Another story about a boat

A peaceful sight

If you’ve read my first book then you know a little about my love/hate relationship with my boat.  I love the feeling of being behind it on a waterski.  I hate everything that can go wrong while operating a boat.  I believe it is true that the more things change, the more they stay the same.  Let me elaborate …

Having recently replaced the hydraulic motor that lifts the propeller to the tune of about $700, we finally put our boat in the water on July 3.  Work schedules and other demands of life kept us from enjoying our boat earlier in the year.  Needless to say, we were a little out of practice.  The hubby and I headed to the hills and Lost Lake, hoping to set up camp in time for our boys to arrive after they were done with work.  That wasn’t a problem as their work lasted several hours longer than anticipated.  Unfortunately, our much desired camp site was already overrun with other campers, so we left the boat and trailer near the boat ramp and went in search of another site that would be close to the water and hopefully uncongested.  We found a suitable site on the opposite side of the lake, dropped off some coolers to save our spot, and returned to launch the boat.

After much discussion as to who would drive the boat and who would drive the pickup it was determined that I would take the boat across the lake while hubby unhooked the trailer and drove around.  I would wait for him to help me beach the boat. He backed the boat into the water, it started nicely, he backed it in a little more, hit the brakes and the boat did not go anywhere.  I gave it more gas and it did not go anywhere.  He jumped out of the truck and unhooked the strap and chain that was holding the boat on the trailer at which time I thought perhaps I should have him retrieve my phone from the truck. A silly thought.  He knew where I would be and I knew where he would be. After a successful launch I moseyed on across the lake. 

Upon reaching the opposite shore I began searching for our coolers that marked our camp site. I could not find them. Certain that I knew the general area I began to panic, afraid that someone had taken all of our food!  I decided to move along the shore until I either spied the coolers or saw my husband and his pickup.  Alas, I was too close to the rocky shore and about the time I spied my hubby, I contacted a rock with my propeller and killed the motor at the same time. That hydraulic motor we just replaced?  I forgot to use it.

Meanwhile, back at the ramp …

About the moment I was successfully launched into the lake and the hubby pulled the trailer out of the water, he realized there was no plug in the boat. (This has happened before.  See Gold Pans and Iron Skillets “No More Boat”) Glancing down he spied my phone safely inside the pickup and knew there was no contacting me.  He unhooked the trailer in record speed and with what he described as a very helpless feeling sped around the lake in hopes of rescuing me and the boat arriving at the exact moment I contacted the very large rock.

As he was yelling at me to get into shore, I was certain I was in trouble for damaging the prop. I began explaining that the motor died and blah, blah, blah, when I heard him yell, “THERE IS NO PLUG IN THE BOAT! GET TO SHORE!”  I glanced at my feet that were wading  in rising water and hurried to start the boat!  At his moment he began wading out to the boat and I began searching the glove box for the plug.  Hallelujah!  I found the plug. 

As I was taking a calming breath my hubby yelled, “I dropped the plug!” Remember that hydraulic motor I forgot to use? The prop was in the way of the drain and, alas, the plug was gone. I searched frantically for some kind of makeshift plug.  A roll of paper towels and a screw was the best I could do.  As he was attempting to plug the hole, I began searching for another plug.  You see, we buy them often. I was hoping that the boys had not left home and I could call them to purchase another plug on their way.  Guess what?  I found another plug!

The prop looks terrible, but it did the trick and pulled everybody out of the water and around the lake as desired.  I didn’t really get into trouble about the prop, because after all, I could have sunk the boat.  I got another boating story out of the deal.  Best of all, we don’t yell as much as we used to.  I guess after all these years we are getting conditioned to boating catastrophes.

Tender Mercies

I've been attempting to find the blessings in everyday inconveniences.  I am not known for my patience.  I often see things as a nuisance, rather than noticing the blessing hidden inside.  Let's see how I am doing ...

Ice sculpture courtesy of cold weather and my pond.

• My pipes froze when the garage door was left open recently.  I didn't have to attend a 7:00 am meeting because I was thawing my pipes.  Water I had stored for emergency purposes was available for drinking and tooth brushing.  
• The same cold temperatures that froze my pipes created a beautiful ice sculpture in my pond.
• My furnace has been making funny sounds.  I was able to get it repaired before it quit and left us without heat.
•  The opportunity to attend the funeral services of an aged aunt brought me ever closer to my extended family.
• My finicky computer has taught me to save online posts in a word file - just in case!

These are just a few.  Like I said, I am working on it!

Reality Check?

I had to renew my driver's license this week.  That's right - I am having a birthday.  It's not a significant one.  That happened last year. 
I don't know why, but the driver's license renewal is just unappealing to me.  It is especially bothersome since Idaho went to the eight year plan. Daily stuff like making my bed and brushing my teeth do not present themselves as nuisances.  It's the annual things that get to me - taxes, vehicle registrations, and physical exams.  I just don't seem to have time for those! Those things on an eight year rotation ... why bother?
The driver's license renewal is a bit of an honesty check, is it not?  I'm really squeaking to pass the eye test!  I forgot and left my distance glasses home. (I seldom use them!) The weight question always gets me. 
"Is your weight still the same?"
"Well, no, it has gone down a bit, but actually it is closer to the weight listed.  Just leave it." (I've been lying about my DL weight for years!)
Hair color?  That changes all the time!
It is good, too, that they do the eye test prior to snapping the photo.  I couldn't see a thing afterwards!  I hope I recognize my signature.
Friends have been complaining about the "new" Idaho license design.  I don't think it has anything to do with the new design.  I think we just hate the whole experience.  It's just too revealing.

Refinement

Rushing rumbling rivers rolling rocks to reservoir,

Roughened ridges rounded now rest upon the shore.

Remember roaming? Wrestling? Reeling to the core?

Refined. Renewed. Resolved. Reach now for your reward.

What Does it Really Mean?

You've heard the expression, “And then the wheels started coming off.” It is a metaphor most often referring to the falling apart of a plan. How about this one? “I'm going to drive it into the ground.” This is yet another metaphor for using something until there is nothing left to use, as in a car or a vacuum. (Spelled it correctly this time!)

Well, today I did both! As I was mowing our large and hilly lawn with my John Deere mower that has high miles and a rebuilt body, one wheel fell off! The drive wheel, however, was still engaged in its duty, continuing to propel the mower forward literally driving it into the ground! There is a lovely gouge in the hillside of my front lawn.

And I thought they were merely metaphors ...

Desktop

Dirty dusty documents deepening daily on my desk.

Do I dust, ditch, or determine direct destinations

Diminishing droves of data and debris?

Daydreams delay decision and divert the dread of debt.

Dynamite? Decomposition? Does dropping in the dumpster

Do dire damage or dispense delight?

I'm a Real Biker Gal Now!

I've been a bit smug as of late.  My husband has wrestled with many a flat tire since taking up his road bike hobby.  I, on the other hand, have not - until a week ago!  I ran right over that big sharp rock I had in my sights.  I was attempting to avoid it!  Funny thing about sighting in on something, I am always sure to connect! Just like a tree on a ski hill, I went right for that rock, and my tire went flat. Not so smug anymore.
That, however, pales in comparison to my Independence Day Ride!  I've ridden 15 miles on occasion.  I usually  prefer about 9 to 11 miles, but we wanted to have a "Family Activity."  We packed up the saddle bags with Gatorade and frozen water bottles, added a few granola bars, and spare bike tubes and off we pedaled!

My biking companions?

The funny thing about riding twenty miles out is that you have to ride that far back home.  Our first stop was Wilder around mile nine.  Down the hill and past the golf course to Homedale we flew only to discover all the ice cream shops were either closed for the holiday or opening later in the day.  What?  Nobody wants to sell ice cream at 9:00 am?
Homedale was quiet, as was the countryside meandering northwest towards Adrian.  At least it was quiet until the guy with the pickup and stock trailer came barreling down a hill towards a corner.  Same corner at which I would meet him!  It was him or the gravel!  I chose the gravel and the gravel won!

Now maybe I was a little scared and took the corner just a bit wide.  Maybe he didn't see me in my bright yellow shirt as I trailed my husband (bright red shirt) and son (another bright yellow shirt).
Maybe he thought he owned the road and I had no right to share it.  Maybe ... he thought if he slowed down to see if I was alive I would memorize his license plate and complain to the authorities!
Alas, my handlebar wrap is shredded, my chain came off and I had to repair it, and I have a nice case of road rash to brag about!

Road Rash!

Did I mention I had to ride another twenty miles home?

Very Tired!

I think I qualify as a real biker gal now!

Rats!

Raging rains wreak ruin as rapidly rising rivers run rampant o'er rocks resting risking rafters' recreation rudely wrecking our reunion!

Just a little cerebral exercise when writer's block threatens.

A Change of Course

Sometimes the best path to follow is a change of course.  Road construction is an obvious reason to divert ones path, however, there are a number of other circumstances which might give cause for correction ...

• The path became dangerous.  
• Obstacles.
• The initial goal was good, but a better one presented itself.
• The path was not good to begin with. 

So it was that my running buddy and I changed our plans to run a 10K race on May 14.  We had a training schedule and were doing our best to follow it, but the path became dangerous when the spring weather refused to cooperate.  The day we ran four miles in heavy wind was the beginning of the course change.  How would we ever train for six miles in this weather?

Obstacles?  She fought an ankle injury.  I caught a cold.  We kept training, however, less enthusiastically than we would have liked.

Our original plan to pay the $40 registration fee and run a six mile race with hundreds of other runners was a good one, but we found a better one.  This race might not have a famous name, but the logistics are better.  The registration fee is only $15, the race will be small, it is closer to home, and best of all it will benefit a young man fighting a serious illness.

So we've corrected our course.  We are well prepared as the original path conditioned us for the one we will actually follow.  Sometimes those little detours are the very things we need to prepare us for the journey ahead.

Time to Repent

Here is a little background ...

A few years ago we remodeled our kitchen. The process was "supposed" to take about six weeks max. Six months later we were finally putting the finishing touches on the kitchen. I will spare readers the tedium of the details. Suffice it to say that my "favorite store" became a slur in my vocabulary and I had a desire to inflict grave bodily harm on bystanders whenever I heard The Home Depot Jingle!

Of course, The Home Depot was not spared. I conveyed my displeasure in a lengthy account of the proceedings, missteps, and neglect. I even went so far as to fill out an online job application for their kitchen and cabinet design department because, "I was certain I could do a better job than the designers that had worked with me!"

The comedy of errors that was our remodel has yet to become completely comical to me. In the years since I have boycotted the store as often as possible. When the occasional need for DIY home repair occurs I frequent any and all facilities available prior to patronizing The Home Depot. Then I send my husband!

Our toilet seat broke. He went to The Home Depot and purchased a new seat.

"Hey, I had four different people offer to help me at The Home Depot today!"

"Really?"

"Ya, it was quite refreshing."

"Ya, well,I still hate that store." (I love my new kitchen. It's the store that causes me grief.)

A bracket on one of my cabinet drawers broke.

He - "Do you want to go to Home Depot with me?"

Me - "No."

He - "Well, I think I can get a part to fix it."

Me - "They should have some kind of lifetime guarantee!"

He went to Home Depot. I looked online. He brought back some generic hardware. I found "Available Exclusively at The Home Depot. Lifetime Warranty. Contact The Home Depot."

I had to go to The Home Depot.

The attractive blond in the design department called the cabinet manufacturer. She ordered 4 replacement parts that will be shipped to my home "at no charge." One part will replace the broken bracket while the other three are spares. You know what that means? I don't have to go to The Home Depot next time the plastic parts fail!

We needed a vacuum belt. An employee directed us to the vacuum belts and I found exactly the one I needed! We encountered two more offers of help before we left the store!

He - "Wasn't that refreshing?"

Me - "I'm kind of in shock!"

I'm still in shock. The Home Depot might be my new favorite store!

It's All Uphill!

I live in a hole.

I am not complaining that my life is the pits or that I am stuck in a rut, the statement is literal – not figurative. I live in a geographical hole.

I was reminded of this around 5:00 am when the rich aroma of a local polecat found its way into my home and interrupted my slumber! Burning leaves, smoldering grass piles, and skunk scents from around the neighborhood often creep down the streets and into my space. The heavier the air – the richer the aroma. It was foggy this morning!

Living in a hole offers a bit of privacy. The neighbors above us view our roof rather than gazing straight through our windows.

Although the aromas are annoying, they are few and far between. The inconvenience of hole dwelling becomes a greater issue when one desires to exercise providing, of course, that one is a runner or a biker … and we are.

“It's uphill in every direction.” A common complaint in the Green household. This is only partially true. There is another path that begins on a downhill slope, but it is less desirable as it encounters more traffic and population. It also requires a hill climb at the end of the workout to return home!

So we run and we ride and we whine … and we pray that the wind doesn't blow, because the only thing worse than running uphill is running uphill with a headwind!

When someone quotes, “There's no place to go but up,” we take it literally!

Privacy Protection

My privacy is so well protected I can't hear myself think!

You know the instructions …

“Please reset your password. It must contain a minimum of eight characters with at least one upper case and one lower case letter and two numbers … and no special characters.”

“Please set three security questions. 1) What was the name of your first pet? (I was a kid. How should I know?) 2) The name of your college roommate. (I had lots of those.) 3) What is your grandfather's mother's maiden name? (Let me get out the family bible!)

My son is serving a two year proselyting mission in Brazil. He only calls outside the country on Christmas and Mothers' Day. He lost his debit card three months ago! I ordered a new one and he finally received it three weeks ago. In his weekly email he indicated he was having difficulty using it. I stepped in to the local bank ...

“Everything seems to be working. Did you give him the correct PIN?” I sent another email with the PIN once again. I assumed that was the problem. Another week went by and another email arrived - “Still having trouble with the card. Here is an 800 number for assistance.” I called the 800 number …

“Please give me the last four digits of your social security number to verify your identity.”

“Please give me the number on the card.”

“If you could just ask him if it gives him an error message when he tries to use the card ...”

Me: I cannot call him. I have to wait for an email. He needs access to this account!

“If you could just call him ...”

Me: I can't call him! It will take two weeks to get an answer by email!

“I can't view his account because you are not him.”

Me: I am a co-owner of that account! I have all his information. I have Power of Attorney for him! HE NEEDS ACCESS TO THIS ACCOUNT! It will take two months to order another card and get it to him. Can't you just check to see if it is authorized for international use?

“I am a mother, too, so I understand, but because his name is on the card I can't ...”

Me: My local bank was able to access it last week!

“I would hate to give information to the wrong person ...”

Me: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HE NEEDS ACCESS TO THIS ACCOUNT!!

“Well you could step in to your local bank and they could VERIFY YOUR IDENTITY.”

Isn't that why I gave her the last four digits of my SSN?

I Could Have Been Sunbathing!

I was supposed to be sitting on a beach in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands today, my skin softening from the humid tropical climate, toes wriggling in the sand, nails painted to match the waters of the Caribbean, lunching at one of the many restaurants at my all-inclusive hotel ...

Alas, here I sit at my computer, skin drying from the forced air, toes curling and uncurling as I work, fingers turning blue from the frigid northern air, wondering what I shall fix for lunch ...

Blame the weather. Blame the airlines. Blame poor luck.

I'm trying to keep a positive outlook. Maybe this is my lucky day? What about the other passengers of the 5500 flights that were canceled this week? Is it possible we could all be lucky?

I'm using the time to promote my writing. I rewrote my query letter. I searched out and contacted yet another agent for my novel. I'm blogging with a complete lack of humility (or is it in a complete act of desperation?) to gain followers that my writing might become popular and I may somehow hit the literary jackpot.

It is always a stab in the dark. This agent has an interesting name. This agent "says" she accepts historical fiction. This agent actually has an active website!

So I stab and then I wait. Then I scar! "Thank you for your submission, but ..."
"We don't feel we can effectively represent you in the current marketplace." Huh?
"Your manuscript does not fit our needs." But I only sent you a letter - you haven't read the mss.
"Your work has merit and your characters are well developed, but I represent writing set in North America, specifically, Maine." Doesn't that limit one just a bit?

More stabbing. More waiting.

Oh, to have been basking on the beach today!

Impressions

There's nothing like a first impression … or a second, or third, or whatever it takes to make a good one!

I make retainers for peoples mouths. They need to fit. The problem is, no matter how talented I am or how meticulous I work, the quality of the final product cannot be better than the quality of the model provided. In other words, if someone else does inferior work, my work will inevitably be inferior and there is nothing I can do to fix it. Frustrating.

Okay, there are a few things that I can try to make the product a bit better, such as build a tooth where there wasn't one or whittle away a glob of plaster that doesn't belong, but I can only use my experience and imagination hoping that I am getting a “close” rendition of the actual mouth. It will, however, never be quite the same.

Here's what I think …

*First impressions might be poor, but it is worth the effort to try to rectify them.

*Others cannot fix our mistakes, however, they often pay for our errors and shortcomings.

*Even the best imitation is not as good as the original.

That's my sermon for today!

Lucky Friday

I was only trying to show my niece and her daughters a good time at Bogus Basin Ski Resort. The mountain I learned to ski upon. The mountain we frequent a dozen times every year. My Mountain!

Spring skiing is so great! The weather is enjoyable. Nobody cries to go indoors because they are freezing. You can get a suntan.

Never mind there was a plane to catch. Never mind there was a track meet to attend. Never mind the snow was rapidly turning to slush. It was Spring! Spring skiing is so great!

Never mind I’m pushing fifty. Never mind I decided to take an alternate route and six-year-old Shyan decided to go with me. Never mind my cell phone was losing its charge.

Never mind I misjudged my location! Never mind my brother-in-law is Director of Mountain Operations and would kill me if he had to send search and rescue! Never mind, never mind, never mind!

But mind I did when I realized we had two choices. We could take the path of least resistance and slide down into a gully that must come out somewhere. I minded that I had seen others in that gully and I knew I didn’t want to be stuck in there. Or … we could climb ever so slightly and come out on my favorite run. Or so I thought!

Never mind my favorite run was two crests away! Those crests were separated by ravines.

So up we climbed up … and down. Then up … and down. Shyan was beginning to show signs of panic. This apparent from the ascent up the music scale and increase in volume of her cries of “Aunt Carol, where are we?” and “Aunt Carol, are we lost?”

“No Shyan, we aren’t lost. We’re at Bogus Basin!” That was all I was certain of – we were at Bogus Basin and Shyan had a plane to catch to visit her father in Seattle. Oh, and I was also certain I didn’t know how I had led her to the place I had, nor how I would lead her out! I hoped Shyan couldn’t hear the panic rising in my own voice.

When things seem really bad, they usually find a way to get just a little bit worse. That’s how it was when I triggered a mini avalanche sliding fifteen feet down an extremely steep slope. I had been attempting to lead Shyan to safety, coaxing her to sing “Do as I’m Doing, Follow, Follow Me!” an old Sunday School song, in an attempt to keep her panic at a manageable level.

The effort required to climb while lugging six-foot-long skis and ski boots on my feet was beginning to exhaust me. I was hot, so I opened the zipper to my jacket, removed my gloves and hat, and made a fruitless attempt to use my cell phone. It probably would not have found a signal if the battery had been charged. We shall never know.

After my unfortunate slide, I could not see Shyan for she was positioned above me and behind a tree. My legs began to tremble and I feared that I was exhausted. Shyan was crying that her leg hurt. I did not know if she was safe or injured. I began to panic. We were alone in an area other skiers were unlikely to venture and I had no way to signal our location.

I could not call for help, and yet I did. I cried out loud, “Father! Help me!” There was no need to explain my predicament, for HE surely knew! Calmness came over me and my thoughts were clear. I knew what to do. I removed my skis and used them much as one would a tree limb hanging over a river bank. I jammed one into the side of the mountain and then the other pulling myself up and jamming the toes of my boots into the snow with each step – a little higher - slowly climbing to safety. I slipped a time or two, but never so far back as I had begun and I continued to progress.

When I arrived at the origination of my decent, I rested a moment, still unsure as to where we should go. We were lost at Bogus Basin. I continued to assure Shyan that we were inside Bogus and we couldn’t be lost because Uncle Steve would find us as long as we were still inside Bogus. I dreaded the moment I faced Uncle Steve!

As I stepped into my skis – a monumental task considering the degree of my fatigue – Shyan pointed to a small rise and asked “Aunt Carol, can we go up there?” There was a large outcropping of rock on a small knoll. It looked as good a place as any. I still had no idea how to get to the safety of the ski lift at the bottom of the hill. Only one problem, it required a little more climbing! The snow was very loose and the going precarious but we carefully made our way to the top of the knoll. I stopped to rest. My trembling legs welcomed the reprieve.

“Lucky Friday!” Shyan shouted.

“Huh?” I panted. I think it was a Thursday.

“Lucky Friday!” she repeated.

I followed the direction of her outstretched arm and beheld a black ski run sign that read “Lucky Friday.”

“Aunt Carol, can we go there?” This time she pleaded!

I laughed, relieved that we were indeed still at Bogus Basin and we had actually discovered a marked run. It was a run I dreaded because I knew its location, the black double diamond marker, and the condition of the snow combined to create a challenge I would not welcome even if my legs were fresh, but it was a marked run and it would eventually lead us to safety.

I could not keep up with Shyan as she sped as quickly as her short skis could carry her through the trees to where she knew her mother was surely waiting. I picked my way through the maze stopping often to rest and make a very ugly, very novice-like turn to avoid a tree.

Much laughter ensued when we emerged from the trees at the bottom of the hill. It was the nervous laughter of relief, followed by a few tears. Uncle Steve was nowhere to be seen, for which I was extremely grateful. The search and rescue had not yet been activated. I would live! My nephew, Nathan, Uncle Steve’s boy who grew up on the mountain asked, “Did you see Castle Greyskull?” Castle Greyskull was the name he and his brother had dubbed the outcropping of rock that Shyan had determined we should follow.

“Yeah, I guess we did. And we came out on Lucky Friday!” I added.

“Did you actually see the Lucky Friday marker?” he asked a little amazed.

“Yeah, we did,” I panted. “I didn’t know there was a run called Lucky Friday.”

Nathan shook his head and quietly stated, “I’ve never seen the Lucky Friday marker.”

How often do events occur that prove both comical and very earthshaking at the same time? The family had a lot of laughs about Aunt Carol getting Shyan lost at Bogus Basin. It is a story that will be told for years amongst the skiing and non-skiing relatives alike. What a joke! Carol got lost at Bogus and Shyan had to find the way out! Yes, we all make light of it. But for me, it was sobering. How quickly did I turn the wrong way when I felt certain I knew what I was doing? How scared did I get before I turned to the only source that could help me? And even after that, I continued to slip, never so far down as the first time, but it took increased effort and many attempts before I reached my goal. And what of the child? In the Book of Mormon it states, “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the young lion and fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.” (2 Nephi 21:6) How often does one overlook the faith, optimism, and humility of youth? I was fortunate. On that “Lucky Friday,” or Thursday, I was reminded of several lessons, most especially to remember to exercise the humility of a child.

Easy or not?

Why is it that those things that are intended to make life easier often complicate things?
(I think I have asked this question before.)

Take, for instance, direct deposit. What could be more convenient than having the paycheck automatically entered into the checking account? It is especially nice if one happens to be out of town on payday! No running to the bank in inclement weather, either. It's great, except for the "cash back" issue. That's right, some of us - my dear husband included - still like to carry a little of the green stuff around. Sure, debit cards are convenient, but cash ... There is no "cash back" with direct deposit. Now, I either have to write him a check (I maintain possession of the check book) or I have to remember to get cash back at the grocery store, or worse yet, I have to run to the bank! I thought that was something I was avoiding by using direct deposit. Hmm.

That is how I wrecked the cookies! Up to my elbows in cookie dough, I answered the phone.

"How would you like to run to the bank and get me some cash?"

It was 3:30 pm Friday.

"Uh, okay, but I'm making some cookies for you right now."

"Are you making the good kind?"

"I'm making some good cookies." They were not his idea of the "good kind" - too much oatmeal and whole wheat flour.

I abandoned my task in order to round up some cash. Cash obtained, I returned to my baking. Somewhere between "run to the bank" and "some good cookies" the dough was not properly combined. The first three dozen cookies to emerge from the oven were flat and gooey. The last were more like homemade rocks.

So much for convenience.

Warning Signs?

We embarked on a long awaited bike ride through the country. We estimated the route to be about 20 miles - a nice Saturday morning ride. The route had been planned for weeks. The weather was nice. Nothing would keep us from our goal, not even the Fourth of July flag raising ceremony others were attending. This was our chance!

"Detour Ahead" only means detour if you don't live in the area, are afraid of gravel, or believe road construction truely means men will be working, right? It was a Saturday. There would be no workers, after all, this is a government job. Gravel is a fact of life in a farming community. If you don't believe it, just take a look at my windshield. Bikes can weave their way through any construction barricade. Right?

We turned left.

Someone must be reinforcing a bridge up ahead. It's Saturday. We'll just pedal across.

We would definitely need to weave through some barricades. We might even need to carry the bikes if the terrain was too rough, but it shouldn't be very far ...

Hmm. A barricade ... and a truck.

Yet another warning sign. "You have exactly 500 feet to turn back!" We had already come seven miles, surely we wouldn't have to turn back now!

The bridge must be beyond that truck. Time to get off the bikes and walk around the big truck blocking the bridge.

More construction equipment. It's called a track hoe. It's often used for clearing debris from irrigation canals in early Spring. Why would it be needed to reinforce a bridge?

What bridge!

If we just carry the bikes along the cement retaining wall, lift them over the rail and onto the metal beam, walk them across the beam, lift them down onto the cement retaining wall on the other side of the canal ....

Then maybe we could finish our long awaited twenty mile (22.9 to be exact) bike ride. And so we did!

(Note to self: In the future carry a camera on all adventures. This photo would have been oh so much more exciting with him in his bike shorts, helmet, and gloves actually lifting the bike!)

Is there a moral to this story? You pick.

"Ignoring warning signs and promptings is foolish and will only lead to trouble."

"Don't let anything discourage or detour you from your goal."

"Always be prepared, ie. carry a camera!"

"When someone says 'I think it is 20 miles,' expect it to be longer and know that there will be obstacles to overcome."

Windy Weather

I would really like to whine about the wind some more, but I just don't think it is doing any good.

When windy weather wafts its way

While weary walkers wish it weaker

Wouldn't one wise woman wonder

Who would worry whilst she wanders

Where willows wallop whirling waters?

Whatever.

Brrr!

What was I thinking? I heard the forcast. I listened to the counsel. I remembered the last time the pipes froze. It isn't that difficult to leave a faucet dripping!

Alas, I ignored the weatherman and woke up to frozen pipes! Ugh! So now I wait. Space heater pointed at the suspected area of icy blockage, I wait. I also had to fuss with the breaker box! (See previous posts.) My plans have been changed because I failed to follow one simple instruction. "Leave a faucet dripping!" When I heard the anchorman offering his wisdom, I thought, "I remember the last time our pipes froze. Somebody left the garage door open all night. Well, the garage door is shut. I'm not going to mess with a dripping faucet." Turns out six degrees below zero goes right through the garage door!

My husband is out of town. He spent the night in a warm hotel room. I'm sure he had running water this morning. My teenager is at school. One bottle of spring water (Yes, I purchase bottled water. Just because my name is Green doesn't mean I am green.) and he had his teeth brushed and was out the door. Another son is in Brazil. It's 75 degrees there! Me? I'm just waiting. I intended to make a mad dash to town this morning, however, I dare not leave. The space heater could burn down the house. I have every faucet open - there could be a flood!

What does this experience teach me? I don't know. I'm beginning to think I'm not very teachable!

I think I'll go bang on the pipes!

Power? No Power?

Why is it that we never know how much we love something until it goes away? Like electricity, for instance? I am confident that I am prepared. I can handle a little inconvenience when necessary. What I don’t handle very well is unnecessary inconvenience.

A storm occurred. It knocked out power to 8500 homes in the area. It did not knock out power in my home, at least, not completely. Some lights worked. Some outlets worked. The refrigerator and water heaters worked sporadically. Some lights dimmed. None of the major appliances had enough power to run. Some power, just not enough. The furnace certainly did not work!

How can this be? Well, I assumed the problem was in the wiring in my home, so I called my electrician. He checked the work from his previous visit and quickly diagnosed the problem. One of the connections on the outside of my home was burnt through – a casualty of years of weather abuse. This explained the partial power. Some power was getting to my home, just not enough. It was a simple problem, easily repaired. It would take a matter of minutes.

Enter the unnecessary inconvenience. My electrician was able to repair the problem. He just wasn’t allowed to repair it. Huh? That’s right, because the problem was outside the house the problem was on the power company’s side. This meant the power company would have to repair the wires. Did I mention there had been a storm that knocked out power lines? I don’t think I mentioned that I was way down the list, or that my son was home with the flu. How about the fact that I have lived in my home for twenty years and the same power company responsible for maintaining outside lines has never attempted maintenance on said lines?

My electrician could have corrected the problem in a matter of minutes, but the power company would have none of that! Rather, I waited hours! When, after a second phone call requesting repair the service man showed up it took him exactly fifteen minutes to restore full power to my home.

What did I do first? I turned on the dishwasher, washing machine and dryer, furnace, and stovetop. I reset four digital clocks - again. And then I listened. I listened to the sound of my house running. What a beautiful noise – a house doing what it was built to do! I love the convenience of electricity!