Delusions of grandeur

10 June 2009

My favorite character flaw is the unyielding faith I have in my ability to do the impossible. For example, there is never doubt n my mind, as I see a frisbee fly overhead, that I can, in fact, jump half my height. I am still always surprised when the frisbee sails far above me into the trees.

So when Josh suggested that I bike to Mount Vernon, I did not hesitate to start planning. How hard could a little serious biking be? It's only 25 miles each way.

Friday I had work off, so I borrowed Ian's mountain bike, pumped up the tires, and headed out, pedaling in a southeasterly direction-- maps are for amateurs. I have complete faith in my ability to navigate by intuition (and well groomed bike trials).

I biked enthusiastically down the W&OD (we locals call it "the wad"), which follows the Four Mile Run River down to the Potomac. Virginia is beautiful and the paved trail was shaded by great overhanging oaks, maples, sycamores and something that looked like beach. I have to write a paper about the whole experience (that's what happens when you take summer college classes) so I pedaled and made up poetic descriptions of the chunky, rugged bike trail and the Pollock-spattering of sunshine that sifted through the trees.

It wasn't until I had stopped for lunch and started home that my legs began to really complain. About mile 30, I started to slow down. I had no idea your legs could cramp from the hips down. Fortunately, there was little time to worry about tired legs- that is when the rain came.

The rain was of that sudden southern-deluge sort that is unexpected and torrential. I wondered for a moment if it were in the bikes best interested to stop and wait it out under a bridge, but I was dripping already and I couldn't see how waiting in the wet was better than wading in the wet, so I just biked and laughed, and looked up towards the sky and opened my mouth wide.

Post Script:
I made it home fine, dirty and muddy and soaking wet, but I couldn't think of a way to better enjoy a free Friday. Next time I'm biking to the Maryland beach. It shouldn't be too much harder-- it's only about 50 miles more.

Snapshot

30 May 2008

To really appreciate the moment, let me explain the proceeding pandemonium:
It was nothing particularly unusual; Lilly threw My First Potty Board Book at Ava because Lilly is two and likes throwing things and that book was particularly handy and also because Ava wouldn’t share the Playskool chicken. So Ava threw the chicken (because four-year-olds like to throw too) at which point Lilly pinched her.

I have found it best to let these tiffs blow over, but Lilly pinches hard and Ava’s screams (of pain unfeigned) were my cue to run interference. I tried a few distractions (“Ava, come show me your dollhouse!”). These were met with shrieks of protest. And my most diplomatic reasoning (“I can see that you’re upset, sweetheart; Can you use words instead of screaming?”) met with similar objection.

Not one to be left out of the fun, Lilly caught the spirit of the thing and began to launch Noah’s Ark&Friends at the closet target- me. Besides strong pinching fingers she has a strong throwing arm and surprisingly good aim.

“Okay, good throwing Lilly; but please don't throw at people”

“NO!” was punctuated with a flying plastic cheetah.


And this is how it started. I can’t now recall just how the hysteria subsided, but somewhere between the hippo sur l'aile and air-born Noah himself, Ava announced she was going to play dress-up and the chaos was suddenly over.

I was still recovering from the flying zoo as Ava helped Lilly into Tinkerbell’s fairy dress, and Lilly helped Ava find her Snow White red hair bow. I was asked to fasten all their Velcro and was given the feather boa as thanks. And also the butterfly wings and the princess hat that matched.

Then we went sidewalk chalking.

I wish I were a neighbor who might have peeked over the backyard fence and seen the three of us scribbling away: Lilly looked the very picture of a fairy with her runaway blond hair of tight, tiny curls and her face crinkled into her gleeful (impish) grin; Ava, herself a blonde Snow White, chattered about her favorite princesses as she minced around in her Plastic Glass Sippers With The Little Pink Bows, practicing her A-V-A in pink and purple chalk. If I had been watching from across the way, I would have taken a picture.

But I wasn’t. Instead, I sat in the middle of it all and drew big flowers in orange and blue.