THE LULU CHRONICLES
Well, she’s at it again. Deb has once again left me in the garage whilst she gallivants across the country. She’s back at that camp of hers frolicking with about a hundred teenagers at Senior Camp. To hear her tell it, those four hundred acres of pine trees and waterfalls are quite special.
In the mean time, here I sit alone in a hot garage with only the hum of an old refrigerator to keep me company. For those of you who don’t know, I’m a bicycle. My name is LuLu and my person, Deb, was gifted with my presence on her sixtieth birthday. She has this wild idea that if she pedals me around the country-side long enough she’ll some how morph into some kind of beauty queen/athlete. She’s cute, so I allow her her fantasies.
As Deb pedals along imagining herself an Amazon on wheels, I’ve learned a thing or two about myself. I’m cute too. I’m pink. I have a front basket to die for, and as Deb has told you, I’m sporting the largest bicycle seat this side of the free world. Yet, with all of that going for me, if Deb doesn’t come and sling that Fake Knee over my seat and start pedaling, I’m just another bike sitting in the garage unused. It is Deb’s contact, her love if you will, that gives me my zing. So, to quote her, “there’s a lesson in that somewhere.”
From what I’m gathering from you folks, you need each other. What one of you lacks, another has. When one of you is weak and limping, there is a strong one who gathers and carries. One cries tears, the other wipes them away. One lacks, the other picks up the slack. It’s a neat system you’ve got going. I applaud you. Don’t take it for granted or else you might find yourself sitting in the garage alone next to a rusty fridge.
Later,
LuLu
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