Adventures

Just Like Riding a Bike

Jeanna GLeave a comment

I loved my 10-speed bike. I rode it to the park, the swim center, my friend’s house. I even rode it to school one evening, without asking permission, to watch my 6th grade crush practice basketball. (I got in a lot of trouble for that one.) Bike riding was my hobby. I loved tearing through town. The best rides were the ones with no destination, the ones on which I could just coast, hands-free, and enjoy the scenery of my beautiful town.

Then my 10-speed got stolen. And then I started dating a guy with a license and a car. And then my best friend got her license and a car. And finally, I got my license. No more bike rides.

Then I went to college and got a bike because campus was huge. But then my bike got stolen.

Later on I moved to Maine and made daily bike trips to the beach, and I was reminded of why I loved it so much. But then my bike got stolen.

Then I had a baby and bike rides weren’t even on my radar. Until…

My daughter and I flew out to visit a childhood friend and her wife in Chicago. They got her a babysitter, and they got me a bike. Together, the three of us tore through the city on a cold November night, stopping to hydrate at the local tap rooms. It was a blast! The sights whizzing by, the wind in my hair, trusting my body to move in ways that I forgot it could. All good things, and all the result of being reminded of how I choose to love life.

Life is full of distractions and we can easily find ourselves out of our elements, and the things we love to do somehow get sidelined as the humdrum takes the field. The good news is that remembering how you love life is just like riding a bike. We can take off where we left off, we just need to start pedaling! It helps to have old friends who remind us of who we are, but how we love life should come as second nature. So get your wheels turning and reminisce about what makes you happy, then change gears, and enjoy the ride!

Snow Day

Jeanna G1 Comment

I’m not from here, but I’ve been here long enough that, when asked, I answer, “Home is North Carolina.” Except when a winter storm is coming. Then my answer is, “I grew up in New England.” It’s like I gain instant street cred (in my head anyway).

Winter Storm Izzy is on her way, and all the Cackalackys are in a tizzy. Buy all the bread and milk that exists! I never really understood the milk part of that equation. If the power goes out, which is to be expected with the amount of predicted ice, who’s going to want to drink sour milk? I’ve got a bottle of wine and a gas grill. All set.

The storm should be arriving Saturday night and continuing through Sunday. Monday is a holiday and Tuesday is a scheduled Teacher Workday, but the kids are still praying for a snow day come Wednesday. Sorry kids, the odds just aren’t in your favor.

And I really am sorry, because the suspense followed by the sweet relief and utter joy that comes with a snow day school cancellation is unparalleled. I vividly remember lying in bed listening to 96.5 TIC*FM, lights off, eyes closed in prayer, practicing my ABCs as I waited for the DJs to make their way through the list of closures. God help your nerves if you tuned in on a letter after your school district! Ok, focus, here we go… Avon, Barkhamsted, Bloomfield, Canton (Yes! Canton is nearby!), Darien, East Granby (Our neighbors! It’s looking good!), East Hartford, East Windsor, Ellington, Enfield (Why so many E’s, God, why??!), Fairfield, Farmington, Glastonbury (G! We’re next!! Please God! Please!), *dramatic pause*… Granby. GRANBY! YESSSSSSS!!!! *Slap* Alarm is off, back to bed. HA! Who am I kidding?! I leap out of bed. Snow pants on. Where are my moon boots?! “Mom! I’ll be back!” And out the door I go. Never has it ever been easier to get out of bed on a weekday morning.

Snow tunnels, snowball fights, igloos, King of the Mountain, catching flakes on our tongues, snowmen, snowmobiles, sledding and tubing. All great, but my personal favorite is lying deep in a snow drift, in the silence only a snowstorm can provide, staring up into the grey, mesmerized by the swirling crystallizations that rosy my cheeks and decorate my eyelashes. All proof that gentle and unique creations can make a world of a difference when they connect.

May the suspension, relief, joy, adventure, and enchantment of a snow day be with you every day.

Don’t Tell Mom!

Jeanna GLeave a comment

Growing up in a full house meant chaos and mayhem more often than not. Things would get broken: dishes, toys, and body parts. Things would get hidden: those things we broke, bad grades, and beer. Things would get lost: pets and children. Things would get faked: innocence and parent signatures. But no matter what happened, someone would yell, “Don’t tell mom!”

With so many kids, there was usually a witness, which therefore led to some leverage, blackmail, or payback. But sometimes you were lucky enough to do something stupid without anyone watching.

I think I was somewhere around 7 or 8 years old when I decided to pick up my brother’s BB gun. (Also embedded here is a good lesson in gun safety.) I had seen my brothers shooting at a paper target out in the yard that was secured to a blanket which was draped over some wood. They carried it into the shed, and left it there…with the gun. The loaded gun. The loaded gun with the safety off. I knew better than to look down the barrel, at least. So I made the swift decision to pick up the gun, aim it at the target that was a mere six feet in front of me, and shoot off a round. As soon as my finger flexed I had the following senses: I heard the BB hit the target, I felt the BB fly through the hair hanging alongside my neck, then I tasted fear as I saw in my mind’s eye my mother coming at me with her wooden spoon because she’s mad I have no common sense. But then I came to my senses and realized she hadn’t seen a thing. I was one lucky son of a gun.

So that was my secret…’til now. Every year I’d watch A Christmas Story and silently nod in agreement when everyone yelled at Ralphie that he would shoot his eye out. But guess what Santa brought my daughter this year? You guessed it. An official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle. And she loves it. She knocked a can over in the yard on her second shot.

Sharp Shooter

Of course I’ve learned a few things about gun safety, and other stuff, since I was her age. But I definitely still do dumb things. And I never want my mom to know about them. But now that I’m a mom I understand that unconditional love means that no matter what your child does, even it’s the dumbest shit you’ve ever seen, you’ll love her. And even though you might cringe hearing about all the ways your progeny ain’t no prodigy, you want to hear about it anyway. After all, you can’t cover it up if you don’t know about it.