Several years ago my very much loved beach cruiser was stolen out of my garage, my mother was stressed to the max that my Dad would fall off of his, he was starting to have balance problems. So she found the perfect solution, she gave his bike to me. Fast forward 5 years, he is gone and she is in a nursing home and that bike it is still sitting in my garage. Flat tires, rusty…unrideable. Last week, my significant other(I hate the word boyfriend at my age) said, let’s get that bike fixed so you can ride with me. Today he took it to the bike shop on Canal Street. Fox Firestone Bikes, super nice people, they fixed my son’s bike a few months ago.
So he called me from the shop and told me it is fixable but maybe we get it fixed and trade it in on a new beach cruiser. I was silent. He noticed. I said I like it cause it is tall. Yea, ok he says, I am fixing it, how about we add a basket. So I recited the story of my new bike when I was nine. My Dad promised me a bike basket if I would not cry at the dentist office. (I HATED the dentist) I made it through that dentist visit and got a purple flowered bike basket. I am not sure why that popped in my mind today, but it did, and I cried on and off all afternoon.
There is absolutely no moral to the story, it is just a story. Carry on.