the fair's in town. here come the dark, rainy nights. and the magic...

it was my dad’s birthday on Thursday.  he’s reached the ripe old age of 70, and still going strong.  well…  he has type 2 diabetes, and glaucoma, and he’s carrying a little more weight than he probably should, but…  on friday, we went out for a family meal with my mum, dad, and aunty (dad’s sister).  brother lives too far away to bring his family down for the night, but it was nice all the same.  a jolly meal with just the five of us, and i’m proud to report that i skillfully avoided having very cross words with my mum about her attitude to magpies. 🙂  on a slightly distressing note, i am definitely turning into my mother…  oh, gods…

anywhoo…  this was all drifting through my mind as i was in the shower this afternoon, and i had a suddeen realization:  in four days, i will be the age my dad was when my mum gave birth to me.  that, in itself, is a bit of a weird thought.  i got past the age my mum was when she had me with nary a hiccup, joyous that my decision not to have children had not come and bitten me in the arse, and that i never once have felt even the shadow of a desire to overburden this already creaking planet with one more greedy consumer.  but back to the thought in hand.  i am (allegedly) an adult, and have been so for quite some time.  yet it still surprises me.  and it continues to surprise me that i can actually function more-or-less in an adult world that regularly scares the shit out of me.

and speaking of being scared shitless, on the heels of the realisation that i will be the same age as my dad was &c. came a memory.  not my memory, but one that i have through the proxy of it being a story my mum is very fond of telling.

every year at this time, the fair comes to my hometown.  as it did that day thirty-five years ago, when lazy ol’ me was already a week late.  i really, really didn’t want to come out and face the world.  i wanted to stay safe and warm inside my mum, where i could sleep to my foetal heart’s content.  so my dad and my heavily-pregnant mum took my 4-year-old big brother to the fair.  in our family, there are three fair-ride-lovers, and one fair-ride-hater.  the odd one out is my dad.  so, when my little big brother decided that he wanted to eschew the kiddy rides and go on the speedway, his chaperone had, by default, to be my mum.  my heavily pregnant mum.  let me explain here:  the speedway is (or was – i haven’t seen it for years) a merry-go-round for adults.  it has horses, yes, but also carriages, motorbikes, and all manner of other contraptions and strange beasts upon which to ride.  and it goes fast.  reeeeally fast.  as my mother tells it, by the time the ride was finished, my dad had his toes to the yellow safety line around the outside of the ride, and his face was green.

is it any wonder that i turned out like i did…?


in other random nonsense:

i was pleased to realise yesterday that my brain speed is approximately 90 miles per hour.  i came to this realization thusly:

when i ride the bike, i tend to find myself  cruising at about 90 miles per hour (weather conditions and traffic permitting, of course – i have stated before that i do not have a death wish).  this is, of course, way over the speed limit in this country, and i do not reccommend it.  but this is the speed i feel comfortable on the bike.  she’s got some kick to her, and she’s a lot younger than poor old Trob (my last and much-missed Kawasaki) was.  i discovered yesterday that i also drive at this speed when i’m in the car on my own (hubby tells me off if i break the speed limit when i’m with him – and rightly so).  it feels right, it feels natural.  and i can only conclude that, at least when i’m riding / driving, my brain processes at ninety.  this pleases me, because it shows that i am capable of high-speed processing.  being a bit of a dunce and a bit slow on the uptake generally had convinced me otherwise.