One

My daughter started a new school this year. It has been an amazing adventure for her and she has grown by leaps and bounds - physically and emotionally. She just recently turned 11 and I have watched as, day by day, she turns into a young woman. I remember being that age. For me, it was a sad, sad, sad age. My parents had moved me from my bestest-ever friends and had plopped me in a neighborhood where I seemed to always be on the outskirts. I hated the school. I didn't have any friends and no one was nice to me. When I think back to when my pattern began of not being my true self so others maybe would like me, it was that year.

She is having a different experience, however. Although the change in schools took her from some of her bestest-ever friends, many of whom she had been in school with for over three years, I was able to find a school that better suits her personality and she is soaring. I feel grateful for that! She has new bestest-ever friends, which live nowhere near us - this school has no boundaries and some people drive over an hour each direction to get there - and are begging their parents to figure out play dates with me. Last Wednesday, I had the parents of several children come up to me and say, "I have been charged by my child to set up a play date with your child." I felt all teary-eyed and blessed, grateful that this school has been such a good fit.

The drive, for us, to get to school takes about 30-45 minutes, depending on traffic. We go from the southwest end of the Salt Lake valley to the northeast corner, into the avenues. The school was established in the late 1800's and is surrounded by old mansions and quaint cottages, with huge trees. Right now, the area is breathtaking with all the fallen leaves coloring the ground. The avenues are built along the rolling foothills of the Rocky Mountains to the east of the State Capital. Because they are on the mountainous incline, most of the roads are rather steep. I am always astounded by all the bikers going up those streets with determination.

This morning we were slowly climbing a hill which had a stop sign at the top of the incline. Traffic was backed up for the entire block, which is usual. To my right, there was a biker determinedly pumping away at her pedals. She seemed to be going nowhere fast, slowly enough that she was wobbling to keep balanced. I wanted to reach out the window and hold her up and help her along to the top of the hill. She didn't look like she needed or wanted my help, seemingly being in perfect fitness. However, I still wanted to help.

The one thing that always delights and surprises us, though, is the man on the unicycle. He charges down the street, sitting ramrod straight on his circus bike. He carries a proper, age-worn briefcase, always wears muted-colored polyester pants, a tan zip-up wind breaker and a bow tie. It is the combination of the attire with the unicycle that leads me to believe that he is possibly not from this time! The first day we saw him, my daughter's eyes grew wide and she giggled. "I wonder if he used to work in the circus, Momma. Look how fast he goes!"

Unicyclers have an awkward gait, or at least he does. It's a sort of jerky, bouncy movement and he never stops pedaling. Every time I see him cruising down the hills, his legs circling in a blur of jaggedness, I cannot help but wonder... how the hell does he make it home on that thing?!