Riding In Her Mortal Dress

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hand and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress

Those lines, from the second stanza of William Butler Yeats' Sailing to Byzantium, will never be found on the door of any plastic surgeon's office.  But for me, they have become an inspiration, if not outright instruction.

They are among the reasons I continue to call this blog "Midlife Cycling" at a time when many would argue that I am no longer in mid-life.  To them, I say that as long as I don't know when my life will end, I am in the middle of it.

Such an outlook provides an answer to another question.  If it doesn't, then perhaps Martha Stewart does.

Truth be told, I never paid a lot of attention to her because, in the days before saving episodes of TV shows for future viewing was possible, let alone convenient, she always aired at times when I couldn't watch them.  Also, I always sensed that I would never be able to replicate some of the things she showed because I didn't have a big enough living space or enough money, or I didn't just happen to have the ingredients on hand.

But now I look to her to solve a riddle.  Actually, it's one that never really exercised my mind before, but someone brought it up in a tweet:

So, this "seafoodpedia" thinks Ms. Stewart will "set an example" by giving up cycling.  Why?  I suspect that "seafoodpedia" is trying to rationalize his or her own laziness or indolence--or is simply upset that Martha is riding faster or better than he or she is--or riding at all.  For all I know, "seafoodpedia" might just be someone who hates bicycles or cyclists.

So, how old does "seafoodpedia" think is "too old to bike safely."  Well, apparently he/she would say 77--Ms. Stewart's current age--or younger.

While I might be practicing a form of denial in calling myself "middle aged", I think it will keep me from believing I'm "too old" to ride a bike--or do many other things.  With every pedal stroke, I can clap my hand and sing, louder, for every tatter in my mortal dress.

So can Martha Stewart--though, I must say, her "tattered dress" looks pretty darned good!

Celebrating Myself And The Soul Clapping Its Hands And SInging

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,

I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,

Hoping to cease not till death.

 I am, ahem, a bit older than thirty-seven.  And this blog is a good bit younger than that.

So you can be forgiven for wondering why I'm starting this post with the first part of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself.

Well, you know, writers and English instructors are supposed to use pithy quotes from their favorite writers.  But seriously...I feel that Whitman's verses encapsulate much of the spirit of this blog--and this day.

You see, this blog turns four years old today.  So, it's lasted as long as a US Presidential term (and a gubernatorial term in most states).  It's also lasted as long as the average American stays on any particular job. (My friend Lakythia, with whom I rode yesterday, works in workforce development and mentioned that particular fact.)  And, ahem (What does it tell you when you see two "ahem"s in one post), it's as long as I was married.  When I look back, I'm amazed it lasted that long.


But back to Whitman and this blog:  I guess one might say that this blog is a celebration of myself.  Perhaps a blog about one's personal experiences, feelings and such is, by definition, just that.  Some might say it's self-indulgent.  Perhaps it is.   But even the most self-effacing person, let alone an entire culture, does not survive without celebrating him/her/itself, even if in small ways.

Seen while loafing and inviting my soul during a stop in St. Luke's garden in Greenwich Village

We also survive, at least in part, by loafing and inviting our souls.  Scientists have emphasized the importance of daydreaming, imagining as well as various other kinds of playing and "down" time in everything from the development of a child to the creative processes of everyone from poets to physicists, artists to entrepreneurs.  Perhaps my accomplishments are small compared to those of others and the footprint I've made--and will leave behind--will be minimal.  But it's hard for me to imagine my accomplishments and triumphs, such as they are, without cycling. 

Sooner or later I'm going to update the masthead photos: People tell me I look a bit different now and, of course, the bikes do, too, with the bags Ely of Ruth Works made for me.  Since it's loafing, if you will, I'm not going to rush any of it.  I tried soliciting donations and advertising, to no avail. Really, I am not disappointed with that:  This is a labor of love.  And cycling has made so many other things possible in my life that I simply can't begrudge whatever I didn't make from this blog.

Anyway..,It makes a certain amount of sense to do what I'm going to do next:  close with a quote from William Butler Yeats. For one thing, I often find myself looking at Yeats after I look at Whitman.  But, for another,in his Sailing To Byzantium, he gave the best advice one can get after loafing and inviting his or her soul.  It's a pretty fair summation of what I feel when I'm cycling:  Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing/ For every tatter in its mortal dress.