Wildflower Writes

They said I was crazy.  After the fact. My husband and I had driven separate cars to church that morning, and driven one car home.  I thought it would boost my weight loss plan and save the earth, if I rode my bike to the church that afternoon for choir practice.  5 miles.  No big deal. As I wheeled through my suburban neighborhood, I planned on taking the same route I drive to church.  I started on the road, just like a car.  Technically, a bicycle is supposed to follow all the rules of the road a car does.  Logistically, most drivers of motor vehicles do not know this and do not respect a cyclist's right to be on the road.  Healthwise, safety dictated a sidewalk route whenever available.  When I decided a little air in my tires might make the ride more comfortable and expedient, I took a short cut through a side street rather than go to a complicated interesection to get to the gas station.  I felt completely safe as I took the a...

My son inherited his mother's perfectionistic tendencies.  When he is unable to accomplish something, he gets frustrated easily and concludes he is horrible at the task and will never be able to do it.  He gets angry and cries. Today we tackled the bike again.  Before the snow fell last fall, he was able to go short distances as long as I got him started.  That's how it began this afternoon. By the time we got to the next-door neighbor's driveway, he had already fallen once.  By the time we got around the corner, I threatened to take him home if he was going to cry every time the bike went off the sidewalk and into the grass.  Little by little, with encouragement, and letting him pick himself up and start over a hundred times, he started to get the hang of it.  After cruising around the basketball court at the elementary school for awhile, he was completely confident in his ability to start, stop, and steer in the direction he wanted to go. ...

Continued from 5/29 post… Wendy felt the tears fill her eyes. She hurriedly looked away and blinked, regaining composure. When she turned back, she was looking right into Jason’s eyes. The mischievous glint was gone, and instead she saw deep blue eyes, filled with concern and compassion… for her? She didn’t understand how a stranger could care so much. “I… I’m not,” she finally blurted out. “I’m not ready for this. I don’t want to let go.” A sob welled up deep within her, and she felt weak in the knees. Without a word, he drew her into a brief hug, holding her for just a moment as the tears began to fall, then gently pushing her to arms length. “It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry. No one expects you to be strong all the time.” He spoke the truth, but she wasn’t ready to hear it. Wendy murmured a hurried “excuse me” and brushed past him. She swiped angrily at the tears, trying to find a place to hide. Just past the elevators she spotted a door with a restroom symbol. ...

Continued from 5/15 post… Just as Wendy was trying to figure out how she was going to open the door when she reached the third floor, the door swung open.  A tall young man with curly brown hair, dressed in scrubs, jumped a little when he realized his path was blocked.  He held the door open while Wendy wheeled her bike through.  He cocked his head for a moment, a touch of amusement playing on his lips.  She gave a half smile and shrugged her shoulders.  She knew she must look ridiculous.  She found a family lounge area and wheeled her bike into a corner.  Surely no one else would be dumb enough to take a bike down stairs.  It was probably safe.  Wendy took a deep breath, and wiped her hands on her shorts.  She counted the room numbers, and finally ended up in front of 406.  She walked slowly into the room.  She looked for her mom, but no one was in the room except someone’s feet covered in white sheets to her left. ...

Continued from 5/8 post… Wendy ate her breakfast. She didn’t realize she was so hungry. When had she eaten last? She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flipping the channels to Tom and Jerry. For a moment, lost in the silliness of a clever mouse and a persistent cat, Wendy felt like a child again. She daydreamed about Saturday mornings with her dad when she was little. He would tear her away from the cartoons, and she would feign kicking and screaming as he’d take her outside and push her on the swings, or teach her to ride a bike, or walk to the park. He would never let her sit in front of the television on a golden Saturday like today. Slowly, reluctantly, she willed herself out of her chair and into her room to change her clothes. She put on a T-shirt her dad had bought her on a business trip. Feeling adventurous, she bypassed the car keys and wheeled out her bicycle. It had been gathering dust since she got her license last spring. Wendy started pedaling down the r...