Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Cycling class

For several months I've been biking to work out. By biking, I mean pedaling on a recumbent bike with a built-in fan and bucket seat in front of 6 tv screens at the Y. I do pedal hard and push myself for 45 minutes and have seen good results, but I kept getting told I should try the cycling class. So I tried the cycling class. Here's what I learned:

1. I need to wear longer shorts. Flappy breezy running shorts on a bike seat is just wrong. 

2. Nalgene bottles are not any easier to drink out of while biking than while hiking. As a person who manages to choke on her own spit somewhat regularly and almost always during a church service, I need to take a water bottle that squirts. 

3. I should have left my phone in the locker room. Selfies during cycling? Texting friends? Reading books? Ha. 

4. The over fifty men were there enmasse, and they schooled everyone. 

5. Lady bits do not like bike seats. 

6. Whoever told me I could hide in the back and go at my own pace was a liar. Instructor Tom knew my name 5 minutes in and asked me, "and what's your problem?" when he caught me sitting upright with a towel around my neck. He also called me out in the last two minutes to pedal harder. 

7. There was a young girl in the front middle doing all kinds of things to her bike seat that shouldn't be done, which Joe says might explain #4. I think backs are supposed to arch like a pooping dog and not a stretching cat. I could be wrong. I'm just a newbie. 

8. I thought I was all tough, but my peak level on the recumbent bike was this class's "don't drop below" level. I also breathe like I am in labor when I exercise hard. It's a little awkward. 

9. Crunchy fruit has never been so delightful than it was after that class. Tom passed around a cooler for us, probably so we wouldn't pass out on the drive home. 

10. A cheddar style tray and milkshake from Cookout is a great way to end class!

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Tuesday Snapshots

I pulled out my Canon Rebel t4i this past weekend and can't seem to put it down. I had forgotten how much fun I have shooting with my camera as opposed to the phone. I added another round of fertilizer and Epsom salts to the tomatoes, and based on the results, I think I have over fertilized. The tomatoes themselves look pretty good, but the leaves have burned edges, spots, and are yellowing. I really hope I'm not dealing with a bacterial/fungal/disease issue, but I will move the tomatoes to a new location next summer to be sure. Instead of focusing on the dead and dying, I'm enjoying capturing the growth in the garden.


Sunday, July 27, 2014

Weekend Snapshots

The weekend still has half a day to go, but it's currently raining and I'm watching the boys carry around blanket rolls like they are babies, and I'm eyeing the growing pile of laundry in front of the stairs. Matthew and I sat out in front of the bee and butterfly corner of the garden as the storm clouds rolled in. I get antsy in the rain, because most of my summer days are spent outside in the garden or on the deck watching the boys play. I've already popped open the back door three times to see if it's let up enough to walk around outside.

Yesterday I lost track of time as I watched a single butterfly dining off the coneflowers, black eyed susans and cosmos. At one point it shared a flower with a bumble bee. Neither seemed to mind the other as they dipped their straw-like tongues down and walked in circles around the prickly, golden center.

At first the butterfly would drift away as soon as I leaned in close to take a picture, but after awhile I was able to touch its legs and try to get it to crawl onto my finger.

I freely admit that I'm a nature stalker. I'll happily sit in bug spray and sweat, step barefoot in the dirt, and be prickled by the squash leaves in the name of a good view.

I bought a second, smaller feeder for the humming birds so we could see them while on the deck. The okra and rose bush have grown so tall that we can't see the other one anymore without straining for a view. Within a few hours, the new feeder was appreciated.

The boys don't always take interest in the same things as I do, but I love watching them exploring and interacting with the back yard. When I send them out to play, they usually don't stay long, but if I'm out there with them, they will happily find things to do.

The start of school is now less than a month away, and though the days are still long and hot, I can feel change is coming.

Friday, June 20, 2014

On falling off the face of the earth

I had never before seen such a vast expanse of bricks. My school prided itself in its endless supply, but it wasn't in the brickyard that I was first overcome by the feeling. I was walking down the street in front of the health center with its fairly new construction and not yet matured trees. I looked up at the sky and for a moment feared that if gravity were to stop, I would just fly off the face of the earth with nothing to grab a hold of on my way out. I grew up surrounded by mountains, large trees and rolling landscapes, and here on this flat scab of earth, I felt completely vulnerable. If you think about it, given the earth is round and assuming it were completely smooth, if gravity were to cease, we'd all float off in a different perpendicular trajectory. We'd never cross paths forever and ever.

The image reminds me of the scene in C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce where the bus makes a stop at a town (aka Hell) where people have allowed their quarrels and needs drive them farther and farther from one another:

"They've been moving on and on. Getting further apart. They're so far off by now that they could never think of coming to the bus stop at all. Astronomical distances. There's a bit of rising ground near where I live and a chap has a telescope. You can see the lights of the inhabited houses, where those old ones live, millions of miles away. Millions of miles from us and from one another. Every now and then they move further still."

It is so easy to lose that common force that binds me to community with others. Were I never to reach out for connection, I could simply drift on forever and ever. Some days I feel that. But that's what friendship and family are for -- to pull your balloony string and bring you back to the bunch.

Another image I've tossed around since my grandparents passed on was that as a child I've grown up in a dense forest where my grandparents were the tallest trees of the canopy, my parents and their brothers and sisters were the next, and the children are safe to develop their roots in the understory. When Popsy told me I'd be fine as I prepared to leave for college, I believed him. I'd be fine. Yet, as each generation passes, new trees are thrust into the sunlight to be the shade for the others. There is nothing shielding them from the face of the earth and rest of the universe. There's so much responsibility and wisdom, although I imagine the view is amazing.

The transition into adulthood and then parenthood (or have I come about these in reverse?) has been a bit like falling off the face of earth. I fear growing up and growing out and seeing the taller trees give way to wind and time and lightning strikes. This past week I rested in the shade of my parents, and it was so good. I don't want my kids to grow to tall too quickly, and I want to be strong and tall for them. I certainly don't want to wind up as that lone tree in an open grassy field. I've always found them lovely and yet devastatingly sad.

I blame this mood on one of my favorite duos Harrod and Funck. Last week, I pulled out the cd player and Matthew and I danced together like we were the only ones in the world. Yet this song moves me, not to dance but to close my eyes:

"All Fall Down"

We haven't forgotten a thing,
But let's not kid ourselves these days.
We let years go by once again
For moon and monkeyshine and masquerades.
From quietly shedding our youth
All the blame and that hawking about truth.
Finding we're dissatisfied,
Renouncing the doubts of the night in the clear dawn.

There's a far-away look in your eye,
It's behind the lines of the second page.
It's like reading some poet sublime
And your life 'til now was just commonplace.

Rewrite, rehearse, and repent.
You've gone over it again and again.
Aching to march in parades.
You bump shoulders behind barricades in a sea of faces.

And so it goes, all fall down.
Could this planet hold a place for you?
When the tide creeps in all around
Take a knee-deep breath or two.

Did your family teach you everything
About the in-betweens of grace and shame?
Go, run and sound the alarm,
'Cause it's wearing off like novocaine.

Awake enough to recognize
It's a bore when your heart's vandalized
By the ones who smile and say, "that's the breaks,"
And the see-you-later-but-you-know-I-did-love-you embrace that you've grown used to.

And so it goes, all fall down.
Could this planet hold a place for you?
When the tide creeps in all around,
Take a knee-deep breath or two.

Well, we haven't forgotten a thing
But we won't kid ourselves this time,
Because love's the show, it won't ever fold;
Around town it seems like everyone knows it'll raise the sky....It'll blow the sky.

Friday, May 30, 2014

Sweet dance moves

I've been so slack about writing lately. I figure there is some form of writer's block holding me back, so here goes an attempt at moving past it. If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know I have no shame when it comes to laying out personal struggles with faith and identity, but when it comes to the kids, I'm increasingly tight-lipped about what I write. Right now with summer upon us, they are my world, so there isn't much else to share. Preschool ended a week ago, and kindergarten ends in another two weeks. I'm desperately trying to slow down time and not wish any of it away. We spend our hours in the yard and garden and at parks, and there isn't much time for writing other than short shares here and there and a bombardment of photos. I tend to default towards humor, because it feels safe. It's hard to be accused of either complaining or bragging when you toss out some self-deprecating statements and share how awkward your family is.

But the truth is, I'm smitten when these kids. I'm in awe of their growth over the past year and incredibly thankful for the love they share as brothers. These are the precious years when the innocence and lack of shame gets to be protected and carefully guided. For instance, we went to a beach music concert at North Hills, and my oldest was attempting to lift the youngest like a ballerina or figure skater, and simultaneously grabbed him under the arm and by the crotch. After this happened twice to chuckles around, I called him aside to redirect the dancing and why he shouldn't keep doing it - not just because he was risking a busted noggin from a failed lift attempt. It was absolutely adorable and absolutely something I didn't want him repeating on the playground at school. Of course, I didn't want to crush him or shame him or make a big deal of it. He took it well and went on with his flying pirouettes.

They have confidence I have never possessed. Never ever would I have gotten up in front of the people gathered on the plaza to show my sweet, sweet dance moves, and especially not before the music had actually started. But that's my boys. They feed off each other's goofiness and energy. By the end of their performance, complete with twirls, leaps, the "crab dance", and break dance floor spin, the band was playing and the middle and late aged women in cropped chinos and button-downs chased them off the dance floor with their synchronized, beer sloshing  rendition of the electric slide, not before the oldest got tripped over and left defeated in tears. I believe confidence only lasts until 6:45 in the evening or until someone with sweeter dance moves brings a dose of self-awareness.


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