A few years ago I had a job in South County, right by the John Wayne airport. The ride took me through Santa Ana and was quicker on my scooter than in my car, which would have meant sitting on the freeway for over an hour. Or even before that when I had a job close by and I rode the curvy road near by in Fullerton, on Lemon.
I was also attending many more scooter rallies. I like them, but after a while, it’s just driving. I had a project that I really needed to do as well, finish writing my novel. This is doesn’t mean just once and then you send the whole thing off like Snoopy and wait for letters. It means you edit it over and over again. I wrote the 1st draft in 2003 and re- wrote it in 03, 04 and 05 and once more in 06. Which meant last summer and fall I was, yup editing it again and all this requires sitting down and getting it done.
It has taken precedence over my riding my scooter. As much as I like it and work at Fullerton Vintage, I can’t always find the time ride my scooter. Part of my job is also running around in my car and shipping parts and getting parts. Again I am not a complaining, this is just the truth.
On a recent ride, yeah no surprise I was really rusty. I am not making excuses. I will be getting back on my scoot and getting back my “sea legs” as it were. I do want to get my scooter painted and other things, it hasn’t been totally just sitting in the garage, Recently, my husband has been driving my scooter. I have used my scooter; I still love “Sam”.
I still love scooters, I can’t say I am always excited about them since I see them every day. That’s the thing about turning a hobby into a business. You get bogged down with the tedium that is everyday life, picking up parts and waiting for the next order to come in and before you know it it’s Friday afternoon and you wonder where the time went.
The truth is you can’t spend all your time just focused on riding, there are other important things to be done. Like writing a book, or paying the rent.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Dancing
I have recently taken up belly dancing. There is a class at the place I take exercise classes and after watching a few times, I thought, why not?
Okay, the truth is you really can’t stop me from dancing. I have always been a dancer. When I was three I had a baby sitter that used to be a professional dancer. Photos I saw of her dressed in tights and a pink tutu was enough to capture my imagination, however the first time I was put into a tutu, I was a goner.
The feel of cool satin against my chest and looking down to see toile jetting out from my hips was foreign in a fun way. It makes you feel like you are suddenly able to fly. Of course, I tested out that theory right away by running all over the house like a crazed bee.
Since then I have taken Ballet, Jazz and now Belly-dancing. Never Tap, the sound of the floor and having to practice seemed to be too much noise for my mother when I was young. And now, it doesn’t appeal to me.
Things that come to mind are grace and timing, discipline. I have always admired dancers and take time to see the Ballet when they come into town, from time to time.
I don’t mind the Ballet instructors coming over and straightening me out, or reminding me to hold my hands a certain way. The same happens in all the classes I take. I never chaff at this, but use it as a way to do better.
Many people I know hate to hear these types of critiques, but really how do you know if you are doing it right if no one tells you?
One thing I always try to do, since I grew up with too much harsh critiques, is to complement. As much as I can I always try to let people know that I care and that I think they are great. Some times it might come out sounding corny, but at least I said it and didn’t hold back telling my friends that I care. I never regret it.
Of course I could always take them out dancing as well, and after a bit who cares if I know all the steps. As long as I am having fun! In the mean time at work I can metally dance up and down the block, with my ipod on.
Okay, the truth is you really can’t stop me from dancing. I have always been a dancer. When I was three I had a baby sitter that used to be a professional dancer. Photos I saw of her dressed in tights and a pink tutu was enough to capture my imagination, however the first time I was put into a tutu, I was a goner.
The feel of cool satin against my chest and looking down to see toile jetting out from my hips was foreign in a fun way. It makes you feel like you are suddenly able to fly. Of course, I tested out that theory right away by running all over the house like a crazed bee.
Since then I have taken Ballet, Jazz and now Belly-dancing. Never Tap, the sound of the floor and having to practice seemed to be too much noise for my mother when I was young. And now, it doesn’t appeal to me.
Things that come to mind are grace and timing, discipline. I have always admired dancers and take time to see the Ballet when they come into town, from time to time.
I don’t mind the Ballet instructors coming over and straightening me out, or reminding me to hold my hands a certain way. The same happens in all the classes I take. I never chaff at this, but use it as a way to do better.
Many people I know hate to hear these types of critiques, but really how do you know if you are doing it right if no one tells you?
One thing I always try to do, since I grew up with too much harsh critiques, is to complement. As much as I can I always try to let people know that I care and that I think they are great. Some times it might come out sounding corny, but at least I said it and didn’t hold back telling my friends that I care. I never regret it.
Of course I could always take them out dancing as well, and after a bit who cares if I know all the steps. As long as I am having fun! In the mean time at work I can metally dance up and down the block, with my ipod on.
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