Motorcycle Mama

As we walked along Maple Avenue a motorcyclist passed us, not a common occurrence for that residential street, or anywhere else in our rural village. I commented to Cindy that we ought to ride motorcycles someday. “Yes!” She replied, her facing glowing with enthusiasm.

I love when Cindy does that; when she is oblivious to her condition and gets enthused about something in the future. Some may be sad over the futility of such dreams, but not me. The only time her futile dreams made me cry was when she said how much she is looking forward to grandchildren. Other than that, the joyous potential of life is what we’ve often been about, why change now?

Cindy has never ridden a motorcycle, but there was a time when she was known as a Motorcycle Mama. Her debut as the Motorcycle Mama came in a public restroom while we were hiking the Appalachian Trail in 1980. Cindy was garbed in her hiking clothes … and odor, when a young girl came up to her and stared in fascination.

“Are you a Motorcycle Mama?” she asked.

Cindy’s desire now to ride motorcycles in the future likely was due to more recent memories. One of the albums we listen to on our iPod is an Arlo Guthrie collection. This is now Cindy’s favorite album because of Guthrie’s humorous stories, such as Alice’s Restaurant and, of course, the one about the motorcycle. She hears that song about once a week, never failing to chuckle. I play it now more often than Cindy’s sacred Tapestry album, which sometimes makes her sad.

We get to the end of Maple Avenue and pause at the crosswalk over to the village green. Not many cars go through Norfolk in the middle of the day, which is a good thing because any car in sight, no matter how far off, would spook Cindy away from entering the crosswalk. I chuckle to myself over a long standing joke between Cindy and me. Whenever we see three or more cars go by in a row anywhere in Norfolk I would say: “five or six years ago, it wasn’t like this.” We always both were amused by that, fully aware that Norfolk’s population now is the same as it was over two centuries ago.

We stop at the benches in the middle of the village green for a break, as walking more than a half mile at a time now would be draining for Cindy. I get out the particular Oz book that I’ve been reading to her, out of the set of fourteen by the original author that we own. I hope we can make it through the entire set before she passes away. I think we can. Reading out loud to Cindy seems to be the single most calming and pleasing thing I can do for her, just as it once was the most calming and pleasing thing we did for our kids.

I read one chapter as usual and then we just sat on the bench, enjoying the radiant spring sunshine, enjoying the heart of Norfolk. I always wonder what her thoughts might be as we sit on those benches. I am the native, but living in a place like Norfolk was Cindy’s dream come true. She has enjoyed and made the most out of living here even better than me.

Perhaps that is why I can take such pleasure when Cindy wants to ride a motorcycle some day. We all have unfulfilled dreams. The trick to life is filling the most important ones, while never ruling the other ones out in our minds.

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This post is part of the Calm the Mind campaign. The other posts in this series are:

Give Me Some Sugar
A Tuft of Flowers
Family Embedded in a Community

Help your stress management and our need for a walk-in shower with this campaign. Purchase “Humility, Faith, Courage” by The Bards of Balance from CD Baby. Be well.