humiliation

With the wind in my hair

While Skyping with family over the weekend, my brother walked in his new bicycle–a handsome velocipede if ever there was one.

It got me thinking of my first ride–candy apple red with matching banana seat, flecked with gold and gold stripes, and red and gold handlebar streamers. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Thankfully, it was also well made for the first time I rode it, I panicked, hit a mailbox, and landed bike down, in a ditch.

Once I got the hang of it, however, I was off and running … or riding, as the case may be.  I even managed to get the hang of a ten speed. Mine was black, pink, and turquoise, thank you very much.  I was totally cool cruising the ‘hood with friends.  No matter that we had nowhere in particular to go, we were out on the “open road”… anything was possible.

Of course, I haven’t owned a bicycle for years–decades even. There’s a good chance it’s for the best. The last time I road a bike was with friends–at least I started with friends.  They decided it would be great fun to end our stay at Ponderosa State Park with a mountain bike excursion; I decided that sounded like hell, but kept it to myself.

We rented bikes and helmets, and set off on an “easy” trail. Seeing how I hadn’t been on a bicycle for ten years or so, I lagged woefully behind. For the most part, I’ve blocked it from memory.  I recall dirt and rocks, and an extremely narrow path that plunged to horrific depths below. It was precarious at best.  I’m not exactly sure what transpired.  All I know is by the time I reached my friends–waiting and laughing atop a MOUNTAIN–not only was I near dead, my helmet sat askew on my head, and there were tire tracks running down one leg.  Considering I was the only bike for miles, it appears I ran over my own leg.  Yeah,  no one knows; but I’ve yet to get back on a bike.

And yet, when I see something like this, I recall only those days of carefree abandon…

{Studine Classic Balloon by Velorbis}

Surely, a bicycle like this provided inspiration from whence, “it’s like riding a bicycle” was coined.  Surely, a bicycle like this, even the likes of I could ride–in a skirt and heels, no less!

At the very least, it allows a girl to dream …

Learning the ropes

As you might have gathered from the helpful hint offered yesterday, I had a bit of a mishap whilst visiting Zoo Boise.

Here’s how it all went down:

I was taking pictures of the giraffe, because, seriously, you just don’t get much cuter than a long-necked mammal.  I began by taking pictures under the lovely thatched tent; I leaned against the cement divide, zoomed in, and snapped …

{I really wish they’d stop with the pictures already}

Aaaah, so cute.  After several shots, I meandered over to the side. I leaned in, like before, only nothing was there–nothing but air, and a rope at my knees.  Oomph!  I said, then I yelped, then, apparently, I snapped a photo …

{What the?!*}

Like a bull rider on the ride of his life,one hand gripped the rope, the other, camera held high, lassoed the air in a valiant attempt to keep balance.  After a considerable amount of flailing about, I found myself on the opposite side, in the bushes.  Collecting myself, I stepped back over the rope as if nothing at all happened. Then took the photo that sums it up nicely…

{Dude! Did you see that? Camera lady just fell in the bushes!}

All mocking expressions aside, I didn’t fall to the ground.  I didn’t utter profanities.  I didn’t even get yelled at by Zoo personnel for being on the wrong side of the rope.  So I’m thinking this humiliation ain’t nothing but a win, my friends, nothing but a win …

You can’t take me anywhere

Went out with friends on Saturday.  We walked over to Moons for lunch, where we ate Bleu Moon burgers and sweet potato fries – yum.  We perused shop windows, where we gaped and giggled at items such as funky red and yellow shoes that gave nod to their bowling cousins.  We loved them (okay, two of us loved them; the other two pretended not to know us).  And since we were still a bit early for the show, we meandered into the Boise State store.  Being a friendly lot, we greeted the cashier before zig-zagging our way to the wee apparel.  I had just voiced my displeasure over the fact that they didn’t have a grey and blue football jersey similar to the pink one when when I felt a tug on my coat sleeve.  Oddly enough, that’s about the time I heard a crash.  I looked down to find a comperjogged shelf, and bottles and blankets strung about the floor.  I just stood there, blinking.  It couldn’t possibly be me, right?  There was no tripping, no sweep of my large purse.  I didn’t flail; I didn’t swear.  So you’re telling me a coat sleeve caused the calamity?!  Oh, C’MON!

Of course, as my friends so kindly pointed out, the shelf was made of wood, the bottles plastic – even the blankets remained sweetly tied with ribbon.  We had only to crawl on all fours to retrieve the items – quickly, before the girl came back to see what-in-the-world was going on.

So as humiliating episodes go, I guess you could say this one was a winner!

A Swedish Sunday

It’s hard to imagine, as I sit here typing, that people back home are just now getting ready for church.  We, on the other hand, are settling in after day full of new friends and family.  It was a day of bible readings and song; a day of sharing tea with friends, and a big meal with extended family.  A day of laughing at our differences, and finding common ground in such things as cars or ice cream.  But most importantly, it was the day of Micah’s blessing.

It truly was precious.  Mom cried during the blessing, I cried during the sermon –  between the two of us, we had tears covered.  What can I say? We’re gushers. There’s just something special about being with a group of believers – you may  not speak the same language, but you serve the same God.  And we could not have been made to feel more welcome.  The pastor gave the blessing in both English and Swedish.  They even had an interpreter for the rest of the service.

And there lies my humiliation …

We were sitting right in front of the interpreter’s booth you see.  As the priest got up to say the final blessing, the interpreter said he couldn’t interpret since the priest was not wearing a mic.  Being ever so polite, I turned around to acknowledge – Chuckle, chuckle! Oh, that’s okay.  Only I didn’t mouth it; I said it–Out Loud.  With earphones on.  It was only when my mom punched my leg and I turned to see her look of mortification that I realized something quite possibly was amiss.

Oj!  Those stupid Americans …

Errands schmerrands

circus

There are weeks when it seems all I get done is running this way and that.  This was one such week.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s been a good week – ever so productive.  It’s just been a bit crazy.  Here are a few of the places you could have spotted me this week …

Strength training.  We started Palates this week for strength training.  Now I have a hard time balancing on my own two feet – and they’re wanting me to balance atop a large rubber ball.  Needless to say, I was the only one in the class who could not – for the life of me – alight.  I did, however, get a good calf-workout from the tippy-toe action I had goin’ on.  I’ll keep practicing; after all, it’s always good to add skills.  That way, if my writing gig doesn’t pan out, I can always join the circus.

Car dealership.  Took my car to the dealership for an oil change.  Thankfully they did not ask what happened to my bumper.  No matter how you explain it, it always manages to come out like, “Dude!  I totally drove through a fence … it was AWESOME!”  Of course, I fully intended to take advantage of the time waiting for my car by editing.  I sat to the back of the waiting area … away from the door and the television … pulled out my hard copy, my pen, my highlighter, my wee sticky notes and began mumbling quietly to myself.  It didn’t work.  First, I had to worry about the little fellow who wobbled back to my area and struggled to get up on a chair … all while his father laughed from afar.  Seriously.  The floor was slate; and he was precarious at best.  Luckily, he got bored and moved on.  Mr. Banker Man took his place.  Mr. Banker Man decided to make an all-important-phone call – but he didn’t want to disrupt the group of men watching ESPN, so he casual strolled back and hovered right next to me.  I will never – in a million years – bank where he works.  Not that I’m bitter …

Walgreens.  With Easter being Sunday, I ventured to Walgreens for chocolate and cellophane.  Found the chocolate – could not find the cellophane.  Finally broke down and asked the clerk.  She rolled her eyes and pointed.  There it was,  wedged between the DVDs and cameras.  Oh, right… that’s all I got out before she smirked and said, “Yeah, I’m like Whatever …it’s right there!”  Right, whatever, because I was only looking down the Easter and wrapping isles – places that ACTUALLY MADE SENSE!!!  Aaah, feel that Easter love …

Albertsons.  Coupons in hand, I headed to Albertsons to buy a few groceries.  I had just grabbed a box of kleenex and was heading for the milk, when I heard a cart coming.  Instead of inching out into the isle, or glaring at the person walking in front of me, I decided I would just pretend to be looking at an item to purchase.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed it was a guy who works at Albertsons … see him quite frequently, actually.  It was about that same time I truly paid attention to what I was intently starting at.  I don’t even have to say it, do I?  That’s right.  Trojans.  Pleasure pack or ecstasy?  It’s so hard to choose …

Starbucks.  Met my friend at Starbucks this morning.  We were just getting ready to leave when she exclaims, “Winston!”  Winston, you see, attended High School with us.  Now you must understand, the same pitiful syndrome that assails me when I meet a cute guy, hits me when I see someone from High School.  If you’ve ever seen me in action, you understand this is a grave, grave situation.  So there I sat, concentrating all my energy on my invisibility superpowers.  It would have worked too, had my friend not said, “And here’s Amy!  You remember Amy!”  [whimper]  He shook my hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”  I laughed – that airy laugh reserved for moments of sheer and utter panic.  And it went downhill from there.  Seriously.  I was a mess.  He asked what I was up to and I mumbled, “Writing.”  “What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” “I write … I’m a writer … I’m boring.”  No, my friends, I did not make that up.  I said it.  Out loud.  Twice actually, because he tried again before he left.  It’s like I have this overwhelming need to confirm the worst they could possibly think of me.

Let’s all say it together … good times …