I WANT MY OWN MOTORCYCLE


Yes we do

Yes we do

It’s true. Finally, at this late stage in my life, I want one. My hubs and I went for a long bike ride on his Harley after we left all the Easter celebrations with family and friends. It was so beautiful and quiet (except for the roar of the souped up tail pipes he accessorized his bike with. Hey, they all do it.). We enjoyed awesome scenery, fabulous smells of spring flowers, new wheat in the fields, even the murky smells of the occasional swamp. It was all lovely.

Ok, I have tried to make it known that I am no stranger to riding motorcycles but the hubs doesn’t take me seriously. My family rode bikes when I was a kid. My parents did, my brother did, all the G.I.s my dad brought home from work did. We would meet in a pasture behind our house in Austin, Texas (now it’s a housing development) and ride through all the dips and pits and cow manure. Mom was a short, red, plump woman and looked a bit like a tomato, but she loved to ride too. Bless her heart, I can still see her zooming across the wild terrain with her boobs about to explode out of her bras, yes bras, as she tried to keep them corralled by wearing more than one, poor thing. I’m sure she was embarrassed. I wasn’t. I wanted to be just like her. That gal could ride. Anyway, my point is that I grew up riding. To be honest, most of my riding was on the back of the motorcycle. But there was a time when I could handle a dirt bike. That was fun, but unfortunately I was a bit timid. I remember hearing someone remark “she had that thing going and then just gave up!” I don’t know why, but by the time I got that dirt bike going good, I always backed off. What on earth was I afraid of – falling, breaking my face, getting dirty? Who knows.

Back to the motorcycle ride with the hubs yesterday. I believe that the love of that ride triggered something in me that makes me want my own bike. He has been trying to convince me that I need one for a long time. I have been telling him that I like sitting behind him with my arms around him when we ride. And that’s true, but I woke up this morning remembering the good times I had as a kid trying to impress everyone that I could do it but not being sure I really could.

Well, now I am sure. I know I can do it. I’m older, wiser, free-er, happier, smarter. I know riding the back roads are safer than riding the highways, and a lot more fun. I have no problem with wearing more than one bra if the going gets rough, and the bits and pieces of gray hair blowing in the wind from under my full-face helmet do not bother me. Support hose will help keep my ankles from swelling. I can equip myself with a light-weight back brace if I need to. I have prescription sun glasses and body lotion with sun screen. I can do this. I want my own motorcycle.

the older I get

Don’t forget to pray for peace, people. Oh – and if you don’t mind – pray for me too!

A Different Kind of Christmas This Year…


christmas 2013

Christmas is a little different at my house this year.  So far, there is no tree decorated in the living room, no big meal planned yet, all the presents are still in the closet, as is the door wreath.  It’s quiet.  The Johnny Mathis Christmas cd is still in the case.  It seems like Thanksgiving was yesterday and it’s already time for holiday madness to be swinging in full force.  I don’t know why, but this household is holding out.  It’s all happening too fast and time is jumbled up in a close knot.  I need to find a way to spread it out and undo some of it.  Anyone else feel that way?

I want these Advent days to slow down so that I can savor them.  I want time to move in slow motion like it did when I was a little girl.  I want every minute to be recorded in my memory instead of seeing the blur of a fast paced Christmas season.  It’s just too much this year.  I’m not prepared.

I saw the singer Jewel on the Today Show this morning and she seemed to have a handle on what Christmas should be.  She said something to the effect of having a child brings back the joy of Christmas.   Now, that’s profound.  

Ahh, therein lies the problem.  I don’t have my children around me, and by that I mean grandchildren.  After all, my boys are all grown up and, being boys, they have their own lives to live, don’t they?  My gaggle of grandchildren lives just far enough away that I don’t get to see them as often as I would like.  I think that because November and December seem to have collided this year, the opportunity to see them has been limited.   I can’t wait till I can get my hands on them!  We are going to have such fun!  I can see it all now:  teaching them how to bake cookies, making Christmas presents for their parents, the cousins getting together and having a blast playing games, taking pictures, hugging, kissing, and loving each other. 

Yeah, that’s Christmas. 

I have a new friend (writer Fletcher McHale – check her out https://nantubre.com/2013/11/04/book-review-save-us-a-seat-by-fletcher-mchale-nablopomo-4/) who has a very unique way to make note of her prayers.  She starts out with the line “dear 7lb 8oz Baby Jesus”.  I’m going to borrow that line just this once because it seems appropriate during this Advent season.  My prayer goes something like this:

Dear 7lb 8oz Baby Jesus,

You are such a beautiful baby.  And what a shame that you had to grow up to become the Sacrificial Lamb but I thank you for it.  And I thank you for your tenderness and mercy shown to me throughout my whole life.  And the blessings, the blessings from you, Baby Jesus, that I call my Grandchildren.  My gratitude is eternal.   This Christmas I intend to celebrate you in a new way.  I’m not looking at the hustle and bustle of the world.  I’m not looking at all the lights and the wrapping paper and the cards.  I’m not struggling to buy the biggest and the best.  I’m looking for you in my heart and in the innocent eyes of little ones.  I’m planning to see you through simple joys and hopeful promises of love and laughter.  The genuine kind, not the kind that comes with opening presents and racking up gift after gift.  I only have one gift to give; my love.  And that gift will be a celebration of You, given freely, joyfully, happily.  It will be given in terms of guiding little hands pressed against each other in prayers of thankfulness and teaching them to shape gingerbread men for the oven.  It will be given through the reading of the Christmas story.  To the best of my ability, it will be lavished upon whomever You put in my path.  But I will need Your strength and a good dollop of Your unconditional love to sustain me.  I’m not that strong on my own, you know.   Thank You, dear Baby Jesus.  Love, Nan

Share the Christmas Love by praying for peace. Ya’ll have a good one!