Last week I wasn't feeling well. The death off my former son-in- law, Bruce Cory and a myriad of other events and issues brought me down low.
This week there is much to do. I will not have time to worry so much.
If that old sun makes an appearance, I will be smiling, ear-to-ear.
Paul Baby is home today. He is busy assembling my new pink and white bicycle.
The Sears "shop until you dropper" planned to surprise me, but the secret wouldn't hold. I kissed him via the phone.
He replaced the brown 26-inch woman's bike that I have used for more than 30 years.
I am as thrilled as the day that I was gifted with my first bike by my parents.
I took to up riding that old used bike like a duck does to swimming -- no training wheels and help needed.
Elm Street was a dirt road at the time and a bumpy one, filled with ruts, cinders, rocks and a few heaping piles of horse poop from time to time. I hated to disturb the latter mentioned on a hot day.
One shove by my brother's hand and I wobbled up that road a few feet, wheeling and dealing with it.
I fell a few times during the early days, when I failed to pay attention to the road or got my pant leg caught in the spokes.
Mother kept careful watch over her children. Early on, cycling was limited to the corner of Elm and Hendrix and around the bricked roads in the Catholic Cemetery.
Since we kids had a pile of chores to do each day, we had little time to hone our cycling skills. During our free time our bikes got a workout and so did we.
As time passed, I road my heavily painted blue bike on Hendrix to Muncie's, Matthew's, Haverkamp and Bolin grocery stores in Springtown and nearby.
I felt like a big kid, just because I had wheels and special jobs. I could be trusted to go so far.
I could go to the store and deliver the goods.
Sometimes, little Mary Lou stopped by the mailbox to drop in our outgoing mail and letters to Grandma that I penned.
The folks bought me a fine basket from Luther's bicycle shop and a foam filled seat cover.
I attached a bushy fox squirrel's tail to the back fender, just above the cracked red reflector. Then my brother John Wayne added some noisemakers, bottle caps and wooden clothespins.
My cool brother said that he did not want junk on his store- bought boy's bike, but I saw him try out stuff.
The noise was music to the ears for a while, but the novelty of that ended one day when my nerves got the best of me.
The beautiful rodent tail was ripped off and carried away by my Dad's male beagle hound, Little Sport, shortly before he drowned in an open well.
I am not sure what happened to the bike after I finished grade school.
I started to depend more on shank's ponies to take me to and fro then. Besides, full skirts and bike spokes don't get along.
Years later, when my girl's out -grew tricycles, we bought bicycles for them.
One day, I was doing some work around the place while the kids were at school and decided to try out the larger of the two bikes for old time's sake.
I rode from our former home at 703 N. Alabama to the next to the last house on Elm Street, my childhood home, visited awhile and sailed back home.
I couldn't wait to tell Paul Baby how much enjoyment I got out of my ride. So much came out of my memory store, falls and nearly all I wanted to tell.
The experience earlier that day sure added some fresh air to the tires of the old bike and pumped me up too!
I shredded enough cabbage to fill two No. 8 crocks after the supper dishes were done that night.
Boy a new bike-my new bike, a real jowl giggler!
You don't want to read about how that batch of sour kraut turned out, ever!
I borrowed the girl's bikes often that summer. Then summer turned to fall and fall gave in to winter.
Christmas came, Santa remembered the girls and gifted me with a new ladies bike.
He prepared the vehicle for travel Christmas morning.
I waited, patiently, for the fair weather of spring.
After a long harsh winter, warm breezes beckoned me to the streets and roads.
Seasons came and seasons went. I rode her to work and for pleasure.
For years the bike that Paul purchased earned its wings, a special place in my history, that only God, our special angels in heaven and I know.
I wonder how much history the beautiful new bike and this senior will make.
What about Tootie Mae? Should she wear goggles and a helmet?
After a fine herd of Whitetails leave the front yard, I'll head to the garage to check on the builder of my sweetest dreams and the assembler of the Pink Lady.
I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by email at email@example.com.