.

That safety is an illusion. It is life put on hold. That equals life not lived to the fullest.

Time does not stop. The sun sets every night. The sun rises every morning. 

If we are not seeking what makes us happy, seeking that which fulfills us, what is the point?

As the minutes passed, the sun set. The colorful sky only minutes before now was covered in black and grey hues.

"Time to bring the colors back," I thought. "Time to unpause every segment of my life that is on hold."

Press play.