Interesting Facts For The Day

I learned some things today which may be surprising:

A) I like riding on the back of a Harley Davidson "Fat Boy" on Michigan back roads in early fall;

B) Motorcycle riders use a sign language (of sorts) to communicate and say "hello fellow motorcycler, nice to see you, hope you are having a nice motorcycle ride;"

C) It is wise to keep a spare ponytail on hand while motorcycling about in case the one on your head gets lost;

D) Turning corners on a motorcycle is all about leaning; and

E) Per today's analysis, Eaton Rapids has the cutest downtown (if you don't count the historic Mason courthouse with the cannon out front, donated from Cuba in 1900, because the courthouse feature gives Mason an unfair advantage).

That's right- you are reading correctly- I went for a longish motorcycle ride today. I'd call it a bike ride, which may be the correct technical parlance, but then my chickens would think that I rode my purple non-motorized bicycle (named Trixie) to all of those places and everyone knows I am not in good enough shape to do such a thing as the last time I rode my bicycle to Lisa's house in East Lansing her sister had to drive me (and Trixie) home.

I LOVED the motorcycle ride. It was just like riding Trixie but without the strenuous peddling that goes along with Trixie adventures. Being on a motorcycle (as the passenger) was actually quite similar to riding on a waverunner (which I LOVE) but without the joy of knowing that if you fall off you will, at worst, do an uncomfortable belly flop. I was told that people do not fall off of the back of motorcycles, however, like they sometimes do off of the back of waverunners.

Something I've been paying more attention to as I get older: the things that we have dismissed out-of-hand when we were younger (like joining a motorcycle gang) may have been made upon false assumptions and, perhaps, the judgment of others which in turn influenced us. It makes sense to try new things as we are older, because we just might find that they are fantastic.

No Mom, I am not actually going to join a motorcycle gang. Yet. :)

Scarlett

Tonight I had dinner with Scarlett. She is five. She asked me "are you married?" I said no. She then asked "did your husband have enough of you and marry someone else?" Scarlett's mother and I had to cover our mouths to keep her from seeing our laughter (because she was seriously asking!). Her mom then talked about divorce, and Scarlett said "oooooooh. So you have a party and say goodbye to each other?"

If only life were that simple! :)

The Grandpuppy

This is the puppy that Morgan hid under her bed for days.

He's cute, isn't he?

On My Need To Explore

Look closely at this picture, and you will see L'Tour Eiffel in the background (that's about the extent of my psuedo-French. Ash had to translate for me while in Paris, except for crepe ordering, which I was able to master. Oh, a crepe with sacre et buerre sounds LOVELY right now. As a side note, it is hard to be a non-French speaking vegetarian in Paris. I ended up with a fair amount of fromage). The other picture is in Scotland (boy was it cold that day). I love exploring and wandering, even though I get lost and cannot find my way back to my hotel. Walking around and exploring new places is one of my favorite things to do.

My brother and my sisters also have the need to travel and explore. I assume that this stems from the fact that we moved back and forth from Virginia to Arizona every year as kids? Who knows. All I know is, I feel odd when I do not have a suitcase partially packed. It is part of my inside nature. I think thati s why I am able to live far from home but still see my family regularly- getting on a plane, even on short notice, is second nature to me and I have a system down pat- right down to the airport parking areas which make it easiest to go to and fro.

I was in Salt Lake City last weekend. San Francisco not long ago. I feel like I traveled all summer, but at the end of the day I really just went to Chicago about 18,000 times for various reasons. I was in New Orleans in May. Hmmm. Do I need an overseas trip now? What will be next?

On Being An Orphan At Age 62

My mom was the youngest in her family of five kids, and the only girl. Needless to say, she was spoiled. Adored. Loved. Given sparkly red shoes, even when her father couldn't afford them. When visiting her family in southern Arizona as a little girl myself, I remember my mom being the center of attention, still, as the family "baby." This, despite the fact that she had been long married with babies of her own. As my cousin announced at her brother (my Uncle Jim)'s funeral a few years ago: to Jim, my mom was perfect.

Her brother Neal died when he was seven- long before my mom was born. Her brother Merlin died of cancer a few years ago. Then, Uncle Jim. Not long ago, Jim's wife, Aunt Edna, passed away too. This week, her last living sibling, Uncle Tom, passed away. His funeral is tomorrow.

My mom told me today that she feels like an orphan. She is 62.

I can scarcely imagine her loneliness. I can't stand imagining the pain of my cousins.

I once deposed a man who was in his 90s. I questioned him about his daily activities; friends who stop by, things he does to stay busy. He told me that when you are 90 you have to start crossing names out of your address book, one by one, as your friends pass away. And then he sang me a song. "Blue Skies," I think.

I visited Dave's grave tonight, and placed a week-long candle to mark the three year anniversary of his death. While there, I laid on the grass and talked to him a bit. I gave him crap for his fast driving (someone's gotta chastize him), talked to him about work, and thanked him for making sure that I always took the Arizona depositons so that I could see my family. At the end of the day, folks, that's what we have. Our family. Our moms, dads, brothers and sisters. Our children. Our closest friends (who are the family we choose).

I love you Mom, and you will never be an orphan. You still have us, and we will never let you be alone.

Groceries For One

For the first time that I recall, I bought groceries for one.

It felt lonely and strange.


A lot feels lonely and strange all of a sudden.

Love You Forever

My girls will always know me for the following four sentences:

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be

These lines come from one of the best books ever written (really). As you know from my previous blog, I like to read, and I read a lot. Hands down, this book is head and shoulders above. I won't give away the story, but you should read the book. My girls loved making me read it to them when they were small (and big) because there was (and still is) not a single time that I could get through without crying. The story is simple. It is profound. And it is wise to re-read it every once in a while to remind oneself that life is short, children grow, our parents age, and life will never be as precious and important as the very moment we are in, right now.

And So It Goes

A few years ago, I was asked about my hobbies. Keep in mind, I was a single mother of two, held a demanding full time job, and I barely found time for sleep- let alone hobbies. When asked about hobbies, I acutely remember that I thought for a moment, stalled for time, hemmed and hawed, and couldn't come up with an answer for what seemed like an awfully long while. Finally, I shyly admitted that the only thing I have consistently spent significant time doing since I was a small child is the very hobby that used to cause other kids to think I was a dork: reading.

I love, love, love to read. I used to walk home from middle school while literally reading a book when I walked (and yet other kids walked with me. How nice of them!). My mother used to limit me to 10 library books at a time. Words, I have come to think, are the most meaningful yet fleeting thing in my life. When my girls were in high school, I realized that I had not read all of the "classics" that they would be reading, so I went to my library, found the classic book section, and read them- book by book by book. I've read so many of them, the only ones left to read look too boring to even pick up. I tried to tell my children that classic books are called classic books for a reason...because they are that good! Of course, they did not go for it and do not like to read the way that I do.

Why this post? I guess because it is time to face it: I'm a reader. That's my hobby. Always will be. Sorry, middle school friends who considered me a dork. Sorry, folks who want me to do things like love sports or knitting or watching TV or skiing. Everything has its place, but for me, reading is now and always will be my hobby.

Getting Over My Hill Phobia

My name is Kirsten, and I have a longstanding hill phobia. You may be thinking that I should choose my phobias more wisely, limiting them to, say, nuclear war - or even spiders. But, since I was a kid I have really, really disliked hills. I would not roller skate on them. I did not like to ski down them. Driving on them- well, that creeped me out beyond belief.

That said, you can imagine my secret worry during a recent trip to visit a friend in San Francisco. The Bay Area (as it seems to be called by Those In The Know), it turns out, is awash with hills. Steep hills. That one has to walk down and drive up. I was pretty worried that I would appear like a two year old when I expressed my fear of hills, but luckily I have an understanding friend who only laughed secretly inside when I told him about it. And then he decided maybe he should try to help cure it.

Hmmmm, I thought. As we drove up and down hills. As I held on to his car seat and tried to carry a conversation which did not sound like I was focusing solely on the hills. Finally I blurted out that I hated hills. I imagined cars losing brakes and careening out of control down, down, down.....

Then he took me on a cable car ride up a very steep hill. At first I was, per protocol, freaked out and held tightly to the iron holder-onner-bar-thing. After a few minutes, I relaxed. The cable car did not roll backwards into poor pedestrians crossing the street, and chugged up the hill at a stable pace. We stopped at various intersections and I was able to look both forward and back, to see the hill above and below. And my phobia started to subside somewhat. In the end, I decided that I liked the cable car, and I really liked the beautiful church at the top of the hill.

I guess the moral to this post is: even 38 year olds can get over their fears and phobias. We all have them, whether big or small. Some of us (like me) have a fear of, say, getting hurt in relationships so we tend to put up walls that in effect create the very situation we fear. I'm working on that. Some of us have a fear of planting tomatoes for fear that they will all die instead of grow. I am not working on that. Some of us have a fear of hills.

At the end of the day- we can't ever conquer our phobias unless we get on the cable car and go up the hill. We need to just jump.