My Heart Belongs to Ted — and Dahlia Elizabeth

Cynthia Nimerichter — Tue, 02 Nov 2010 21:15:33 +0000

I spent Valentine’s Day with the object of my affection. We went out for Italian food, and I presented a small gift which seemed to be well-received. My husband Ted looked on adoringly.
Arriving at her door in New York City earlier that day, I had fallen in love with Dahlia Elizabeth the moment I set eyes upon her. Our 4–week-old niece is perfect! Well, she does look kind of like E.T. when she cranes her neck, but even that is charming at her age.
And we further bonded when I accompanied her on her first shopping trip. The sales at Lord & Taylor were fantastic and Dahlia was pleased as punch when I bought her Mary Jane patent leathers and a velveteen top. She cooed her approval as I zeroed in on two blouses and a pair of jeans.
But mostly we hung out. Watching my baby sister and brother-in-law with Dahlia was a delight. I never doubted that they would be good parents but I wondered how easily they would adapt to the big change in their lives. Now in their late thirties, they have spent the last 15 years in demanding jobs, spending weeks at a time out of the country. I would lose track of which of them was on which continent. When they were in town, they were often out and about, attending dance performances and the theater, dining with friends in Chelsea or Soho.
Jodee and Gaspard were both off work the first three weeks of Dahlia’s life and they seem content with their narrow routine, which revolves around Dahlia’s intake and output. They have fashioned a darling nursery in their small, fourth-floor walk-up in Greenwich Village. They exiled furniture to storage to make room for a glider rocker where Jodee nurses her daughter.
No family members live close enough to help out on a regular basis. And, speaking on behalf of Jodee’s family, the distance between Colorado and New York seems many times farther than it did a month ago. But Jodee and Gaspard lucked out; they have an easygoing daughter. She eats well, she sleeps well, and she is regular — no Metamucil® needed for her!
This ebony Haitian man and his pale Danish-Irish, redheaded wife have produced a most amazing creation. Maybe she will play the piano with those long fingers she inherited from her father. Perhaps she will have her mother’s sense of humor. Will she love to dance as both her parents do?
That is the wonder of a new life, isn’t it? There are so many magnificent possibilities.
This was a wonderful Valentine’s Day. One can never have too many valentines.

Pedaling Away!

Cynthia Nimerichter — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 21:04:27 +0000

A 250 mile bike ride is not for me. I am still shell shocked that I signed up and went on this adventure. I did ride 140 miles of it—the other 110 of the mostly uphill miles were in the sag van. A sag wagon is the support and gear vehicle. Or the “take me to the top of this stupid mountain” vehicle.
I will never do it again. I cannot both breathe and move at 9,000 feet and above—there is no air! And how can you leave and return to the same spot four days later having ridden twice as many miles uphill as down? Isn’t there a downhill for each uphill? It does not seem physically possible but I am sure I ended at my starting point 4,000 feet higher in the air.
I will never do it again. The first morning I arrived at the 7 am group orientation wearing my cycling clothes: khaki shorts, a sleeveless white golf shirt, and sandals. Everyone else was in bright shiny shirts, padded shorts, and clickety clack shoes. I thought they were show offs but, over the four days, I learned how certain clothing aids the rider.
I will never do it again. The other 22 riders were serious about going the distance. Several of the men were hammerheads, making it a race. Though I must say they were all exceptionally nice to me and tried to lift my spirits when I came in hours after everyone else. I connected to a couple of great guys who live less than two miles from me. And I befriended an adorable 11-year-old named Alex who rode at my speed.
I will never do it again. The second night’s accommodations were abysmal—five of us in a room, no hot water, not very clean, right next to a state highway. It included my husband’s most hated amenities: a paper bathmat and shampoo in little ketchup packets that are impossible to open once your hands are wet. I must say though, my four roommates and I did have a long laugh when Larry’s cot gave out and plummeted him to the floor. And I did make everyone chuckle when I thanked my roommate Steve for bringing me hot coffee in bed after our first night sleeping together. (Mom, just to be clear: I shared a bed with Ted and Steve shared one with his wife Annette.)
I will never do it again. It was just plain hard. The climbs were long and steep. Though I must say I learned something: It was hard for everyone. I have always assumed that athletic feats were easy for others but once I stopped my whining and listened to the others, I realized others do it despite it being hard.
I will never do it again. I would work myself into such a sweat that I would feel light headed. I would lie down to recover—once in sticky sap, once in ants, and once in sharp pine needles. Yet, in 10 minutes, the feeling would pass and I would get up and ride some more.
I will never do it again. The descents were terrifying. Coming down thousands of feet from an 11,500 mountain pass in a few nanoseconds raised my heart rate into the stratosphere. When I dared to take my eyes off the road, I noticed that I sometimes was going faster than the speed limit for cars. I must admit, now that it is done, I find myself smiling as I remember the exhilaration.
I will never do it again. We were all up at the crack of dawn. I am not a morning person. However, I will concede that the mountain mornings were cool and crisp and beautiful.
I will never do it again. Although my buddy Alex did give me a big hug at the end of the ride and say, “Next year, Cynthia, you and I will rule!”
I will never do it again. Except that I do have this nagging thought of all the times I have lectured my nephews and grandchildren about being open to new experiences because perhaps they could learn something new, meet someone new, have a new experience.
Hmmm……

Delicious Theory by Colorado Speaker Cynthia Nimerichter » Blog

My Heart Belongs to Ted — and Dahlia Elizabeth

Pedaling Away!