Theme Thursday: Angels

This week's Theme Thursday asks the question of whether or not I believe in angles. Well of course! I didn't spend a year in high school geometry for nothing. I believe in 180* ones along with 45*, and––

Sorry, but is this a humor blog or what? I didn't want to suddenly go all serious on you with each post.

Angels! I've believed in those too ever since I was seven and one saved my life while on a runaway bike that was possessed. Not exactly. The bike might have gotten out of sorts because I didn't get the concept of coasting when riding downhill. Instead, I pedaled full force until I found myself headed straight into a moving car.

I panicked and could only think to stop the bike, but the brakes failed to heed my one request because of inertia: a body in motion tends to stay in motion. 

That's when the angel entered the scene. I guess it was an angel because I never saw anyone, but I felt it. Some invisible something grabbed the handle bars of my bike and threw me out of the path of the car. I circled into a grassy hill and got my usual skinned knees. Throughout my childhood, I never had a normal looking knee so this was no big deal. As an adult, I usually have clean knees but STILL mess them up from time to time. 

Proof! There must be angels because without them, I'd surely be dead.

 Many thanks to Beth for telling me about morgueFile. This is a delightful site that allows me to download any of their pictures without fear of being sued; unfortunately, the bloody knee is totally mine. :)

Writer's Post: Accidents

This week's writer's post topic is on accidents. How fun is that! It brings back all sorts of wonderful memories about my childhood.

Hey, Boo Boo!

When I was a little girl, my daddy called me his "Little Boo Boo." I'm not sure why, since we never stole any pic-a-nic baskets, and it's not like I messed up too much... okay, I confess, my bother called me, "Miss Breaker," but pul-lease. I'm not the only one in the family to have accidents. I didn't crash a bicycle built for two on the horse trail in French Lick, Indiana, nor did I back into the dishwasher to emerge with a big freakin' knife hanging out of my booty. That was someone else in the family.

I'm also not to blame when the old neighbor crashed his bike on the side of the road. I was maybe eight years old and carefully looping my wheels around the neighborhood when I happened to pass an old guy––probably younger than I am now, but old to me––wobbling back and forth on a tiny bike made for his kid. He obviously never learned how to ride a bike, since "they" say one never forgets. 

Anyway, I spun past him, minding my own business and the dude crashes! I didn't push him. I didn't veer into him. In fact, I wasn't anywhere near him; however, his old biddy wife comes pounding the door screaming at how I caused her sweetheart's accident.

How could anyone as cute as I was cause trouble?

Anyone who grew up with me knows I was just the type to grit my teeth and plunge into old guys on undersized bikes just for kicks. No, Mr., that was your kid! Remember, him? He used to dig holes in the park, cover them with leaves, and wait behind a tree, so he could laugh at seeing "someone" have an "accident." I'm surprised he didn't have an accident in his pants the day the scary sixth grade teacher picked him up hitch hiking. I know I would have. Accidents. Yeah, right!

Writer's Post: Serenity

For this week's Writer's Post, Jenn has posted the above picture and asked us to use the word "serenity" in our blogs.

Serenity - The state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled.

This is just the case for bikes! Just ask my brother and sister about French Lick, Indiana, and they'll tell you how serene bike riding is. Unfortunately, they veered onto the rocky horse trail instead of the bike path, which was fine until a rider yelled, "Giddy Up." A broken collar bone for bro and cast-covered leg for sis, and we were headed home. Daggumit! They cut our vacation short. So in their honor, here's their favorite song–NOT.

A few years later, I learned how to ride a bike and almost lost my life too. Remember, bike riding equals serenity. While zooming down a hill, I peddled at high speed. Upon reaching bottom, I found myself rolling head first into a car. Right when I was ready to collide (without a helmet since we didn't know any better back then), some invisible person grabbed my bike handles and steered me out of the way. I guess I wasn't meant to die at age seven.

As an adult, I bought a ten-speed racing bike and rode back into the serene experience of bike riding. I even competed in several triathelons. After all, there is nothing like the serene feel of skirting past traffic on busy streets. Not to mention the butt aches.

Recently, the only thing serene is the bike itself. It's gathering dust in our garage. Perhaps it's time to dust off the bike, fill the tires, and go for a "serene" bike ride.

If you like, please click the fence. Thanks!

near "DEATH" experience

I almost died at the age of seven. Sure, we all use the expression "almost died" or "could have died," but this was no joke. It all started when my sister took me to the grounds of Concordia Seminary where she helped me perfect my bike riding skills by having me circle the parking lot. Once I got good at it, she encouraged me to ride down the hill toward the street.

1960s Schwinn

This wouldn't have been a problem for most kids, you just put your feet on the pedals and coast your way down; however, I didn't have the concept of coasting. With full pedal pushing strength, I flew down that hill. I enjoyed the wind in my face and the thrill of the fast ride until I neared the bottom and spied a car headed straight at me.

In a panic, I pumped the break with no luck because at such a fast speed, one does not stop easily. Now here comes the weird part: right as I was set to plow head first into the car, someone grabbed the handlebars of my bike and moved me out of the way. No one was there.

So you're probably thinking I'm nuts, insane, crazy, or just plain coo coo, but I swear, someone pulled my bike out of the way of that car. No doubt about it. My bike moved to the left, and I crashed into a grassy hill, which gave me two bloody knees. That was no big deal since I rarely saw knee skin throughout my entire childhood anyway.

My sister told me how brilliant I was for turning the wheel of the bike. I didn't turn the wheel. I'm not sure who did. Maybe it was an angel, or a relative who was never more or not yet. No telling about that, but one thing's for sure: I was not meant to die at age seven.