Let's get a new tattoo!

It has long been said regarding semantics that “the word is not the thing,” the implication being that all language, both text and speech, can only attempt to represent ideas and feelings but cannot actually be the Real thoughts or sensations it describes.

In December 1996 I sat down to get my first tattoo, three small Hebrew letters (חֶסֶד = lovingkindness) on the ring finger of my left hand. It took the artist about five minutes to install it and cost me a grand total of $45, which I paid in cash.  I used the word, chesed (pronounced KHES-ed), as a framework for a part of my vows a few days later.  

And I meant it.  I know I was an imperfect partner at times.  But I really did try to live every implication of the word, as well as the indelibility of the deed, each day of my 28-year marriage.

Let's read some stuff out loud!

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I was a volunteer reader for Sunsounds of Arizona for several years. It was a favorite amongst my many unpaid retired-guy "gig" jobs. I was proud to be tasked with reading the Arizona Capitol Times (a non-partisan, weekly newspaper covering state politics and government) for their visually challenged listeners on a weekly basis. Sadly, administrative shake-ups within the organization last year made it untenable for me to continue to provide audio content to them.

As a classroom teacher for 20 years, I read aloud to my students each day, commonly following lunch recess, as a way to decompress and refocus our brains after the midday outdoor activity time.

Let's pretend that everything is fine.

[audio]

If ever I had an ego, it ceased-to-be in 2025, along with any inherent sense of pride in my accomplishments I might have once possessed.

But maybe what I'm actually talking about is self-esteem. Or could I be talking about my sense of self-worth?  I don't know. Took my last psychology class half-a-lifetime ago, so I'm not really sure. Also, I haven't seen my therapist in a while (It's time; going to see her on Tuesday). Thus, for today, I'm doing my own stunts when it comes to dredging the definitions and depths of these terms.

Holidays and bitter anniversaries have me feeling pretty shitty these days. Devastated. Sad. Unlovable. Humiliated. Lonely. Unwanted. Without value. Aimless. Why?  My wife left me.  A year ago.  Told me she didn't love me any more.  Moved out of our house.  Walked away from me, our home, our entire extended family, all of our pets, and every single one of our family photos, to say nothing of the many happy memories and moments contained therein. 

Ghosted. All of it.

Let's redecorate the living room!

It was just about a year ago when my now ex-wife revealed the first of many reasons she had for needing to leave me (ultimately there were more than 20; I kept a list). In October 2024, about two weeks before she actually got around to telling me that she didn't love me anymore and was moving out, she told me that it was deeply upsetting to her that “everywhere I look around here, I just see your shit. Especially the garage!  Oh my god, you have completely taken over the garage!"  

True, I'll admit, but only to a point.  Lots of bikes and skis, workbenches and tools out there.  Hard to be a bike rider without owning a few bikes, or a skier without a quiver of skis...

Let's get a divorce.

[audio]

Divorce is a world of suck best avoided. 

Divorce is a towering rogue wave sufficient to rend asunder half a lifetime's promises, hopes, and dreams.

Divorce is a muddled muttered mantra of repeated regret.  

Divorce is a long lonely road in the middle of nowhere, inevitably heading somewhere, albeit only god-knows-where. 

Divorce is an explosion of great magnitude resulting in the complete and utter destruction of all familiar things, leaving behind only charred scattered remnants and thoroughly annihilated particles.^*

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I conferred what feels as if it could be one of the last physical reminders (that and this apparently indelible and resistant-to-all-lasers ring-finger-tattoo on my left hand) of my now defunct 28-year marriage to the good folks at the bike shop this week. 

Let's go to France!

Went to Paris (the one in France) for a post-divorce "Tuscan Sun" adventure in July.  Fair to call visiting Paris a long-standing "bucket-list" item of mine. But, given the sad situation I found myself in in January 2025, planning and accomplishing this trip solo came to mean a lot more to me than just another item to check-off that list.

Pleased to report, I had a truly amazing time!  Aside from one breakdown on the RER-B train on my way into the city from the airport (which required me to navigate the massive Gare du Nord train station unrehearsed in order to find an alternative route to my hotel), everything went super smoothly travel-wise. I met lots of good people, ate tons of good food, drank gallons of great wine, and visited innumerable amazing places.  All the things one does while visiting that ancient, complicated, beautiful city.

While I was there, wandering around the city by day on a janky rental bike (and each night via the Métro), I posted a few pictures, along with some wordy captions, to my Instagram.  They're all embedded (and thus preserved) in chronological order below.

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Just about a bike: Specialized S-Works CX

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A 2000 Specialized S-Works CX popped up on our local Craigslist the other day.  

During our first salvo of correspondence the seller told me he'd had the bike shelved in his garage for several years and now needed the space for other things (a tale as old as time). The seller also told me he had converted it to a 1x11 recently, but that he would willing to include "a box of old parts" in the deal. This turned out to be the entire original XTR-M950 group, the original right-hand Ultegra integrated brake/shift lever, the bespoke S-Works front wheel, and the stock Body Geometry saddle.

I arranged to meet him in a corner of one of the parking lots at the hospital, cash in hand.  Took me 2 minutes to eyeball the rig and shake the seller's hand, "I'll take it."  And that's how deals like this get done.