The Invisible Bicyclist

I've mentioned before that I love to ride my bicycle, even if my area isn't very encouraging to cyclists and biking. If I have an errand to the credit union, the book store, the craft store, or especially the library, I'll frequently get on my bike and pedal there. Today was an especially good day to bike to the library; not only is the weather beautiful, the road in front of the library is undergoing major construction and is down to one lane in some places. Why bother with the hassle of driving there when I could ride?

Now, I consider myself a fairly cautious rider. I always ride with my helmet and use hand signals. If the speed limit on a road is more than 30 mph, I ride on the sidewalk. I keep my eyes open and slow down when I cross driveways, because people are usually focused on the road, not the sidewalk. When I cross a road, I always wait for the signal, and if it's a major road I get off my bike and walk across. Sometimes people see me, slow down, and wait for me to cross an intersection/driveway before they turn in. Sometimes they blow by without even seeing me, chatting on their phone or staring at the road.

Today was the usual mix; I saw enough people completely ignore me that I had my usual morbid thoughts: geez, what if someone did hit me and I broke a leg? Could I get around? Could I teach class on crutches, or heaven forbid, in a wheelchair? I was feeling annoyed enough that I was thinking of posting on Facebook when I got home: "Diane wishes people would look at the crosswalk before plowing through intersections."

I was riding south on a major road (45 mph) and came to a red light at an intersection with a minor road (25 mph) leading into a sub. I stopped my bike just short of the road, so me and my bright blue bike would be visible to the traffic on the minor road. As their light turned yellow, someone pulled up to the light, right next to me. I waited for my walk light to turn, looked again to make sure the car was stopped, and proceeded into the intersection...

... whereupon the bastard pulled forward and ran me down! Luckily I saw him and jumped away from the bike, but he knocked the bike down and kept going enough to get one of my pedals caught under his bumper. He finally stopped, backed away from my bike (which I had to hold onto so it wasn't dragged by the pedal), and stopped to check on me. I was shocked and he was shocked, but luckily I hadn't been touched by the car. The bike's chain slipped off, but otherwise it was working fine, too. I told the guy no harm, no foul, and we went our separate ways. Among his apologies was "I've never done anything like this before." I nodded, but this was what I felt like saying:

IDIOT! It only takes the FIRST time!

I also felt like saying:

HEY MORON! It's called a CROSSWALK for a reason!

You're supposed to stop at the big fat line, FATHEAD!

Sigh. I've thought some more about it, and what I really wished I could say was something to all the distracted drivers who find me and my bright blue bike invisible: It only takes one time. Hmmmm, I think I feel a letter to the editor coming on....

Out of Miasma

My title today is a little bit of a pun; the definition of miasma includes "a heavy vaporous emanation or atmosphere," while the pronunciation sounds like "my asthma." (Both words comes from the Greek.) And ever since I was diagnosed with asthma back in my teens, it's often felt like my lungs were filled with a heavy vaporous atmosphere. When I have an attack, I struggle to get air in and out of my lungs; my breathing becomes shallow and it feels like the air I do take in doesn't have any of that tasty oxygen that we're all addicted to.

There are three things that can set off my asthma: heat, humidity, and exercise. The latter has always been a problem, especially because I was never very athletic as a child or teen, unless there was a pool involved. I also discovered in my twenties, thanks to a stress test that ended with me passing out, that I have a little quirk that leads to a huge drop in blood pressure whenever my heart rate gets really elevated. In other words, if my heart starts beating really fast, I pass out. This is an autonomic nervous system thing, unrelated to the asthma, because a really interesting medical test involving a tilt table and some adrenaline got the same result. I don't have to take any meds for this, but as a result I'm really aware of any light-headedness and haven't had any fainting episodes in the past 15 years or so.

You can see, though, that I've had plenty of reasons not to take up running. Exercise heavily, and I start wheezing. Exercise really heavily, and I could pass out. Add to that a history of wonky knees, and I just never wanted to go there, not while I could swim or bike or do tae kwon do instead. Still, I was frustrated by my lack of stamina, especially while fighting. Even when I take my wheezer (ie, asthma meds), I struggle with my breathing. I wasn't sure how I could change this.

A few months back, I found inspiration in an unlikely place. I was writing something new for National Novel Writing Month, involving a character who overcomes her shyness, in part by getting involved with a fundraising triathlon. While I was researching what might be appropriate times for teens to run a 5K, I came across a website whose title was interesting: the Couch to 5K Training Plan. I looked through it and it looked like something I could do. The first week of training only involved running for 60 seconds at a time. I thought I could do it, but did I want to? That's when things got a little weird. You know how some writers say their characters get away from them and do things they don't expect? Well, mine never really do that, but Annabel (my character) was posing me a challenge. As I kept writing her story, it was like she kept saying, "If I can get over my shyness to make friends, get involved at school, and even get a boyfriend, how come you can't try running?"

I decided I could try. I started the Couch to 5K program in December and took it slowly, a couple weeks on each level. I started out using a kitchen timer to track my intervals and eventually got a cool GPS watch to tell me my pace and distance. I ran two or three times a week throughout the winter—yes, even in cold and snow—and eventually managed to put together a three mile run. TSU and I registered for a 5K race that I knew would be on flat terrain, and on a cloudy Saturday morning we drove out to beautiful Belle Isle. And this is what happened:

Yeah, that's me running. Actually, that's the end of the 5K, past the 3-mile mark and heading into the home stretch. At this point I could see the finish line and the timer. I finished in 32:33 (well under my goal time of 35 minutes), but more important, I ran a steady pace the whole time, a constant 10:30 minute mile. I felt pretty good when I finished—more than good, pretty super awesome.

I'm still running a couple times a week, and will probably try another 5K soon. Am I a runner? I don't think so, because I don't really enjoy running and I'm not very good at it. It's helped my stamina a little bit, but I'm never going to attempt a marathon (my ankles ache to think about it). I'm just a person who runs and is stubborn enough not to give up. Thanks, Annabel.

Photo of the Week--5/17/10

We'd been taking photos of Boy chasing pigeons all over Europe and realized that we didn't have one taken closer to home, which at the time was London. Trafalgar Square had what seemed like the largest pigeon population per square foot in all of Europe (at least before the ban on feeding them was enacted in 2003, after we moved back home). It was a scandal that we didn't have a photo of Boy terrorizing the extremely fat and lazy Trafalgar birds. So on one of our frequent trips to the city, we made sure to bring along our camera. You can see there was scarcely room for him to chase pigeons, and they didn't really care to run anyway. But at least he gave it a try, and we got the shot.

The Quilt Files, Episode 20

Technically, this project shouldn't really fall under "quilting," because no actual quilting took place ... but it was pieced together, and I think patchwork falls under the general heading of quilting-type crafts.

Anyway, there was a wedding in the family this month; and I know, usually I make quilts for family weddings. But this wedding was for a cousin on my mom's side of the family, and my maternal grandmother had already made a quilt for my Cuz. (And actually, she finished it ten years before the wedding, he just chose not to receive it until he got married.) And when my Grandma has made a quilt, I really can't compete:

Isn't that gorgeous? Not just the applique, which is wonderful (and looks like it's that really hard, fold-under-the-edges type), but all the quilting, which is a feature in itself on these quilts with the light-colored tops. So there wasn't any point in going whole-hog on the quilting front. I didn't have a ton of time, anyway.

Instead, I went for the accessories. I checked out their wedding registry and saw they had chosen two colors for their bedroom: sage and a kind of dutch blue. I bought the sage sheets and took them to the fabric store, where I found a really nice paisley I thought would suit both those colors. Then I found a few more coordinating fabrics, which was harder than you might think; while there were many fabrics using sage with shades of teal (it's a nicer combo than it sounds), there weren't many that worked with sage and blue. But I found a few of near-solids and a pattern that kept to the color scheme, and a little bit of piecing combined with some pillow forms resulted in this:

You can never have enough pillows on your bed, right? I was rather pleased with these, because I made a nice pattern out of a limited number of fabrics, and the neck bolster I made without a pattern. I just measured the size and managed to cut out the right size of circles to get the perfect fit. Now maybe I should make some of those bolsters for my own use....

Janespotting: Mrs. Rushworth by Victor Gordon

I nosed around for information about the author of this week's featured Austen continuation, Victor Gordon, but I couldn't find much at all. He was published in Britain and had a few books on food published. (I wouldn't advise googling his 1989 title, Prawnography, looking for more information.) In 1989 he also published the novel Mrs. Rushworth, a continuation of Mansfield Park. From the title, it's obvious he's exploring the story of Fanny's cousin Maria, who notoriously married for money and then ran away with Henry Crawford, who deserted her.

The novel opens almost immediately after the end of MP, with Maria and her devoted Aunt Norris reading the announcement of Fanny and Edmund's marriage. The two have been traveling nonstop, trying to avoid Maria's notoriety, and finally decide to settle in Leamington Spa for a while. They seem to find their niche, until they discover the existence of a novel called Mansfield Park at their local library. Mrs. Norris tries to buy all the copies, but some get out, and when a local baron's son tries to take advantage of Maria, she decides that the only way to escape her reputation is to travel to America. She heads to Liverpool to book passage, and along the way aids a woman of shadowy background give birth. The experience moves her strangely, and gives her the courage to stand up to Mrs. Norris when she tries to derail the American trip, and then Maria's budding romance with Charles Cheviot, a gentleman of hidden musical and theatrical talents. When Mrs. Norris tries to prevent them traveling on the same ship to America, Maria gives her the slip and she and Charles end up getting married.

After a happy and successful seven years in America, during which Maria bears two children, the family returns to England, settling in Liverpool, where Charles has a nominal job that allows him to spent time writing music. Maria encourages him in his efforts to write an opera, and they become respectable members of the city establishment, even after Maria's father dies and the annual support he had provided her is withdrawn. (This is shown in a very clever scene that echoes the beginning of Sense and Sensibility.) They befriend Maria's cousin (and Fanny's brother) William Price; they forgive him for being the venue through which Jane Austen learned Maria's story (he mentioned it to Austen's brother, also a naval officer) and host a ball in his honor. They also spend a lot of money mounting a production of Charles's opera, which is marred by public misbehavior but ends with Charles being offered a chance to join an opera company in London as an apprentice. Maria encourages him to take the position, but the pay is too low to support the family. Instead he devotes time to his real job, which has him managing the affairs of a widow who has inherited a mill.

The job takes him away from Maria, who typically lets her imagination run away with her regarding Charles and the widow. When William Price visits after losing an eye fighting for his country, she doesn't prevent a session of "cousinly comfort" bestowing a "hero's reward" in her bed. When this single night ends in a pregnancy, Maria can't prevent Charles from discovering the truth, and although she declares her steadfast love, he finds it hard to forgive her. While there was a possibility for reconciliation, she storms off in a melodramatic huff and becomes an actress. By the time she tries to come back, Charles has already started divorce proceedings, and eventually ends up with the mill widow, who by chance is the young woman whom Maria aided in giving birth all those years ago. Maria's child is adopted by Tom and Susan (Susan Price having married Tom Bertram in this novel as well), and Maria herself returns to America to become an actress.

Maria was one of the more unpleasant characters in Austen's original novel, and here in this novel she is just as flawed. However, we are given more of her interior life and at times she becomes a somewhat sympathetic character. Mrs. Rushworth gives us an almost picaresque journey which is always interesting to read. She comes close to redeeming her flaws, but not quite, and the way the author weaves in Austen and all her novels was very entertaining. So while the book wasn't very Austenish in tone (too much naughtiness going on), it made very good (and fairly consistent) use of her characters and told an entertaining tale. All in all, it was a much better read than I would have expected from someone better known for writing about food.

Photo of the Week--5/10/10

During our Baltic trip in 2001, we had a stop in St. Petersburg, Russia. I looked through all my photos of our visit, and couldn't find a single pigeon. Were they regulated by the Russian government, or were we keeping Boy on a leash and avoiding trouble? Either way, we chased no pigeons. I thought this photo was appropriate, because you can see Boy is either fed up with visiting another stupid castle, or else he is fed up with being in another stupid photo. Never mind that it's the beautiful Catherine Palace!

Wordless definitions: greedy

I've mentioned before that orchids really like the greenhouse window TSU installed in my kitchen, and rewarded me with loads and loads of blossoms this spring. My three phaelenopses are in full bloom right now, one with about two dozen flowers, and one of my stubborn cattleyas even bloomed. So although I wasn't lacking blooms when I attended a local orchid show, I wasn't lacking extra space in my window, either. I spent a few minutes looking at the displays, but I was more interested in the sales room. I really had trouble choosing. There was this lovely phaelenopsis, white with just a blush of pink in the center ... and phaelenopsis are almost idiot-proof, so it would be a good investment. But then there was this gorgeous white cattleya with raspberry stripes ... and it had a gorgeous scent! But then the phaelenopsis was on sale! But the cattleya was so pretty! You can see my final decision, and why it suits our wordless definition:

When it comes to orchids, I can't help being greedy.