Putting the Hammer Down

Recently, upon completion of a long ride, my husband paid me the compliment of the century.

"Your really putting the hammer down, Bron."

Among our cycling friends, Mike's nickname is Lance and it isn't because he has the same hair cut if you catch my drift. So if in fact Bron truly was "putting the hammer down," as Lance allegedly claimed, well that's just not a compliment to shake a stick at.

disclaimer: I do realize that ending a sentence with a preposition is a big NO-NO in the Lodato family but "at which to shake a stick" just doesn't SOUND good!

I've invented a little game I call 'cat and mouse' (yeah, thanks it's original). I start out on a ride about 10 minutes before Lance (the cat) and we see how long it takes him to catch up with me (the mouse). For some reason the fact that I know I've got a good little lead on him and that HE WILL eventually catch me actually makes me ride harder! Just that modicum of fear that the next time I peer over my shoulder, he very well may be barreling around the bend, legs pumping, a determined grin on his face--literally drives me to "put the hammer down, " if you will.

Seems, not unlike most three year olds I know, I like being chased.

It occurs to me too what a huge motivator fear is in life. I make a daily conscious practice of not making ANY DECISIONS based on fear and yet isn't fear a critical component of risk taking? What makes a risk a risk if not for the element of fear? Might there be a way to use our fear to positively motivate us instead of paralyze us? To help us "put the hammer down" when we really need to?

I'm starting to think about other areas of my life that could benefit from some "putting down of the hammer." For now, I'm gonna work on increasing the amount time before the cat catches the mouse. Makes for a good chase.
Bronwen

Old...it's the new new

I love all things ancient.

Unintentionally, I cultivated my fascination with ancient things while in college. I simply kept taking the interesting courses and and lo and behold four years later I walked out of Boulder, Colorado with a degree in Anthropology.

No intent to dig.
No intent to teach.
No intent to collect data (at least in the career sense anyway).

In fact, I spent a lot of money on a college education that has done virtually nothing for my career path...but one that has seriously shaped the manner in which I look at objects in the world. I love objects with a history. A story. A meaning...and therefore, value.

The more surrounded I become with objects of mass production, the more I feel myself gravitating to objects that have been around for a while. Things that look a little rough around the edges. Things that have been around the block a few times. Things with some real live grit and life to them.

I dress almost exclusively in used clothing.

My most recent obsession is antique trade beads. African, Indonesian, Middle Eastern, Native American, European...beads that were really truly traded as gifts of power and a form of currency before we had coins and bills. Beads made of glass, horn, bone, tusk, teeth, clay, coral and stone. Beads that were artfully crafted by hand and assigned a value. Beads that today still carry value, and will continue to increase in value because we can never again make a trade bead that was made in Africa in the 1700s.

I used to gasp at price tags on antiques. I don't anymore. Now, I appreciate.

As container ships line up to pull into the port of Oakland, packed with shiny new chotchkies fresh from a factory in China, India, Vietnam...my appreciation for all things "old" deepens. I think old is the new new.
Bronwen