Month: December 2010

Hanging Out With Lance Armstrong

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Bike Adventures2 Comments

I had a dream that Lance Armstrong stood at my kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal with Terry and my brother, Pete.  I never bothered to ask what Lance was doing there.  Matter of fact I never bothered to ask what Pete, who recently moved to Las Vegas, was doing there either.  Just chalk it up to dream magic, okay?

Pete was talking to Lance about something or other.  My brother can talk to anyone about anything.  I, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves to meet Lance Armstrong.  Darn, even in my dreams I can’t play it cool.

Terry left on a bike ride with a friend.  Pete went into the guest room to change into cycling clothes, leaving me alone to make small talk with Lance.  I was already suited up in a Fat Cyclist jersey and bike shorts.  The bike shorts were black with orange and pink plaid running down the sides.  I don’t own a pair of bike shorts like that in real life, but if I did I would totally wear them, like all of the time.  Even when not on a bike because they were that awesome.  But back to small talk with Lance.

“Sexy.” said Lance, his voice laden with sarcasm.

“Spandex are always sexy.”  I replied.  This axiom is always true, even in dreams.

“Uh, your jersey is on inside out.” Lance pointed.  See previous reference to my inability to be cool even in my dreams.

I quickly pulled my jersey off and yanked it back on the right way, which I would never do in front of anyone in real life, let alone Lance Armstrong.  The flesh on my stomach hasn’t seen the light of day in years and is blindingly white.  Not to mention the fact that it’s a bit squidgy.  Apparently my dream self has no shame.

“So where are you riding today?”  Lance asked, kindly ignoring my stomach.

“Up to Shasta Dam.  Where are you riding today?”

“To Mt. Shasta and back.  Is that close to Shasta Dam?”

“Not at all.”

“Too bad.”

“But you’ll have a great view of Lake Shasta as you ride.  Although I think it’s snowing in Mt. Shasta.  You should eat something warm at Mike and Tony’s before you turn back around to Redding.  Are you allowed to eat regular food or are you on a specialized diet right now?”

“I can eat regular food sometimes.”  I gave Lance a sympathy pat on the back because that is a sad, sad statement.

Then Pete and I left Lance in the kitchen and rode up to the Dam and back.  It was a great ride and afterward, I popped into school to do a couple of things in the office.  And that’s when I got the call from Lance that he needed a rescue pick up.  I don’t know how he tracked me down at school.  Dream magic strikes again.

“My sprocket snapped and I was wondering if you could pick me up?”  Lance asked.

“Sure.  Where are you?”

“Let’s see, I’m about 60 miles in.”

“Okay.  I’ll be there in a little while.”

“Are you sure?  It’s a long way to drive.”

“It’s no problem.  I didn’t have anything else going on today.”  Seriously, I have got to teach my dream self how to sound a little less pathetic.  “Hole up somewhere warm and I’ll be there in about an hour.”

I zipped home and threw my bike rack on the back of my car.  Just as I was getting ready to leave, Terry’s friend rode up and told me that Terry also needed a rescue pick up.

I had to choose between my husband and my new best friend, Lance Armstrong.

Who would I rescue first?

And then my dream self did me proud.

“Okay, I’ll swing by and get Terry and then I’ll get Lance.”  I assured Terry’s friend.  As I was dialing Terry to get his exact location, Lance showed up at my house.  Even in my dream I was baffled by how he got there and how he got there so quickly.  The dream magic was starting to wear thin.

“I hitched a ride back to Redding.”  Lance said, hopping in the car.  “But I had to leave my bike hidden in a bush.  Would you mind driving me to pick it up?”

“No problem.  We just have to swing by and grab Terry first.”

“I really need to get my bike fixed before tomorrow, but the bike shops will probably be closed by the time we get back.”

“Don’t worry, Lance. I’ll call the mechanic at the bike shop.  I’m sure he’ll open up.”

“You mean he’ll open up for me?”

“No, I mean he’ll open up for me.”  Finally, my dream self found a smidge of cool.

I woke up with a big smile on my face.  I so wished my dream was real.

Yes, hanging with Lance Armstrong would be awesome, but that’s actually not the part I of my dream I wished would come true.

As my dream faded away and I listened to the rain patter on the roof, I wished that my brother hadn’t moved to Las Vegas.

I wish that he still lived here so we could ride our bikes together up to Shasta Dam.

Pete and I riding for Team Fatty & LiveStrong

Bootstraps

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Poetry, Teacher Tales2 Comments

This morning I’m thinking about some of my former students.  Teachers aren’t supposed to play favorites, but there are some children who will always stick with me, always reside in my heart.  And in the quiet morning of the first day of Christmas vacation, one darling little girl has tiptoed to the front of my mind.

I taught her for most of her first grade year, but she left before the year ended, and like so many students who have come and gone too quickly, I’m left wondering about her.

Wondering if she still writes.  Wondering if she’s going to have any presents to open this Christmas.  Wondering if her bootstraps are still holding strong.

I penned this poem about her over here last July:

Bootstraps

Her hair is unbrushed, a tangle of dark curls crowning her head.

She smooths her dirty dress, eyes locked on the floor.

As she edges to the front of the room, I can’t help but smile at her shoes on the wrong feet.

It has taken work, hard work, for this waif to get herself to school today.

Sitting like royalty in the big wooden chair, she reads.

Time stops, holds its hands still.

Only her voice continues, small lips giving life to big words.

Her story is a magic wand, casting a spell on the other children.

Their mouths hang agape and we dare not breathe.

This misfit little girl has yanked at her own bootstraps.

She utters the last words.

There is silence and then the accolades fall at her feet.

Her pen is mighty, mighty indeed.

And so is she.

Three Wise Boys

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales5 Comments

Teaching is hard for me this year.

I have a wonderful bunch of kids, but the reality of increased class sizes paired with decreased aide support leaves me feeling like I’m stretched impossibly thin.  I’m not giving my students all they need, all they deserve.  Many days I go home feeling defeated, feeling like I hardly even got to talk to some of my kids, let alone teach them.

At night I lay awake thinking of all the holes I need to fill in their understanding of words and numbers.  But the holes are numerous and I am only one.

I’m giving my all this year and it’s not enough.

That is the searing truth that rumbles in the pit of my stomach and snaps my eyelids up like window shades at 2:13 in the morning.

Today was one of those days.   I woke in the small hours of the morning, trying to solve this puzzle, to put the pieces together in a new way that creates a better picture.  The solution eluded me, slipped away as the moon and sun changed guard.

I went to work exhausted.  I had a good day with my kids, they all put forth their best effort and so did I.  We are loving the nearness of Christmas and simultaneously feeling the pangs of being away from each other for two and a half weeks.

After school, I sat in my room overwhelmed by all the little tasks that had to be accomplished before I could even think about big things like lesson plans for January.

And then a familiar face poked his head in my door.

I knew this face when he was a first grader in my class a few years ago.  This face, this little boy, will have my heart forever.  This was the face of the boy who belted out his solo in our class musical and brought the house down.  He peeked in and I hugged him tight, noticing how he comes up to my armpits, remembering how he used to barely come up to my waist.  Time is such a quick bird, flying away with little children and returning them to me as adolescents.

I asked him if he’d come by to help.  Many are the children who pop in after school wanting to help, wanting a little extra time to talk.  He said he’d be happy to help and I sent him with a note to his after school care teacher.  He returned a minute later with the okay from his teacher and with another boy in tow.  This boy has the most expressive eyes.  The second boy asked if he could help, too.  Suddenly all those little tasks that were stacked up against me didn’t seem so daunting.  The second boy returned with the okay from his after school care teacher and when he returned, he brought with him a third boy.  The third boy was another former student, a boy with a sensitive spirit and impish dimples.  These three boys set about sharpening pencils, filing, cleaning my boards, washing dishes, and while they worked, they talked.

They talked about all the things we did when they were in first grade.  About the Mr. Bear Crime Scene Investigation unit.  About the leprechaun who left tiny green footprints all over our desks and turned our milk green.  About the pleasure of choosing a book out of the Santa sack.  About our 100th day Olympics.  About the piles and piles of books we’d written.

“We really had some great times together, didn’t we?”  I smiled at them.  “I’d forgotten about a lot of those things.”

And then the boy who will always have my heart said “Maybe we should write you a list of all the fun things we did so you’ll remember them and remember to do them with your class.”

“I’d like that.  I’d like that a lot.”  And that’s the truth.  Because somewhere this year I’ve let myself only see my failures.  I’d lost sight of some of the magic, some of the sparkle of teaching young children.

Half an hour later, all the little jobs were finished.  As were my lesson plans for the next month.  I hugged these three angel boys and told them that their help had been the best Christmas gift.  Then the boy who’d belted out a solo so many years ago told me he’d see me tomorrow at the school sing-a-long because he was in the choir.

“I always knew you were a singer.”  I grinned.

“I remember you telling me that.”  he replied.  And in that moment, we were both so full, so content with memories of our year together.

Before they left, one boy asked if he could have one of the pencils they’d sharpened.  And so I paid them each with a brand new pencil, such a small price to pay for the important lessons they taught me today.

Image from beaktweets.blogspot.com

Thankful Thursday #3

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Thankful Thursdays1 Comment


This week I’m thankful for…

  • the little girl who told me that I have beautiful hair like a movie star.  I didn’t ask which one because I thought I’d just better leave well enough alone.
  • walking my old neighborhood with my mom
  • the jar of peppermint nougat Christmas tree candies my mom gave me
  • falling asleep to the sound of rain
  • the light of the Christmas tree
  • sitting on my couch reading O magazine after a rough day at work
  • my student who got a paper cut on her finger and said, “It feels like my finger has a headache.”
  • the dragonfly necklace my friend made me for Christmas
  • the little boy, who moved away earlier this year, and called me this week to tell me all about his new class, his new house, and to tell me about his letter to Santa.  I only told him I missed him 7 times.  And my eyes only watered a little bit when it was time to say goodbye.
  • my friend, Abby, who was featured here for the stunning necklaces she creates
  • Christmas music on Pandora

In Which I Am Famous

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Bike Adventures2 Comments

Today my friend, That Laura, sent me the following text:

“Hey, did you know you are on the back of ‘Biking the Best’?  How cool are you?”

Biking the Best is a booklet of maps of twenty-four of the best road rides in and around Shasta County.  I did not know I was on the back cover and I have to say it went to my head a little bit.  This was my reply.

“Send me a photo of it.  Wait, am I upright?”

Unfortunately, that is a valid question on my part.

“Yes, you’re upright.  It’s a picture of a bunch of people at a rest stop.”

Laura sent the photo to my phone but I couldn’t quite make it out.

“Oh good.  I was afraid it was when I fell over or something.  How do I get my own copy so I can brag about being big and famous?  And do you want me to autograph yours?”

Laura called a minute later and asked if I wanted to meet her at the bike shop because she was going to buy a copy.  Of course I wanted to buy my Very Own Copy.  I think she was actually buying it for the routes.  I, on the other hand, felt compelled to buy it because I was obviously the star of the book.  And bike routes are nice, too.  That way when I get lost because I didn’t look at the map in the first place I can still find my way back home.

So I puffed up my chest and strode into the bike shop.  Funny thing is, nobody in the shop stopped and asked for my autograph.  They didn’t even recognize me.  Didn’t they know the back cover model of “Biking the Best” was in their presence?

I swaggered over to the counter and picked up a copy.  I didn’t bother to flip through the routes.  Instead I turned right to the back cover.  And sure enough there were a bunch of my cycling friends.

“Are you sure I’m in this picture?  I don’t see myself.”  I said to Laura.

“Yep, you’re right there in your Fat Cyclist jersey.  See?”  She pointed.

I squinted.  A lot.  And sure enough there I was.  Looking like an idiot.  True, I am upright in the photo, but that’s the best thing I can say about it.  I apologize for the grainy quality of the photo.  It’s a photo of a photo, but you’ll get the gist.

Do you see me?  No?

I’m the one on the right.

Further right.

Yeah.  That one.

I have no idea what I was reaching for back there.  My only guess is that I had a sock stuck in my jersey or something.

Still, I’m happy to autograph your copy of the booklet.  In fact, you probably won’t mind if I sign in big, black permanent marker, right?  And I have a long name so you might not even be able to see my photo underneath the autograph.  And wouldn’t that be a shame.