Yes, I slid the side of my scooter past the front of the Hayden Honda pickup truck with the trailer attached.  I guess I didn’t slide past it; there was friction involved and my mirror has to be tightened. You see, there are lines painted on the asphalt for use for gauging how much control you have of your bike. Okay, okay. It’s a motorcycle test. I don’t have to actually pass it because I have a scooter, but it would be a good thing to do . . .because of the skill thing, dontcha know.

The truck was not damaged and I was okay, but wouldn’t you know it, the EMS were just coming out to the ambulance, which was parked close to the red Hayden Honda truck and they exclaimed, “AmeliaJake, are you okay?” They were very, very nice and not at all judgmental of my being 61 and on a scooter.

So I got back on and maybe hitting the truck was a good thing because I sense something clicked in my brain that connected to a reflex and I now lean away from things as much as steer away from them. And, believe me, that helps.

I know this doesn’t seem like the wisest thing I have done, but it may be a revitalizing risk. I can learn to do something new; I do realize physical conditioning is important to this and my health in general. I’m wearing a helmet. I am not going to be going fast on highways; I will be actually using the workings of my body, not using its blob quality  as the lap for a laptop.

And doing it, getting on that machine that can spurt forward, makes me aware that there is in me a little resolve, a tiny bit of courage, a  smidgen of determination. One more thing: My dad tried and tried to teach me patience; we both thought he had failed, but I am going at this in steps – practicing, absorbing, practicing, absorbing  . . . breaking down maneuvers into segments. I do not have the attitude that I am going to ride this scooter NOW come hell of high water, although I feel that urge. I am not heeding it however, I am being patient.

Oh, cripe, AmeliaJake, the pun lady, just realized it is only logical to make some comment about being a patient.

I DRIVE MYSELF CRAZY.

After spending some time reading about the risks of scooter riding and second guessing myself, I drove over to Hayden Honda and spent over an hour and a half on my scooter. Next time they are thinking of putting up cones for me to let me see what the motorcycle test is like even though you don’t need one for scooter in this state. I think the hardest part has been learning to control the throttle with my hand and to develop a bit of sensitivity to the amount of pressure needed. But, hey, this is only my second time out so we all know I am a bona fide expert. I will continue my studies I suppose under the tutelage of Newfie who learned to ride cycles on the cliff roads of Newfoundland. Or was it “hogs” she was riding? Yes, maybe it was German hogs and the name was Helmut, but I got it mixed up with helmet. Spiffie reminds me that if I get Newfie’s goat, I might end up wearing  a hog for a helmet. Well, no one tell Newfie and everything will be just fine.

Dear Newfie,

Do you like the stationery I had made with my picture? I got some for you also and put it in your cubby hole at the Peanut Butter Cafe. Did you know I heard AJ say that she thought you rode pigs in Newfoundland? It seems like an interesting story; I’m going to tell the others and maybe you can give a lecture on it at the next meeting of the lodgers’ ice cream social.

Your friend, Spiffie

WHAT! Spiffie, I rode motorcycles during

the war, patrolling and looking for U-boats

trying to sneak in! That AJ drives me

CRAZY! Oh, rats. What happened to my

goat? Your friend, Newf.

Have I mentioned that I have a pair of purple mocs from Lands End that were only $10 because they were “On the Counter”? They are for me to wear during my Native American dance lessons with  NaPoo. I first have to attend an attitude class about being careful about trying dances without proper instruction. Apparently you just don’t dance for rain without knowing what you are doing.  Supposedly they have a film of a rain dance and an ark. Oh, of course, I am kidding; they didn’t have video back then.

Precision in intent is extremely important . . . and if you are dabbling in revenge, you have to be very careful not to trigger the infamous boomerang effect.

However, if I get in trouble, look at this neat little credit card sized kit Der Bingle sent me:

Between this and my chainsaw and a scooter for a getaway, I might be okay. Of course, I will have to learn to travel in more than four foot 5 mph spurts. Then again I might be really great at moc dancing. ( My friends here at the PBC & R are laughing at me . . . I hear them saying ‘mock’ dancing and giggling. I guess I’ll have to investigate the super secret Pun Dance. That will show them, oh yeah.)

Ah, well, it took quite a long time to mow a relatively small area – the cord, dontcha know. I used this mower because the yard was starting to look like a bunch of bumps and hollows, something like a green case of measles.  I’ll be using a gas mower from now on – except for the areas where delicate new grass is coming up. One cool thing about the electric mower is you don’t have to worry about restarting after cutting the motor. It is just like a light switch. It took me a while to grasp this, but once I had I needed to fight the urge to just indulge in a period of “It’s off; it’s on.”

So now I am thinking of becoming a super lawn Nazi so I can have grass like a golf course green and the little mower will just putt along without fear of moles or random little sticks. Already this year, I have screamed, “No! Don’t  you think of moving that car on my new grass!”

I think I need to thatch. Perhaps I am becoming obsessed? Heaven help me if I take a hankering to the super trimmer at Mother’s, not to mention the chainsaw. All of a sudden I had a vision of myself riding my scooter with a chainsaw on my back.

I think it would be a wise idea to let my imagination go to idle and just tune in to Breaking Bad. Oh, wait a minute . . . I sense something awry with this plan.

I lost my watch before DST started and found it last week, then lost it and found it this morning. I forgot it was on standard time and thought we got home at about a quarter past seven, but, aha, my computer reminds me it is an hour later. Cameron bailed and so Summer and I went up and mowed, but first we had to jump the battery on The Wheel Horse. We mowed the North Field like snow plows go down the road, staggered. And after a while I realized our mowers were set at different heights.

Oh, earlier I caught a piece of hidden outdoor carpet in the blades when I got a wee bit too close to an overgrown area. And Summer mowed herself right up on Mother’s golf mound and realized all the other part of the circumference was quite steep. So she circled tightly and came back down. I didn’t see this happening until she was up on the mound. All I could think was, “Nooooooooo, don’t try to go down the north side. That would have been bad.

As it was she stepped on a board the wind had blown over and it had a nail in it and she has a puncture wound in her foot. I told her we’d get a tetanus shot in the next couple of days, although I think the one she had is still effective. Hours later, all the way home, she asked questions about wondering if her jaw was getting tight.

We took a break in mowing and watched The Pink Panther and ate peanut butter foldovers. When we went looking for the electric mower, we had to find keys for three sheds and we found it in the third, along with a five speed Schwinn. The chain and gears aren’t right so she worked on them for awhile but we’re going to have to research and then take it to a repairman.

Oh, the Yoder Girls came over to ask about a birdbath Mother had and I was able to give them some money to cover the milk they have been taking to the outdoor cat that is too scared to allow itself to be found. They are my age and a bit younger. Summer came up to me afterward and asked, “They are the  Yoder Girls????” and I explained they had been The Yoder Girls for some 50 years now.

We brought the electric mower home in the backseat since it wouldn’t totally fit in the trunk; we did try the trunk ride with the tied down lid but it bounced a lot of the way to Howe so we stopped at a convenience place and moved it from trunk to backseat. Acting nonchalant as cars traveled down the busy highway took concentration; we turned it this way and that and I crawled in the other side and pulled and she pushed and we got it in. Then we jumped in and hightailed it out of there – still looking nonchalant.

Needless to say, Sydney is tired tonight. I might be also. Summer will probably stay up most of the night keeping track of her possibly locking jaw.

This is a straight forward question. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to answer it: Have to get mowers going, here and at Mother’s. But I am taking grandkids and they bicker and get hungry and I’m sure there are other treats waiting for me. We need to take the mower with the bent blade from here up to Mother’s so I can take it over to the Amish repairman; we need to mow the lawn up there; we need to bring back a mower to mow down here. Maybe I’ll bring back the little electric since I know I want the thrill of running over the cord. Oh, yeah.

To go, we need ice, soda, snacks, the dog, dog eats and dog snacks and I must not forget the bag of keys. Oh, rats, I just remembered the fiasco of the needs-to be-repaired-ramp . . . that would be the one that is related to the split two by four. And don’t forget, Summer wants to wear the motorcycle helmet while she rides the mower.

It looks like none of the crew here at the cafe & roadhouse is eager to help. Spikey just looked at me and mumbled, “Party last night – go away.” I wasn’t invited . . . so I am showing you Spikey with her bed hair.

Well, seeya, I’ve got to go out there and carpe diem.

Oh, I was so pathetic at first. Horrible! But in the end I made endless circles around Hayden Honda to the left and then the right . . . and did not crash nor fall down. It was a miracle. Mike took me out in the parking lot and was very nice and helpful, but you know what? I was afraid. After getting some coaching, I said I’d like to keep trying and he said he would keep an eye on me from inside; I think he knew I didn’t want a witness when I decided I just couldn’t do it.

Then after some fitful circles, I noticed that the EMS van had pulled into the parking lot with its engine running. When I finally came back in, Kurt Hayden said, “I hope you didn’t think we called the EMS.” Hey, it wouldn’t have bothered me if they had, In fact, I was surprised the EMS guys hadn’t opened the back doors just waiting for me to catapult myself in.

I’m going to take some more test drives before I have them deliver it. See, a machine that has an accelerator instead of pedals takes some getting used to.

For all that I have written about my granddaughter, Summer, including pictures of her in the dumpster and the “I think they’re Chinese” people, I feel I must, in all fairness, mention that she won the Outstanding Science Student of the year. Come to think of it, maybe she is planning on learning ways to blow me up real good. She is also extremely good at math and is in the advanced class, but she didn’t win that award . . . Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she didn’t get the “Why was six afraid of seven? Seven Eight Nine” joke until many years later when she saw it in subtitles. Sometimes – maybe a lot of times – when she is picking on me for being old and wrinkly and other things, I look over my glasses and say, “Seven, eight, nine” and she exclaims, “I was little; I didn’t think about homophones!”

Apparently LZP was left speechless when he found out about my scooter because I received this photo, entitled Biker Chicks in my email.

If LZP’s brother, Der Bingle, were to send me a similar photo, the chicks would be Peeps. Or not. Maybe he would have to use real chicks for making a photo like this, because thousands of Peeps would have be harmed (ingested) otherwise.

********UPDATE**********

And now we have a suggested helmet to wear . . .

Today the high is supposed to be 49 degrees; I think last week we broke a record with 80 or 81. Well, it’s not last week anymore. And it is overcast with the dampness of yesterday’s rain lingering on. That’s not so bad; it’s  a bit of time to enjoy the little firestove and read a little. I found a book at Mother’s that, I think, is titled London Transports; it is a collection of short stories. I read a few in the evening last week while stretched out on her sofa in a room lit by the reading light over my shoulder and the flickering of the gas heater turned up so it had actual flames. Mother had a tendency to heat by pilot light.

Back to the stories. One was about a 29 year old virgin who was to be married and went into a bookstore to ask for a book on, yes, I am going to type it, sex. She told the proprietor she had a niece who was going to be married and needed information. The gentleman coughed and suggested she share her experience with her niece. She she told him she couldn’t because she was a nun.

She responded to his surprised look by remarking that nuns no longer wore “nun clothes” and he said his sister was a nun and her order had them donning shorter dresses and modified head coverings. Not to fear, she blurted out that she worked in a travel agency and was supposed to blend in with tourists. His mystified look prompted her to add it was her job to arrange travel arrangements for nuns serving as missionaries.

Maybe it was a porn bookstore . . . I don’t remember. But I was thinking, “You read this, Mother? You who had me screen all videos and DVD’s so I could forewarn you about closing your eyes or, if necessary, fast forward.” I just realized I didn’t investigate the rest of the stack of books waiting to be read.  Or the stack she had already processed. Maybe on this chilly day I need to go stretch out by Mother’s gas heater again . . .

A book, a Diet Coke, Sydney sleeping on my feet, warmth from the heater and the smell of woodsmoke in the beams of the house.