From Here to There

"Skipping is oxygen for the soul." -- Jessi Lane Adams

If you hang around young children, you get to see them skip...from Point A to Point B, skipping is most definitely the preferred mode of locomotion.  

Children can't seem to help it.  

The joy in having these amazing bodies, the zest for living each and every day in this land of wonder and amazement, the natural predilection for fun no.matter.what requires skipping.

The young child is proud of himself.  

It's quite an accomplishment to maneuver that body up and down in a dancing sort of way.  

Smiles just must accompany the movement.

But up around age 7, kids start to notice that adults aren't skipping much.

These readers, writers, monkey bar enthusiasts can't help but slow it down.  It's unintentional, of course, growing up always is...but the average 7 year old doesn't skip as often as her kindergarten friends...except on the soccer field, it seems.

Maybe it's the wide open grass, 

or the companionship of friends, 

or just the joy of a Saturday of exercise and cheering and fun --

I don't really know what triggers it but the skipping just happens.

I cherish the skip onto the playing field...because I know it won't last long.

This bridge from young child to older child isn't a long one and the skipping seems to slow way down as they move across it.

I mentioned it today as I watched my baby girl skip out onto the field after a quarter of rest.

I said out loud, "I love the skipping," to a mom next to me.

Her one and only child was right next to mine on the field.

She paused as if noticing it for the first time.

"I know," she said.  "They love to skip."

Her daughter's in third grade...that much farther across the bridge. I mentioned that it wouldn't last long.  That skipping was a territory in the Young Child Kingdom and that the Older Child Realm wasn't too partial to that form of movement.

As if seeing it for the first time, she pointed out the others.

Three kids from the other team skipped in a staggered line onto the field.

Another one of our little team-mates from the Blue Lightning skipped her way onto midfield.

On the field, impatient to get kicking, little girls couldn't help it...their bodies were dancing and wiggling and giggling and joy-filled.

This tiny window of time is so precious.

And such a reminder.

Our bodies are pretty damn awesome.

Why don't we skip more?

Can you imagine Obama and the rest skipping around D.C.??

Yeah, me neither.

Why??

They have sucked the joy right out of that town.

How about those poor people in Syria?

How about Putin?

Skipping is free.

It takes no equipment.

You don't need to be fluent in a language, literate or know any rules to the game.

You can do it anywhere -- although wide open spaces do actually beg for it.

So why aren't we doing it??

Because we're all a little weighted down.

You need to have a light heart, a real ability to live in the moment and a sense of joy.

Young children carry those things in their back pocket.

Adults, not so much.

So, today I'm grateful for the skipping.

Grateful to the young children who do it on a daily basis.

Grateful to be reminded that I have a healthy body, a joyful life and the chance to skip.

You'll find me skipping around the block and if I'm really brave, I won't even have a kid next to me.

Why not?

I could use the joy, the lift and the fun.

Who's with me??

Happy Underwear

"Think big thoughts but relish small pleasures."

-- H. Jackson Browne

I'm going to share a little secret.  

In fact, it's so good, I kind of want to make my own line of it, trademark it, sell it at Target and make every woman's day. 

Ready??

How do you start your day?

I have one guaranteed, sure-fire, way to make your very first moments of the day good ones.

Happy underwear.

No, I'm not joking.

Don't make fun.

Give it a try.

Get an "A" for effort -- go out and find yourself some happy underwear.

Now, I'm not talking sexy underwear.

Although I think we can make the argument that happy can be sexy.

I'm talking underwear that is comfy, perfectly yours and super cute.

When you see those undies in your drawer, you smile.

When you see them in your laundry basket, you can't help it...you just have to fold them up and tuck them away for that great day called tomorrow.

Trust me, 

when you put on happy underwear, 

you can't help it...you get happy.

I just went out and found some more happy underwear...heck, if the kids get new school shoes, the least we can do for ourselves is to find a few new pair of cute, comfy undies.

They weren't expensive.

No, I didn't find mine at Victoria's Secret...although I won't judge you if that's your spot.

I just want every woman to have some happy undies.

Your spouse will thank me.

Your kids will thank me.

Why should the toddlers have all the fun?

It's a simple pleasure and one that can really make a big difference.

If you put on something that makes you feel like a frump, well, then, I guess you give off that frump vibe and you feel like a frump all day long. 

It doesn't even matter how cute that outfit is.  

I can do simple arithmetic.

Frumpy undies + cute outfit = zero.

And, if you're really sad, well, that's OK, stick with some sad undies for awhile...

but, just so you know, there's no downside to happy undies.

I've been on the happy undie bandwagon for years -- decades even.

Life is way too short to have boring undies.

Toss out the utilitarian neutral-colored blah guys.

Anything with snags, (God forbid) holes, extra strings or bad spots must go.

Go ahead.  

Find the time.

 Get some happy underwear and have yourself a great day.

Even you ladies sporting a burqa...bust out for the happy undies.

You can thank me later. :)

Tender Mercies

"Happiness isn't complicated.  

It is a humble state of gratitude for simple pleasures, tender mercies, recognized blessings, and inherent beauty." 

-- Richelle E. Goodrich

Today was a happy day.  

It included nothing expensive...in fact, it was free.  It was filled with inherent beauty that's for sure.  

Simple pleasures were abundant.

I counted more than several blessings and one tender mercy..but that's a story for later.

In my local paper I had read about a man who grows two acres of zinnias and offers them free to anyone who can pick them.  His one caveat: for every bouquet you pick for yourself, you must pick another one and leave it at the zinnia patch.  The bouquet left behind is for someone who cannot pick it for themselves -- maybe they are in the hospital or a nursing home.  The farmer has the pick up and drop off all lined up.  All you have to do is fill the empty vase...with his freshly picked flowers.

Like some sort of Bobby Flay "Throw Down", a proposal like that is irresistible.

We set off for the zinnia patch.

Anyone know California's state motto?  Eureka!
(aka: We found it!)

We picked.  We wandered.  We stared at the wildlife that hangs out in a flower patch: hummingbirds, spiders, lizards, butterflies, dragonflies...the list goes on and on.
We gathered zinnias and then gathered some more.
We marveled at the varieties.

We were all alone in a patch of flowers...thanks to one man's joy in simple pleasures.
And who exactly is that simple pleasure for?
Me? A mother looking for something fun to do during the summer?
My kids? Who need waaaaaaaay more time spent wandering flower patches, exploring nature and being in the quiet outdoors.
My sister? Who was looking for a place to hang out with her kids.
Her kids? Who love to explore.
Maybe it's the people who are going to get our extra bouquet...stuck in a hospital room or nursing home with a burst of the beautiful outdoors gracing their room.
Maybe it's for all of us...just sprinkling a little more beauty in our needy world.
That's the power of an act of kindness.  It just doesn't stop.
My bouquet gracing my kitchen table just puts my whole family into a zinnia kind of mood: vibrant, joyful, sparkly, unstoppable.  We can't help but smile...and stop and admire their beauty.

How about this beauty?

Just waiting to be picked...just beggin for a home.

I have to admire someone so willing to decorate our world...one zinnia at a time.  It challenges me to think of ways to do the same.  It reminds me of simple joys and the grace that surrounds us every single day.

Today's clouds...trying to decide which kind they were...fluffy, feathery or maybe stormy all in the same sky.

So...we got home, played florist and placed each flower in a hypnotic way into our vase and away we went.  I picked up Patrick from his play practice.  I filled my tank up with gas.  I noticed my tire was low.  So, I attempted to put air in it and I failed.  Thinking it was the air machine (it couldn't be me, could it??) I went to another gas station and tried again.  This time the tire pressure gauge was not kidding, my tire was low, really low.  I attempted to put air in again and wound up somehow letting more air out.  Can you say...really sad.

I looked up and there walking right by me was a young guy.  He was clearly on his way somewhere and moving fast.  I reached out and asked him if he knew how to put air in a tire.
Kindly, he stopped.  He didn't just do it for me, he took the time to teach me, sharing his technique of pulling the hose way out and tucking it under his foot to keep it steady. He filled my tire...checked in with me...warned me about over-filling my tires and then was on his way.
A tender mercy.
A stranger...crossing paths for only moment...but making a difference with his kindness and care.

So today was a boring old summer day.
Filled with zinnia pizzaz, kind guys willing to fill up low tires, sunshine and the freedom of summer.
Who loves summer? Yep, me...big time.
What have been your spots of sunshine this summer?

Have a Coke and a Smile

"What's great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest.  

You can be watching TV and see Coca Cola, 

and you know that the President drinks Coca Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca Cola, too.  A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking.  

All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good." 

-- Andy Warhol

I don't know about you, but where I live Coke is on the way o-u-t.

Nobody drinks it.  

Everyone shuns it.  

If you didn't know better, you'd think it had some actual cocaine in there the way people react.

Around here, children can never have a Coke.

Like chocolate decadence cake, it is hardly ever seen and rarely tasted.

It's a forbidden fruit.

I'm old school.

Yes, I still drink Coke.

(sssshhhh, keep it on the down low...because it is a serious personal flaw)

I have Coke in my fridge regularly.

I do allow children to drink it -- on occasion -- OK, every Friday night.

I'm not belittling childhood obesity.

I'm not a fan of High Fructose Corn Syrup.at.all.

I could use more exercise and could be in better shape...

but there's something about an ice cold Coke that is delish.

And lately, I've been dividing people up into two groups:

those who will have a Coke and a smile and those who don't.

When I visited my friend Beth in the hospital for the first time with her daughter Chloe, I bought her a sandwich at Subway.  I stood there in front of the drink cooler and toiled.  

Was she a Coke drinker or not?

Would she be offended if I offered her a Coke?

What would she think of me?

I chose the Coke.

Turns out I guessed right...she's a Coke drinker.

When the guy who was landscaping my backyard was sweltering under a broiling sun stood up to take a break, I offered him a Coke.  Or a water.  Both would be ice cold.

No question: he went for the Coke.

He gave me a smile.

Yes, we bonded...under the guise of Coke.

When the guy who was crawling under my house and fixing my rogue ventilation came up for air, 

I offered him a Coke.

I didn't even cringe. 

I knew he was one of us.

He guzzled that sucker so fast I felt bad...the man was parched. 

I should have asked sooner.

Turns out that Coke is a pretty great ice breaker.

It leads to conversation.

It helps a busy person to pause, take a break, and enjoy something simple.

It can definitely help strangers reach out to one another.

Just like the smiley revolution, I think passing out Cokes on a hot day might bring about serious world peace.  Or maybe it would help us see we're not so different -- that we really can stop and drink and relax together even if the only thing we have in common is the item we're drinking.

I know, I know.

Coke is bad for you.

It's bad for our kids.

We should be drinking water, or kombucha, or chai or green tea.

Or maybe milk.

I still say that it is a nice part of life.

I'm grateful for the many Cokes I've shared.

I'm grateful for the smiles.

I'm grateful for the fun times, the popcorn, the movies, the pretzels and the deliciousness that Coke brings with it.

I like the way I can break down barriers with a simple question:

"Would you like a Coke?"

More often than not, the answer is yes.

Those are my kind of people.

Come on over any time...free Cokes all around.

Joy

                                                    

Here is my joy...

 I call him prozac with fur.

Three years ago he was born...he entered my life 1023 days ago.  There has not been a single day that he didn't add a little bit of joy.  Many, many days he's added big heaping gobs of joy to my life.  As a matter of fact, my love is irrational, biased, over the top and just plain sloppy.  

I like it that way.

I'm officially one of those dog people. And guess what, my dog is one of those kinds...the one who sticks by me, follows me around the house.  Wherever I am, he is.  

Do you notice my pile of clothes in the background of this pic??

 Yeah, me neither.

That's how it goes with Buddy.

He makes it all better.

When one more piece of crap piles on an already bad day and my tears can't hide anymore...little padded paws come and check on me.  They don't tell me to hush.  They don't ask me to explain or need me to think.  A pair of chocolate eyes just looks at me...a wet nose nudges...this unbelievably wise and gentle soul just bears witness and comforts.  He's just there.  Present in the moment.  That alone is enough.

I want to bring him to every hurting place on our planet.  I want him to comfort sad kids, lonely old people, angst-ridden teenagers...even my crabby, weird neighbor.  But then, I wonder.  Maybe his comfort is made for me alone.  (Well, I can't leave out the rest of my family, but you know what I mean.)  Maybe dogs and our other bright spots in our day are just that...our individual, made-just-for-us-in-this-crazy-universe kind of joy.  

Maybe our dog is like our fingerprint...personal, identifying and only ours.

It's a mystery.  

One of my very favorites.  

I waited a long, long time to get a dog...too long.

I'm so very grateful for him.

Grateful for his effervescence.

Grateful for his willingness to just hang out with me day in and day out.

Grateful that somehow our worlds collided and I get to be with him each and every day.

I marvel at the sheer luck...but maybe it is something bigger.

Maybe something, somewhere, knew I needed this kind of love.

Maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be.

Buddy...

It's All Yours

"I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today.  

I can choose which it shall be.  Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet.  

I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it."  

--Groucho Marx

Enjoy Shania Twain's song: Today is Your Day! :)

Sometimes I wake up and realize I get a fresh start.  A brand new day.  No old news.  No shadows.  No expectations.  Just a beautiful new day and it's all mine.  My one and only.

When I wake up like this, I view my world through a different lens.  Even the radio blaring away seems  new.  I contemplate the morning routines that I never think about.  I change it up.  Even if my regular daily obligations are still the same, when I am like this, it is all up for negotiation.  

I ask myself...do I want to spend my day this way?  Do I want to go through these same motions?  Do I enjoy the view?  The soundtrack?  The characters in my story? Who's the villain?  Who's the hero?  Who is the mysterious stranger in the background that I never noticed?  What is the action or reaction that might change the entire trajectory of the day?

It's heady to think this way.  It's transformational.  It's all yours.

Sometimes we are in a spiral, chasing our tails.  Whenever I watch Buddy doing this, I always smile.  I think of it as a movie preview that God has just whispered to me.  What am I chasing that is already within my grasp if I would only stop and notice or view from a different vantage point?  Why am I chasing anything?  How can I simply flow like the river...using the stones in my way to make larger ripples...more beauty...better sound?  How can I act like water...expanding and contracting as needed? 

I marvel at the opportunity a new day brings.  Strangers crossing my path, old friends, family, and the regulars.  You know them.  They're the dry cleaning the lady, the mailman, the neighbor who always walks her dog the same time you do, the guy who always checks out your groceries at the market.  These are the background notes to your symphony.  How quiet it would seem without them there...but do I ever stop to truly see them? To cherish our paths crossing? To hear their unique and vibrant notes that they bring to my daily song? I do, on days like this.

So...today is all yours.  Your one and only 4.6.13.  My one and only one too.  I'm going to cherish it.  Savor it.  Listen to great music. Dance. Love. Get curious and snuggle.  Those are my priorities.

I can change them up tomorrow -- add a few, subtract a few.

That's the beauty of today and I'm grateful for it.

Sweet Husbands

"There is no more lovely, friendly, and charming relationship, communion, or company than a good marriage."  -- Martin Luther

I watched my pregnant friend's husband rub her shoulders last Friday night.  It was tender but nonchalant...perfectly normal.  I saw an elderly man cradle the hand of his wife on his way into church.  I watched a father with a brutal work schedule smile happily as he had the rare joy of dropping his daughter off at school.  

My own dear husband texted me a note of support as I went off to San Francisco at dinner time headed to a meeting about saving ice-skating in Yosemite.  It would be hours away...through the rigamarole of homework and bedtime and little kids.  He went with it.

No sigh.

No wishing it weren't so.

Just support.

I'd like to give a shout out to sweet husbands.

They are often ignored, taken for granted and relegated to the status of ho hum.

Sit-coms like to make them look dumb.

Women's magazines like to make them seem extinct.

Plenty of commercials sell them as nerdy or inept.

It just isn't so.

They are hard working, tireless, considerate and most of all, there.

Day in -- day out -- they show up.

They are the ones with the baby in the front pack at the grocery store muddling their way through.

They are the ones who clean up the dishes, fold the laundry, hug the momma who just found lice in their daughter's hair, again, and clean up the puke.

They hold their wife's hand as they deal with a cancer diagnosis, a job loss or a phone call that makes a nightmare real.

They work hard and worry.

They are the backbone of so many families -- unnoticed and unappreciated.

Today, I am grateful for my gentle, fun-loving, encouraging husband.

He makes me a better person.

He helps me to reach for my dreams.

He tolerates my sassy weirdness and best of all, he likes it.

He makes me laugh.

His loving acceptance and encouragement have been a saving grace for me for years, 

twenty three to be exact -- but who's counting?

I don't know how to explain the supreme comfort in being loved that way but I hope for it, and pray for it, for my own children.

Here is my prayer:

Lord, please help the person they love to be generous, kind, warm-hearted and loving.

Help them to be accepting and forgiving.

Help them to find the good and hold their tongues with the criticism.  

Help them to be honest and fun.

Help them to find real love, enduring love, hopeful love.

Please...

Thank you to the husbands who love their wives and cherish their families.

Thank you to the husbands who man up and do the dirty work...whatever that may be.

Thank you to the husbands who work and work and work and then come home to work some more.

Thank you to the husbands who don't hold back...who encourage and laugh and dance and cheer.

Thank you.

You are a blessing and most definitely the definition of Grace-in-the-Ordinary. :)

Land's End, San Francisco -- March 2013

Let's Start A Smiley Revolution

"Today, give a stranger one of your smiles.  

It might be the only sunshine he sees all day." 

                                           -- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.                                             

  This...just never gets old, does it?   

I don't know who taught her this.  This smiley face tucked inside the letter "O" but I absolutely love it.  And trust me, if I could somehow place two eyes and a curvy upward smile into my computer "O" I'd be all over it.

I received this envelope just the other day -- at the end of a long day.  I perked right up with those smileys.  I started thinking about where she might have seen those decorated "O"'s and wondered who was blessing her with smileys, besides me.

Back when Patrick was in kindergarten, in 2005, I decided to travel to Sioux Falls, South Dakota for a conference for educators who believed in full inclusion in Catholic schools.  It was the first time I had ever really travelled alone and I was going to a place where I knew no one.  It was a whim.  I felt an urgent need to affirm to myself that including Patrick in our local Catholic school where our other two older children went wasn't just a nice idea.  I wanted to believe that it was happening in other places.  I wanted to meet other people who felt called to this mission of actually living what we know at our very core: all kids deserve to be educated together -- no matter how hard or uncomfortable it might make the school community.
We all deserve to sit at the table.

So, there I was on an airplane journey that had a layover and a long wait in an airport.  You should know this about me, and perhaps you do, I'm a talker.  I love to strike up conversations with strangers.  I love hearing their stories, commiserating over cold coffee or weird TSA agents or sharing the latest book I'm reading. I am comfortable making small talk, actually, I'm good at it.

So it might come as a surprise when I reveal that for two different airplane rides, one multi-hour layover in a strange giant airport not a single person made eye contact with me or made conversation with me.  It was so unnerving that on the second leg of my journey I started to have real doubts about this whole thing.

It went a little like this:
"Beth, what in the world are you doing?"
"Why are you traveling all the way to South Dakota on a lark?"
"What are you thinking leaving your three small children and your husband and just going off -- this is crazy!"

Honestly, by the end of that second plane ride I had convinced myself that if my ride to the tiny (yet gorgeous) retreat center way out in the boondocks of rural Irene, South Dakota looked at all suspicious I would just pack it all in and declare failure.

Off the plane I went searching for my ride and there he was: an older man with a kind smile holding a sign.  All it said was Welcome -- NICE Conference.  And in the center of those two letter "O"'s were, you guessed, the smiley face.  It sounds funny now but as soon as I saw those smileys I knew I was in the right place.  I knew I was with the right people and I knew it was going to be a worthwhile adventure.

All it took was that international symbol of goodwill and welcome.  The sunny smiley. :)

Seeing how the world is right now with outrageous hatred toward others of different cultures or faiths or classes I want to start a worldwide smiley revolution.

I'm not trying to be trite or trivial.

Can you imagine how powerful it would be if we all just held up signs that said "Welcome" with a smiley in the center?  How sinister can we be if we hold up signs that say "love" with a smiley tucked in there...how about the powerful "Thank you"?

I believe we could change the world with a smiley revolution.  If every single person received a smiley, regardless of status or age or wealth or race, we could change a worldwide mood of hostility and simmering anger to one of care and inclusion.

Hey...how about the word "inclusion" holding that smiley too???

Yep, we all deserve to be here.  We all deserve a smiley and while we're at it, let's throw in a heart or two.  It can't hurt and it just might help.

Your job today: pass out 10 smileys and 5 hearts to those you love.
Tomorrow pass out the same amount to strangers.
The next day: try to pass them out to those who you'd rather not give them to, those who bug you, get under your skin or make you creep out.

Imagine the ripple.

Who's in?

Happiness on Wheels

When I was in grade school I had a green Schwinn Stingray bike with a banana seat -- so cool -- it still makes me smile just saying it.  I lived in a cul-de-sac and could ride and ride the court but that was about it.  My neighborhood was hilly and not too bike friendly so I couldn't ride very far, very often.

In the summer, I'm sure out of complete exasperation with our lazy selves, my mom would give me five dollars and tell my brother and I to go play tennis and get some lunch at the local McDonald's.  We willingly went and we'd ride our bikes down to the local community college.  Brian and I would always play a heated match of tennis and more often than not I would beat him -- I am two years older after all.  Disgruntled, Brian would follow me on his bike and bang my bike fender with his racket calling me a cheater all the way to the McDonald's.  As soon as we spied the Golden Arches, the bickering would stop.  Food was involved and we needed to cooperate in order to get the most out of our $5. So, we'd order some large fries to share, a complete delicacy to both of us, cheeseburgers and cokes. All would be mended over the fries and away we would go back home.

That freedom of my bike and my brother and our adventure into maneuvering out in the world has stayed with me.  I will forever love that old green bike, long ago lost, but vivid in my memory.

When I came to UC Davis as a college student, I was thrilled.  Biking was not just a fun idea, it was a big part of college life. Here, the roads were flat, there were wide bike lanes and even special roundabouts built on campus to deal with all of the bike traffic during the hectic rush of changing classes.  I remember the thrill of going around that first roundabout with dozens of bicycles and I remember the joy in bike riding on a daily basis.

Getting around the town by bike, I relished in my freedom.  I loved my up close parking spot, my lack of traffic, and the way I felt after a ten minute ride. I knew that I needed to live this way for the rest of my life.  And, so, after a few years of married life, John and I moved back to Davis dug out our old bikes and immediately got back in the groove.

About four years ago, I got offered a job back on campus supervising student teachers after taking a seven year sabbatical to be a full time mom.  It was a small job with a small paycheck but it was soul satisfying and wonderful to be working alongside earnest, enthusiastic and energetic beginning teachers.  Receiving my first paycheck made me feel like a kid again.  I suddenly had "my" money. It wasn't really enough to have it do something important but I wanted to be careful otherwise I might just fritter it away by putting it into my regular account and paying for the dry cleaning, groceries or hot lunches with it.  I wanted to find something special to do with it.

One fall day, I was walking downtown and noticed a slew of bikes on display for the new students at UC Davis.  They were a colorful line of beach bikes: purple, polka dotted, striped, candy apple red and sunshine yellow.  I couldn't help but smile and think of the many new students experiencing their own joy of the roundabouts, the freedom of bikes and the adventure of college and being on your own for the first time.  In the middle of that inviting line up I saw her: my dream bike.  She was sky blue with daisies.  I knew that was my bike in an instant and I wanted to take out my credit card and take her home.  But, I stopped myself.  This was going to be my special something to remember this special job.  Every month, I would steal a little money away and save it for the big purchase at the end of the year.  Every few weeks or so, I would walk by "my" bike and admire her.  I would stop and notice which ones were gone.  The yellow one with daisies was missing now along with the green polka dotted one.

Winter and the rains came and went but those bikes stayed outside serving as both a reminder and a temptation.  In the spring, Caroline was toddling around and I knew we could both go bike riding.  So, in celebration of my May girl, I took my secret stash of cash and walked down to my favorite bike store.  I walked right in and didn't spend a second looking.  I told them I was ready to buy a bike and showed them my old friend.  The store owner looked at me and said, "All year I've been waiting to see who would buy that bike.  That's our one and only blue daisy bike and they just stopped making it.  You're getting a treasure."  I smiled and agreed, knowing we were meant to be.  They outfitted me with a baby seat, a helmet, and a lock.  I took a practice run while they were totaling up my goodies.  I pulled out my cash and happily paid them for my dear girl.

I rode home like a kid: making swirly patterns, sitting up straight with my upright handlebars, practicing braking by pushing backwards and feeling the rush of riding.  She was "happiness on wheels" and she was mine.

That was four years ago.  I still smile whenever I go for a ride, find her in a crowd of bikes, or talk to Caroline and feel the pat, pat, pat of her hands behind me.  I know my days are numbered with my cherub riding directly behind me.  She's itching for her own bike and her own freedom and who am I to deny it?

I know she will fall in love with the breeze of the ride, the joy of seeing the world at a slower pace, the smell of freshly mowed grass, spring blossoms, chlorine at the pool and a million other details that you only notice on a ride.

It's sunshine-y again and I'm going for a ride...honk if you see me.  Or better yet, ring your bell!