Music

I was on a bike ride in the country earlier this week, listening to 20 different versions of the song, "Streets of Laredo." I want to bring it to our Slow Jam guitar group to sing together, but if no one else knows it, I'll be singing it solo, so I'm trying to learn it really, really well just in case. 

But it's not just a song. It reminds me of growing up. It reminds me of my dad and our living room and our house in Southern California at 1739 Lexington Ave. I was in the thick of these memories when I happened to cycle past a fancy farmhouse. I saw their house number and got a little nostalgically emotional:

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As you know, I've been considering how best to use the residual time and energy I gain as my kids get more and more independent. One direction I've considered is bike mechanics. Well, my favorite bike shop in town recently advertised that they're looking for mechanics and that they're willing to train less experienced folks. I wanted to apply. I had to go pick up the application from the general manager. I'm not their typical applicant. I have no professional training or experience and no real employment history over the last 15 years. I'm also middle-aged and female...not a common demographic in this bike shop. I was inspired by my sister Heidi's recent experience on the job market. I would go in confident,  unapologetic, knowing that I had something to contribute that was worth their attention and a fair wage. It took some time to pump myself up, though. The whole 15-minute drive there, I was blasting my favorite "inspirational, go-go-go, you're stronger than you think you are, stay strong" tunes. It helped.