dear motorcycle brigade on main street,

i've never seen anything like you in this quaint little town before. in fact, i'm surprised they even let you through--and with police escorts none the less! (not to be judgmental, but i think the only other times i've seen policemen and motorcyclists together have been in cases of speeding tickets and accidents.) around here, there are lots of rules: trains aren't allowed to sound their horns, and trash cans must be exactly two feet from the curb in order to get picked up on trash day. maybe they forgot to make a rule about motorcycle brigades. i hope they don't because it would be fun to have you back sometime. you were a nice break from the stuffy audi, lexus and mercedes drivers that frequent the streets around here. i admire your sense of freedom--the way you let the wind comb through your long wiry pony tail, the way you don't care that your shirt is untucked and your pants are riding too low, the way you can ride for miles and miles without any purpose or rush. more people could stand to untuck their shirts and let the wind in their hair from time to time. i am one of them.

what were you doing around here anyway? i attempted to google you when i got home, but what do you even enter for a search like that? "why were there bikers driving through my town today?" no results. maybe there was a convention around here. maybe you were just out for a saturday drive (which wouldn't be a bad idea--it was beautiful today). maybe you're starting out on a trip from the east coast to the west coast, or maybe you just finished a trip from the west coast to the east coast. maybe there was a parade (did i miss it?). maybe you were the parade. in any case, i'm glad you came through this little town and brought fresh life to the streets today.

lemon poppy seed glory

sometimes you just need a lazy saturday morning. and sometimes that lazy saturday morning just needs to include brunch. and sometimes that brunch needs to be something spectacular and unique...like lemon poppy seed pancakes.

so, get out...

2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/3 c. sugar
pinch of salt
1/3 c. poppy seeds
zest of 4 lemons
2 c. buttermilk
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 tbsp. melted butter, plus some for greasing the pan and serving
strawberries, raspberries, and sugar for topping

then...

combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt in a large bowl. mix the buttermilk, eggs, butter, lemon zest and poppy seeds in another bowl. add the wet to the dry and stir all ingredients, but don't overmix.

heat pan over medium-hot and brush it with a bit of butter. pour about 1/3 c. of batter into the pan. wait until the pancake bottom is deep golden in color, then flip with a spatula and cook the other side until golden and cooked through. while your pancakes are cooking, place strawberries and raspberries in a sauce pan and sprinkle with sugar. warm over low heat until the sugar and fruit juices turn syryp-y. pour over pancakes and EAT. [find the original recipe here]

[and then do the dishes later]

please invite me to your wedding

dear cyclist on asbury street,

you whizzed around the corner with your lady friend, both of you painted in your sleek spandex outfits--black and shiny with patches of florescence. your sunglasses protected your eyes from the sun on that beautiful afternoon, and from the wind that was probably hitting your face at that high speed.

you and the bike seemed to be one unit--your hands seamlessly fit the handlebars, gripping the gear shifts and breaks, and your feet melded into the pedals like they were an organic extension of your limbs. you're a natural, cyclist on asbusy street. your lady friend too. the closeness with which you two rode gave the appearance that you were on a tandem bike. like you two and your bikes were all one unit. only after you turned the corner did i realize that there were four wheels instead of two, two bikes instead of one. i thought you might crash into each other, but you didn't.

actually, when you turned the corner was when i really noticed you. (there are lots of bikers all over the roads that i run, and to be honest, i don't pay a lot of attention to your type most of the time. you look quite similar painted in spandex and hidden behind sunglasses and helmets.) you noticed me too at that point. you saw me running toward you on the side stretch of the shoulder just outside of the white line on the road. to warn your lady friend/pseudo-tandem-bike-partner about me, you shouted back to her, "walker up."  which actually sounded like, "wokrRUP." (whatever that means...wait...walker? is he serious?) cyclist, i can tell you that from that point on, i was very clearly not walking. your little shout-out to your friend gave me that surge of motivation to pick up the pace. truthfully, i wanted to kick your butt for interpreting my run as a walk, but i kicked my own instead on the second half of that asbury street loop. 

who was your friend that rode a few hundred feet behind you? he wore a funny helmet that had holes in it, like a white beehive sitting on top of his head. i wished that your friend had another cyclist riding close to him like you and your lady friend, because by the time i crossed paths with him, he would have certainly yelled "runrRUP." (yes, runner, not walker, that's me.)