xmlns:og>='http://ogp.me/ns#'> Pedals & Pencils: March 2011

March 31, 2011

Thankful Thursday #18

This week I'm thankful for...

  • the NCAA basketball tournament because I love watching the underdog win

  • my friends who made me lemon blueberry cake just because I requested it

  • my teacher friend who is retiring and bequeathing all of her writing resource books to younger teachers

  • the patch of blue sky that peeked out Saturday reminding me that winter won't last forever

  • riding on the river trail when the river is so high that the water laps at the trail, even flooding it in places

  • riding with newbie cyclists who are excited to ride 'long distances' like 15-16 miles

  • remembering when 6 miles was a long way to ride my bike

  • the fact that my class is too young for state testing.  Yes and amen.

  • waking up early and reading a good book before heading off to work

March 24, 2011

Thankful Thursday #17

This week I'm thankful for...

  • the scent of rain on warm asphalt

  • the attitude of my little one who accidentally poked himself in the eye with a fork at lunch.  He was completely fine and when I asked him how it happened, he shrugged and replied "I aimed for the peas and missed."  I'll say.

  • meals with friends

  • the book of Esther

  • a fresh haircut

  • bike rides so challenging that I'm left stripped bare at the end, knowing I gave everything I had, and by some miracle, it was enough

  • hearing Dr. Maya Angelou speak.  It was a night I'll treasure always.  And because I will never look at rainbows the same again.  And because you weren't able to join me that night.  And because you deserve a little more poetry in your life, here she is.  I thought of giving you just a morsel to chew on, but who am I to be so selfish.  So click on the picture below and while it takes you to the site starts loading, get yourself a cup of tea, throw a blanket around your shoulders and get ready to enjoy this 42 minute master class with Maya Angelou.  Don't tell me you don't have that kind of time.  Make the time.  I assure you, her words will speak to the most joyful and the most tender places in your heart.

March 21, 2011

Giving Voice

It all started with a bike ride a few years ago.  Successful heart surgery compelled me to pay the gift of health forward.  I joined Team in Training to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.  In exchange for $2100 in donations I would have the privelege of riding 100 miles around Lake Tahoe.  I'd never ridden more than 6 miles, even then I had to stop for a snack half way through.  I didn't even own a road bike.  And I'd never raised money for anything before.

My husband bought me a road bike and I started cycling around town.  Pretty soon I was riding to the far corners of our county and then some.  A few weeks in, I still had no idea how to raise $2100.  So I did the only thing I could think of.  I wrote.  I wrote letters to my family and friends asking for their support.  A few hundred dollars arrived in the mail.  I still had a long way to go and so a month into training, I e-mailed everyone I knew and told them all about my month of cycling.

I wrote about my first crash.  I wrote about accidentally swallowing flies.  I wrote about riding along the riverbank at sunset.  I wrote about my adventures and misadventures alike.  And at the end of the e-mail I begged for donations reminded people how to make a donation on my behalf.  Donations steadily found their way to my mailbox.  And so the next month I sent out more tales from the bike.  I met my donation goal, surpassed it even, but to my surprise my friends kept asking for more stories from the bike.  And so I continued writing.

Then one day a colleague caught me in the lunchroom and said "Hey, I've been reading your bike e-mails.  You can write!  You should apply to the Writing Project Summer Institute."

I responded with an eloquent "Huh?  What's the Writing Project?"

That summer I got my answer.  I was accepted into the Summer Institute where I spent three weeks with a roomful of colleagues, reading cutting edge research and grappling with what authentic writing looks like within the walls of our classrooms.  I listened to my colleagues present lessons.  I gleaned ideas from college professors and kindergarten teachers alike, finding innovative and meaningful ways to teach my own young writers.  The studying, reading, and presentations were invaluable, but the most important time for me during the institute was time spent writing.  After all, the best writing teachers are writers themselves.

We began each day with writing.  I learned to face the terror of the blank page.  I experienced the beautiful rhythm of writing as a daily practice.  I learned to cut through the fat of what I thought writing was supposed to sound like and instead I wrote honest, sinewy stories of students who faced overwhelming circumstances with measures of bravery I can't begin to possess.  Their stories broke my heart all over again as I put them to paper.  I wrote about children who made me laugh.  I wrote about the tenderhearted little girl who rubbed circles on my back when I returned to school after the death of my father.  I wrote the gritty and inspiring details of their stories and in doing so I found my voice.

Last weekend I was riding my bike in terrible conditions.  Icy rain pelted my face and the winds whipped around me at a mild 35 miles per hour.  The wind was so loud that I couldn't even hear the music in my earbud.  I was left alone with my thoughts for the better part of 30 miles.  My thoughts turned to the current round of budget cuts that will eliminate the National Writing Project.  I thought about my classroom writers workshop and how so many of my young writers are finding their own voices, scratching out the stories of their lives in the silvery lead of #2 pencils.

I thought of my solemn little one who writes about her baby sister, her sister who died a year and half ago.  My little one wrote about the feel her sister's feather soft cheeks against the palm of her hand.  When I asked her if she wanted to change the word 'feel' to past tense, she explained that she wanted to leave it as written because she can still feel her sister's skin in her memories.  She's learning that writing allows us retain what is dear, even when we can't hold it in our hands.

I thought of my little boy, recently transplanted from Maui.  He's a whirling dervish of a kid, who only sits still when he's writing in his notebook.  He tells me he's not a writer, but dazzles me with phrases like "I have brown eyes, coconut eyes."  He's a writer.  I know it and soon I'll have him convinced, too.

I thought of my little girl who wrote this about her mom, "She is pretty like white, shiny milk.  She is so beautiful, I can't believe it.  It knocks me down how much I love her."  Her mom spent a good part of the year wrapped in bandages, recovering from brain surgery.  This little girl is learning the healing power of words.

Out there pedaling my bike into the unforgiving wind, I realized that everything I do with my young writers springs directly from the lessons I learned from my time in the Writing Project.  It crushes me to think that budget cuts will prevent other teachers from experiencing the same thing.  Surely teachers researching together, writing together, standing together cannot be seen as non-essential at a time like this.  That kind of work must be the foundation on which we build schools where we hope our children will do the same.

I find myself at a bit of a loss on how to effectively convince the President to rescind his proposed cuts.  Once again I find myself doing the only thing I can think of.  I'm returning to the blank page and filling it with my story and the stories of my students.  In sharing our stories, I give voice to the critical work of The Writing Project.

In the same way I asked friends and family to take a stand against cancer, I'm asking you to stand with me for education.  Please consider writing a letter in support of the National Writing Project.  Click here to read sample letters and to learn more about the NWP.  Your voice matters.  It's time to speak up for writing as an essential part of every child's education.  It's time to tell your story.

March 17, 2011

Thankful Thursday #16

This week I'm thankful for...

  • bike rides with friends

  • my new little one who wrote this in his notebook "I'm thankful for my home."  Makes me wonder if there is a place for Thankful Thursdays in my classroom.  Hmmm...

  • my little one who wrote this about her mom "She is pretty like white, shiny milk.  She is so beautiful, I can't believe it.  It knocks me down how much I love her."  Her mom recently had brain surgery.  I'm pretty sure those are the kinds of words that lend speed to recovery.

  • the parents of my little ones who took time at our parent teacher conferences to thank me and tell me how much their children love being a part of our class.  Those words sink down deep and warm my heart.

  • my little girl who told me in a moment of quiet exclaimed "I love math!  No, wait-I love reading!  No, wait-I love writing!"

  • outside recess

  • outside recess.  I know I mentioned it twice.  Trust me, this week I was doubly thankful for it.

  • my husband who offered to make me dinner after a particularly rough day

  • books that are so good, I can't put them down.  If only I could force myself to stay awake a little longer at night to read them!

  • my little one who brought in $10 of her own money to donate to our change drive for the local rescue mission.  Her mother, touched her daughter's generosity, matched it dollar for dollar.

March 14, 2011

Oak Tree

Saturday morning I pedaled to school to co-facilitate a writing session for teachers.  We always begin with a quick write and Saturday's prompt went something like this: If you weren't here, what would you like to be doing instead?

My answer was obvious.  Saturday mornings are for bike rides.  In fact I'd pedaled to class and scheduled a bike ride for the afternoon, too.  There is something peaceful about pedaling out of town.  Away from piles of laundry.  Away from my job.  Away from the noise.  Away from everything except my legs turning the cranks and my heart keeping time.

My favorite place to ride is out to Millville Plains, where the wind whips through the tall grasses in the Fall and the wildflowers paint the fields in the Spring.  Some days, the hands of the wind press against my back and lift me up the hills.  Other days the wind rushes against my face and I am strong enough to climb the crest despite the wind's advances.

There is an oak tree, a lone oak tree, standing atop the plains.  She is impervious to the wind, snow, sun and anything else nature throws at her.  Oak trees can live to be 200 years old.  In fact the oldest oak tree is 400 years old!  I don't know how old my tree is, but surely she is the matriarch of the plains.  She's been there as long as I can remember, the umbrella of her crown a favorite resting place for cows.  In the summer the shadow of her crown provides respite from the harsh sun and in the winter her branches are shelter from the rain.

I ride by the tree, pushing uphill, keeping her trunk in my line of sight.  I think of how I want to be like that tree, impervious to things at work that press against me, threatening to uproot me.  I think about standing tall for the things I believe are best.  Best for children.  Best for teachers.  Best for the world I live in.  When I ride Millville Plains, I can't help but think of that tree all the way home.

I've yet to see my tree this season and still she comes to mind.  As Congress cuts funding for education, I think of my tree and square my shoulders as I type out letters to my elected officials.  They need to hear about how class sizes bursting at the seams create little space for relationships with students.  They need to hear how important the NWP is in creating teacher leaders who empower their students to carve out their own voices on canvases of blank pages.  They need to hear about how the NWP rooted me deep in practices that translate into a beautiful writing community in my classroom, in my school, in my city.

I'm blessed that my oak tree is just a bike ride away.  When I need to be reminded to be strong, to stand up for my beliefs, I visit my tree.  She is always standing proud and tall over the plains.  She compels me to do the same.

March 11, 2011


Last week I wrote over here in response to a prompt about the words 'snow day'.  It was odd to write about snow because while the country has been blanketed in white, the first breaths of Spring are all around me in the blossoms on the trees and the green shoots peeking up from my bed of Cannas.

I've yet to have an official 'Snow Day' in my teaching career.  This year it's snowed twice, once in the first few minutes of 2011, when my New Year's kiss was still fresh on my lips.  The second batch of snow arrived as I drove to work, flurries splattering on my windshield and dusting the sidewalk.  I took my little ones out on the patio attached to my classroom and we caught snowflakes on our tongues and blinked off crystals clinging to our eyelashes.

For many of my little ones, it was their first time seeing snow fall.  Sure, they've seen it on the ground on skiing trips to Mt. Shasta and they've seen snow falling on tv, but most of them had never seen feathers of snow floating from the sky.  They stood letting the snow kiss their cheeks, squealing with delight.

[caption id="attachment_3459" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Image from believinginme.wordpress.com"][/caption]

One timid little one stood under the awning, eventually sticking her hand out and watching the flakes melt in her palm.  She cried when they melted and I could only put my arm around her and nod with understanding at the beautiful brevity of snow.

We stood outside as long as we could and then we tromped back into the classroom to read Snowflake Bentley.  Still the snow continued to fall.  So we zipped ourselves back into our jackets again and slipped outside to catch a little more magic.

Snow twice in a year is a rare gift for us.  We can wait for snow for months, sometimes even years.  While I wait, I remember the taste of snow on my tongue.  And I remember the smiles on the faces of my little ones on the day white winter fell from the sky and covered us in wonder.

March 10, 2011

Thankful Thursday #15

This week I'm thankful for...

  • days when the rain holds off until after recess

  • a darling former student who bought me a dragonfly windchime with her own money.  I can only imagine how many chores she had to do to earn enough money to buy it.  I was so touched.

  • the kid who came to school with the Batman symbol shaved in his head, proving that everything old becomes new again.

  • getting my report cards done ahead of time instead of scrambling at the last minute

  • Girl Scout cookies

  • my new little one who asked the class to pray that his family would find a house

  • The Fat Cyclist for making this photo of my brother and I his new blog header.  Go, Team Fatty!

March 9, 2011

On Style: Part 2

In fulfillment of my reign as an Award Winning Stylish Blogger, I hereby pass on the Badge of Style to some of my blogging friends.

1.  Meet Robbin, a fellow teacher.  Robbin and I met a couple of summers ago at the Writing Project Summer Institute.  We're both passionate about finding ways to make writing real and meaningful to our students.  Robbin teaches high school and, wait for it, she loves it.  There should be special blessings in Heaven for high school teachers.  Robbin's blog Searching is fairly new, but when Robbin writes, she cuts right to the heart of things.  Her word choice leaves me amazed and when she writes, she is so vulnerable and raw.  It takes a beautiful mix of bravery and humility to write like that.  Go there now because when Robbin becomes a hugely famous and beloved author, you can say you knew her when.  Read this post.  And this one, too.  Then keep going back for more.

2.  Up next is my dear friend, Emily.  A few years ago Emily was a special needs aide for one of my precious little ones.  We've been friends ever since, which is saying something because she's a runner and I'm a cyclist, making us enemies by law.  But if the farmers and the cowboys can be friends, then so can we.  Emily's blog design is beautiful and creative.  Just like her.  She posts about her work with children, but it's her posts about wrestling with her faith that keep me reading.  Emily took up the Thirty Days of Thanks Challenge with me and continues to post Thankful Thursdays.  Visit her at Daydream Believer and read my favorite Thankful Thursday post.  It includes Chuck Norris.  'Nuf said.

3. Allow me to introduce you to Katie.  Katie and I met a couple of years ago when we spent a week one summer volunteering at a Youth to Youth leadership conference.  We spent the week with a few hundred of our favorite teenagers.  What I love about Katie's blog, Finding Bliss, is that she takes me along with her to beautiful corners of San Francisco.  Be sure to check out her post on doing yoga inside Grace Cathedral.

4.  Frequent commenter and fellow Writing Project friend, lynnjake, has a great 365 iPhone photo blog going on.  The idea of taking a photo a day for an entire year sounds torturous to me, but it's second nature to Lynn.  She's one of those people who has creativity coming out of her pores.  I love her quest to find beauty in everyday life.  It's hard for me to choose a favorite photo because Lynn always posts shots that surprise and delight me, but this shot of snow clouds rolling in leaves me scratching my head and wondering how I can get my iPhone camera to behave like hers.

5.  Carli over at Positively Pleasant is my last Stylish Blogger recipient.  I've known Carli since she was a teenager.  Even then she had a style all her own.  She's all grown up now with a husband, scads of darling little girls, and a blog.  Way back in September she cranked out a post called Losing My Cool that still resonates with me today.  I aspire to lose my cool in such a lovely way.

These women inspire me to find beauty and comfort in my own skin.  And to me that's the epitome of style.

March 8, 2011

On Style: Part 1

Recently the lovely and talented Hippie Cahier bequeathed the Stylish Blog award to me.  Just look at it over there on the side.  It's so sparkly, so pretty, oh so very stylish indeed.  I know, I'm snickering a little bit, too.  If you know me outside of this blog, then you're full on chortling because you know I am anything but stylish.  Sure I know the Stacy and Clinton basics.  The trouser cut is my friend.  As are fitted shirts.  And pajamas are not synonymous with clothes.  I just can't seem to make clothes into outfits.  Or make my hair do the right thing.  Like, ever.

So I'm adopting Jonathan Swift's take on style.  "The proper words in the proper places are the true definition of style." Amen.

The rules of the Stylish Blogger Award are these:

Number One, I get to tell you things about myself that you might not already know.  Be warned, the rules do not state that these things have to be interesting and/or useful.

Number Two, I get to bestow the Stylish Blogger award upon some other stylish bloggers.  I'll get back to that part later.

So here we go with the little known facts:

1.  I learned how to make balloon animals at a church thing way back when I was in high school.  I've forgotten how to make most animals, but I can still make a mean balloon dog in about three seconds.  Once I made balloon dogs for my whole class, but when they popped my little ones were completely devastated.  There was crying.  Lots of crying.  Lesson learned.

2.  I sing the wrong lyrics to every song.  This is not an exaggeration.  I can't think of a single song that I know all the right lyrics to.  I'm the reason they project the words up on the screen at church.  You'd think that would keep me from singing, but really where's the fun in that?

3.  I'm a terrible cook.  The quote on my fridge sums it up nicely "I read recipes the same way I read science fiction-I get to the end and think, well, that's never going to happen."  I'm an excellent chopper.  Salads are my wheelhouse.

4.  I love writing.  And reading about writing.  And dreaming about writing.  And talking about writing.  And reading about writers talking about writing.  You get the point.  Tonight at Bible study when Beth Moore went into how the book of Esther is amazing not only for its instruction, but also because of the literary construction, I was all ears.  When she started in on how chiastic structure is employed, I almost fainted in my seat!  I was scrawling furious notes.  Writing about reading the Bible and how the writer created a dynamic literary tapestry-be still my beating heart!

5.  And since this is a blog about being stylish, I feel compelled to mention clothing at least once.  And what better clothing to denote style than cycling garb?  I take delight when the laundry is all done and I have my choice of jerseys and Spandex.  My beloved bicycle, The Rocket, is black with bright pink cable casing.  She's a beauty.  And like that irritating couple who think it's cute to dress alike, I can't help but grin as I pull on my pink and black Fat Cyclist kit, complete with matching arm warmers and socks.  Add to that my pink helmet and matching water bottles and The Rocket and I are all sorts of matchy-matchy obnoxiousness.  Matching my trusty steed makes me smile.  And in my very thin book of style rules, a smile is the best accessory.

[caption id="attachment_3505" align="aligncenter" width="490" caption="This is my little brother, Pete, and I on his inaugural century ride. I'm pretty sure this was the only time on the ride I was ahead of him and our stepdad captured it on film. Take that, Pete!"][/caption]

Stay tuned for Part 2, wherein I introduce you to some of my stylish blogger gal pals.  None of them wear Spandex.  Promise.

P.S.-A big thanks to Fatty for making this photo of my brother and I his new blog header.  Welcome fellow Team Fatty and friends of Fatty.  Can't wait to see you in Davis!

March 6, 2011

How to Be Sick

I was sick this past weekend.  I'm talking raging fever, clogged head, hurts to move kind of sick.  And yet I had a good weekend.  Huh? No, really, I had a good weekend because I know how to be sick.  I know getting sick is my body's way of telling me to take a serious time out.  Here's what I did this weekend, a how to of sorts on being sick.  (This only applies if you are childless or better yet if your children are old enough to wait on you hand and foot.)

1. Get comfy.  Slip out of your work clothes and into your pajamas and slippers.  This was especially easy for me as Friday was Pajama Day so I was already properly attired before I even walked through the front door.

2. Gather supplies.  For me this included a good book, the Bible study I'm in the middle of, the remote control, tissue, a garbage bag, a bottle of ibuprofen, my laptop and the biggest glass of water I could find.  I placed everything within arm's reach and hunkered down so that in between bouts of sleep I wrote, read, and caught up on tv.

3. Sleep.  I set up camp on the couch in the living room and I turned to page 1 of my book, noticed that the words were a little swimmy, and promptly fell asleep for several hours.  When I woke from bizarre fevered dreams about cat acrobats, cheese, and former students, I actually felt a smidge better.  In fact, when I reached for my book, the words were all back in the right place on the page.

4.  Say yes.  This is no time to be Independent Spice.  Say yes when your hubby, child, trained dog, or other loved one offers to:

  • a) get you food, including your favorite candy

  • b) do the laundry

  • c) empty the dishwasher

  • d) rent a movie

  • e) change the sheets

  • f) grocery shop

  • g) get you umpteen glasses of water

  • h) all of the above

My hubby is an 'all of the above' kind of guy, which brings me to point number five.

5.  Thank your hubby or other loved one profusely for taking such good care of your burning inferno, mucus-filled carcass.  Even thank him for renting that really bad movie, which was just as confusing and strange as your fever induced dreams.

6. Say no.  Say no to checking your work e-mail or worse yet, working on report cards.  Say no hanging out with friends, even if they are going to your favorite burger joint.  Say no to anything that requires you moving from your horizontal position for more than 10 minutes.  The exception to this rule is showering.

[caption id="attachment_3493" align="alignright" width="276" caption="Getty images"][/caption]

7. Shower.  Shower long.  Shower often.  Stay in the shower until you fingers are pruny and the steam has loosened every aching muscle.  Later when your fever spikes and you start seeing acrocats performing a circus in your living room, hop back in the shower and crank the water on cold until your brain stops boiling inside your skull.

8. Drink water.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat until this beastly illness has no choice but to be flushed out.  Literally.

9.  Ignore.  Ignore your hubby when he says romantic things like "You sound like death."  Frankly, it's probably true and there is no need to exact revenge by breathing your horrid germs all over his pillow.  Revisit steps #4 and #5.

10.  Repeat steps 1-9 as needed until your are finally able to join the land of the living again.

P.S. One of my favorite books comes out on paperback today.  So if you're sick on the couch and in need of a good read or, better yet, completely healthy check it out.


March 4, 2011

Letter #8: Do Over

Dear Gramma,

It's been a year since you were diagnosed with cancer and almost a year since you died.  Today I was talking to my mom about how time is so elastic.  It feels like you've been gone such a long time, but in the next breath it feels like we talked yesterday.

Do you remember when I called you just after you found out it was cancer?  I asked you how you were feeling and you told me you were scared.  It was the only time you said that to me, maybe the only time you said it at all.  I told you I was scared, too, that cancer was an okay thing to be frightened by.

This week in Bible study, we've been talking about facing our fears, about how there are things in this world that are worthy of a shake in our shoes.  And I couldn't help but remember the time in my own life when I was most afraid.  I visited you and you reminded me of the faithfulness of God, reminded me that He did not give me a spirit of fear.  And when I worked up the courage to tell you my most deep seeded fear, the one that was breaking me into pieces of myself, you hugged me and told me that you prayed for me every morning.

I still remember your short arms wrapped around me.  I remember the way your head rested in the crook of my shoulder, the pendant of your necklace pressing into my stomach.  I stood there, all six feet of me pressed into all five feet of you.  I kissed your head.  You told me I'd be okay and you said it with such conviction that I believed you.

A year has passed since you told me you were afraid and all this time later I have the luxury of hindsight.  So I'm telling you now what I wish I had known then.

It's okay to be afraid.  But God is bigger than the cancer in your body.  You don't have to be afraid of chemo or radiation or losing your hair or being in pain.  You will leave before any of that is even a possibility.  You will leave your body and you will go home to be with your Lord.  And until that day, you'll be taken care of by the best doctors and nurses.  You won't be in pain.  You won't be alone.  You'll be surrounded by family and friends who will love you every second of the rest of your life here on Earth.  Gramma, I will love you every second of the rest of my life, both here and beyond.

I learned this week that the word courage comes from the latin word cor, or heart.  If I had it to do all over again, I would tell you it's okay to be afraid, but that you can also take heart in knowing that God has his arms wrapped around all five feet of you.  I'd tell you to rest your head in the crook of His shoulder.

Even though you're gone, I feel you every day.  When I eat ice cream I think of that time on our trip when I caught you eating ice cream without me and you tried to tell me it was someone else's dish.  The ice cream on your mouth gave you away and I promised not to show anyone the picture I took as proof.  When I watch The Amazing Race, my hand reaches for the phone to call you so we can watch it together.  When I read a good book, I write it down and think of your book list.  And when my mom laughs, it's you who I hear.

I don't think I'll ever stop missing you.  You were the most courageous person I know.  Sometimes that dark fear of mine creeps up and threatens to drown me.  I'm learning to face it, to recognize that God is bigger than my most ferocious of fears.  And I'm taking heart in knowing that someday I will see you again.   You'll wrap your short arms around me and I'll kiss your head.  And we'll be better than okay.



March 3, 2011

Thankful Thursday #14

This week I'm thankful for...

  • my blogger friend, Hippie, who bestowed the Stylish Blogger award on Pedals and Pencils.  I've been called a lot of things, but never stylish.  So thanks, Hippie.  And hello, friends of Le Cahier.  Kick off your shoes and stay awhile.

  • writing Haikus with my little ones

  • dresses with tights and tall boots

  • the rainbow that streaked the sky after a day of unrelenting rain

  • the rare pleasure of sleeping through the night

  • my little one who wrote "Yippee ki yay, Mommy's home!" in his notebook the day after his mom returned from Kuwait.  I couldn't have said it better myself.

  • dancing with my favorite five year old.  It doesn't matter that I have no rhythm because all he wanted to do was spin.  Works for me.

  • my hubby's prickly stubble against my cheek

  • the woman sitting next to me in church during worship who couldn't begin to carry a tune-and didn't care one bit

  • days when exercise takes the form of walking by the river with a friend

  • the two little girls who were swinging on the playground after school.  It was sprinkling and they were swinging and singing at the top of their lungs having a grand time.