"Oh God, this is it"

Some dates just ingrain themselves in your memory, January 13th is one of those dates. Not because I am superstitious about the number 13, but because on January 13, 1994, I totaled my first car. Not intentionally of course, but completely totaled nonetheless and almost totaled myself in the process. I was sixteen and driving my little red Pontiac Fiero to school one Thursday morning when I suddenly lost control around a curve in a roller coaster of a road. I wasn't speeding and don't know the cause of the control loss, but I found myself turning to the left and then after over correcting my steering wheel to the right I saw the edge of the pavement before me in slow motion and remember saying to myself "Oh God, this is it!"

I woke up alone and cold with the car still and the only sound coming from a cassette tape still playing in the radio. I looked around me taking in account what had happened to realize I was in the confines of a broken and mangled corpse of a car. I knew that my parents would kill me if they heard the music I was listening to and in severe pain I leaned forward in a desperate and thankfully successful attempt to press the eject button to silence it. I then reached to my door handle to open it and emerge from the car, but the door didn't move and I looked down to see that though I thought I felt my attempt, my arm had never moved from my lap. I was trapped and couldn't move my left arm or legs.

I woke up next to a woman's voice asking me my name, asking me my phone number and telling me it would be okay.

I woke up again to sirens, lights flashing up above me, the sound of my mom's voice and several people talking all around me. The cold was getting colder and pain was overcoming my body. I still could not move within the confines of my car. I began yelling for someone to get me out of this car. I'm going to blame the expletives I was using on pain and shock and finally calmed after my mom instructed me to calm down and hold still. The firemen and paramedics were working to get me out of the car and did not want me moving my neck as they did not know the severity of my injuries. I fell in and out of consciousness as they worked. My sunroof was already broken from the accident, so they cut and pried the roof more and in protection covered me with a sheet to raise me up through the roof.

I woke up again on a hard and even more cold surface and my neck immobilized in a brace. A woman's voice told me she was going to have to cut my clothes off to determine the extent and give aid to my injuries. I pleaded with her in my modesty to keep me covered, still hearing numerous voices all around me. Sixteen and selfishly upset that my brand new jeans and the popular at the time flannel shirt I had gotten only the night before were being cut off my body and ruined.

I woke looking at the ceiling of a hospital room with voices of my mom and friends around me. My neck still immobilized in a brace, I could not see anyone unless they leaned directly over my face. Begging for something for the pain, my mom explained that they would not yet give me anything as the doctors wanted me to be able to tell them where my pain was. It was all over!

Time would determine that I had broken my left arm, left leg and pelvis and the before mentioned shattered sunroof had cut my head causing a substantial loss of blood. A six hour surgery with two of our town's best orthopedic surgeons repaired my arm and leg with rods in both preventing me from having to wear any casts. Yet the combined breaks put me in a wheelchair for a period of about six months. The hospital therapist taught me to walk with one crutch under my right arm within the parallel bars of the therapy unit which I was able to do for short distances. Though my blood levels were low, medicine did not know what we know now about AIDS and blood transfusion, and the decision was made to allow my body to build back it's own blood supply. It was a long process that kept me very tired and just the exertion to take a shower and get ready in the morning would cause me to pass out.

I don't know if I slid on the morning's wet road or if I blew a tire (I had four blown tires at the end of it) causing my wreck. Beyond my mind's distinct picture of the edge of the asphalt my car went over a twenty foot embankment which would have been more if it had not been caught in by the trees in Brenda's yard. Brenda was the woman who I woke to asking me my name and phone number who's schedule never had her home on Thursday mornings ever, except for this particular morning. She was getting ready when she heard the collision outside and instantly called 911, knowing with the landscape whatever had happened would be bad.

I eventually got another little red car, a Nissan Pulsar that time, that I could easily sling my wheelchair in the hatchback of and hobble around the car to the driver's seat. My head healed, my bones healed and through another surgery the following October, I got the rods taken out and as high school senior, I began to play a few sports I had never had the courage to try out for before. After the wreck I had a new sense of trying new things, pushing myself and not allowing intimidation to stop me, I realized the quickness that life could be swept away. I learned about being temporarily handicapped and overcoming obstacles. I learned first hand about divinely appointed timing and the miracle of life.

Yesterday was eighteen years since my wreck. Maybe I am a little superstitious now as I have always picked the number 13 as my lucky number being that it marked the day I beat the odds of living through a wreck the emergency responders said I shouldn't have. I am reminded of it when my little bit of arthritis kicks in after excessive exercise and periods of cold and rain. I still have minuscule splinters of glass that make their way to the surface of the skin on scar of my forehead and my daughters have questioned the surgical scar on my shoulder and the longer one on my leg.  I am thankful that I was wrong when I saw the edge of the pavement, wrong when I said "Oh God, this is it," or was I? Maybe I was wrong in the fact that the pavement's edge was not the end of my life, but right all along "Oh God, this is it," as the edge marked the beginning of my life.

What I learned in 2010

I'm not one to make new year's resolutions for a few reasons:
1: Part of it just seems too cliche to stick with.
2: The rebel in me just doesn't want to follow the crowd into making goals that for the most part people don't stick with past the second week of January.
3: If your resolution is something you really need to focus on or change, you should do it as soon as you see it necessary, not wait until a specific date to start, thus delaying the goal in the first place.
4: I'm already perfect...no changes needed! Ha Ha...that was a joke people. I am far from perfect and realize the gap to perfection widens more with the passing of each day.

So instead of making resolutions, last year I ended my year by making a list of the things I had learned in 2010, instead of focusing on what I might do for the next. I thought I had only saved this list in a facebook post, but after rummaging through months of status updates, I finally found it in a must easier referenced note. I am posting it here, not only for any readers I might have, but for my own reasons of having an quicker retrieval method in the future and to pass the time while I reflect back over the past year to compile a new list for 2011.

My Top 10 list of what I learned in 2010

1. zumba
2. when you don't fit in, be comfortable standing out.
3. family isn't defined by bloodlines, but instead by heartstrings.
4. some of the best times can be around a fire or in a closet.
5. we are all busy, but real friends always find the time.
6. to stop expecting from people what they will never give.
7. I may be at the bottom of some people's lists, but I am at the top of others.
8. to walk the red carpet without tripping in heels.
9. to be comfortable in my own skin, even when others don't approve.
10. to embrace my role as the crazy, eccentric aunt....cause it's a lot of fun.

Our Family Addition

Last week I posted a blog entitled "We're Expecting," a title I thought would generate some interest which the blog stats confirmed as it is my highest viewed post thus far. While it does thrill me to see the stats and know that I have readers, if you are just joining me, please continue reading as I believe there are much better posts. Yes, the title was a little deceiving, but does prove the power of how important a good title is to generate interest. No, we are not expecting a baby as I'm sure this is the conclusion many a readers would jump to, but if you read, we were expecting an Elf On The Shelf to come stay with us until Christmas. When I posted last week, I had an Elf waiting for me on hold at a local gift shop until I could make it in and was in a desperate search for an Elf Skirt which turns this elf into a girl with the simple cling of Velcro. In a score for the mommy team, I found the skirt four and a half hours away at the Christmas Tree Shop in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. No, I did not drive all the way there for an elf skirt, nor would I, no matter how many mommy points that would generate. No, we were there for the weekend and as my determination was quickly turning into desperation, a Google search of Elf On The Shelf retailers led the way and the skirt was purchased by my husband in a covert undercover mission while I diverted the girls attention to other areas of the store. While I toyed with the idea of letting our before named Ashley Elf appear and join us on our weekend away, I decided to wait until we returned home to as not lose her or have her to distract the girls from other weekend events.

Day 1. Monday
The girls woke up bright and early Monday morning with an Elf on our shelf. She was sitting on the tupperware container we had stored our Gatlinburg fudge in only the night before and had obviously ate a little bit. She also left a note in agreement to what Santa had told her of Gatlinburg fudge being better than any other fudge there is. The girls were ecstatic that their new friend had finally arrived and begged to take her to school with them, but of course I would not allow that.

Day 2. Tuesday
In an effort to make school mornings as easy as possible with two procrastinating girls, we have a nightly routine of selecting and laying out school clothes for the following morning. When we woke on Tuesday, the girls' clothes were thrown all over our living room along with books that had been knocked off a chair side table and scattered on the floor beneath.

Day 3. Wednesday
Ashley must have wanted to share a little of her home with McKenzie and McKenna because she created a winter scene in our living room. She took all the cotton balls from my decorative bathroom apothecary jar and had them covering the coffee table with Snowman Peeps scattered amongst her cottony snow. Ashley sat in the snow next to a peppermint candy themed Christmas tree ornament she brought back from the North Pole. Next to her was her written response on the same note the girls left the night before asking what she liked to eat in the morning. It turns out Ashley is very tired in the morning and doesn't eat during the day, but really likes the snacks the girls have been leaving for her at night. Again, the girls begged to take her to school, but again I would not allow it instead reaching a compromise to let Ashley ride to school with us. She staying in the back seat held up to the window so she could see our morning route, car line and the girls' school and was given to me to ride up front when the girls exited the car for school. She sat in the same place of my console all day with her eyes fixated in my direction, watching my every move.

Day 4. Thursday
Panties, panties...everywhere, well not everywhere, but in a trail between the girls rooms that would have Hansel and Gretel finding their way home with no problem. I woke the girls in a hurried rush as I had woke a little late myself and continued with our morning routine listening to the girls giggle at Ashley's nightly mischief.

While my husband keeps accusing me of having more fun with Ashley than the girls are, they are enjoying her much more. I will admit that it is fun tapping into the childlike creativity of being an elf. I never know what she is going to do until the girls fall asleep and I am forced to figure it out quickly before I go to bed each night. It is both entertaining and helpful to see what other's elves are doing in several of my friends' morning facebook updates. I find their posts give me quick and easy ideas where I may be over thinking and trying too hard to be creative thus making the elfing stressful. This morning I couldn't help but think that Ashley's notes could be very helpful in motivating the girls to get some chores completed without me having to nag them. Is that manipulative? Yes, maybe a little, but I'm not above a little manipulation if the girls will take direction better from their foot tall friend rather than they will me and avoid a argument or two in the meantime. If Ashley's going to live in our house, eat our snacks and make messes, I figure she could do something productive too and help the girls score some extra points with Santa by cleaning their room, fighting with each other less and taking some initiative in other areas where they are relying on us to baby them. Yes, Ashley is definitely going to explore this method and maybe December will be our month for some better habits to be born to usher us into the new year ahead. I'll update you on the progress or lack thereof.

Happy Elfing!

Sunday Bike Outing

I didn't set my alarm clock Saturday evening and because I am the mom and wife of the family, it's my fault we overslept for church Sunday morning. I admit it, it's all my fault...that and a few other things. But don't worry, this week is definitely making me pay for it and justice is being served to me on a not so silver platter. But, we won't go there. So back to my alarm clock, oh yeah, I didn't set it, and didn't wake up until 10:30 am on Sunday morning which was much too late to try to get ready and make it to service which started thirty minutes before. So instead, I made some Sister Shubert's Sausage Wrapped Rolls for breakfast, which was a hit among the little people. When I say made them, I mean I thawed them out, unwrapped them from the plastic bag and put them in the oven....yes, I'm very domesticated, I know. After working on the computer for a few hours, and yes, I do mean work, as I have a second job in marketing that I do from home, my husband offered the suggestion of loading up our bikes and taking the girls for a bike ride. This is something we haven't done before and sounded like a great idea for a family outing. This summer we spent most of our free weekend time on the river and now that summer is over, my girls and I are having river withdrawals to the point that when they asked to wear their swimsuits at bath time a few nights ago, I let them in complete understanding. For us, it's going to be a very long winter and we are going to have to figure out somethings to do to keep us entertained until spring.

So the bikes are loaded up, tires aired up and we head to the wildlife preserve trail behind our local mall which lies at the Coosa River edge. While I spent countless hours of my childhood riding a bike on the Sac and Fox trails of Indian Creek, the off road trick bike trails and through the my Bertram Road neighborhood in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, I have to admit I was a little nervous to take a seat behind the handle bars.  It has been many, many years since I have rode a bike. I know my old red Gitaine 10 speed was packed on the moving truck when we moved here when I was 14, but I don't remember riding it much when we planted our new home in Rainbow City. I asked my dad what happened to my bike a few years ago and learned that it had been bartered away in a yard sale being that I never used it and had forgotten about it myself. Hearing its fate gave me a complete understanding to John Mayer's lyrics where he asks "whatever happened to my lunchbox,when came the day that it got thrown away and don't you think I should have had some say in that decision?" But being a parent myself, I completely understand the need to purge away forgotten items so as not to completely drown in all the toys a child goes through over the years; this is what happened to John's lunchbox and my 10 speed. In irony, I take a seat on what was once our older daughter's bike who has long ago moved out, but forgot about it, and so it's now become mine until she ever remembers to reclaim it.

The saying about never forgetting to ride a bike  

proved itself to be true and there were no falls for me, however this was not the case for our McKenna who fell numerously as she adjusts to riding without training wheels. It gives me no pleasure in admitting that we as parents failed in the training wheel department and only took them off her bike this past summer. This was her first venture away from the familiarity of our driveway and the crushed stone and boardwalk decking gave her some intimidation and frequent falls.    

I had always thought the wildlife trail was named so because of the obvious duck and bird visibility, but apparently we have an ever present beaver population that was completely unknown to me. We spotted various beaver dams along the way and tracks crisscrossing the mud bottom of the lowered riverbed. This gave me a chance to use our outing as an educational experience for the girls while I told them about beaver dams, nests, habitats and everything else I could recall from a middle school research report from 20+ years ago. We decided this would make a good family google subject for us later when we returned home. Three days later we have yet to look it up, but it hasn't escaped my memory, so beaver googling will definitely be in the near future.

While I have walked the boardwalk that makes up this walking trail, I have never went completely over it to the little island it leads to. I think the length of the boardwalk was a little overwhelming to the girls as they saw it curve around the river edge and head to the unknown. Pushing them forward, I told them to imagine that we were on the wooden go cart track that we like to visit on Gatlinburg vacations and we are on a journey to explore the secret island ahead. They liked this and the fact that I had never been to the "secret island" either so this was a first for all of us. That seemed to suffice and we peddled ahead.

The secret island had less traveled trails, cut through by foot rather than bike, with many fallen limbs along the root entangled paths. After passing by the last resting bench, the trail narrowed even more and I finally gave the lead to my husband out of pure selfishness of not wanting me to be the first to encounter a snake, beaver or anything else we might come upon. Luckily there were no first hand wildlife encounters, not even a mom-feared brush of poison ivy. We made the full trek which circled the island and then headed back over the boardwalk in time to witness a baby duck swimming alone. Just as I was pointing it out to the girls, it disappeared under the water's cloak only to re-emerge a few yards from where it had been. We watched in suspense each time it would disappear to see where it would reappear again until it was finally out of sight and then we headed back to the truck and reloaded the bikes.

It was good time for all of us, out in nature, disconnected from the world around us, creating what I hope will be a family memory my girls will keep locked in a file of their mind for years to come. While we had missed church that morning, we had our own service with bicycle seats instead of pews, fresh air instead of electronic heating and cooling, in a sanctuary created by God more beautiful than any decorated church walls. He spoke to me in subtle whispers all along the way through the beauty of nature and the inquisitive children He blessed me with.

The Candy Conquest

Hope you had a Happy Halloween with plenty of new memories for the kiddos. Ours started at my sister's house where we unexpectedly met up with my other sister, my 8 year old twin nieces and teenage nephew.

Plans were quickly made to team up for our Candy Conquest of Trick-or-Treating and we embarked in a two car caravan loaded with Frankenstein, Cleopatra, an Astronaut, a She-Werewolf and a Zombie.

The four younger cousins love to divide up between cars so that no sister has to ride with her sister. It gives the girls time to catch up and for us parents there are usually quieter, argument-free rides with no sister drama.

We hit a few church Trunk-or-Treats, which the girls love, and I appreciate the blessing of being from a small area where you continually run into people you know. We then went to the chosen neighborhoods for the door-to-door trick-or-treating we as adults reminisce doing as children. It was there that for a few houses we were followed by a lurking teenage sized boy costumed in a scary mask and carrying a chain saw that he would occasionally rev the engine sending our little girls into a fearsome run. I admit it was cute at first, but if he hadn't stopped when he did, my sister and I were about to morph into mama bears that protect our young and send him in another direction. Luckily, he stopped taunting our little ones and disappeared into a nearby house before any morphing occurred. 

As the night grew later and the air colder, my sister and I departed ways and we went on to trick-or-treat our last neighborhood by heated car instead of by foot. Cleopatra and the She-Werewolf decided that they'd had enough for one Halloween, and we returned back to the starting place of my sister's house for hot dogs and 'smores over her fire pit before heading home. Cleopatra had apparently been secretly bitten by an asp, and was sound asleep when we arrived home, so we postponed our yearly tradition of sorting and inventorying our candy plunder, and instead wiped off makeup and tucked the girls into bed. Another Halloween conquered with fun, memories, and enough candy to have the girls on a sugar high for the next few weeks.

Happy Halloween!

It's Halloween and my kids, husband and I are all thrilled. My husband, who was supposed to work today, even took off to not disrupt our yearly tradition of taking the kids trick-or-treating together. What's better as a child than playing dress up and getting seemingly endless amounts of candy? Being the parents of two trick-or-treaters who are allergic to peanuts, my husband and I get our own stash of Butterfingers, Snickers, Reece's and any other peanut or peanut butter candy dropped in our children's buckets. It's a win-win holiday for all and my husband has been planning our attack for days of what neighborhoods and church's trunk-or-treats we will hit in our candy collecting conquest.

This year Little Miss Sweetness is going as a She-Werewolf wearing an outfit that fits her punky black and pink taste. The Drama Queen is dressing as Cleopatra outfitted with flowing fabric hanging from the sleeves that she can move back and forth in her ever so dramatized fashion. They are both as cute as can be and moving from year after year of Cinderella and Snow White costumes, I am completely happy with a change in their character choices. I think back to my childhood and can only remember two of my own outfits: a bunny and a chimney sweep. I know there were more and I'm sure my mom could recall all the costumes in between, but all I muster up the memory of are a bunny and a broom-toting chimney sweep trying to mimic by grandparent's Scottish accent.

While the costumes have escaped my memory, the yearly traditions haven't. I remember trick-or-treating with my neighborhood friends, Sadye and Sam. We would go door to door of our own neighborhood where almost all the houses would be lit up and welcoming of costume clad kids. Ending the night at their house, we would dump our plunder out onto their living room floor to take inventory of our success and then barter and trade the unwanteds with each other. As I think back, I see the early hints of my self-diagnosed OCD, as I recall my severely straight rows of perfectly organized candy.

I also remember the Halloween party in the basement of my church every year. Yes, it was a Halloween party, not a trunk-or-treat or fall fest. Apparently this was in the days of churches still being able to call it Halloween without creating their own fear of offending it's members who think anything Halloween related is evil and anti-Christian. No, I'm not here for a religious debate, if you choose not to dress up your kids or give out candy, that's up to you. I personally don't think it demeans my Christianity to dress up my kids for trick-or-treating, but would more violate the terms of being selfish and greedy. But like I said, I'm not debating here, just sharing a memory, so back to the Halloween party. I remember each classroom of our basement being set up with different games and activities; a cake walk, bobbing for apples, sticking your hand in a bowl of unknown or describable contents and more. It was always a fun-filled time and added more loot to the night's plunder.

Now, we create different memories for our children. The streets are darker now with more unlit, unwelcoming houses than there are candy giving ones, so we opt for the trunk-or-treats at our area churches. We will make our way down the main highway in town going from church to church where cars are lined up with trunks decorated in a variety of themes. There are a few neighborhoods that we have gotten to know over the years that are kid friendly where we will walk door to door and run in to several of our family friends and children's school mates. I will spend the evening reminding my girls of their "thank you's" and getting my hand squeezed a little tighter when a scary costume crosses our path. Then we will go back to our home and dump the plunder out on our own living room floor, separate the peanut and peanut butter candy into mom and dad's own stash and let the kids work out the details of their own trades. The night will end with more "pleases" and begging to eat more candy before bed, which as tradition goes we will allow a little more than normal, because "it is Halloween".

So whether you are the parent accompanying your little costumed ones, the trunk decorating, candy giving fairy at the local trunk-or-treat or the door opening neighbor dropping candy into buckets and bags tonight, remember you are creating a memory for all the little ones you encounter tonight. This parent thanks you for being a part of the Halloween tradition and wishes you a Happy Halloween!

Boating License

So my big accomplishment for the week is getting my boating license. It's not a big accomplishment, but it is something crossed off my list of things to do, so that's an accomplishment within itself. I grew up driving our 32 foot Chris Craft cabin cruiser that had not one, but two engines in it, and finally at 34 years of age I took my certification test and got "Vessel" added to my driver's license. I didn't need one as a kid learning and driving under the supervision of my dad's co-piloting, or co-captaining I should say. Here in Alabama, it wasn't a law to need a license when I was an early teenager operating my own jet-ski. But now it is and so it's been one of those things I have been meaning to do but continuously slips my mind in the everyday shuffle in life. Truth is, I haven't really spent near as much time on the river in a boat as I would like to until this summer. This summer I have spent nearly every weekend on the river and at a little island that fellow river-rats congregate to. Needless to say, it was a great summer and one that reminded me so much of my childhood as I watched my own children experience being on the river, driving the boat under Paw Paw's guidance and spending endless sun filled hours digging in the sand.

My earliest boating memories are on an old brown fishing boat with my dad and his fishing buddy Minor Jones. Though I didn't get to go often, being just a little runt of a child, I remember the treat of spending the day fishing, eating packed lunches of sandwiches and even enjoying the outdoor nature necessity of hanging my tail end off the side of the boat when a little girl had to pee. Now, as a mom of little girls myself, I can imagine what a selfless act this was of my dad to take me as I imagine I was just as busy as my own kids. I probably got on his and Minor's nerves just a bit and scared more fish away than helped to draw them in with not being near as quiet as anyone would have liked. Still, my favorite memory from the fishing boat adventures was that of the day I caught a pretty sizable fish and my dad and Minor got "skunked" as they say in the fishing world.

Our second boat was the 32 foot Chris Craft Cabin Cruiser I mentioned earlier. A beautiful wood boat from I believe 1963. However, when we purchased it, it was nothing but beautiful, but full of potential. You see before it became a part of our family it had been sunk, probably intentionally, but sunk nonetheless and in desperate need of continuous TLC. We spent the winter with it hoisted in the air on industrial cranes at my dad's employer's warehouse and give it all the tender loving care it needed replacing transoms, wood, vinyl and applying countless elbow grease in sanding and applying endless coats of polyurethane. At the end of the winter a friend came to hand paint the name "For Play" not for reasons that would be a continual joke around the river harbor of the name of our boat, but because my family were true bred woworkaholics and this boat was strictly for playtime.

This is the boat I grew up on every summer. I had all my spend the night birthday parties on, experienced loss when burglars targeting it a few times, experienced great pride in having what was on our city's Cedar River the biggest boat in the harbor and by it's make, history and beauty, one with unparalleled class. This is the boat I learned to drive at a young age, probably not the easiest one as it was powered by not one, but two car engines, but I didn't know the difference. You don't just push on one throttle, you drive controlling two. Both forward for regular forward, and learning to use one in different directions for turning. I remember the pride I felt as I could embark, drive and dock this massive creature with the skill of any experienced adult boat driver and now as an adult, I have learned my dad had the same pride in my capabilities as well.

After moving down to Alabama, for the sole purpose of being in a warmer climate where we could have our boat in the water year round, life got busy with building a home and less time was spent on the Chris Craft. However, I was shocked when I came home one day and had my very own jet ski on it's own hand cranked hoist under an upper deck of our pier. The next couple summers were fun filled as I spent my own time driving my own personal water craft. The only down side was the accident where a friend driving his own jet ski ran up the side, knocking me off and causing a little fiberglass repair my Kawasaki. As years went by I spent less time on the river and more time on the road and ending up selling the jet ski to help pay for my first car purchase.

Since then, my river ventures have been about one or two times a year and I honestly forgot how much I missed it. I forgot how much a part of me the entire river experience was, until this summer where I feel I re-found one of my first loves. The river, the waves, the hum of an engine, the riveting airborn feel of riding on a faster boat that seems to hover over the water rather than cut through it, the people you meet of all backgrounds, all professions, all different walks of life but are all connected on the level playing field by the bond of the river life. And in this summer I found that some things can only be explained through the peace felt sitting on the dock with the breeze on your skin, listening to the waves slap the hull of a boat. In that I found some much needed and forgotten peace, a solitude that was necessary to my sanity.

The Chris Craft of my childhood is now sold, the jet ski is gone, but there is now a relaxing pontoon that has replaced them with much less upkeep required of an antique wooden boat. So this summer I decided I was getting my boating license and would begin driving and mastering the pontoon boat that is available to me to learn on once again. No, I don't have a boat, but I will someday. Until then I will continue to spend as many summer days on the river as I can. Now, at least, I have the license that allows me to take control, have me ready when I do come across the boat that will someday be mine, and know that I have crossed something off my list of things to do and reconnected with my first love.