Big Bess

Look at my new PINK beach cruiser!!!! I am sooooo excited, I got a bicycle and I haven't ridden a bicycle in about eight years. It even has a basket! Because it's a girl bike, I can ride it in my skirts/jumpers and I feel just like the Wicked Witch of the West, carrying away "that little dog ToTo", I can even hear the music...as I pedal away.
The one problem - the last time I rode a bike I crashed spectacularly - body flying over the handle bars - landing head and chest first with such speed the I hit and bounced a few times before I stopped. It was ugly. I replay it often in my head, and not only was it ugly, it was pitiful.
I really haven't ridden a bike much, even when I was a little girl. What caused the accident was when I tried to move from the road to the sidewalk, I sort of leaned a little to the right, (kind of like changing lanes) only this doesn't work for bikes, I found out belatedly.
I know you are thinking, "What kind of idiot is this?" Yeah...well...I don't have a real answer for that one. Many people including my husband have often wondered what transpires in the mysterious realms of my mind.
So....new pink bike....new enthusiasm...first ride around the block...
You guessed it, I didn't even make it around the block before I crashed (this time an embarrassing crash in front of the road workers, but no bodily harm)
This is where my hero comes in. BEN! Yes, my son, with great patience, and enthusiasm coached me for the next hour on how to ride a bike. Within the safety of our little "Willows Neighborhood" I cruised and recruised the streets until, even the road workers could see that I had, if not mastered, at least become competent on this PINK cruiser. I LOVE IT!!!! No kidding, I am sooooo jazzed, excited, giddy and over the moon for "Big Bess" - my new PINK bike. And for my hero - Big Ben.

The flies that circle in my house are not as cute as the fly on the above pencil, and hence the violence which befalls them will not be as shocking if you try and picture those nasty, black, germ filled buzzing insects that fly into your food or eye. And we all know where those sticky, prickly feet have recently been; does fecal matter come to mind? (a new phrase used by my second son to annoy me)
"Hand me a Towel!", I scream, when I see that sickening menace. As if by instinct, I grab the closest towel, or piece of cloth that I can put my hands on and then I take to flailing about with uncontrolled passion. The cloth smacks the kitchen counter and knocks down the mixmaster, the loaf of bread, and assorted utensils.
Unsuccessful - Curses!
I next whomp the window sill, knocking down my beloved shells, beloved crystals, and beloved Tiffany glass rendering. You see, even my treasured collections are not safe when the almost insane frenzy of murder overtakes me.
Unsuccessful - Rats!
Don't worry, no loss of worldly goods will stop me on my quest for...
at this point Roy pins my arms to my side and eventually calms me as he persuades me that he has a better record than me, and so I resignedly pass the towel.
The fly is killed, time passes, and the next day I hear-
"Hand me a towel!", Chase, my 3 yr. old grandson bellows. Oooooooh what joy consumes my bosom knowing that important traditions are being passed along.