A birthday tribute

My earliest memory of being on a bike does not involve riding it at all. As the youngest of three children (by a significant number of years), I was always the peanut of the family who was too small to keep up with the recreational pursuits of my parents and older brother and sister. When they went skiing in the Canadian Rockies, I stayed in the daycare at the foot of slopes and napped. When we camped away our summers in BC, and my brother, sister, and cousins were swimming in the lake or careening down the slides at the adjacent waterslide park, I waded up to my knees with water wings on. But when we went cycling, I was able to participate.

During these family bike rides of my early childhood, I never rode my own two-wheeler, but rather was seated comfortably in a yellow bucket seat attached to the back of my mom's bike. To this day, I'm still not certain why my mother, rather than my father, was forced to haul me around, but I have fond memories of riding through Fish Creek Provincial Park, enjoying the biking experience without having to exert any effort. A few years later, I would actually pedal my own bike (I believe it was called, "Strawberry Shortcake") alongside my mom and dad. True, they were walking and I would keep up by riding beside them, but our paces were well matched. My mom and I haven't been on a bike together in years, but every time we are in the same place, we typically end up on long and rather vigorous walks, allowing us plenty of time to get caught up on all the things we miss in each other's lives by living so far apart. In the last few years, my mom and I discovered cross-country skiing. Here our abilities are aligned, and I know that this is something we will continue to enjoy in the years to come.

My mother is an extraordinary woman. I've known her all my life -- in fact, I've known her longer than I've known anyone -- so I feel rather confident in saying this. She is an incredibly cool woman -- that is, she is one of the calmest and least stressed people I know. She takes every bump along the road in stride. And while all mothers are generous, particularly towards their children, my mom is constantly giving of her time, her talents, and her love to those around her. I suspect that she adopted this trait from her own mother, whom she references often, and while "generous" is not the first word I would use to describe myself, I try to live by her example each day.

My mom and me in the Galapagos Islands, 2008

While I have said that I am "back home" this week, this isn't quite accurate. In fact, my true "home," or at the least the one in which I grew up, is thousands of miles away in Calgary, Canada. I miss home constantly, but perhaps more so today. July 12 marks my mom's 65th birthday, and my entire family is together celebrating at my parents' vacation home in the mountains of British Columbia. Perhaps they are swimming, biking, or hiking. Central Park may be lovely, but I know where I'd rather be today.

Happy Birthday, Mom!