Liberty

We are trying to find a new home for our Border Collie.

Some quick background. We found her a year ago as a teeny pup, roaming the streets, and decided to keep her when we couldn't find the owners (no chip, no luck in shelters). She's lots of fun - has enormous amounts of energy (is a fabulous mtb dog / trail running dog - off leash even).

She's great with kids - who are 10 to 12 years and up. She's a herder - so she nips and herds very young children and sometimes a bit aggressively. (She can also be sassy with dogs who are smaller then her when she wants to herd them - but is totally submissive to dogs larger then her.)

Since we are constantly surrounded by lots young kids/toddlers, we are concerned that the perfect set of circumstances could lead to a nip in the wrong place - and want to try and place her in a home where there aren't a lot of kids chaotically running around, but in a stable, adult household. She likes order - and is super smart. Learns fast and is eager to please - but is also mischievous when trying to get your attention. She'll often grab a sock or shoe and slowly walk by you taunting and looking right at you - wanting you to chase. She's still a puppy.

Her name is Liberty - we found her on 4th of July last year.

And of course, she needs lots and lots and lots of exercise. By nature she needs to herd sheep - so a run or ride every day is ideal. If you own a herd of sheep - even better.




She's up to date on her shots. Has been spayed, de-wormed, blah, blah, blah. We've had her for a year - and love her to death. But just can't keep her because of the kid thing. We have kids. We're sad. I feel like crying. I feel guilty, please don't tell me what we did wrong in this. This whole thing is agonizing.

Please, if you know of anyone who's thinking or interested, let me know. We're in contact with the SPCA as well, who will help find a new owner - but it would be great to give her to someone we know so we could keep in touch and visit.

Stop The Madness

I don't do this anymore.

I have a job where I actually do work, at work. So I don't do this at work anymore. So I'm remiss. And I miss it. So here I go. At 7:30 pm. After work. With a glass of wine. While waiting for the pizza guy to come.

The other night I was riding my bike home from work when I came to a four way stop. A four way stop where from all four ways, cars want to get on the freeway. To go home.

And so, I stopped. And watched as each way had their turn. And then it was my turn. And I went. Straight ahead. Next to a car that was going straight ahead. Because it's better that way - to ride with a car sometimes, so that no other cars from any of the other 3 ways, hit you - because while they may not see you, they'll at least see the car.

But the car gassed it and flew away from me fast. And while I was in the middle of the intersection, a black mercedes drove into the intersection and we made contact. My front wheel to her bumper and my right side to her hood.

And it was in slow motion. Slow enough that I knew and felt and thought about how she was going to hit me. And was in disbelief that she never even looked my way.

Afterwards. I stood there staring at her and she rolled down the window. And before I said anything, she said calmly, I didn't even see you.

And I said, I know, you didn't look my way, you just went. And she said, I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you. And we just looked at each other. And I said, you HAVE to look. We're out here. We're everywhere. We're here.

Look for us.

And she said. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

We spoke calmly to each other. Like we were in line. At the grocery store. And cars were lining up at all the stops while we were in the middle of the intersection. We were talking. Not yelling. We were there, just talking. And everything around us was frozen.

In the middle of the intersection.

And then some jackass honked, for us to get out the way. And yeah, I put my hand up in the air and stuck out my middle finger. And smiled up at the line of cars.

And then she squeezed my arm. And I squeezed her shoulder. And we both continued on.

I'm On The Bus

It's Bike to Work week ya'll.

Last week I was riding into work, on the Xtracycle, after not having ridden it for a few weeks because the back brake wasn't working - and I came upon a stop light.

And as I always do at stop lights, I adjusted my outfit a bit so that my muffin top wasn't showing, as it often does, because most of my pants are low rise and low rise pants really don't do you right while you're riding your bike into to work.

And I looked up at the back of a bus in front of me and saw an ad for some sort of bike commuting thing or something or other and noticed that the girl in the picture on the ad looked kind of familiar.

And then the bus took off.

And I followed it for a bit, and thought about it for a second and then was all wait a second, I think that's me!

On the back of the bus. Wearing that orange sweater with the too short sleeves that the lady who was 4'9" let me borrow, lifting the bike that was too small for me that the 4'9" lady let me ride around on because she didn't want to actually get on the bus for the photo shoot and then have to ride all the way back down Broadway to where the shoot was happening.

And hey, those are the same pants I have on right now!



And so, I chased the bus, on the Xtracycle. I went as fast as I could to get to it at the next bus stop.

And then, once there, I'd wait behind the bus and look at the ad of myself. On the bus. And then the bus would take off and I'd start chasing again. And this went on for a few stops. And as my head started to clear, after the excitement of seeing myself on the back of a city bus disapated, I realized that I had my camera, way back in the bag in the back part of the Xtracycle. So at the NEXT light, I stopped and propped the bike up and went back there, to root around in my bag and find the camera.

And then back on the bike, to chase down the bus to take a picture. Which took a while, because after all I was chasing a bus while riding an Xtracycle.

And then I went to work. On my bike.

Drive By Shootings

Sometimes time moves slowly.

Like when you fall off, from the top of the jungle gym at school. Like when you fall off your mountain bike at 40 and knock your front teeth out. Like when you see your 2 year old kid, falling through the floor heater vent and you simply reach down and pluck him in mid air from a 20 foot fall. Like when you trip on the top step of a 12 foot ladder.

I remember time moving slowly. On a Friday afternoon.

At 4 pm.

Jason sitting at my computer, logging me in. So I could do something to the website. I couldn't remember my password. He couldn't either.

There are too many passwords, I said.

I don't think I set you up with this password, he said. I wonder who's password I've been using, I said.

George walking in from the warehouse. Dropping something on my desk. And turning to go back outside and commenting about the smell coming from the kitchen. It smells like garlic bread he said.

I could eat some garlic bread right now, I said. Me too, he said.

Jason, trying, still, to log me in. George, walking through the door back out to the warehouse. Peter shuffling by. Nate, in his office, humming to the music. Andrea, sitting next to Jason. At her desk. I am standing.

And then. Six. Six rounds of gunfire.



Like fireworks. Nate, coming out from his office. Jason and Andrea and I standing up and walking towards the front door.

Look, they're all running, she said.

A pickup truck. Was that gunfire? Rick asks. And then more. Like fireworks. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop and pop. And the car, speeding and braking. Screeching. Past the building, still shooting.

Pop. Pop, pop.

Jason yelling to get down, get down. As he grabs the phone and ducks and runs into the warehouse.

Holy shit, I think.

And down I go. Along the ground, into the warehouse. Away from the front of the building. George shuts the rolling door. To the back side of the warehouse.

And 911 is a recording. In Spanish and English. And we're on hold. Listening. Waiting. And the recording plays. And we're on hold. The same thing. On speaker phone. On hold. Recording. Three minutes.

At least there's no hold music, I think. What's taking so long, I say. And finally, they answer. And his voice trembles as he explains. Drive by. Shooting. Just now. Right here.

And 12 minutes later they arrive. To take statements. And look for casings. And view the holes in the cars. In front of the building. All along. Our building. Our side of the street. Has anyone been shot they ask.

At 5:30 pm. I'm on my bike. Riding down the street. Down the same street they drove down at 4pm. In the same direction. And everybody's inside.

Empty and quiet.

Over the weekend I forget about it often. And I remember it often. But it's not in slow motion. It's fast.

I see the car, as we look out the window. I see the pickup, in front of the car. I see the flash of them running. I hear Andrea. I feel the shirt as I pull on Jason to get down. I feel the ground as we jump down, and out into the warehouse. I see the look on George's face.

I hear Rick as he says to the cop downtown?

And then Monday comes and we go, back to work. At the bike company we work at. And we work all day. And we talk about bullet proof vests with our company logo. And things seem almost normal again. And I rationalize that the probability of it happening again is very slim to none.

But nobody eats lunch outside.
At 5:20 pm on a perfect spring evening I ride my bike down the street. Down the same street they drove down on, on Friday at 4 pm.

In the same direction. With Jason. In a few blocks we bid adieu. And I turn left and he turns right and I ride along. Alone.

And I hear them. Again.

I don't count them. Because, the improbably of a second drive by shooting within three days of the first one isn't statistically plausible. At least not for a middle aged mom who commutes on an Xtracycle. And I decide that they're just fireworks. But back at the office Rick hears them. There are 12. And back at the warehouse George hears them. And he wonders about us, because just a few minutes earlier, we all said goodbye. See you tomorrow.

Ride safely.

I hear the car. Speeding and stopping. And I hear more shots. Pop, pop. Pop.

I'm riding my bike. And I feel dizzy. And I ride in a crooked line. And I look for places to hide. And I think about running into a house. Or behind a car. And I think about the time I stole the rubber bouncy ball and how my mom made me take it back and hand it to the clerk at 7 Eleven. And I had to apologize. And I look down the streets as I pass them, to see how close they are to me. And ride as fast as I can, away. And I know they're not after me.

But if they drive by me, will they shoot at me too?

Ride as fast as you can.

To a busy intersection, and I turn right onto Alcatraz, into car traffic. I ride my bike. Next to the cars. To BART. Where there are people. Walking. And riding bikes. And talking. And listening to music. And smiling. And waiting. And I look at them and wonder what they're thinking about right then. Because I'm thinking about drive by shootings. And throwing up.

And I slow down. And ride home. And eat half a burrito. And take a shower. And go to a meeting at the middle school. A PTA board meeting as a nominee for the board. For next year. And we talk about budget deficits. And banners. And picnics. And the library. And I wonder. Where am I, right now. I'm not here.

On Tuesday I drive to work.

And I think to myself, on the way, that I now know. That as soon as you hear them, the fireworks. You get down on the ground. And I now know not to ride my bike through that neighborhood anymore.

Instead, take the long way home.