Open-faced Sandwich

They call us the sandwich generation. Many of us are in the middle of the sandwich -- caring for the two generations on either side of us. Debbie and I would then have to be an open-faced sandwich. The generation that preceded us has been gone for some years now. Perhaps, each of us, being the baby of our respective families, has moved us through the passage of losing our parents earlier than some of our peers. That only accounts for the more recent losses--my mom in 2001, and Deb's dad in 1996. It does not account for the early death of her mom in 1982 at the age of 66, nor my dad's death in 1974 at the age of 62. For us, the top slice of bread was unceremoniously removed from half our sandwich much too soon. In fairness to our adult children I should hasten to add that we really have little to do to care for them at this point either. We're more like a protein-style In-n-Out burger than a sandwich at all -- low carb, no bun!

Today is Fathers Day. I tend not to dwell on the significance of this day all that much. Nor do I tend to dwell on my father's memory significantly more on this Hallmark holiday than on other days. Today, however, in the midst of a thirty-mile training ride, it did occur to me that this year, with the emphasis I have put on Dad's birthday and, later this year, the beginning of my Israel adventure on the anniversary of his death, that perhaps this is a Fathers Day on which I might give more thought to my father than previously.

I have hinted at, but not officially declared that my ride in Israel is "dedicated" to my father's memory. Seems appropriate under the circumstances. If I were to do that, today would be an appropriate occasion to make such a declaration. As I pedaled along I began to wonder just what that actually means. What would it mean to "dedicate" a ride to my dad? I've seen athlete's dedicate games to fallen teammates. "Win one for the Gipper" and all that. I've seen Barry Bonds and other less notorious ballplayers touch their hearts as they cross home plate and then point up to the sky as if their beloved fathers or grandmothers or other guardian angels were perched somewhere above the stadium lights looking down on them and arranging the location of pitches and the force of the wind to assure a successful plate appearance.

Somehow that doesn't work for me. It doesn't even seem particularly Jewish. Even though we talk so little of angels and afterlife in Judaism I am not entirely convinced that some other-worldly help is out of the question. Then again, that sounds more like Dad would have to dedicate the ride to me than vice versa.

Still, I really tried to see if I could experience some of that mojo. As I approached my nemesis hill on Arastradero -- the one that claimed eleven small bites of flesh from my leg on a recent ascent -- I held a thought of my dad. On every previous assault of this really minuscule but menacing slope I have stopped midway to relieve the ache from my legs and to catch my breath. That's what I had done last week before I started up again and my foot slipped off the pedal thrusting my leg into the large gear's teeth. I have also tried a different tack on some days by stopping to rest at the bottom of the hill, thus allowing me the strength to make it to the top without having to stop in the middle.

Today I neither stopped at the bottom, nor midway, nor at the top (which is another favorite strategy). In fact I proceeded the entire length of Arastradero (which has been good for at least two or three pauses), turned left onto Alpine Road--a long more gradual ascent that has also caused me to take a break midway--and continued on without interruption until I was well down Portola Valley Road. My longest continuous climb to date!

Was it the methodical stretching I did early in the ride after I had warmed up a few miles? Was it the deliberate cadence I struck moving along Arastradero before getting to this point? Or, possibly, was I somehow buoyed by the powerful image of my father within me as one foot followed the other in relentless circles taking me beyond the pain, further than any prior performance?

Maybe it is simply that I have lost some weight and gotten a little stronger -- physically and mentally -- enabling me to do what inevitably I should expect to do with regular training -- outperform myself week by week. That is logical. That after all is the goal of training. I would be happy to leave it at that. That alone gives me hope that some how I will magically make it to November a transformed specimen of a cyclist.

Anyone who knows me knows just what a sentimental sap I am. I will continue to train, for sure. AND I sure as hell will invoke all the spirits that would be in any position to deliver me to my destination. AND, I am dedicating my ride, my training, myself to haRav Shimon ben Yisrael -- Rabbi Sidney Ballon, of blessed memory.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad!

Mercury Retrograde

I have a friend who will remain nameless--Barry, if you must know--who announces periodically the coming and going of the planet Mercury, ascribing to its sojourn through the solar system certain metaphysical properties. I can't say categorically that his claims are invalid. Well, I could I suppose. But I read it right here on the Internet that "at 15:49 UT (Universal Time), on Monday, May 26th, 2008, Mercury the cosmic trickster [turned] retrograde in Gemini, the sign of the Twins, sending communications, travel, appointments, mail and the www into a general snarl up!" So it must be true.

Now that you know this I'm sure you can think of many substantiating occurrences in recent days where you ran into trouble with communications, travel, appointments, mail and the web. I know I have. Debbie and I had words over a minor incident. I tried to book travel and couldn't get the flights I wanted. My boss and I set up several appointments and he didn't show. My mailbox has been flooded with junk mail. And believe it or not the Internet went down on Deb's computer. None of these things ever happen when Mercury is in whatever the opposite is of "retro"grade. As if.

This morning was a prime example. Wanting to beat the afternoon heat, I decided to take an early bike ride. I pedaled down Ross Road and headed up East Meadow toward the hills. I stopped obediently at the light at Middlefield, stood patiently beside a schoolgirl also waiting to cross. When the light turned green--ever the schoolboy wanting to impress--I attempted to peel out, but flailed helplessly as the cleat on the sole of my shoe slipped right off the pedal. Mercury retrograde.

I finally got in gear and was really taking in the perfect Palo Alto morning. Heading up a shallow incline on Arastradero I gently--or so I thought--dropped into a lower gear. Agggh!!! The chain slipped past all the gears and wedged itself inextricably around the axle. Man I tugged and spun at it, flipped the bike in all directions to grab it from a different angle. Finally. Finally got it unstuck. Mercury retrograde.

Then it was time to take on my greatest nemesis--the steep slope staring just past the 280 overpass. I decided today, if I were to do nothing else but ride up here everyday until I could ascend this hill without stopping it would carry me a long way to Eilat. Not unexpectedly the pain in my legs and the shortness of breath forced me to rest. Feeling restored I perched myself atop my tiny black bike seat to continue onward and upward. Debbie recently inquired about the difficulty of starting a bike on a steep incline. "No problem, " I assured her. "You're in low gear--you start right up." Not in Mercury retrograde. My right foot again slipped off the pedal. My weight went to the left where my foot was securely attached to the left pedal. I was coming to a standstill with no power and visions of toppling dancing in my head when to my great relief I extricated my left foot and rather than falling over managed to only mash my right leg against the front gears tattooing my calf with a black and red rendering of the teeth.

Mercury in retrograde--a three week malevolent fortune cookie that visits three times a year! It is easy to look at these occurrences in its reflection. And there is another side to it.

I fixed the Internet connection. So I'm a hero. The junk mail won't go away, but I got a great book on prayer from Amazon in very short order. My boss will continue to make and break appointments--it's okay. Better than having him breathing down my neck. I didn't get the flights I originally wanted, but what I ended up with will open up opportunities to meet different people and do unexpected things. Debbie and I made up faster than ever. We have learned that communications are not always what we want them to be. We have learned that our time together is too precious to get bogged down by our mistakes.

The next time Mercury goes retrograde will be September 24. Order will not be restored in the Universe until October 31. We fly to Florence on the 29th so we may just catch the tail end of the travel issues. Then again we'll be using miles and will be in first class--perhaps that will protect us.

As for the rest of our travels--Stockholm to visit Deb's sister Judi and family--Deb and Judi to Nairobi to visit our niece Liza--and me of course onto Israel--we'll just have to do without the excitement, the challenges, and the opportunities of confronting a Mercury retrograde.