Look Ma, No Hands! A Bike Riding Adventure.

The news of the weekend is that Court finally learned how to ride her bike. I've met with much resistance when I tried to convince her to ride in past. This is one of the few times I've allowed her to win a battle, mostly because I remember the awful crashes that I experienced when trying to learn to balance and ride as a kid. Of course my failed bike riding attempts resulted in several nasty falls, one of which left me and a friend in her bathroom trying to superglue my broken tooth.

Just like Court, when I decided it was time to ride, my dad held the back of my Pink Panther banana-seat bike until he thought I was steady, and he would secretly let go. Every time I looked back I would crash into the door to our basement, but he never lost patience with me, we would back up and start over again.

I eventually learned how to ride very well, and I would spend hours circling the driveway, dreaming that I was competing in the Tour de France. My skills eventually improved to the point that my brother was allowed to ride with me. I think MoJo liked riding with me because he was the little daredevil of the family, and riding with me was, well...just risky.

MoJo and I cruising on "The Pink Panther"

Not that my parents were overly protective, mind you. When you grow up on a farm, there are hundreds of dangers that you're oblivious to, until you have your own children. I can remember riding on the toolbox of the tractor. No, there's only limited danger in riding on an unenclosed tractor while discing a field or cutting corn, but when I think of all the times I slept on the tractor while holding the metal grab-bar beside me - now that's scary. The good news is I survived it all, and I was always rewarded with a chocolate milk or some candy from Kingery's store at the end of the day. (Thanks Daddy, for the countless songs you sang and taking me with you. I loved every minute.)

Okay, so watching Court transform from barely keeping her balance to whizzing through the parking lot made me feel a little poetic. I'm not sure why, or how this haiku popped into my head, but it suddenly came into my thoughts and there was no shaking it. So here it is, in all of its glory:

She bikes rather fast
legs pistoning up and down,
one crash not the last.

I've promised Court that our first road trip will be to the library that is less than a mile from our house. There is very little traffic, and it's a flat ride so it should be nice and safe. Well, safe compared to riding farm equipment.

A Selective Eater Converted by Science, AKA the Stinky Pee Story

My daughter certainly inherited my picky eating habits, but I've discovered the sure way to make her try something new. It's as simple as turning it into a science experiment. Well, it has to be a little more than a science experiment, there has to be a certain level of "grossness" associated with the consumption of any new vegetable.

Spring was a big deal for me this year because it is the first year I've harvested the organic asparagus I planted almost 4 years ago. For those of you who don't know, it takes a few years before you can enjoy the fruits of your labor (and some of you insist I have no patience). I could have broken off some spears last year, but my husband mowed them down when he thought they were a particularly aggressive weed sprouting in the backyard. Although the harvest was delayed another year, it was certainly worth the wait. These are the sprouts from one of the crowns before they made it to the table.


But I digress...

This story isn't about the patience required to grow asparagus, but about the unique odor produced by the urine of about half those who eat the yummy vegetable. And that brings me back to my daughter, the picky eater, who will eat anything if I promise the chance that a foul odor might result. When you factor in that "hypothesis" is her new favorite word, we had a ready-made science experiment waiting to happen. Court predicted that "her pee would smell terrible because mom's does when she eats asparagus, and if 50% of people are affected with "stinky pee" then certainly her chances were improved greatly."

I know you're dying to know the results, right? After 3 spears of asparagus, Court did produce the "stinky pee" she expected. The snickering on the other side of the bathroom door told me the answer long before the announced, "EEEEEEEWWWWW!!!!!!!!" at the top of her lungs.

I didn't have the heart to break it to her that there are conflicting studies that say we are all "excretors" of the by-products of the breakdown of asparagusic acid, therefore we all produce "stinky pee" and that the defining characteristic may be that only some of us are "perceivers" who can smell the odor. If she knew this, surely Court would have requested a controlled study comprised of all the members of our family. Sounds like the perfect excuse to expand the asparagus patch this fall!

In the Words of Willie: On the Road Again

After 10 years of driving over 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, it occurred to me that the car is my secret place. My conservative estimate is that I've spent 6240 hours, or 260 days, in the car on the the way to and from work or customers. And believe me, when I say that is a conservative estimate, I'm not counting the last 8 months that I've commuted to Raleigh and I only factored 4 days of work per week, and no personal driving. I have one friend who says I should have wheels under my feet, and there are times when I should.

How many times have I explained to people that I have a one-way commute 1.5 hours from sleepy little SW Virginia to Greensboro? I'm always met with a look of shock and disbelief, often I'm peppered with questions - "Why?" and "How can you STAND it?" To answer those questions, I have to start from the beginning.

As a child growing up in SW Virginia, my source of excitement was a trip to Roanoke on the weekend. If I was really lucky, my mom and grandmother would take us out to eat at K&W. That's right, think blue hair and walkers, think cafeteria food, and the prune faced ladies asking, "Help you?" in their scratchy smoker voices.

Nannie had a Big Bird yellow 1978 Toyota Corolla that took us there and back with two bottles of hot Pepsi (Nannie always preferred her Pepsi hot and flat) and sweaty legs sticking to the vinyl seats. Those Roanoke trips often included a doctor visit for Pop or Nannie, and if I was good we would stop at K-Mart and I would ride the horses out front and get to pick out a toy. I can still remember riding with the windows down, and the little car humming along at no more than 55mph because it wasn't capable of doing more. That car is still keeping the roads hot after no less than three accidents, all of which involved another car hitting "old yeller." How can you hit a yellow car? How could you not see a yellow car?



Mom finally let go of Nannie's prized car, and sold it to a guy she works with, who promptly cleaned it and put new wheels and tires on her. It's a real sight to see that car still making memories for another family.

So that was how it started, it was in my blood, the love of road trips and the need to see things outside of my little hometown. When it was time to go to college, I wanted a place that was far enough away that I could come home when I wanted, but just far enough that mom and dad wouldn't feel the need to visit. I settled on Greensboro College, which allowed freshmen to have a car on campus. Oh JOY! My first car!

After a lot of searching, my dad wanted me to get a 1989 Pontiac Grand Am, but I wouldn't hear of it because it was an automatic, and I had to have a 5 speed. Guys dig chicks who drive 5 speeds - right? I spotted a blue 1988 Honda Accord that was just what I wanted, well almost what I wanted because it didn't have air conditioning, but I was willing to overlook that. After a lot of convincing by the salesperson that a Honda "would give good service", dad gave in and it was waiting in the driveway when I came home from college orientation. There was only one little, itsy, bitsy problem...I couldn't drive a manual transmission...yet.

And thus began my driving adventures: I went backwards and forwards in the driveway until I was comfortable with the clutch, then through town as I practiced starting on various hills, discovering that I could make it home from my friend Tim's house in less than 10 minutes if I pushed it through all of the turns over 919, that a 88 Accord can do 124mph when it's held wide open, and that wreckless-driving tickets suck.

Some things haven't changed - I still drive a manual transmission, the Honda Accord became an Acura TL, I still like to drive fast, and I still get speeding tickets. The difference is that my driving now serves more of a purpose than getting me from point A to B. Being on the road is my therapy, my alone time, where I sort out my thoughts and make all of my life decisions. Why do I choose to spend 3 hours a day in the car? The answer is simple - it's my outlet and I love it because I can walk through the day's events, enjoy precious memories, and daydream about the future.

Over the last 3 months, I've realized that I'm missing a part of the equation. What good is a thought, memory, or dream if it isn't shared? So somewhere between work and family, I'm going to share the thoughts that come to me in the car. You can expect to read almost anything, from books and music, to random thoughts, and possibly me ranting about other drivers.

Driving Pet Peeve #1: If that's you riding in the "hammer lane", as my dad calls it...get out of the way when you see a car is faster than you.