Saturday, in the park...

A good friend, some green grass, a whole lotta sunshine, a little bit o' Starbucks, a few cool breezes, and a very strong dog.  My plan to anchor Layla to my book-laden backpack resulted in me chasing my dog and my backpack all around the park.  Always an adventure!

I took my bike to work today!

As in, I strapped it to the bike rack on my car and hauled it to school so my super awesome department chair could teach me how to change the tube in my back tire.  Perhaps my favorite part of the lesson was when she said, "You know, you can wash your bike."

No way, Jose!  It took me 4 years to get some mud on those tires!

9. I fell up the stairs again today...

...but before I did that, I

1. worked
2. worked out
3. gave Layla a bath (and chased her all over the apartment with a towel, trying to intercept the shower of water droplets that she cast in all directions before any of them landed on walls and furniture)
4. walked Layla
5. tried to look knowledgable at REI while searching for a bike tube and oh-so-flattering padded bike shorts (the secret is to ask all questions over the phone before entering the store: "So, the thing that goes in the tire?  What's that called?  Oh, a tube.  Okay.  And is there just one standard size tube or are there different sizes?  Different sizes, huh?  How would I know which size my tire is?  What's that?  What kind of valve do I have?  Um, one that lets air in and out...it's kinda pointy.")
6. bought groceries
7. worked on bike (meaning I velcroed (shut up, spellcheck!) a carrying bag under the seat and screwed a water bottle holder to the frame...look out, Bob Vila...or whoever your bike-handy equivalent may be!)
8. made bacon and eggs

Between items 2, 3, and 8, I'm smelling delightful!  And between you and me, I don't plan to do anything about it before hitting the hay!

P.S. I promise to relay the "hopping over bush" story when I have enough time and wits to do it justice.  Until then, you'll just have to keep reading and waiting in eager anticipation!

Hey, you!

For the past few weeks, I have been on a mission to persuade my friend Angela to go to our ten-year high school reunion.  She hasn't budged much, but when I remind her of my tendency to embarrass myself in front of people I recognize but don't really know that well, I can see a twinkle in her eye and a hint of curiosity that just might win her over.

I don't know how to explain what happens to me when I see someone familiar in an unexpected place.  I get giddy and think that if God put both of us in the same place, then surely I should say hi to this person.  Even if it means hopping over bushes in a parking lot (yep, done it) or yelling loudly outside of Starbucks, which is what I did today.

While walking my dog this afternoon, I noticed a girl who looked a lot like a girl I knew in college.  She was the sister of my roommate's boyfriend (now husband).  Poor Layla was pulled along at a breakneck speed until I could get close enough to confirm my suspicions.  Apparently, light does travel faster than sound because although I could see her clearly, she couldn't hear me the first time I called her name...in a crowd of Starbucks patio loungers who must have had better hearing than she did because they sure did turn to look.  When you're in a situation like that, you have two options.  You can give up, wave your hand in the air like you just don't care, and move on.  Or you can keep yelling the person's name until she acknowledges you.  Guess which one I chose.

I yelled the girl's name again.  No answer.  I yelled her name a third time, this time cupping my hand around my mouth and really belting from the diaphragm.  That one did it.  She finally turned to look at me, said a very generic (and maybe even frightened), "Hey, how are you?" and proceeded to walk into the coffee shop, where she stood behind the glass and waved cautiously at me.  It's probably a good thing Layla was with me, because otherwise, I probably would have followed her in and initiated one of those weird three-exchange conversations that you have with people you haven't seen in years.

Hey, so good to see you!
You too!
So you live here now?
Yeah.
Me too.
Cool.
Yeah.
Well, see ya around I guess.
Yeah, see ya.

Yeah, good thing I stopped just short of embarrassing myself.

P.S. If you want to hear the full "hopping over bush" story, I would be happy to share.  It's one of my favorites, and it is quickly followed by the "definition of the bar exam" story, which happened on the same night.

Pipes and Pawn Shops

My kids have an uncanny knack for remembering minor details – and for making up their own details – when reading a story.  For example...

Last week, our class read a story called "Sea Dog."  It's about a boy who finds a dog on the beach, decides to keep her, and later finds out that the dog belongs to a lonely old man.  The lonely old man happens to enjoy a pipe every once in a while throughout the story.  When my kids asked me what a pipe was, I drew a picture on the board to help them visualize it.  Apparently it worked.  Later, after reading a passage about how the old man used to go sailing with his dog, I asked the kids, "What did Bill and Otter used to do together?"  And Grant (name changed, of course) shouted out confidently, "SMOKE!"

This week I chose a story without any mention of substance use.  Yet, Roger (remember him?!) still managed to create some excitement.  In this true story, a teenage boy makes a difference in the world by restoring old bikes that he buys at garage sales and then donating the refurbished bikes to less fortunate kids.  When I wanted to show off my awesome teaching skills to my department chair this afternoon, I said to Roger, "Tell Mr. Keppler about the story we’re reading.”  And then, when Roger put his hand to his head and moaned, I decided to help him out.  “Remember, the main character’s name is Justin, and he buys bikes from garage sales and fixes them up.  Then what does he do with them?”  Roger snapped his fingers as a look of recognition lit up his face, and he exclaimed, “He takes them to the pawn shop!”

So there you have it folks.  You want your kids to soak up some suspicious behaviors?  Just bring ‘em on down to English for Delinquents 101.

That's the way the cookie crumbles.

Last night, I got an overwhelming urge to bake cookies.  Coincidentally, I had a to-do list a mile long, and none of the items involved chocolate chips.  So I did the responsible thing and decided to make half a batch of procrastination.

All was going well until I miscalculated ingredient number 12.  Once it was in the bowl, there was no turning back.  The only option was to add more of ingredients 1 through 11 and go all out.  Ingredient number one was softened butter.  Being the savvy baker, I tossed a stick of Land O' Lakes in the batter and popped the bowl in the microwave for 43 seconds (I never enter ordinary increments of time...it's a thing).  Unfortunately, I realized too late that ingredient number 10 was half a bag of chocolate chips, and they didn't exactly keep their shape after being nuked.  So 8 to 11 minutes later, I was gently prying some very lumpy zebra-looking cookies from the pan.

Then, on the way out the door this morning, I had my homemade, questionably edible cookies in hand when Layla decided to make a break for it.  In a bit of a panic, I tossed my cookies (ha!) on the ground, dropped my teacher bag on top of them, and sprinted down the hallway toward my wayward pooch.  It wasn't until after luring my dog back into the apartment with dog biscuits that I realized what I had done to my culinary masterpiece.  No worries though.  Everyone at work still ate their fair share of "cookie bites."  And they loved them!  Because you know what ingredient number 13 was?  Love.*

*Please know that I recognize the cheesiness of this line and have included it for purely comedic reasons.  I don't actually think that love is an ingredient, despite what my second-grade "Recipe for Friendship" might say.

30 Miles and Pizza Patron

I haven't written anything in a while, but my cousin Zak (shout out!) asked for my blog address, so in the spirit of sharing some awkward and funny moments, here's an update from my Tour Dallas experience.

Let it be known that when you go to pick up your registration packet, and the volunteer behind the table greets you with a smile and asks, "What can I get for you?" the appropriate response is NOT, "Um, I'll take whatever you've got!"  Apparently, the customary response is your shirt size.  Hey, volunteer lady, don't laugh at me!  If you wanted to know which size shirt I needed, why didn't you just say, "What size shirt do you want?"  You give me an open-ended question next to a table of freebies, and I'm gonna speak the truth!  Also, I'm gonna take 12 Clif bars while you're not looking.

And when you're cruising around mile 18 and a friendly gentleman introduces himself and comments on your bike, beware.  In about 34 seconds, your new friend Eric is going to comment on the necessity of wearing the appropriate undergarments while cycling.  And then you'll almost take out about 14 other cyclers in an attempt to pull over to the side and pretend to check your tires.  No, Eric, that's fine.  You just keep riding.  I'll take care of this one on my own.