Memoirous

Today is the DAY! It just so happens it is the same morning they decided to lift the bridges for the sailboats to leave the lakefront harbors for winter quarters/storage. Ahhh, Chicago. As I began packing I had a grand plan. To start with books and then go one section at a time. Easy. Except I wanted to sort them into keep, toss, donate, give away for a sale, see if Grace wants. AWK! It became unsustainable. The books alone took a couple of days. Then there were last minute visits to squeeze in. It became very apparent that I needed to be intentional with the packing, stay on task (stop taking bike rides!), and give up the sort. So I threw out my filters and just began filling boxes. Good because I got it all done by today/bad because I am taking way more than I thought I would be. And, it’s a jumble   All my strategizing went out the window—I just needed to go. So just as I posted before leaving for Eugene, here once again, is Jane riding away.

 While I'm in transit please enjoy some family related writing, my daughter's latest published piece The Heron and the Gravedigger by Grace Hertenstein tinyurl.com/23t2amz4

 While I'm in transit please enjoy some recently published writing Biking my way through the pandemic by Jane Hertenstein https://quaranzine.uk/issue-5-mindset/blog-post-title-four-hjcpy

 While I'm in transit please enjoy some recently published writing: Horse Affair by Jane Hertenstein The Horse Fair 1852–55 Rosa Bonheur   https://heymrswinkler.com/2021/04/08/new-edition-of-teach-write-available/ click on 2021-spring-summer_revised.pdf page 46

 While I'm in transit enjoy some past writing: Laundry Day by Jane Hertenstein https://funnypearls.com/2021/05/laundry-day/

It’s crunch time. I haven’t been able to take the last week off at work, but over my two official days off, I crammed in life. Packing. Doing crafts. One last run. One last coast ride. I kept thinking as I left the house at dawn that this is crazy. I should be packing MORE. I should be doing little things to get ready. I should stay and have a slow back porch breakfast, but I was at the bus stop at 7:15 a.m. for the Lane Link shuttle to the coast. The driver is starting to recognize me—as well as the other passengers, riders to the casino in Florence. This time I caught another bus to Yachats, a cute little tourist coastal town. It had that beachcomber souvenir vibe. After getting off the bus at 11:30, I began to slowly make my way down the coast. I wanted to savor the sea, salty breeze, and fog rolling in off the ocean. I turned on my taillight and had on a safety vest. I wasn’t taking any chances. I didn’t want to die before moving to Michigan. The fog wafted over the road

 Things are slowly winding up here. Sad, and yet exciting. It’s been hard to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I think of what I need to pack, who to say goodbye to, things to return before leaving. My last day of work according to the calendar was yesterday, but, again, real-life has imposed itself and I agreed to help out because my boss’s daughter is about to deliver. An ultrasound confirmed what was thought to be a big baby as now twins. This has thrown a wrench—hahaha, bicycle pun—into plans. Monday morning my roommate and his girlfriend took me out to breakfast. We were celebrating a visit from his sister as well as a birthday, plus my going-away. So it was fun, full of stories and laughter. Before packing up my camping stuff, I need to decide if I might work in one more coast ride and camp-out. I hate to say goodbye to the Pacific Northwest.

I’ve been waiting to write up notes from last cycling day trip because I’ve been so exhausted—I know, I know—I mean weird people exhaustion as I’ve been back to work in an understaffed bicycle shop where I am numerically outmatched by the customers. I would put up a NOW HIRING sign in the window except that even the printer has run out of ink. I’m not a super hero. The McKenzie Pass made me realize I’m a mere mortal   The Pass at 5,325 feet is the longest climb I’ve ever done—maybe not the highest, but the most elevation in one effort—hard to articulate but let me just say I thought I’d be to the top by lunch and, as the hours ticked by, it became more like supper time. It took ALL DAY to climb. Granted we got a late start, which likely threw me off statistically. I rode over to friend’s house where we loaded in—after they made breakfast and got ready. So an hour and a half there. Then another hour or so in the truck. We likely arrived around 11:30—then there were the obligator

Soon it will be time to pack up. It is easy (somewhat) to get rid of my stuff. There are rules ( see death-cleanse, Marie Kondo) such as if you haven’t worn it for 3 years or if you are waiting to fit into an article of clothing just get rid of it. All the kitchen gadgets, “Tupperware” (really just used yoghurt tubs), tiny bars of soap, the one-sock bag=all of this goes. The maybe pile takes more deliberation, yet when the rules are applied, it’s a no-brainer. But what about Mom’s wedding dress? Mike’s father’s old record collection? Grace’s books, the ones she read as well as the ones she wrote? Our mini-storage is nine-tenths memories, full of other people’s stuff that we cannot bring ourselves to get rid of. When my parents died I was not offered anything of worth from their estate. All of that was divided among the other siblings. It is a story of betrayal, yet an old story that is still being written. Instead I took the stuff no one else wanted. Who takes a 75-year old wed