One Day at a Time

One day at a time, and today it's coconut cake.  

Only it's not.  Because I don't even like coconut cake.  But it is a line worth repeating, since it seems to sum up my life right now.  


Here's the blog from which I stole the line.  Looks like a spectacular recipe!  If you like that sort of thing.

http://lifeinrecipes.com/2011/09/15/one-day-at-a-time-and-today-its-coconut-cake/



Nope, don't like coconut cake. 

What I do like is knowing that even a quick little segment of time-out can offer salvation when you're stuck at home having a bad day. 

When the going gets tough, the tough bake cake. 

It's so nice to know I'm not the only one.

I realized yesterday as I stole 20 minutes to stir together a new cookie recipe, that cookies were not the point.  Not the point at all.

Play.  That is the point.  

Everyone needs a reset button, a few minutes to be creative.  Especially if your day is turning out say, a tad less than rewarding.  

It doesn't have to be cookies, of course.  An exercise break works too. 

But yet another ride from home.  Yawn. 

How to find the reset button when you only have so much time and the same old roads?  Just have confidence that somewhere along the way, there will be a chance to veer off the usual route.  To find something new in the same old neighborhood.

Saturday morning.  Trusty the Timex goes off, bleeping and blinking in the dark on my bedstand.  5AM.  Huh? 

Oh yeah, last week's KSC ride.  (Forgot to reset my watch.)

Although I wasn't happy to be lying awake in the dark on a Saturday morning, I was glad to be reminded that we had made the effort to get up and go last Saturday.

3rd annual Tour of KSC

My three amigos for the ride:

Popeye, Inspector Gadget, and our host, Northstar.

After riding the runway, we head to the VAB.

Inside the VAB.

Endevour is being dismantled and cleaned up for the museum.

If we ever want to see her again, we will have to go to the California Science Center in Los Angeles.

They told us to smile, and we did. 

But it wasn't easy.

Inside the VAB.

(Look.  It's one of the space center's biggest fans.)

Parting shot.

After the early-up last Saturday, we took Sunday at a more liesurely pace.

At first I resisted the idea of Sugarmill.  It's a long drive for a short loop.  But we go so seldom that the trail seems new, at least until the third or fourth time around.  

Overlook at Sugarmill..

What a difference 60 miles makes. 

At home, it poured rain.

Officially the Doris Leeper Spruce Creek Preserve,

Sugarmill is super well maintained.

Downed trees from the previous week's storm

were already cut and moved out of the way.

The Kaye Paul Trail is my favorite section.

The trees are big and the roots are small.

After the weekend, sorting and packing resumes.  How could it possibly be so much trouble?   It's only one small house! 

On my own again, it seems as if every corner, every closet, is a mine field from the past.  Physically, it's no big deal.  Mentally, it's exhausting.  And it makes me feel old.

For Wednesday's moment of escape, I decide to try a run in Wickham Park.  Haven't run since before the surgery.  

Even in good old Wickham Park

there can be the unexpected.

I think I woke this little guy up.

 

By the weekend of the 22nd, we know the Gainesville centuries are a no go.  There just isn't time to blow off 2 more days, not with the demolition coming up who-knows-how-soon.

On Saturday the north wind packs a wallop, and a quick cruise to Cocoa Beach turns into a real workout. 

The Paragon with slicks. 

 A1A to Cocoa Beach is a mixed bikepath/road/sidewalk sort of ride.

Cocoa Beach

 By the time I get there, my average speed is something like 11 mph.  But it's worth it to see some undeveloped dunes for a change.  And the ride back to the Pineda is a non-stop sleigh ride, not a moment under 20 mph. 

The wind is still kicking on Sunday.  Just Plain Mike meets me at Front Street for an early tour of Melbourne. 

Just Plain Mike

Popeye, who was still communing with coffee and cereal when I left, took the other bridge and caught up to us at the Oaks.

I probably wouldn't have thought to cut through by the junk yard after Melbourne Village if I were on my own.  But then, I never would have noticed the beautiful Memphis Belle, right?   (Ironically, both the guys went right by without noticing.) 

Then on to the airport trails, the bum trails, the beach, and home.  Home to more packing.  Ugh.

And just when I am feeling awfully sorry for myself, having 20 years of stuff to sort through, we learn that the house on the corner is also scheduled for a demolition and rebuild. 

And their trash is even more vintage than mine.

Smith Corona Electronic Typewriter? 

Wow, suddenly I'm feeling so much better. 

And younger.  Lots younger.