A couple years ago I tried to make the switch from regular old pedals on my bike to those fancy clip-in shoes. I went to a local shop, talked to someone briefly, bought some shoes, clips, pedals and then took them home, rigged everything up (ok, Jon did that, not me) and then sat out in the back yard clinging to the tree while I tried to get my feet in and out of those clips. I couldn't do it. Could not do it. I never even got my feet in the clips once. So I took everything back off the bike (or Jon did) and trudged back up to the store and returned it. They were not pleased with me.
So yesterday after my shoelaces got stuck in my pedals for the 976th time, nearly tossing me from my bike into traffic, and I decided it was time to try again, I was nervous. But I stopped by NOW sports (a different store from last time) and had a chat with a lovely young man. I told him I had tried and failed once- I needed their easiest set up and some coaching. He was enthusiastic- but told me I had to come back with my bike- they were open until 8 and they would not let me leave the store until I had mastered the technique of getting out of my clips. I gave him a brief overview of my tree hugging failure and he said that he could stand for a little overtime if it took longer than 8pm.
I wasn't able to return until 7, and I was nervous. But then I walked in and the first guy I talked to put me entirely at ease. The whole evening became a laugh fest with three employees eventually helping me, all of them making minor adjustments to my bike as we went through the stages of fitting me out. They kept telling me that I needed to get my bike tuned up, but by the time I walked out the door we all agreed that I no longer needed to schedule one- they had all taken turns tweaking this or lubing that, and by the time I rolled out my bike was gleaming, and silent- far different than the creaky screecher I had ridden in on. The highlight of the evening was when they had me up on the trainer and one guy stood in front of me yelling "Don't look down! You can't look down to click in- you'll hit a parked car!" Then he looked down and said, "Whoa! That bike is not sized correctly for you. Your seat is way to low. Wait- look at those femurs! Bob! Hey Bob! Come over and check out her femurs!" So Bob came over and checked out my femurs. I suppose I should have been flattered- long legs are a positive thing on a woman, right? But they were talking as if these femurs were freakish, and sure enough before long they had out a little measurer and were getting the stats on the femurs. My femurs! But we all had a laugh, they got my seat positioned correctly, and I finished up my lesson. When I went to the register to pay they told me the tune-up and 'mini quick fix' were free, but I should return for the real deal sometime soon. I will. They have won my return business. I rode out the door confidently just before 8.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Feedback
For some reason I have been getting a lot of unsolicited feedback lately. You see, I have been trying to figure out this problem with my right leg- an ache, a pain, a tightness all up and down the outside. So I've seen a couple different PT's and doctors. They all seem to be coming to the same conclusion. I'll be lying on their table or sitting in a chair and they all have me push this way or that way with my foot or leg or whatever and we're chitchatting, talking about what hurts, how it hurts, when it hurts, and then...."Wow. Wow. You're weak. Wow. You have an extremely weak core." I can't tell you how many times I've heard this. I admit I am glad that they seem at least a little surprised. But the awe in their voices at the extent of my weakness. It can do something to the self-esteem. And they just have no qualms about sharing this info with me. Ok, whenever I go to a class at the Y and it's time to lay on our backs and do some ab work, sometimes I drift off, get distracted. Then I refocus, notice everyone around me sweating and working it and realized I've been laying still, daydreaming. It happens. Apparently it's been happening my whole life! But this latest PT has a plan- well, they all have, I just haven't followed through. But this one is going to strengthen my core, fix my leg, and get my sticky rib to sink back into where it should be. My left rib has stuck out for decades, and she's going to fix it. I go in to see her again today after tackling her exercises for two weeks. I'm pretty sure she is going to still label me weak, I mean it's only been two weeks, but I'm hoping for at least a little less awe. I will count that as progress.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Berry-licious
This summer has produced a berry bonanza in our freezer. So much so that we had to go out and buy an auxiliary appliance for the basement. It had to happen. Our little raspberry patch out in the alley was slow but steady all through June. I would start each morning by picking a pint or so. We'd eat our fill and then freeze the rest. And then I hit two pick-your-own strawberry fields and spent a week on an island covered with blueberry bushes. Pretty soon our little freezer was spitting out random items each time you opened it. This is fine if it is just a popsicle or a little kid's ice pack. But when the frozen juice container landed on my barefoot, I knew it was time to act. So now most of our berry crop sits in the basement in a fancy new little freezer. We also made an impulse buy of the 'Magic Bullet'. It's a food processor/blender/smoothie maker all rolled into one little package. Ok, I know that most often when a product claims to be a clever combination of things, it ends up being dismal in both categories- take the 'stroller/backpack': A super heavy unwieldy backpack with wheels, or a stroller that only a person under 3 feet tall can comfortably push. So I was skeptical. But after 24 hours with my new purchase I have confidently stashed my old crappy blender and food processor into the far back reaches of the cupboards (notice I have not yet confidently thrown them away). And we have happily made smoothies, pesto, even a so-called cream cheese 'shmear' for a fruit pizza. On a sidenote, to whomever coined the word shmear, I hate it. It is so unappetizing and should never sell even one package of overpriced whipped cream cheese. I see it and I picture those old glass slides from 10th grade biology where we took cells from the insides of our cheeks and then watched bacteria grow on them. Or something. Don't you? Shmear.
Anyway. Back to the berries. Love them. Eat them morning, noon, and night. Am already mourning the day sometime this winter when I go down to the basement to get one more package of summer bounty and there are none left....oh, on that day, when I am forced to feed my berry habbit by spending my kids' inheritence on hard little ugly things picked in south america and shipped thousands of miles to us in the northland, on that day I will curse myself for not getting out to that berry patch one more time. But I don't want to think about that right now. I'm about to go fire up the Magic Bullet and make myself some smoothie.
Anyway. Back to the berries. Love them. Eat them morning, noon, and night. Am already mourning the day sometime this winter when I go down to the basement to get one more package of summer bounty and there are none left....oh, on that day, when I am forced to feed my berry habbit by spending my kids' inheritence on hard little ugly things picked in south america and shipped thousands of miles to us in the northland, on that day I will curse myself for not getting out to that berry patch one more time. But I don't want to think about that right now. I'm about to go fire up the Magic Bullet and make myself some smoothie.
Kid Paradise
The boys and I were lucky enough to be able to once again make the trek up to our friend's cabin on a little island in a big lake just over the Canadian border. Just getting there sets the stage for adventure. We drove five hours north from the cities and parked our car at a little resort on the edge of Minnesota. There we unpacked our bags from the trunk and dangled our legs in the water while we waited for Dick, my friend's 80 year old powerhouse of a dad to appear on the horizon. Our friends had been at the cabin for a few days already and there was no way to contact them to let them know we had arrived. We had set an approximate time back before they had left and we had hoped to both hit it. Within a half hour of our arrival Dick zipped up in his boat and the boys' friends jumped out to help load us up. Dick could not let us leave 'civilization' without stocking up on ice, drinking water, and of course, an ice cream treat. Then it was off to Canadian customs (housed on a little island where the agent's kids swam happily in a bay as she did the hard work of asking us if we had any liquor or firearms. Firearms, no, fireworks, yes! but we didn't reveal that to her) and then north to the one acre island owned by Dick and Cec. Within 20 minutes of landing on the island Eli had slipped into the lake off a mossy rock and drenched 1/2 of his wardrobe for the week. But things dry.
We arrived on Monday and left on Friday and in between we let go of all our connections to the larger world and reveled in this little piece of paradise. Every morning after a breakfast that featured blueberries in a major role, Cec would attempt to intice the boys into an adventure or programmed activity of some sort. Although I do believe they appreciated her attention and desire to keep them occupied, they denied her each and every time. For they had their own plans. To make weapons out of sticks and forts out of reeds, to build their own civilization (complete with road blocks, customs, taxes, and perhaps a little piracy- where did all those no-bake bars go to?) to jump off rocks into the water and then to dry in the sun.
The adults were left to fend for ourselves, so we had to turn to books, or swims around the island, or to the blueberries. The endless fabulous beautiful blueberries. I spent a lot of time picking and not only did we eat blueberry pancakes, scones, and pies, but I returned with about 2 gallons of the little lovelies, although now I'm thinking why did I stop there? I am greedy for more, now that they are out of reach.
One time the boys were able to entice us out of a blueberry patch and over to the neighboring uninhabited island to play a game of capture the flag. I never captured anything but a lot of jail time. I swear I didn't realize the jail was located next to a particularly healthy blueberry bush until after my knock-down drag out capture. I did not give up with ulterior motives to sit in the sun and the wind and pick some treats for myself.
At one point I showed the boys how much fun a swamped canoe can be, if you swamp it on purpose and are ready for the consequences. After that they spent hours each day playing in and on and under the canoe, their shrill yells piercing the quiet day and reminding us that it is a terrific thing to be a child unleashed on a little piece of paradise. Theo made it through the entire week without once saying "Mom, I don't know what to do," a phrase which had been his refrain in the weeks leading up to this trip. And here's the beautiful thing- that week unleashed and unplanned and unplugged has had lasting effects. We're 10 days into our return into civilization and Theo still has not remembered those words. He has rediscovered the ability to make his own fun. I know it will not last forever, but maybe by the time it starts to wear off it will be the summer of 2011 and we will be once again sitting on a dock in northern Minnesota, dangling our legs in the cool water, and looking for Dick on the horizon.
We arrived on Monday and left on Friday and in between we let go of all our connections to the larger world and reveled in this little piece of paradise. Every morning after a breakfast that featured blueberries in a major role, Cec would attempt to intice the boys into an adventure or programmed activity of some sort. Although I do believe they appreciated her attention and desire to keep them occupied, they denied her each and every time. For they had their own plans. To make weapons out of sticks and forts out of reeds, to build their own civilization (complete with road blocks, customs, taxes, and perhaps a little piracy- where did all those no-bake bars go to?) to jump off rocks into the water and then to dry in the sun.
The adults were left to fend for ourselves, so we had to turn to books, or swims around the island, or to the blueberries. The endless fabulous beautiful blueberries. I spent a lot of time picking and not only did we eat blueberry pancakes, scones, and pies, but I returned with about 2 gallons of the little lovelies, although now I'm thinking why did I stop there? I am greedy for more, now that they are out of reach.
One time the boys were able to entice us out of a blueberry patch and over to the neighboring uninhabited island to play a game of capture the flag. I never captured anything but a lot of jail time. I swear I didn't realize the jail was located next to a particularly healthy blueberry bush until after my knock-down drag out capture. I did not give up with ulterior motives to sit in the sun and the wind and pick some treats for myself.
At one point I showed the boys how much fun a swamped canoe can be, if you swamp it on purpose and are ready for the consequences. After that they spent hours each day playing in and on and under the canoe, their shrill yells piercing the quiet day and reminding us that it is a terrific thing to be a child unleashed on a little piece of paradise. Theo made it through the entire week without once saying "Mom, I don't know what to do," a phrase which had been his refrain in the weeks leading up to this trip. And here's the beautiful thing- that week unleashed and unplanned and unplugged has had lasting effects. We're 10 days into our return into civilization and Theo still has not remembered those words. He has rediscovered the ability to make his own fun. I know it will not last forever, but maybe by the time it starts to wear off it will be the summer of 2011 and we will be once again sitting on a dock in northern Minnesota, dangling our legs in the cool water, and looking for Dick on the horizon.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Growing away, a little bit
The boys came back from their mini-week at camp and are making plans to stay longer next year! I couldn't be more pleased. I spent about 15 summers at Camp St. Croix, both as a camper and a counselor and I am so excited that they like it too. Although, as I drove them home and they bubbled over with tales and plans and stories, it hit me that we are now on a path that would take them away from me for longer and longer chunks of time. Do I really want their summers home from college (I do realize that I am getting ahead of myself here) spent away from home??? Theo was laying in the tub last night (much needed) running through possible camp names for himself so that he will be ready when it is his turn to be a counselor. He asked for help. I could give none. Luckily camp names weren't part of the program when I worked there. I could never come up with something catchy. We did get advice from an old camp friend (John Ott of the Mr. T sticker fame) to never use an animal of prey as your camp name. Don't go with Hamster, or Chipmunk, or Rabbit. It will set you up for all sorts of trouble. I think this advice stems from the fact that the only counselor with a camp name from our era was Gerbil. It did not work well for him.
Theo had Spock and Torque, while Eli had Pompeii (younger brother of Volcano, also on staff) and Jackhammer, or Hammer for short. I like that Theo called him Jack (pause) Hammer. Like it was a first and last name. So formal out there at Camp St. Croix.
The boys stories continue to bubble forth. Eli mentioned that the first night he thought they would all go over to the bathroom to get ready for bed, but all of the sudden the counselor, Jack (pause) Hammer, announced lights out. So Eli popped into his sleeping bag in his clothes, which he then wore clear through to the next evening, when he was proactive and went to the shower house before lights out. Theo mentioned that he did change his clothes regularly, but did so IN his cubby. I said that they would have to figure out how to change out of the cubbies, because eventually they were going to get too tall- NOT SO, Eli interrupted! He, who is already getting too tall for cubby changing, found out that the shelf above his head can actually be lifted away to provide an extra foot of space. He's good til 15 or so.
Today at lunch they told me that one of their favorite cabin activities was 'hatchet throwing'. What? When did this come about? Sure, there is archery, and back in my era there was bb-guns and the mudpit wrestling free for all (both of which have been axed for litigation issues) but hatchett throwing? Is this a good idea? From the perspective of pre-teen boys, the answer is a thundering yes. And Theo couldn't have been more pleased that Lucy, the camp dog, delivered a bag of M&M's and Pringles to his cabin one evening. Thanks Julie Stucky! Love having a friend on site to keep an eye on the guys, and to help them feel pretty special. He did report that he shared the goods with his cabin-mates.
And here's the big news: Theo appears to have returned with all of the goods he left with. It all came back sandy and damp, but it seemed to be all there. He even managed to come home with one extra pair of shorts that we have never seen before. I wonder if they fit.... To put this into perspective, in one single day of daycamp last year Theo managed to lose: His hat, his swimshirt, his underwear, his socks, his waterbottle, and his raincoat. He came home in his suit, a t-shirt and his sockless feet in shoes. So to come home from 4 days with extra clothes? Who would have imagined.
As I continue to relive my camp days vicariously through their stories I am filled with a poignant mixture of thrilling happiness that they are taking to this thing that was so much a part of my life and a touch of sadness that this new growth they experienced as summer campers is moving them (slowly) away from me. And I think that is what that camp name thing is really all about- when they get to the stage where they are not the campers anymore, but the young adults who the campers look up to, then they really have become someone new. I just wonder who they will become. I finally have an idea for silly old Theo.... Cork (pause) Screw. Seems to fit in a lot of ways. Still thinking on Eli. But I have to keep these to myself. The point of a camp name is that you choose it yourself, your old mom doesn't bestow it upon you. But we've got time. Thankfully we have a lot of time before this happens.
Theo had Spock and Torque, while Eli had Pompeii (younger brother of Volcano, also on staff) and Jackhammer, or Hammer for short. I like that Theo called him Jack (pause) Hammer. Like it was a first and last name. So formal out there at Camp St. Croix.
The boys stories continue to bubble forth. Eli mentioned that the first night he thought they would all go over to the bathroom to get ready for bed, but all of the sudden the counselor, Jack (pause) Hammer, announced lights out. So Eli popped into his sleeping bag in his clothes, which he then wore clear through to the next evening, when he was proactive and went to the shower house before lights out. Theo mentioned that he did change his clothes regularly, but did so IN his cubby. I said that they would have to figure out how to change out of the cubbies, because eventually they were going to get too tall- NOT SO, Eli interrupted! He, who is already getting too tall for cubby changing, found out that the shelf above his head can actually be lifted away to provide an extra foot of space. He's good til 15 or so.
Today at lunch they told me that one of their favorite cabin activities was 'hatchet throwing'. What? When did this come about? Sure, there is archery, and back in my era there was bb-guns and the mudpit wrestling free for all (both of which have been axed for litigation issues) but hatchett throwing? Is this a good idea? From the perspective of pre-teen boys, the answer is a thundering yes. And Theo couldn't have been more pleased that Lucy, the camp dog, delivered a bag of M&M's and Pringles to his cabin one evening. Thanks Julie Stucky! Love having a friend on site to keep an eye on the guys, and to help them feel pretty special. He did report that he shared the goods with his cabin-mates.
And here's the big news: Theo appears to have returned with all of the goods he left with. It all came back sandy and damp, but it seemed to be all there. He even managed to come home with one extra pair of shorts that we have never seen before. I wonder if they fit.... To put this into perspective, in one single day of daycamp last year Theo managed to lose: His hat, his swimshirt, his underwear, his socks, his waterbottle, and his raincoat. He came home in his suit, a t-shirt and his sockless feet in shoes. So to come home from 4 days with extra clothes? Who would have imagined.
As I continue to relive my camp days vicariously through their stories I am filled with a poignant mixture of thrilling happiness that they are taking to this thing that was so much a part of my life and a touch of sadness that this new growth they experienced as summer campers is moving them (slowly) away from me. And I think that is what that camp name thing is really all about- when they get to the stage where they are not the campers anymore, but the young adults who the campers look up to, then they really have become someone new. I just wonder who they will become. I finally have an idea for silly old Theo.... Cork (pause) Screw. Seems to fit in a lot of ways. Still thinking on Eli. But I have to keep these to myself. The point of a camp name is that you choose it yourself, your old mom doesn't bestow it upon you. But we've got time. Thankfully we have a lot of time before this happens.
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