GTW Editorial: Forced Acquisitions

So it came to be, that I finally couldn't make do with my layout software any longer. The pressure was too great, my casual but constant requests for others to "save down" too much for any woman to bear.

And as dominoes are known to do, it turned into the Month of Upgrades. First it was the software. But when Creative Suite 5 (braggity, brag) choked my ancient computer, I realized I was on the threshold of a Forced Acquisition.

This didn't fall upon me in horror. Oh no, this was a delightful turn of events. My hands were tied. A new computer had to be had. I had no choice. And the hunt began.

Overkill in one sport? The power of cross training

For the last few years I’ve biked nearly every day of the summer. But my progress has ground to a halt. Each summer it happens because a) I get comfortable doing the same routine, b) I like comfortable and I like routine, and c) my body grows accustomed to my biking and therefore is unimpressed with it.

This season I'm tuned into the huge benefits of cross training. I like to think that cross training will activate some superhuman powers and relieve me of this winter thickening.

I'm thinking it will go something like this: Biking up and down Crystal Mountain until the gears give out. Running up and down the road until I keel over. Then some strength training with my friends until someone gets hurt. I think it's gonna be the best summer ever.

The pros say cross training is the way to go: it keeps your body guessing, keeps boredom at bay and keeps you in need of the latest garb and gadgets for a bunch of new sports. What's not to love?

1. Pick 3 sports. Try to do cardio, strength training and something that sounds credible but is really a treat, like Pilates. Let’s face it - you aren't ever going to be in a Pilates race and therefore it's a luxury, what you make of it is all that matters, your time, your pleasure. Make sure to carve this time out and protect it fiercely from any naysayers who only wish they, too, could cross train.

Head over wheels for running

I had the treat of guest blogging at Michigan Runner Girl, check it out!

Here's a blurb:

I’m a mountain biker. I’m a skier. I’m a writer, a mother, a cat lover. Oh, and I might, when pressed by a polite friend, be called a runner too. But… I’m slow. And I don’t go far. And I hate it.

So, why do I do it? Because it gets me from ski season to bike season. Sure, I could spin like all my other biker friends and avoid all the grief of running, but I don’t. And here’s why: Read more at http://michiganrunnergirl.com/falling-head-over-wheels-for-running/

My bike dresser

I created a Bike Dresser last fall - I emptied an old dresser in the basement and put all my bike stuff in it. It's been AWESOME to be able to find everything in one little spot. My shoes, my helmet, gloves, tools, everything went in the drawers. I am also putting my ski goods in it for the summer.

This dresser was nothing but a junk collector. I had thought its prime had passed but I have bestowed upon it the glory of holding all the things I love. I encourage you to go to your basement (or your parents') and resurrect some lost piece of furniture with drawers that barely open and fall off the track that's witnessed your childhood dramas.

Things I emptied out of the dresser: a photo in which my hair was taller than my face, a wicker basket lacquered with dust, and a Turd Bird from Montana circa 1985.

I kept the Turd Bird.

Today I'm heading out on the roads again but get the treat of having the company of a friend! I hate road riding because we can't talk as easily bc of traffic. But the sun is shining and there's a little score to settle from last year when Jake beat me by something like 17 seconds in the Iceman.

GAME ON.

Mom's Lasagna Recipe

My mom's lasagna recipe is the best! Here it is for those who might like to try this simple recipe - it takes about 30 mins to prep, 1 hr to cook. My modifications are - I don't use the blender, I use a whisk. And I don't let the meat sauce simmer for 30 mins, more like 10-15. This is a crowd pleaser and makes you look like a totally fab cook. I hide behind this fail proof recipe whenever I cook for a crowd!!!

Motherhood: Hide-n-Seek serious 'round here

Hide-n-Seek is a serious affair at our house. Because of our shortage of closets and trapdoors, we’re forced to play at night, lights off, amongst slippery shadows and mounting paranoia.

One bedroom is usually home base with the lights on, casting just enough light to traverse by, nothing more. I encourage you to try this deadly style of Hide-n-Seek.

The ground rules: Typically only one person hides (usually one brave parent, sometimes two scared children pair up). The rest of the family must seek as a team. Each time you must use a hiding spot never before used in the entire history of mankind. Once found, all children and gamely spouses must be chased back to home base. Timing comes with experience, but if you can launch in the nanosecond before they find you, you’ve scored.

Skate skiing

Snow had fallen so delicately on the ski trail that it appeared as if the groomer had never passed, the crystals falling into the grooved corduroy as if hand-placed every half-inch to fill in the pattern. She was only a month into skate skiing. 

Just two weeks ago, she had stood on the trail, barely able to push her body, skis and anger over the slight hill in front of her. A hill so slight it was barely perceptible to the naked eye. She had spent the last half hour falling, slipping, trying, failing. She had finally turned on her husband in anger, “Why am I doing this? I am not a natural at this. I suck! This sucks!” Hot, surprising tears filled her eyes and she looked away, embarrassed. Her husband clicked the tips of his skis together and said nothing. It was Jan. 19, the fourth anniversary of losing her mother. He knew what sucked.

Book Excerpt: Mother's Class Ring

Here's an excerpt from my book!

When she found her mother's class ring, she reacted physically, a jump in her heart, in her hand as she reached for it. It was in the jewelry box, tucked in the velvet folds like all the other rings, but Lainey had never seen it before. Her mother had never mentioned it, never told the story of the day she received it, never showed it to her girls in all the years since 1965. Lainey slipped it on her own finger, her right hand, a counterpart to the wedding ring on her left, gifts from the two people she’d built her life around, with and for.

She rubbed the translucent Mother of Pearl stone and the Newberry High School emblem set upon it. She felt daring, like she was looking where she shouldn’t. This ring had seen her mother through her first boyfriend, her first heartbreak, and, later, the night she snuck out in Grandpa’s truck and stripped all its gears.
The ring held on during meeting Lainey’s father, loving him and marrying him. Then been set aside sometime between raising children with him, fighting with him, caring for him and some four decades later, saying goodbye to him; some days wanting to and, finally, having to.