Later that same day, for some reason I remembered that it had been just about a year since my ex-wife had revealed to me what turned out to be the first of many reasons she had for needing to leave our marriage (ultimately there were more than 20; I kept a list). In that particular moment in October 2024 she told me that one thing that was troubling her about our marriage was that “everywhere I look, I just see your shit. Especially the garage! Oh my god, you've completely taken over the garage!"
True to a point, I'll admit. Lots of bikes and skis, workbenches and tools out there. But, in fairness, I feel she neglected to give me any credit for the fact that there was always ample space for her car to effortlessly be parked inside... and also for the fact that most of the tools were there to service and repair not just my gear, but likewise our house and the landscaping and outdoor living spaces that surround it.
Aaaanyway, as I was saying, just the other day, closing in fast on the first anniversary of the dark day in November when my wife of 28 years said to me, "I just don't love you anymore," I moved some bikes around... brought three of my oldest and favoritest handmade rigs out of the garage and into the house. Now I can see and admire them more often, on the daily in fact, as the works of art they indeed are. And as I look around my redecorated living room, it kinda feels like I've finally fulfilled at least one point of contention in my failed marriage. I've now quite literally (and arguably also quite ridiculousy) put my personal shit anywhere. And by doing so, it feels to me as if I've embraced an important step forward in taking full possession of what is now exclusively mine: this house. It is (inarguably) my space, my home henceforth.
Aaaanyway, as I was saying, just the other day, closing in fast on the first anniversary of the dark day in November when my wife of 28 years said to me, "I just don't love you anymore," I moved some bikes around... brought three of my oldest and favoritest handmade rigs out of the garage and into the house. Now I can see and admire them more often, on the daily in fact, as the works of art they indeed are. And as I look around my redecorated living room, it kinda feels like I've finally fulfilled at least one point of contention in my failed marriage. I've now quite literally (and arguably also quite ridiculousy) put my personal shit anywhere. And by doing so, it feels to me as if I've embraced an important step forward in taking full possession of what is now exclusively mine: this house. It is (inarguably) my space, my home henceforth.
Ibis Mountain Trials (frame serial number 1087) fab'd by Scot Nichols circa 1991 |