My World, You're Welcome to It

Life's a jolly holiday...for Mary Poppins at least. For me, as with every other human treading this world, life is a mixture of jolly holidays, not so jolly work days, blurry TGIFs, not-nearly-long-enough summer vacations, dreary crunch weeks and assorted other moments that will either live forever in the stories we share with family and associates or, more likely, enter the dim recesses of our conscience mind only poking their head out once in awhile, usually at the most inopportune moments. Sometimes these accounts of our jolly lives are willingly shared with others, other times begrudgingly accepted, and many times met with a glazed eye, a half-attempted smile of interest, and an imploring look to any other innocent bystander that says, "Get me the hell out of this conversation before my head pops off!"

It's wonderfully amazing how our lives wrap themselves around certain milestones. Births, deaths, weddings, pizza nights. When I embarked on my adult life little did I realize (nor do any of us really) how many of each of these milestones I would witness or will still witness. During the next few weeks I shall attempt to share some of the minor milestones that have entwined themselves into my small but precious life. I will not belabor the big moments. We all experience those. How many times can we hear how beautiful X and Y's wedding was or how Uncle Z look so lifelike at the viewing. I want to concentrate my limited attention span on the smaller moments. Like today. Shed Day.

When I hit 48 I had a small mid-life crisis. Hardly a crisis really, just a life speed bump. Jarring at first, but hardly anything worth mentioning. It was this small speed bump of a crisis that brought me to the world of scooters. Not the little Vespas seen in countless movies of the 60's but a motorcycle-size scooter. A 400cc. A Suzuki Burgman (apparently the only Jewish-Japanese bike on the market). I had not ridden any sort of motorbike in years. As a teen I rode minbikes with my friends on the back roads and fields of Pennsylvania. Ah, riding the ol' minibike. Crouched on a Tom Thumb sized motorcycle, the vibrations of the tiny engine shooting up and down my spine, the prickly bushes striking my legs and arms leaving red streaks across them, bugs in my teeth...that was fun! Upon reflection, I guess I longed for that innocent, freedom I felt riding those bikes. Something to make me feel young again. As I am happily married so didn't need a young blonde on my arm or in my bed, and didn't want to spend the money on a fast, sleek European car, I brushed up on my knowledge of riding, got myself a learners permit and took some lessons with a Russian woman named Nadia in a parking lot at a local mall. The Burgman came, I practiced and passed both the written and driving test on my first try. "La Chaim! Domo aragato!", I said to the Burgman in it's native language and drove off into the countryside. No vibrations, prickly bush wounds or bugs but the fun was there. I somehow felt young and adult at the same time. Mission accomplished!

My only problem was that I did not have a garage in which to store the Burgman. The salesman suggested a cover for it, but also suggested that having a spot indoors for the winter months would be good. When December came I moved it into the basement. Our very small and cramped basement. And it was a right pain to bring the bike in and out. So I decided on getting Mr. Burgman his own room. A shed. I spent many hours of research on the 'net, on the phone, measuring spaces in the backyard over and over again. Anything for my new Japo-Hebrew friend. A proper shed was found, and purchased. The site prepared. The day circled on the calendar. April 5, 2006. Shed Day. I could hardly sleep the night before, not so much out of excitement for the new 8x12 vinyl clapboard style beauty, but more out of worry of all the things that could go wrong. The truck couldn't get up our small hill, the men wouldn't show up at all and I'd have to reschedule for another day in 2009, or the site would not be to specifications and the shed slip off it's concrete posts and would slide off our hill and into traffic 50 feet below where it would injure several drivers, 2 pedestrians and a prize winning Shiz-tzu. I worry a bit sometimes. However, on the day the men did show up. Two Eastern European men, possibly Russian. One 6'6", and blonde looking like the guy who tried to beat up Indiana Jones in that first flick. He grunted a lot. The other, upon first sight, appeared to be a roady for Travis Tritt. Cowboy hat, country western looking goatee beard thingee. But he also turned out to be Russian. (I wonder if they knew Nadia, the motorcycle instructor?) After a few hours, including a freak April snowstorm that dropped an inch on the ground but disappeared as quickly as it came, the shed was up. The Burgman has a new home. A proud day for both of us. I think I should put a sign above the door saying, "Welcome all who enter this happy place." Anyone know how to say that in Hebrew and Japanese?

A minor milestone. A small window into my life. My world. You're welcome to it.