Ah, The Stories We Could Tell

Friday I was spitting nails. My son's bike was stolen from the bike rack at Southwest High School. I have had items stolen from me/family before, but not for awhile. I was reminded of how angry you become as well as amazed by the complete and utter disregard for the property of others. And no conscience whatsoever!

I have never experienced having our home burglarized, and can only imagine how violated one feels when an intruder enters your home and takes precious, sentimental items!

I do recall several years ago I had a video camera stolen out of my office in Scottsbluff. On that camera was footage of my grandmother playing her precious piano, singing "Yessir, That's My Baby," one of her favorite songs of all times from the big band era. Also footage of her with my children.

The pig that stole the camera was busted, the camera recovered, only to find a quick frame of my footage leading into porn which the lowlife scum taped over my family treasure. My grandma is no longer here so that I cannot remake those memories.

I remember reading about a similar story where a mother taped herself, a sort of documentary, speaking to her small daughter, with the intent of leaving the footage to the child to view when she was old enough to understand... a priceless treasure... as she was dying of cancer. The burglars took the tapes. The family pleaded with the thieves, offered $, but never heard from again. The footage was lost forever.

Finding my son's bike today was a hundred-to-one bet. One of his friends saw the bike at a nearby park, laying on a sidewalk. He was not sure this was the bike, but said it was similar. We were in Kansas City Sat-Sun. When we got home Sunday, we went to the location, and the bike was still laying there. We are so lucky! I have pledged to buy my son's friend nachos and hot wings for a year :-)

My heart goes out to a member of the biking community whose $4000 dollar bike was recently stolen. Even though my son will drive in a short few weeks, the $350 bike has been through a lot with my son... at least two fairly nasty bike wrecks, several trips through the neighborhood with friends, and main source of transportation to and from middle school the last 3 yrs we've lived here.

Sentimental, yes. A bike becomes a part of your life... just like your first car. It sure creates lots of memories. It becomes your friend, your freedom, your escape. Hey that reminds me a of a song. I'll leave you with this Jimmy Buffet classic:

Talkin to myself again
Wonderin if this travellin is good
Is there somethin else a doin
We'd be doin if we could

Chorus:
But ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories we could tell

Stared at that guitar in that museum in Tennessee
Nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
Scars upon the face told of all the times he fell
Singin all the stories he could tell

Chorus:
Ah, the stories he could tell
And I'll bet you it still rings like a bell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
And listen to the stories it could tell

So if you're on the road trackin down your every night
Playin for a livin beneath brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride the carousel
You do it for the stories you can tell

Ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Just listen to the stories we could tell

Yes, I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories it could tell.