I Like My Bike won’t be on the front page for long. If it’s gone when you get there, scroll down and hit the Earlier button. Look for the shiny, purple bike.
Thank you for your readership, comments and encouragement. You’re the best!
Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17 NIV
Ever have one of those days? Yesterday was one for me.
Worked all morning on Thursday’s serious blog post when, oh, look at that. It’s noon! And by the way, the post is mopping the floor with me. Hmm. Wonder what’s for lunch?
Stumbled to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of ambition. But I got nothing.
No caffeine in the house. No appetizing morsel awaiting me in the fridge. Blood sugar is plummeting. Approaching meltdown status.
Suddenly I felt the urge to escape. To break free from the four walls of the house. Flee from the heavy subject matter I’d been tackling. Make a run for the border. Come on, baby, drive south!
That’s it, I thought. I’ll simply escort myself out. Next thing I know, I’m in the truck driving down our friendly neighborhood street. Headed for some destination yet unknown to me.
Had I been showered and dressed I’d have gone to the mall. Where else does a Gen X girl go when in flight?
But a shower had evaded me that morning, I hadn’t even brushed my hair, and I was still wearing Monday’s outfit. Nix the mall.
How about a drive thru? Nu-uh. That would mean I’d have pick up and go home to eat alone. I was escaping, remember?
The truck, sensing my distess, turned south on a major thoroughfare.
“Ah,” I said. “I know where we’re going.”
The truck didn’t answer. It just carried me forward, meticulously obeying traffic signals all the way.
“We’re going to McDonald’s, aren’t we?” I said.
happy meal 4 me
Sure enough, we soon arrived at the Golden Arches. Three dollars and 71 cents later, I had lunch, CNN, and people watching. And no one cared about my hair or how I was dressed.
There are healthier options than a cheeseburger, like making a salad at home. More ecological means of transport than the truck, like riding that shiny purple bike. Maybe I’ll try those today. Or tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow’s looking better already.
But I’m reminded how my grandparents used to take us kids to McDonald’s as a special treat. How the Happy Meal was elevated to near comfort food status.
And I for one am thankful McDonald’s will still do fine for lunch in a pinch on a day otherwise in peril.
Over the weekend, took the Mac back to the techies at the store for the data transfer. The wait was five days when we bought it. Now it’s only 48 hours. Gulp.
True, it’s been a bit of a circus hopping between two machines. Will be nice to have everything on one computer again. But I was becoming proficient.
Felt like I was commanding the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. “Uhara, pull up the photos on the Dell. Spock, hit Publish on the Mac. Beam me up, Scotty!”
Maybe it’s the anxiety of being laptop-less for a couple days that got to me. Whatever it was, last night I had the strangest dream.
I dreamed I traveled to a writing seminar where there were no computers. It was old school, the way we used to do things. Back in the 80s.
In the course of my stay, I ran out of paper. So I wrote poetry on the bed sheets in my room, folded them, and turned them in as my project. My thesis. My magnum opus. And I passed with highest honors.
Read into it what you will. It was sweet and it was mine.
Now give me back my laptop, Mac guys, before I start writing on your sheets too.
And they replied, “We both had dreams last night, but no one can tell us what they mean.”
“Interpreting dreams is God’s business,” Joseph replied. “Go ahead and tell me your dreams.” Genesis 40:8 NLT
Last night I had the strangest dream… Oh, I already said that. Enjoy Blue Lagoon’s fun 2004 cover of Matthew Wilder’s Break My Stride.
as seen at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum
Dreams by Langston Hughes (1926)
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is
a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Cindy II (not to be confused with my homegirl, the unflappable Cyndi Tew)
This post was featured by WordPress Freshly Pressed on August 31, 2011.
My friend Corey turned 40 this year and announced he would now be living as if he were half his age. I promptly decided to adopt this philosophy.
Of course there are many things I can’t do now that I could do when I was 20.
Well, I may still be able to do them. But just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.
Staying up past a reasonable bedtime? No longer a good idea. Drinking more than an occasional glass of wine? Not good either. Eating half a five-dollar pizza all by myself? No.
There are other things though. Things I haven’t done for many years that are good for me. Enter Cindy.
Cindy was my first bike, complete with a banana seat and streamers on the handle bars. A horse was not in the cards, but I could name a bike just as well.
I received Cindy way before I was 20. Probably around age five or six. I’ll never forget learning to ride that bike. How wonderful it felt to be free and go fast.
Somewhere in the murky years of high school, I gave up bike riding. And skating. And swimming. Fun things I once enjoyed. Why do we do that?
fun on ice…
Then a couple years ago, I decided to take my little boy skating at Steinberg Ice Rink in Forest Park. It was a perfect December day. He was too young to be on the ice for very long. I, however, had a ball.
We went skating again this past winter. He got the hang of balancing and moving at the same time. But all he really wanted to do was spin around in circles and fall and laugh.
We go swimming too. Although momma doesn’t always let her hair get wet, the water is like a long-lost friend.
…and in water
When my husband received a reward certificate with an option to redeem for a bike, I lobbied. I had my eye on a sleek, expensive model at Big Shark Bicycle Company in the Loop. But a free bike? We had nothing to lose.
My son was as excited as I was when the bike arrived in a big box last week. We unpacked it, all shiny and purple.
He helped my husband put it together. Insists I wear my helmet as we ride around the neighborhood.
When I’m with him, we go slowly. He’s still learning. When I’m alone, I fly.
Someday I hope he’ll fly beside me and know what I remember. How wonderful it feels to be free and go fast.
good night, sweetheart!
So, I’m all for just going ahead and having a good time—the best possible. The only earthly good men and women can look forward to is to eat and drink well and have a good time—compensation for the struggle for survival these few years God gives us on earth. Ecclesiastes 8:15 The Message
Be free, go fast, and meet me back here next week!
Driving this past summer between Pittsburgh and Gettysburg. Needed to stop for lunch.
Made our way off the Pennsylvania Turnpike, through a little town, and into a Pizza Hut. The buffet’s a crowd pleaser.
Sat down with our salads and slices. Remarked how this Pizza Hut was unlike any other restaurant we’d visited.
The place was decked out in Star Spangled Banner. Flags hung from the windows, the ceiling, the salad bar. All awash in red, white and blue.
salad bar
It was June 14th. Flag Day. Though it really didn’t matter. I’m a pushover when it comes to Old Glory. This was my kind of place.
Had the iPhone handy, so I snapped a couple pictures. After our meal, I walked the restaurant and snapped a few more.
Flag of Honor
That’s when I saw it. A large banner centered behind the buffet:
Flag of Honor. This flag contains the names of those killed in the terrorist attacks of 9.11. Now and forever it will represent their immortality. We shall never forget them.
Flag of Heroes
And centered on the other side, another banner:
Flag of Heroes. This flag contains the names of the emergency services personnel who gave their lives to save others in the terrorist attacks of 9.11. Now and forever it will represent their immortality. We shall never forget them.
Chilling, dignified, fearless patriotism. Alive and well in a small town pizza joint.
the wind farm
Soon we were back on the Turnpike. Green hills and forests surrounded us with billowing gray clouds overhead.
A wind farm south of the road offered the only hint of motion for miles. Low mountains rose in the distance, ahead of the quiet rain now spattering our windshield.
Picked up the iPhone again. Googled the county where we ate lunch: Somerset.
Mapped it in relation to the town in Pennsylvania: Shanksville.
Somewhere just north of us it happened. The hijacked plane plunged through these skies.
In this air, Todd Beamer prayed The Lord’s Prayer and concluded: “Are you guys ready? Let’s roll.”
There was no sign. No fanfare. No convenient off-ramp to pay respects. The highway speeded us through, leaving the place behind in the rain. We’d crossed hallowed ground and nearly missed it.
The people there will never forget. Will we?
overhead
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12 NIV
This is the first of three posts commemorating the 10th anniversary of 9.11.2001. The second post The Angry American was published on September 1, 2011. The final post If You See Something was published on September 10, 2011.
Tomorrow is my only child’s first day of first grade.
I could laugh. I could cry. I could ponder his early childhood. The day he was born. How fast he’s grown.
How much fun the years have been. How we waited so long for him and how we can’t imagine life without him now.
Lots of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends are thinking such things about their kids this time of year.
So, since many of you are already doing that, let’s do something different.
think puppies
Let’s think about puppies. Cute, but it’s not working.
How about ice cream. No.
Asparagus. No.
Chips and salsa.
Oreos.
Steak?
independence day 2010
No, no, no. Exit the food section.
Republican hopefuls for 2012. Ugh.
The Cardinals.
The weather.
Shoe shopping.
Fall sweaters.
Soap.
Bubbles.
Tears. Tears. Tears.
Captiva 2009
My friend Jenn calls this the emotional roller coaster of raising children.
Another friend Kaisa once offered this sage advice: Children are like the ocean. Go with it or you’ll drown.
So here we go. Forward march in the constant exercise of trust. God, help us. Here we go.
You will guard him and keep him in perfect and constant peace whose mind [both its inclination and its character] is stayed on You, because he commits himself to You, leans on You, and hopes confidently in You. Isaiah 26:3 AMP
Stroll through the city with me. Come on. Let’s go for a walk.
Down along the river. Across the bridge then back again. It’s early evening and quiet here. Silent compared to the bustling day.
Look up to the top ledge of a building. Under the signage, still unlit as the sun begins its descent. What are those dots against the concrete? Is that dentil molding? Decorative relief?
One dot moves near the middle. Then a flutter far right, a quiver to the left. They’re birds. Hundreds of them perched in a row across the building. Lined up one by one on the ledge.
image by wili_hybrid via flickr under creative commons license
In comes another, furiously flapping.
“Make room! Make room!” beat his wings.
And they do make room. Comfortably he is enveloped in the rest as if he’d always had a place.
Another lands. And another. One leaves, diving off the edge and lifting up. More come. Some go. Most stay.
The evening sky reaches above the building and the ledge and the ones resting. It’s filled with dots. Thousands more birds in endless, circling flight.
There are plenty of high buildings here, plenty of ledges to make for safe rows. Room enough to keep them all.
Come settle, little flying ones. Break from your wandering journeys, your weary circling and dipping and floating away. Come. Land. Many find rest. And still there is room.
“The servant reported back, ‘Master, I did what you commanded—and there’s still room.'” Luke 14:22 The Message, from a parable of Jesus
Some of you may be relieved to know tomorrow’s post is gender-neutral.
Apologies to male readers if yesterday’s post made you feel uncomfortable or left out. Always pushing the limit around here.
I’m a girl after all, but the moral still applies I think. And although I love being a girl, I love my guys too! Remember Club MOB?
Hope you’ll come back. Thanks for reading. And thank you for your support.
(Oops, there goes another undergarment pun. Forgive me. I couldn’t resist).
In Christ’s family there can be no division into Jew and non-Jew, slave and free, male and female. Among us you are all equal. That is, we are all in a common relationship with Jesus Christ. Also, since you are Christ’s family, then you are Abraham’s famous “descendant,” heirs according to the covenant promises. Galations 3:28-29 The Message
Recently one morning, I was upstairs getting dressed. Something wasn’t right. Couldn’t place it at first. Just felt different. Off-kilter.
Didn’t take long to realize it was my bra. Looked like it had a flat on one side. Upon closer inspection, it was apparent the underwire was missing from the deflated half.
How did the underwire get out? And where was it now?
image used with permission from Kim Powell
I must interrupt this saga to tell you this was no ordinary bra. No, sir. I had tired of ordinary bras months ago.
It couldn’t have been that my old bras had simply worn out. No, that couldn’t have been it. Surely I’d been wearing the wrong size and the wrong bras. I needed a professional fitting by an expert.
Two of my BFFs talked up a lingerie shop in the ritzy part of town.
“Oh, they’re good,” said Peaches ‘n Cream. “They’ll fit you perfectly!”
“And their stuff is beautiful,” said Strawberry Blonde.
“They’re expensive,” said Peaches.
image from my kitchen sink
“But totally worth it,” said Strawberry.
“At least go in and get the fitting,” said Peaches, “and buy one there.”
“Then go to TJ Maxx to buy more,” said Strawberry.
Eureka! No more wimpy straps, pinching hooks and eyes, or dull, lifeless cups. I was going bra shopping uptown.
Peaches and Strawberry were right. The shop was delicious. Beautiful, tasteful undergarments. A perfect fitting. Expensive bras. And so convenient.
My husband had been trying to convince me of the worth of my time. How much was it worth for me to drive all over the city searching for cheaper options when I could be done in one easy, albeit expensive, trip?
So I bought a bra. And I bought another. And one more for good measure. I’d never spent so much on undergarments before. I walked out confident I’d gotten it right this time. I had what I needed and was finished in less than an hour. Could I ever lead The Glamorous Life!
You can understand my brief state of shock the morning the bra blew out.
“Honey,” I said. “Can you come upstairs for a minute?”
captain underwire
“Yes?” he said.
“Did you see a thin wire thingy floating around in the laundry?” I said.
Silence.
“The underwire has escaped from this bra,” I said.
Silence. Poor man. Grew up with all brothers.
“What does it look like?” he finally said.
He retrieved the underwire from the laundry. It had mischievously punctured its encasement and slipped out. I repaired the bra best I could.
It doesn’t matter where you get it, how it comes to you, or even how much it costs you. What matters is how it holds up. How it does its job. How true it is to its purpose. The moral of the story? You’re sunk without a firm foundation.
“These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. Rain poured down, the river flooded, a tornado hit—but nothing moved that house. It was fixed to the rock.” Matthew 7:24-25 The Message, from a parable of Jesus
Michael Card sings the timeless hymn How Firm a Foundationwith a Celtic twist. Someone called Beanscot set the song to pictures with an American twist. Melodramatic, but let yourself watch. You may end up teary-eyed like I did.
Standing in line last week to board a plane to Nashville. Gee, I thought to myself. That voice sounds familiar.
Turned around to see none other than Steven Curtis Chapman. We were on the same flight!
Might not have recognized him except for his voice. I’d heard his voice in an interview on Joy FM earlier that morning and a thousand times before. Added up, I’ve been listening to this man sing for 20 years.
The line was moving fast and soon he was out of reach. I’ll look for him on the plane, I thought.
That didn’t happen either because I found a front row seat. I happily spent the short flight sitting between a man who slept the entire time and a lovely 84-year-old woman who recounted to me her adventures traveling the world with her late husband. She may get a post of her own.
But before the plane took off, I updated my Facebook status: Steven Curtis Chapman is on my flight to Nashville!
When we deplaned an hour later, I figured I’d lost my chance to speak to him. Then I turned on my iPhone to check messages. A dozen excited Facebook comments popped up on my status along with a groundswell of likes.
Oh, dear. I vowed if I saw him again I would speak to him. I had to. For the team. And I got my chance in baggage claim. Yes, he carries his own luggage.
The businesswoman in me firmly shook his hand while the fan in me gushed and giggled. He was so gracious, so unpretentious, so normal.
Who among us cannot relate to the story of his songs and the story of his life? Love. Grace. Salvation. Adoption. Triumph. Tragedy. Grief. Mercy. Renewal.
(1990) Tomorrow morning if you wake up and the sun does not appear, I will be here.
(1992) Go on and say what you need to say while it’s still called today.
(1996) But when it all comes down, you know it all comes down to the walk.
(1999) So sink or swim I’m diving in.
(2004) You spoke and made the sun rise to light up the very first day.
(2008) It’s all Yours, God. Yours, God. Everything is Yours.
(2009) Out of these ashes, beauty will rise.
(2011) Do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you.
on 2nd ave north
Keep singing, Mr. Chapman. The team’s listening and loving every word.
He has given me a new song to sing,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see what He has done and be amazed.
They will put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40:3 NLT
Hmm, what video to link up here. You choose: Dive or Do Everything or both. How’s that for interactive?
St. Louis area readers may like to know Steven Curtis Chapman will be singing in our city on October 13th. He will be joined by special guests Andrew Peterson and Josh Wilson. At time of publication only a few tickets remained. Get thee to joyfmonline.org quick.
image used with permission from Dan Dreyfus, dreyfusphoto.com
Life on the blog is life on the wild frontier. Bring your bravado. There’s no established etiquette, no paved roads, and often no rules.
How many posts per week? One, two, seven? How long should they be? There are no rules.
Should every post be announced on Facebook or is that annoying to your friends? What about your friends who only know about a post if you announce it? Should you ask them to subscribe? There are no rules.
What about RSS feeds? You can’t see them. How do you know you can trust them?
What about a Facebook page for your blog? Rihanna’s page has more than 42 million likes. What’s the harm in suggesting your kemosabes like yours? What good is it if you never reach 42 million? There are no rules.
Should you tweet? What qualifies me, a lone ranger, to have a Twitter account? What qualifies me to have a blog? There are no rules.
Speaking of lone ranger, should you join a blogging network? Seems helpful to form alliances with fellow cowpokes, but this desperado is right fond of her freedom. Will a network support or hinder it? There are no rules.
image used with permission from Winsdown Farms, winsdown.com
What if someone knowingly borrows your ideas or words without a link back, credit or notification? Should you challenge the outlaw to a shootout at sundown? Hope they ride off into the sunset never to copycat again? There are no rules.
What about photos? WordPress suggests using your own pictures or grabbing photos off the net and crediting sources. Copyright, anyone?
We drive on into the unknown for love of the great wide open. For breathtaking sunsets on the edge of civilization. There’s a lot to learn. Some of it we make up as we go. Have to because the landscape itself is in a state of flux.
image used with permission from Dan Dreyfus, dreyfusphoto.com
So sidle up to the saloon and raise a toast. To the west, young woman, as far as this horse will take you.
By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. Hebrews 11:8 NIV
Happy trails, pardners. Before you go, check out Don’t Fence Me In by David Byrne of Talking Heads. You may find yourself humming it all weekend long.
Special thanks to my friend Kari for use of the photos of her beautiful horses.
Visiting with one of my professor friends last week when she asked if my six-year-old could tie his shoes yet.
“No,” I said. “And it’s because of that blasted velcro.”
She heartily agreed. Her child, the same age as my son, can’t tie his shoes either. They haven’t had to learn. All their shoes are strap-on-and-go velcro or pull-on-without-socks Crocs.
We reminisced like a couple of centenarians.
“We didn’t have the luxury of velcro.
“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know how to tie my shoes.”
“These kids nowadays have it so easy.”
We laughed at ourselves and decided the boys will learn before adulthood to tie their shoes. Probably before year’s end. Pulling the bunny ear through the hole seemed to come so naturally to us. It won’t mystify our children forever.
Four days later, I entered the Apple store with my husband and our helpless child who can’t tie his shoes.
It was time for a system update. Our PC was gasping its final cyber breaths. You PC people are cringing as you read this. Don’t blame me. It was the intuitive, irresistible brilliance of the iPhone that lured me back to Mac.
Our state was having a tax-free weekend so the store was packed. When our turn came, I proceeded to ask elementary questions of the young, hip salesperson like, “Well, how do I make my email come up when I click the button that looks like the postage stamp?” and “Can’t you download all that stuff for me?”
angry bird
Then I remembered my child. He was no longer standing with us. Momma Bear panic kicked in. My head turned frantically in search of him. Where was my cub?
Within two seconds I had a visual. My cub had hooked himself up at an iPhone display where he was doing major damage on Angry Birds.
Happy as a clam. Oblivious to things like time and space and parents. Adeptly navigating the technology alone.
So he can’t tie his shoes. He’ll learn. Today there are bigger fish to fry.
“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:18 NIV
Ever feel like the technology’s taking over? So did I. Back in 1983. Hang on to your time machine. We’re going old school. Very old school. Presenting the rock opera (my son loved watching this by the way) Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.
