September 8 and the British Motorcycle Association is buying and selling!

Ah, here I am safely on my side of the fence!  And on the other side is the British Motorcycle Association of Colorado holding the sale as per the terms laid out by the late, great Sherman Schroeder.  Dear Sherman worked many years and invested many dollars to accumulate a garage full of frames, motors, wheels and every part imaginable for a British Motorcyle.  The ad that ran stated very clearly that these parts were only for Truimph, Indian, Norton, Matchless and things like that.  Harley owners were out of luck completely.  Sherman and two of his friends started the club back in 1983 in Denver.  Now it is centralized in Colorado Springs.  As a true Brother of the Wheel, he remembered the club in his will by donating that whole side of the garage to them!

This little fellow is Mark Bosworth from St. Louis, Sherman's birthplace.  He and Sherman remained friends for over 30 years.  Like Mark said, " I was a snot nosed kid and I met this old guy with a garage full of really neat stuff and he let me hang out with him.  It was so cool!"  And the friendship survived all those years and it was Mark who stayed with Sherman on several occasions when he was not well.  Mark took him to radiation and cooked for him and held his hand as well as his head.  Truer friendship hath no man.  See the little fellow shooting back at me with his camera?  I ought to warm his little fanny for him!

And under this pile of tee shirts dating back to the beginning of the club is a "kit car" that Sherman was working on when I met him and is still not done.  He has three sets of everything he needs to finish it except the frame and the body.  3 motors, 3 sets of headlights, 3 carburetors, etc. (you get the picture!) 

So I got to tell you about the sale.  Until noon it was only open to the club members.  Now remember the club gets all the receipts.  So here is the scenario...the club members are buying the items and are jacking up thier prices to themselves because it all benefits them anyway.  Ever watch a bunch of bikers talking to themselves?  One of the fellows who shall remain nameless had 3 different colored markers in his pocket.  One color for the asking price, one color for the price he wanted to pay, and one color for the actual selling price.  I told him if he only had a yellow marker he could have drawn sunflowers on everything!

But it was a fun day and when it was over, we saw the floor in Sherman's garage for the first time since I met the man!  And we were all sure that Sheman was up there some where watching and smiling because every bit of anything that left that garage Saturday had at some point in time been held by him, paid for by him, and probably moved around the garage many times by him.  And we are secure in the knowledge that we are doing everything just the way he wanted it done.  Everything is going to a place where it will be cherished by the new owner and I know some of his parts will eventually make it to Bonneville, every BMAC members dream!

 

Namaste!

 

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From the back cover

Chapter One...Loose Ends
Lou Mercer

Meg Parker led a simple life.  She was a widow of three years and lived on a chicken farm at the foot of the mighty Rockie Mountains.  Life was good and her little store on eBay made her extra spending money.  But snow and wildlife were not the only things lurking in the forest above her house.  Nor did it stay in the forest for long.

Marshall Purcell came home a wounded veteran from vietnam.  He still had his dreams, but they were of an incestuous past that threatened to consume him.

When Meg and Marshall met it seemed an inconsequential meeting, but it changed both their lives forever.  And change is not always a good thing.

This is adult fiction at its best without all the sex.  Well, maybe just a little bit. 

About the author.  Lou Mercer was born in Nickerson, Kansas. She came to Pueblo, Colorado in 1977 and is now a product of the majestic Rockie Mountains

Saturday August 25, 2012

Sherman Joseph Schroeder, Jr

February 17, 1935

to

July 13, 2012

 

 

This past Saturday we all gathered at The Sangre de Cristo Hospice Center located at 300 West Abriendo (the former Abriendo Inn) to pay our final tribute to my dear friend Sherman.  Nephew Brent Schroeder came from Boulder, Doc from Ordway, several friends from Denver, Colorado Springs and some from here.  Sister Nancy stopped by for a moment.  It is very informal at the center and we just visited.  Libby Kyer summed up his life ( if a life can indeed be summed up in 15 minutes).  Jerry read a few emails.  We watched a photo DVD put together by Brent.  We ate a few sandwiches and finger desserts.  Drank a little tea and coffee and just visited about Sherman and how many lives he had touched over his 77 years.

 

I am still spending my time wondering if I was listening at all the past 2 1/2 years when he was talking.  I knew he had friends, I just had no idea how many,  how devoted his friends were, how they came from all areas and all walks of life.  I knew he helped start the British Motorcycle Association of Colorado, and that he collected Japanese swords, sword parts and books on the subject.  I knew he collected books on collecting.  I knew he had owned a contracting business in Denver and that he was an engineer, draftsman, and designer.  I knew he loved dogs and owned a champion Doberman named Dirk as well as three other very unique dogs in his life.  I knew he liked BMW's, Porche, and Corvette's and had owned them at one time or another.  I knew this and a lot of other stuff, but what I really knew was very little.

 

I knew he loved his Victorian home on the bluff, which will now be sold.  I know he liked to walk on the river, which I now do alone.  I know he liked to go out and eat on the spur of the moment.  I know he was interested in politics.  I know he was a carpenter, and he wanted to grow things.  I know he collected art work.  I know when he wondered about something he researched it until he could talk about it with authority. 

 

I know he had a kind heart.  When he went into University Park he told me to take all his groceries and all his clothes and whatever else could be useful to the migrant center east of town for Sister Nancy to do with as she chose.  And I did.  I know he cared about all God's creatures and as one of God' creatures, I know he cared about me.  I know he was my friend.  And I know I will miss him.  I still reach for the phone to call him and tell him some little thing I have done that would make him  proud.  I just need to find a way to continue what we started together, but without him.

 

The migrant center is still there.  The animal shelter is still there.  So I am toying with an idea.  I need to touch a few bases and then I think I will have a way to keep Sherman J. Schroeder, Jr. alive in my mind.  Stay tuned for updates.  Sherman chose me for a reason!



The BMAC arrives from Colorado Springs
 

Just some folks visiting.

Jerry Pokorny who headed up the bikers for this trip.

Ah, the dreaded one month anniversary.

July 13.  Friday the 13th.  I think Sherman picked that day because of his wry sense of humor.  But he was right, you know.  May have been a lucky day for him, but a very unlucky one for those of us left behind to cope with the loss.Those are lilacs on his hat.  I do not remember what we were discussing when I took this picture.  I am pretty sure it was while Jeff was here.  And I am pretty sure the Lilacs were in bloom.  And that is about all I am sure of at this point.  Oh, that and the fact that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
I remember way far back when I was a kid, life was so simple.  There was no concept of what was to come.  I guess my first real taste of death was when my sister gave birth to a still born son.  The funeral was held in her front room with the tiny casket placed on the television after being carried in by the man who ran the funeral home, Jack Lamb.  I still remember the tiny face and the tiny pink hand holding the blue blanket closed.  Baby Boy Burch.  And the saddest part of the whole thing was that was just the beginning.
A friend from school and his brother in a fiery crash, aunts, uncles, in laws, out laws, brother, sister, cousins, husbands and ex husbands, friends and acquaintances, grandma's and grandpa's, clients, and the list goes on until I reach the point where I am now the Matriarch of the family and my friends are all younger than me.  No death is easy for me.  Each one touches a place deep in my soul that shall always remain raw and tender.
But I do now recognize the stages of grief; the denial, the anger, depression and finally acceptance.  I am still dealing with the first three and am sure I will finally get to number four.  And I know that there are anniversaries in life that we may not remember, but when I find myself sad for no good reason, I stop and think.  It usually comes to me.  "Oh, this is the day Mark died."  "This is the day my divorce was granted."  The happy anniversaries seem to roll by unnoticed, but the sad ones have a way of pushing to the front and calling "Pick me!  Pick me!"
And so it is today that I remember Sherman.  And to do that I must live in the past.  Just for a while anyway.  The Lilac's are gone and the hat lives in St. Louis.  And Sherman...well, in a perfect world...

www.loumercer3.com

Is it writer's block or is it just life catching up with me?

Those of you who know me, know that I lost a very dear friend and companion one week ago.  The fact that he passed on Friday the 13th did not escape my notice and indeed did bring a smile to my face and heart because it was so like he had actually chosen that day out of all the others.  He did have that sort of sense of humor.

So now I am here alone again thinking of all the questions I should have asked him about his growing up years, the years he travelled the country, the sail boat he and a friend built and sailed to Guatemala, his business in Denver, and all sorts of things.  And he had very long arms.  I wanted to measure with our elbows together to see where my fingers would end on his arm. 

This picture was taken in front of his house when his brother came to visit.  Poor dear was always cold it seemed.  I would love to tell you all about this part of my life, but I am restricted so I will just tell you this: Yes, he and I were very close and in a different time and place we would no doubt have taken our relationship to a much deeper level, but that did not happen.  We did discuss it at great length even as we knew his time on this earth was limited.  I would have been most honored to have been his wife.

But that is niether here nor there and now I must get my life back together and move on.  I want you all to know that I appreciate your patience and while moving on is not an easy task, it will be done.  This blog is my way of easing a little of the pain I feel and if I have offended anyone about all I can say is "Sorry, but he was mine, too."

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BMAC comes to visit the founding father of the club

"Band of Brothers," "Brothers of the Wheel" "Brothers of the Road", what ever you call them, today was a day of celebration at University Park Care Center here in Pueblo, Colorado.  Long known as being one of the better places in the state for long and short term care, they have now gone a step above and beyond that.  Imagine, if you can, that you are no longer in complete control of your life and are completely at the mercy of a staff that takes charge of every aspect of your every day care.  Wouldn't you like to be in a place that actually cares?

Today the staff welcomed the arrival of the British Motorcycle Association of Colorado as they made a road trip down to see one of the founding fathers of the group.  Sherman Schroeder and two of his friends founded the group in Denver, Colorado in 1983.  It was with great pride and a lump in my throat that I watched the riders coming up Desert Flower and parking along the road.  And then the bikers all came inside for a final rally with the leader.  Chocolate frosting on a white cake decorated with two motorcycles followed by a toast to Sherman, visiting and then the finale.  Sherman made his way to the front of the building along with his two brothers. The bikers then slowly rode past one by one and saluted.  And then they were gone.

There are some things that are just to hard to talk about.  Suffice it to say it was a day filled with a great deal of sadness, but also an outpouring of love that makes me know that life is indeed worth living.


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