The bicycle has been road tested.

I am not dead.

I do, however, remember why I stopped cycling as I got older. People who drive cars are self-absorbed and rude. I jammed on my brakes for an idiot who ran a stop sign because he didn’t see another car coming (I didn’t count, apparently); I jammed on my brakes because someone opened a car door in front of me; and I jammed on my brakes because someone pulled away from the curb in front of me. All this from going around the block after I filled the tyres with air. (Twenty-five cents! They charged me twenty-five cents to put air in my tyres!)

My back brakes are working. There are a few whirrs and clicks, and the gears change when they’ve given my gear shift a bit of consideration, and I have to secure the rear reflector properly, but I have a functional bicycle. Hurrah!

Back. Back hurts. Secret weapon not kicking in.

I spent yesterday afternoon cleaning up that 25$ rusty thing that if you squinted and were feeling kind, you could call a bicycle. Three hours. Three hours of applying chrome cleaner with a toothbrush, and scrubbing as hard as I could with a scrubby sponge. Being there as a task is slowly accomplished doesn�t have the same power as seeing it �before� and �after�, as my husband did when he walked in at the end of the day. �Hey!� he said. �That�s terrific! I didn�t think you�d get it that clean!�

Get it that clean? There�s still rust all over it! Okay, so the chain doesn�t flake any more when you touch it, you can see the rims again, and the fenders only have a few dull spots, but it�s still a mess. Just not as much of a mess as before. I wouldn�t be embarrassed to be seen with it in public, now.

I will, however, be embarrassed after coming to a sudden stop if I don�t get the back brake calibrated correctly. Front brake � fine. Back brake � not fine. It’s still stiff, although I’ve tried everything I can remember about brakes. A sudden stop on my head would be bad. Even though I still have a helmet (around somewhere). I�ll walk it over to the gas station down the road this afternoon and fill the tyres to see if they actually hold air. Maybe I�ll try to ride it back. Slowly.

My new Blogger Insider partner, Kate: I love her already.

As usual, today at work was spent spacing out.

Still getting adjusted to my new desk and my new space, but a healthy dose of Star Wars cereal and a cup of chai tea in the morning makes everything all right.

Whee!

Sometimes, heaven is a brisk walk to the not-insane grocery store, a brisk walk back in the warm wind, and a plate of three slices of mill bread (complete with flax seeds and sunflower seeds baked right in) with slices of Jarlsberg cheese.

Mmm.

June already.

When I woke up this morning I made myself a cup of tea and went back to bed to read Sandman: The Dream Hunters, which out of the entire Sandman oeuvre is the only story graphic novel I’d never read. There was nothing in my reserve when I stopped by the comic shop yesterday, and I just happened to see this on the shelf and decided I needed a treat. I am rather partial to foxes, and this is a retelling of a Japanese story about a fox who falls in love with a monk, sacrificing herself by intercepting a malevolent dream sent to kill him. Naturally, it’s not that easy; it never is when you’re in love.

I trust anything written by Neil Gaiman. I was completely unprepared for Yoshitaka Amano�s art. This book was released in hardcover back in the days when I worked in the F/SF bookshop, and the book was shipped sealed. This is a practice I have never understood. People want to look at a book before they buy it to see what�s inside, especially if it�s an illustrated novella like The Dream Hunters. If there are drop cards or loose enclosures necessary to the volume, I can almost understand it, but even then there are other ways. The book being sealed meant I couldn�t flip through it, and I never saw one on the shelves of my friends� collections. I heard rave reviews, but never experienced the illustration for myself apart from the front and back covers.

The reviews are right. Amano has created a dream-like accompaniment for a fable about dreams which enthralls me. It is slightly eerie; very pale, but flowing, and it took me several minutes of poring over the colour plates before I saw even half the multitude of detail (and I know each time I look at it I�ll see different things). It is the perfect accompaniment to Gaiman�s fairy-tale style, which, as usual, is gloriously formal yet personal at the same time. It was a lovely way to begin the day.

I think I�ll go pull out my issues of Stardust now.

Okay, I took three, but only because there was a broken one and I had to put it out of its misery.

Mmmm. Bourbon Cremes. It’s such a crime that you can only get them in the assorted Peek Freans packages now. The thing stopping me from raiding a Peek Freans headquarters and holding someone important hostage is the fact that every couple of years they bring out these Limited Edition boxes.

Egad!

I completely forgot that Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone comes out on DVD today!

Perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised by the husband picking it up on his way home, or while I am teaching tonight.

My mother secretly bought me a box of Peek Freans Bourbon Cremes while I was in Toronto. I haven’t told my husband. They’re mine. They’re hidden. I am about to go open the box oh so lovingly, remove two, then hide them again and try to forget the box has been breached…