Forty Degrees Fahrenheit

Old blue bike
Flew like the wind
Doubling, no hands, no worries
St. John Fisher
School and church.
Our community
Nuns in black and white
Mass in Latin
Gloves and hats.
Girls giggling up
In the choir loft.
Red apples and flowers;
Teacher’s pet.
Dogs and cats.
Fat cats skip by.
Teeny tiny dogs.
Big hairy whiskey dog.
Black dog, black as coal
A little neurotic.
Sprinklers and water fights
RBR into the long
Hot humid summer nights.
Rumoli and poker
Séances and Ouija boards.
Needles piercing ears.
Leopard pajamas
Leaping in the air.
White snow
Falls; feeling like forever.
Drifts.
Doing hair, perms and dyes.
Clothes and sun tans.
Red Volks, green Volks
The thing
Is we had a wild ride!
On the road
Was Kerouac alive in us?
I like to think so.
Psychedelic wallpaper,
Black and white.
Pete Swain, Pete Swain, Pete Swain….
Cigarettes and tea stains
The television blaring
The latest saga
Roots and Pioneer Woman
Like us
Trying to find our place
In the wilderness
Oscar and Grammy
Our annual rituals
Of the pop culture
Molson Ex
“ deux si vous plait “
The Brass, the table
The three gay Caballeros
“All for one and one for all”
Ski hills, ski bums
Nothing can parallel that!
Ski jumps and Pratt falls
Laughter still echoes
On those mountains.
Puppies like golden molasses
Melt our hearts.
The disco daze
“Love to love you baby!”
“Night Fever” had us
All in some cultish grip.
Hypnotized, synchronized.
Doing the bump in the night.
Funerals and processions
Tears and grief
Flowers and hymns
Knowing you’re not alone
Even in despair.
There are those that care.
John Abbott, Concordia,
Those that went out west.
Beer bashes and car smashes
Bwana women and minks
One wedding two
White organza, sequins and pearls
Something old, something new
Taking turns down the aisle
Banquet halls, hotels
And honeymoons.
Up on the roof
The cat took a dive
And survived!
So have we!
Bassinets, bottles and booties
Crying long into the night.
Career choices, lifestyle rearrangements
First born, first to leave,
The cycle begins again.
Poor mother all alone
Not really, more children come.
Working mothers
Fatigued
Weekends a paradise
No boss no, no jive, no glib to give or
To receive.
It’s forty degrees Fahrenheit
And I’ll never forget
“Singing in the rain” or “All I want is a room somewhere”
So get on your old blue bike
Travel down the road again.
Feel the sun on your face.
Race!
A thousand hellos ago we met
Like a fabric so rare
Woven together by moments
Like these, moments we share!

Image Credit

“Old Blue Bike” by cris.bloomfield. Creative Commons Flickr. Some rights reserved.

Recent Martha Farley Articles:

• We're Just An Ordinary Family.....or Are We?
• What's Love Got to Do With It?
• Sunflower
• Where Did My Mom Go?
• A Little Magic