A battle of fingertips
Just last year, I spent an afternoon in a battle of fingertips with a particularly recalcitrant bicycle tire. Told myself that I should get into the city and find a second rim, so that this wouldn’t be a recurring theme in my life (cursing at a rubber ring).
Failed, on all accounts. Figured that the second time around, the job would be easier. It isn’t; in fact, I’m not done, and we’re now into evening. I ache, actually. The process goes quickly for the first 80% of the circle, and then the tire irons (small plastic levers) start flying away. My son agreed, (from a safe distance); sometimes buying another wheel makes a lot of sense.
I’ll continue tomorrow, when my humour is better.
Missed getting milk, this evening. Winter reduces the open hours at our general store, and I was late by minutes. Must try to avoid a mid-night appetite for dairy, at least until tomorrow.
Somewhere in the urban wilds of Ontario, there’s a bus driver with no job. He lost his when a child fell asleep and stayed onboard. I feel for both sides (the driver and the parents). It happens. Kids aren’t as excited by that daily journey as one might think, and if the heat is on, a nap just makes sense. And yes, the driver should have gone end to end on his big yellow rocket, but little kids are, well, little. Doesn’t take much in the minimalist lighting of a bus to miss that sleeping snowsuit. Particularly when the young don’t snore like the rest of us.
