46/365: Pounding the Dough

Watching this scene unfold brought back great memories. We had Thanksgiving Dinner at my in-laws' home. My mother-in-law brought up the dough for the rolls and got Bella a stool. She had a great time pounding it down and later pulling pieces off and putting it in the pan.

My mom was not and is not a cook. She made meals for us when we were kids, but it always seemed like such a chore for her. And consequently, the food tasted like it was a chore for her. I learned to cook and bake from three very special women: Maama, Granny Fauerbach, and Aunt Lou. All three loved to cook and included me in the work in the kitchen. I spent a lot of time on a stool, mixing batters, rolling dough, and drying dishes. I learned lots of tricks and tips that can't be learned by reading cookbooks. More than that, I developed a love of cooking. I hope my kids develop that same fondness.

45/365: I Like It Even Less in the Fall

As much as I like to be outside, I do not like to garden. This is the area at the end of my driveway. My petunias are dead. My hostas are withered. There are remnants of weeds everywhere. I wish I could say that the pitifulness of this spectacle would move me to do something about it, but it won't. I can handle a few tomato plants and a bit of basil, but not flowers. I've never been one who was even big on getting flowers as a gift, so the idea of growing them does nothing for me. I make a go of it in the spring. I pull weeds, plant pansies, make a pretence of finding other plants to put in the ground. Some summers, I even add more flowers once my pansies succumb to the heat. Once I even made it so far as to put mums in the ground. This year I can't even bring myself to pull out the carcasses that remain.

When we lived in the City, I really made an attempt at having a beautiful, flowery patio. I had pots of different shapes and sizes. I hit nurseries and Soulard Market looking for great flower deals. It's good we were only in that house 3.5 years. I couldn't have kept that farce up much longer.

I keep thinking maybe someday I'll change my mind. Then I get on my bike and spend my time far more productively.

44/365: 'Twas the Night Before a Run

I learned a few secrets about morning workouts a long time ago. The biggest one is to remove all excuses. I have all my gear ready for my workout before I go to bed. My clothes and heart rate monitor sit ready on the counter in my bathroom. My shoes and other items are out in the kitchen. I've found that by having it all out, there is little to prevent me from doing what I need to do. I can't claim that my shorts weren't clean or that I couldn't find a hat. If I think the weather is iffy, I will go so far as to put out two sets of clothes, one for outdoor and one for indoor. Plus, if for some reason I don't go, my gear then mocks my laziness, my lack of mental or physical toughness.

43/365: I Love a Rainy Night

Don't you read the title and hear the Eddie Rabbit song immediately pop into your head? I can't remember the last time we've had a real rain. This season's cross races have been so unbelievably bumpy and rough on the body because the ground is like cement. We are finally getting rain. I'm not sure if it will be enough to make a difference, but I'll take whatever relief I can get.

I'm a little disappointed with my photos today. I wanted a great shot of the rain on the windows, but couldn't get it. I took four and this was the best one. I'm not sure if it's the flash, screen, or my lack of photography skills . . . or all three.

Race Report: Mt Pleasant Winery Bubba

I am beginning to think I've been cursed by Murphy's Law during cx season. Today's race was a tough, tough course. It was incredibly hilly, thick grass and lots of switchbacks. I knew it would be tough. Nine women in the A race, about 15 in the B race. We took off on lap one and I rode what I could. The switchback turns were all at the top of small climbs and the thick grass made it difficult to maneuver some of the turns to go downhill the opposite way. I was able to pedal through a few that I didn't make during my warm up lap.

The grimace on my face from my scraped knee and flat tire. Photo cred: Dennis F.

The second lap I was able to ride a hill that I had to take fully as a run up last year. I was feeling good, saw 5 to go on the lap cards and headed into lap three. The course started on pavement and had a 180 sweeping turn. I took it too aggressively and laid my bike over. Amazingly I stayed clipped in as I slid through the parking lot. I unclipped jumped up and made sure everything was still attached to my body (and that I hadn't put a hole in my skin suit!) and started again. I hit the first long downhill and tried to turn and my rear wheel slipped. I dabbed and went on the second and my rear wheel slipped. I dismounted and felt my tire and it was nearly flat. I ran the next three switchbacks and remounted to see how far I could make it. Every turn I was fishtailing, and of course I had passed the pit already. I ran the bike the rest of the course, through the start finish and back to the pit. I got to the pit and had no wheels there. Sam assumed that I would DNF because the course was tough if I flatted so he left my wheels in the truck. I take full responsibility for not checking. I told him to give me the rear wheel off of his bike. Carrie put it on and I took off. I grabbed my brakes for the downhill and had none...it wasn't reconnected and I didn't check before leaving the pit. I messed with it for a couple of minutes before I was able to get it rehooked and take off again. By this time I had been either lapped or passed by everyone. I refused to quit a race though. I rode the lap and did what I could with Sam's wheel--my bike didn't like his cassette and it slipped a bit.

Sonny lapped me for a second time as I finished the lap so when I went back through I got one to go. There were a few B racers in my sight, so I made the move to catch and pass them and was able to do it.

It was amazing how many cheers I got as I ran with the bike. This season has taught me a lot about bike racing and a lot about who I am and the mental and physical determination I have. I may not be the strongest, fastest racer out there, but I have a stick-with-itness that would rival anyone.

The smile on my face as I sprinted towards the line . . . and yes, you still should sprint even if you are DFL. Photo cred: Dennis F.

42/365: Pinning On

I've lost count of how many times I've been a number to a jersey or skinsuit, maybe 40-50 over the last two years. I have a system for how I pin a number. I always use seven pins. I line the bottom of the number up with the bottom of the graphic on my side panel. The closest edge goes either on the seam or edge of the graphic. And I never use the holes in the number. I pin flat through fabric and the number. It flaps too much if you use the holes. It's not that I'm superstitious, it's just that this is the way that I've found to work best. And the way this cx season has gone, I find I have to be doing something well.

41/365: A Special Gift

The chair Unc made for Boo's second Christmas.

I got a phone call earlier this month from one of my cousins. I briefly thought about sending it to voice mail because it was during the work day and I was busy with other things and really didn't have time to chat. It's unusual that she calls, so I picked up. She called to tell me her dad had been diagnosed with bladder cancer. I felt hot. I had a lump in my throat. This is my daddy's big brother. This is the man confused my kids (and my cousins') because he and my daddy looked so much alike. This is the man who can make me smile with his smile and make me cry with his hugs. It couldn't be. They hadn't gotten a full prognosis, but she would call me with it as soon as they knew . . . and don't tell Maama.

They scheduled his surgery for November 16. He wouldn't be deer hunting with my brothers this year, something he has taken to doing since my dad died. I waited all last Tuesday for word that the surgery went well and the cancer was gone. When my cousin called around 3 I answered the phone by saying "tell me the good news." The good news was that the surgery was over and they'd gotten all of the tumor from his bladder. They'd also had to take part of the prostate because it had spread. They would know more in three to five days when labs came back, but he was in recovery and coming home Wednesday.

Then came the call yesterday afternoon. The cancer wasn't bladder cancer, it was prostate cancer. And on a scale of one to ten, my uncle's cancer is a nine. The doctors did a bone scan to see if it had spread elsewhere. We'll know the results of that test on Wednesday this week. Unc's going to have to have surgery again. And he's telling Maama. I cried, she cried. She asked me how I lived without my daddy. You see, these two brothers were two peas in a pod. I had the best dad in the world and so does she. They both placed their daughters on pedestals and taught us how to be strong women because we knew they would always be holding us up, giving us what we needed to be successful. And now these two brothers have both been stricken by cancer.

"It's not fair!" she cried to me. I could do nothing but agree. "I don't know how to live without him." The memories and pain came rushing back to me because I still am not sure how I live without my dad. One breath, one moment, one day at a time was all I could say to her. I told her that you use the strength he's given you and you live the life that he made you capable of living and that by doing that, you're never without him.

The other piece to this story is telling Maama. Maama is my grandma, our matriarch, my hero. She is an amazing 93 woman who raised three great children, seven grandchildren, and eight great grandchildren. She lost the love of her life to Alzheimer's nine years ago. She lost her youngest son to cancer four years ago. She takes care of her youngest sister who's health is failing. She still lives on her own and thanks God for the gifts he's given her in spite of her hardships. Job had nothing on my Maama. This news however, may prove to be overwhelming. I am an optimist, but also a realist. I know how vicious cancer is and I've seen the savageness of chemotherapy. I know the toll it took on Maama seeing my dad fight, struggle and suffer. I can't imagine watching your child die and being able to do nothing. And now to see her oldest son wage a similar war. It's more than one person should have to take.

For now we pray, we hope and we cherish our moments together.