Living dangerously

So far, so good. I took the classroom portion of my Basic (Motorcycle) Riding Course last night and got 100% on the written test. Some skills – like acing multiple choice tests – improve with age.

I have been so nervous about the riding part of the class, that I forgot to worry about walking into a classroom where I was likely to be the only woman and the only person over 50. Actually, there was one other woman in our class – but she was young and knew enough about motorcycles to have her future bike in mind (a “Monster”) – but the average age was 20- something and everyone seemed to have some riding experience.

The instructor was an ex-Army guy with a gruff manner but a genuine interest in what we were doing in the class. As an ice breaker, we were supposed to introduce each other – with information about what type of bike we intended to buy/ride and what our motivation was for taking the class. Most people were planning to get sports bikes. I was the only person who mentioned a scooter as a possibility. I did this apologetically and the instructor launched into a funny story about being passed on the freeway by a souped-up scooter. This set the tone of inclusivity, although I did pick up a lot of information about biker proclivities. The training film showed people on “cruisers” riding with people on “sport bikes.” Instructor Bill said this would not happen in real life. Just as he said we would never see Harley Davidsons and Japanese bikes on the same ride. I also learned the meaning of T-Bone, High Side, and other ways to wipe out. Despite all, I am looking forward to the riding class this weekend. The class is held rain or shine and rain is predicted for both days.

(While verifying that I had the term "high side" correct -- I was remembering "high rise" -- I discovered an interesting article on How to Crash, a calm discussion about things like standing on the pegs just before impact to improve your odds of sailing over the car instead of into it.)

The hand that gives the rose

We celebrated Adrienne's birthday with a drive to Pt. Reyes where we hiked through a cow pasture, had lunch at Pt. Reyes Station, and picked out Zulugrass jewelry (the gift Adrienne wanted from the kids). Adrienne had discovered the distinctive jewelry on a previous trip to Pt. Reyes. It is simple, earth friendly and made by a company in East Kenya founded by Philip Leakey, the youngest son of paleo-anthropologists Drs. Louis and Mary Leakey.

As Adrienne and the kids were deciding between the strands of beaded zulugrass, I looked through the greeting cards -- a much nicer selection than I found in neighborhood card shops -- and was struck by this quote on the subject of giving by Hada Bejar (who I just discovered through Google was a British playwright and poet):

"The fragrance always stays in the hand that gives the rose."

Never a dull moment

Our book club is reading Olive Kitteridge this month, an amazing book of linked short stories by Elizabeth Strout. I don’t remember ever encountering a character like Olive in fiction. She is not a nice person, but there is never a dull moment when she is on the page. Here is how the NY Times sums it up:

The pleasure in reading “Olive Kitteridge” comes from an intense identification with complicated, not always admirable, characters. And there are moments in which slipping into a character’s viewpoint seems to involve the revelation of an emotion more powerful and interesting than simple fellow feeling — a complex, sometimes dark, sometimes life-sustaining dependency on others. There’s nothing mawkish or cheap here. There’s simply the honest recognition that we need to try to understand people, even if we can’t stand them.

Wonder dog

Jodie turned 19 on Wednesday. So many amazing stories come to mind -- the time she and Rain were being stalked by a mountain lion, the time Jodie was bitten by a rattlesnake and Rain tried to suck out the poison before speeding to the vet for 3 days of anti-venom treatment, the time I posed with her for a photo and wound up covered with poison oak.

And the winner is

...Revolutionary Road.

I don't have much basis for comparison, because I've seen only one other Academy Award nominated film (The Reader), but Revo Road has my vote. Painfully wonderful storytelling and memorable acting by the leads and Michael Shannon, a mentally ill man who named the horrible truths about "life" in 50s suburbia.

"Everyone admits to the emptiness of suburban life, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness."

I am trying not to draw comparisons between Frank's job (marketing writer) and mine. Not satisfying to write clever brochure copy? My only quibble with authenticity was the scene at the end of the film where Frank is sitting on a playground bench watching his young children on the swingset. In real life, they would be nagging him to push them.