Death everlasting

Where to put it?

Mom continues to haunt these parts, and it will ever be thus. I remember her mostly in her last days, which does not give a full picture and skews toward frustration more than is good for me. 

In the practical realm, we have a storage locker full of stuff she left behind. (Honestly, some of it is mine, but it's easier to blame Mom.) Photo albums, boxes of slides, bins of paper, camping gear, a collection of bibles and hymnals that only a Lutheran could love, college work by my grandparents (!), and more. I have, in fits and starts, culled a little (a very little) bit, and brought home what I thought I could handle. I even bought a bookcase to manage it. I can work at this for about one hour at a time before I get depressed.

Every inch is a storage space.

Pretty nice, I think.

Yours for the asking.

Free room and board and breakfast at the Plaza to anyone who'll help. 

That's all I have to say about that. 

*

On the bicycling front, I have for years resisted getting the kind of pedal/shoe setup that allows you to clip your feet firmly to the pedals, fearing that my sloppy ankle situation and generally accident-prone nature made it a bad choice. (For all of you non-bikers out there, the pedals are called "clipless pedals," but they most certainly have clips, so I don't get the name, really.) Now I've made the plunge. I have fallen a couple times -- coming to a stop and not getting my foot out -- but I'm getting better at the little flick of the heel that frees your foot, and it is a minor revelation -- it makes you more efficient, gives you more oomph per stroke. 

Some day, maybe, I'll be able to keep up with the big boys.

This metal cleat on your shoe attaches to . . .

. . . this clamp on your pedal.