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...

You’re in the back seat, arguing with your sibling over who’s turn it is to play with the cheap kid’s meal toy. Suddenly, your body jerks forward as your loving parent slams on the brakes. Does this sound familiar to anyone? It’s one of those parent discipline techniques I’ve kept for my repertoire. Only, today, it didn’t work so well. I was running late to double little league games and my children were arguing: “Let me see it!” “It’s mine!” “Let me see it!” “It’s mine!” This continued for at least a minute before I found a grassy shoulder, checked for any traffic behind me and then did the brake slam. The car didn’t stop. It slowed and eventually stopped in the grass. It felt like it does when you hit a patch of snow or ice and you eventually slow when the tire meets pavement. Except it’s June. The kids didn’t even stop their arguing. I wondered if it was a one-time thing. Finally I asked who the toy belonged to and pronounced judgment that she could do what she wanted wit...

Yesterday, driving down the street to work, I didn’t notice all the stumps along the side of the road. I knew there was a lot of construction, and the trees had been cut down to widen the road. Their remains had been left, leveled to the ground, for months now. Today there was a big yellow excavator blocking half the street. It was making it’s way up one side of the street, apparently using an arrowhead shaped attachment to dig up the stumps of the trees that had once lined the street. The stumps, turned upside down with roots exposed, were huge, gnarly monstrosities aligned along the road. Sometimes I wish I could see people’s roots. What is keeping them upright? Where have they drawn their strength and vitality from? Did they have to struggle to get what they needed out of life? Do their roots run deep or stretch out wide? Some people are ashamed of their roots, even though they are the basis of who we are. Our ancestors, our parents, our friends, and our faith are all parts of who w...

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...