The Living Room Floor.....

.....after Father's Day Brunch in a nearby small-town cafe, and a seventeen-mile bike ride home.

I love Sunday afternoons.

Bike Ride Across Nebraska

Last week I rode my bicycle 440 miles across Nebraska alongside four daughters, one daughter's boyfriend, and six hundred other bikers.

Sixty-five miles a day, on average.  Sometimes, if it was supposed to get hot or the wind was due to strengthen, we rode out of camp at the first hint of daylight.  Which means our cell phones started chirping at about four or four-thirty a.m.  That gave us time to pack our stuff, strike the tents and be finished with breakfast before the sun got up.

After you rise early and spend half a day pushing yourself across the plains, through tiny towns, and up and down sandhills, sleep becomes very precious.

The local librarians encouraged us to make ourselves at home.

One of them said, "You look like you need a little nap.  I know a quiet place....."  She hauled beanbag chairs out to the bookmobile for me.

















Maybe she knew that six hundred hungry cyclists give a nice little boost to the town's economy.  The locals want us to be happy, and they want us to come back another year.

When we weren't riding or sleeping, we ate a lot

and played games.

We celebrated Merrill's birthday by sleeping until 6 a.m. and eating ice cream cake.

There was lots to smile about

and sometimes we made other faces,

especially after the rain soaked us and hail bounced off of our helmets and bare legs.

But wet cycling shorts, hail and headwinds didn't dampen our spirits for long.

Ride with me next year!

(Thanks to all my favorite photographers who contributed their work to this post,

 and to John who held things together at home while we played.)

In a Paper Cup

Another day moving cows.  

We've done this routine plenty of times across the years.  Get up early and make a plan together over a cup of hot black coffee.  Who's doing what job. Who's driving which pickup. Who's rolling up the electric fence, and who's bringing the portable corral panels.  Then pull on your muck boots and grab your work gloves, drain the last of the coffee into your mug, and head out for a pasture where cattle have eaten all there is to eat.  Persuade them to get onto trucks and trailers, haul them to the vet, run them through the chute for flytags and lice drench and vaccinations.  Load 'em up again and head for fresh pasture.  Unload. 

Same-o........same-o.........same-o.

I climb into the pickup in the morning haze, trying not to slosh hot coffee onto my leg.  We pass things that farmers see, and John flips on the radio. 

Kenny Loggins sings us into the past with a song we used to hear thirty or forty years ago.  

And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with ya honey, everything will bring a chain of love.

We drive on without a word, both of us listening, remembering.

"I love the way that violin plays above and below the melody line," John says.  "It's kind of like life...the same repetitive chords pulsing away in the background, like your day-in-day-out routine, but the beauty of the song is this harmony line, sometimes above, sometimes below, weaving something precious around and dependent upon the solid steadiness of the chord progression."

I think about that as our tires crunch the gravel on a road we've traveled hundreds of times.

"Here comes my favorite verse," he says.

Love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup, 

drink it up,
Love her and she'll bring you luck.
And if you find she helps your mind, buddy, take her home,
Don't you live alone, try to earn what lovers own.

"When we were dating, did you think I held the world in a paper cup?" I ask.

"Yep.  You made that obvious a time or two."

Hmmm.   

Fooled him, didn't I?  I think I fooled him because I fooled myself.  I did think I held the world in a paper cup.  I could do, I could be, anything or anyone I wanted to be.  I could conquer every foe.  I was going somewhere, and going fast and in charge, and don't you dare put a stick in my spokes!

The intervening decades have taught me a few things.  I've discovered that I don't hold the world in a paper cup.  That there are things I can't change, things that scare me or befuddle me, things that hurt me and things I can't achieve under my own power. 

The great thing is that life is no less rich or good or full or exciting than when I thought I held it all in a paper cup.  Because I know the God who holds the cup---the same God who fills the cup.

And I can do, I can be, anything or anyone He wants me to be. With Him, I can conquer every foe.  I am going somewhere, and going fast, and He’s in charge, and no one can put a stick in His spokes!

All things are still possible, because of the strength of the God who loves me. It's just that now I know:  love is realized, kingdoms conquered, and witches held at bay through His strength, not my own.  

This is a very good thing to know.  It is a better place to put my trust.  I am thankful and at peace.

And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes, and tell me everything is gonna be all right.


Amen.

The chords pulsed and the violin sang today.  It was a glorious day to move cows.

Strawberries

These are 746 strawberries out of my garden.

I counted every one of them as I cut the tops off.  I'm going to take a nap before I make them into jam.

This is starting to be a daily routine.  I did it yesterday, and I'm over halfway through another round of picking strawberries, cleaning strawberries, napping, and making strawberries into jam.  I may just get used to this--I'm only two-thirds of the way through the strawberry patch!

I'm thankful for the many hands that have helped me.