Va Va... Vroom?
I stumbled onto one of those amusing/silly time-wasters today, in the form of the Deluxe Pinup Maker, which allows you to recreate yourself in classic pinup girl style. It was entirely too much fun to play with all the options for customizing!
But, you wonder, what would I look like in pinup format? Well, click the cut to see.
You know, I think I like her. And before you ask: no, there weren't any options including peacock feathers. If only!
I'd kind of like to see what interpretations of themselves others might come up with, too. That always fascinates me about these things, the way our personalities and self-perception are reflected in the avatars we create for ourselves.
Ah, but that's not the most exciting thing going on in my corner of the world just lately. Not by a long shot. The most exciting thing would definitely have to be the motorcycle.
Yes. Soon-to-be-64 Bluey Dad bought himself a motorcycle. A Honda Nighthawk 750, to be exact.
And I couldn't be happier for him.
This is not my dad's first motorcycle. When he was young and in the Air Force and wore headbands and had long hair, with the sort of sideburns that would make even Noddy Holder jealous, he owned and rode bikes. For a time, in fact, motorcycles were his sole method of transportation, and I will always treasure the slightly epic story he tells about driving down from Marquette to Detroit in the middle of winter, shivering on his bike and trying to keep himself warm through the power of positive thinking and singing "Here Comes the Sun" to himself in an endless refrain. (That song will always have a very special place in my heart for that reason, as I know it does in his.)
He continued to ride right up through the early years of my parents' marriage. But when I was a very little girl, he and his brother witnessed an accident in which the driver of a motorcycle was killed in front of them. My dad wasn't riding that day--they were in a car--but he felt an impact all the same. (Even now, he and my uncle both remember that day and the incident in vivid detail, too horrible to be forgotten.) It pulled my dad up short, and it made him think about the fact that he was young, and had a little girl at home, and a wife, and he just didn't feel like it was a risk worth taking at that point in his life. So he sold his bikes, and hung up his helmet, and for 30 years, he never once rode a motorcycle. He sometimes felt the itch to ride again, that wistful impulse that always seemed a bit stronger when he'd see a particularly beautiful specimen out on the road, but he withstood it. The time wasn't right. He didn't feel ready.
But more recently, he'd felt the urge more and more frequently. And by this point in his life, he looked at the matter a bit differently. After making it through a diagnosis of congenital kidney disease, a kitchen fire, third-degree burns and a skin graft operation, a heart attack, two bouts of open-heart surgery, a radical lifestyle change that saw him lose over 80 pounds, and being struck by a car while on his bicycle... well. His perspective has shifted a bit, and he looks at life somewhat differently at the age of almost-64 than he did back then. Now, it seemed like he could let go of the fear and embrace something that gave him joy.
So Bluey Dad decided to test the waters. He enrolled in the motorcycle safety class at the nearest community college, so he could polish up his skills and decide whether the reality lived up to the memories. At any rate, he would be recertified, and he could decide what to do from that point. Besides, he reasoned, he was bound to be rusty and could use the practice.
He got perfect scores on both the written exam and the road test. After 30 years, he hadn't lost a thing, and it was just as good as he remembered. He loved every minute of it, aside from having to attend class in the middle of a scorching heat wave.
And then the fates aligned, as fates sometimes have a way of doing, and Bluey Dad came across the right listing for the right used bike at the right time from the right seller. The bike needs a little bit of TLC, but it runs beautifully, and my dad is very much looking forward to working on fixing it up to look its best.
He brought the new bike over on Sunday, in order to make the introductions, and took me for a spin around the neighborhood, which was... thrilling. And he's just so happy with it, and so proud, and I can see how much it means to him, which thrills me even more. He lights up when he's talking about it, and according to my mother, the minute he comes home every day, he takes a moment to just sit and gaze at it in admiration. *g* I'm so glad that he found the right time to do this, and I hope he loves every minute of it. This is, in a way, my dad's own Project Peacock: acknowledging a part of himself and embracing something that brings him joy. I'm very proud of him for doing that.
Here it is!
Now all that's left to do is convince Bluey Dad to get himself a flashier helmet. I mean... safe, but flashy! Besides, when it comes to motorcycles, visibility IS safety, so the flashier the better, right? ;D
Might get myself a flashy helmet, too...
But, you wonder, what would I look like in pinup format? Well, click the cut to see.
You know, I think I like her. And before you ask: no, there weren't any options including peacock feathers. If only!
I'd kind of like to see what interpretations of themselves others might come up with, too. That always fascinates me about these things, the way our personalities and self-perception are reflected in the avatars we create for ourselves.
Ah, but that's not the most exciting thing going on in my corner of the world just lately. Not by a long shot. The most exciting thing would definitely have to be the motorcycle.
Yes. Soon-to-be-64 Bluey Dad bought himself a motorcycle. A Honda Nighthawk 750, to be exact.
And I couldn't be happier for him.
This is not my dad's first motorcycle. When he was young and in the Air Force and wore headbands and had long hair, with the sort of sideburns that would make even Noddy Holder jealous, he owned and rode bikes. For a time, in fact, motorcycles were his sole method of transportation, and I will always treasure the slightly epic story he tells about driving down from Marquette to Detroit in the middle of winter, shivering on his bike and trying to keep himself warm through the power of positive thinking and singing "Here Comes the Sun" to himself in an endless refrain. (That song will always have a very special place in my heart for that reason, as I know it does in his.)
He continued to ride right up through the early years of my parents' marriage. But when I was a very little girl, he and his brother witnessed an accident in which the driver of a motorcycle was killed in front of them. My dad wasn't riding that day--they were in a car--but he felt an impact all the same. (Even now, he and my uncle both remember that day and the incident in vivid detail, too horrible to be forgotten.) It pulled my dad up short, and it made him think about the fact that he was young, and had a little girl at home, and a wife, and he just didn't feel like it was a risk worth taking at that point in his life. So he sold his bikes, and hung up his helmet, and for 30 years, he never once rode a motorcycle. He sometimes felt the itch to ride again, that wistful impulse that always seemed a bit stronger when he'd see a particularly beautiful specimen out on the road, but he withstood it. The time wasn't right. He didn't feel ready.
But more recently, he'd felt the urge more and more frequently. And by this point in his life, he looked at the matter a bit differently. After making it through a diagnosis of congenital kidney disease, a kitchen fire, third-degree burns and a skin graft operation, a heart attack, two bouts of open-heart surgery, a radical lifestyle change that saw him lose over 80 pounds, and being struck by a car while on his bicycle... well. His perspective has shifted a bit, and he looks at life somewhat differently at the age of almost-64 than he did back then. Now, it seemed like he could let go of the fear and embrace something that gave him joy.
So Bluey Dad decided to test the waters. He enrolled in the motorcycle safety class at the nearest community college, so he could polish up his skills and decide whether the reality lived up to the memories. At any rate, he would be recertified, and he could decide what to do from that point. Besides, he reasoned, he was bound to be rusty and could use the practice.
He got perfect scores on both the written exam and the road test. After 30 years, he hadn't lost a thing, and it was just as good as he remembered. He loved every minute of it, aside from having to attend class in the middle of a scorching heat wave.
And then the fates aligned, as fates sometimes have a way of doing, and Bluey Dad came across the right listing for the right used bike at the right time from the right seller. The bike needs a little bit of TLC, but it runs beautifully, and my dad is very much looking forward to working on fixing it up to look its best.
He brought the new bike over on Sunday, in order to make the introductions, and took me for a spin around the neighborhood, which was... thrilling. And he's just so happy with it, and so proud, and I can see how much it means to him, which thrills me even more. He lights up when he's talking about it, and according to my mother, the minute he comes home every day, he takes a moment to just sit and gaze at it in admiration. *g* I'm so glad that he found the right time to do this, and I hope he loves every minute of it. This is, in a way, my dad's own Project Peacock: acknowledging a part of himself and embracing something that brings him joy. I'm very proud of him for doing that.
Here it is!
Now all that's left to do is convince Bluey Dad to get himself a flashier helmet. I mean... safe, but flashy! Besides, when it comes to motorcycles, visibility IS safety, so the flashier the better, right? ;D
Might get myself a flashy helmet, too...