Janelle Evans

My home here in Wyoming is at the edge of town, at the base of a mountain. I see tons of wildlife, especially on my early morning runs. Lately, I’ve noticed some crazy scenes. I don’t know if it’s my wandering mind that’s seeing what it wants to see, but I have to share.

One morning, I saw a huge group of deer, fawns and their mothers, crossing the street ahead of me. Okay, that’s not that weird, but they were crossing at a crosswalk. Some of the mother deer stopped in the middle of the road like they were crossing guards. The little fawns crossed in single file past them. Even funnier, the road they were crossing had an elementary school on the other side. The momma’s were getting their babies to school a little too early.

I call the road that leads out of my housing development a street of carnage. I swear bunnies come from far and wide to commit suicide on this street, hopping in front moving of vehicles at an alarming rate.

I came upon a group of bunnies standing in the center of a streetlamp’s glow. I kept thinking, why don’t they scatter? as I jogged closer and closer. I was almost on top of them when they finally did hop away, except for one that had been squashed by a car. It was like I’d interrupted a funeral service and those bunnies had been paying their respects to a fallen comrade. Yes, they seem to have psycho death wishes, but I still kind of felt bad.

This week I had the pleasure of running on streets I hadn’t been on in over sixteen years. The very college town where I met my husband and had my first child. On one side of this town is a brutal hill. Long and steep, this hill challenges the endurance of even the most experienced runners. In my younger years, I ran it at least once a week, to push my abilities to their limits. But this week, I fully intended to leave it alone on my run. My legs are no longer in their early twenties, and I don’t run nearly as much as I used to do. Only a bonehead would do something that crazy. Sigh…just call me bonehead.

Where I live now is much higher in elevation, so when I started my run my lungs and legs felt extra strong. I decided to push a few more streets over then I had planned only to find myself on the very street that led up that monster hill. “Just go to the bottom and turn around.” I told myself over and over again. Then out pops a young runner from a side street ahead of me.

Watching her pump her way up that hill kicked my competitive side into overdrive. I didn’t come back to my senses until I was about halfway up the hill heaving for breath. But my competitive side wouldn’t be reasoned with. “We’re already halfway, finish it.” So I did. It was nearly a crawl at the top, but I did it. And now all I want to do is smack myself for all the unnecessary pain throbbing throughout my body. Good job, bonehead.

It’s important to try new things in life. You’ll never know what you’re really capable of if you don’t.

This week I made donuts from scratch—German Twists to be exact. I’d never made a donut-type of dough before, but the picture looked yummy, so I thought, why not give it shot. At the very worst, I’ll have to throw the batch out for being inedible, and there will be no Sunday dessert in our house. To my kids this really is a big deal. It’s the only sugar fix they get each week.

It took several hours of dough raising fun, but mommy managed to get the recipe right. And they taste as good as they look. Yummm…

I wonder what I’ll try next.

At the recent high school football game my eleven-year-old daughter spied two teenagers making out in the shadows above us.

“Ew…why do they have to do that?”

The game was a good one, so I didn’t give the couple much more than a once over. I saw nothing worth getting excited about. “Probably because they like each other.” As writer of young adult fiction, I’ve written many scenes like the one playing out above us.

“It’s so gross. I’m never going to do that.”

I laughed. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that.” I may not mind giving kissing scenes to the characters in my novels, yet the thought of my daughter locking lips with anyone doesn’t sit well with me. Heaven help the boy that tries one day. I’m afraid I’ll be the most uncool mother he’s ever met.

In college I saw my first foreign film. It was a Russian film of the famous play “The Cherry Orchard” done in its native Russian language with English subtitles. The cinematography, the acting was so different from American movies, yet I fell in love, and have been a foreign film junky since. The technology of video streaming sites like Amazon and Netflix has only made it easier for me to unearth more gems to obsess over.

About three years ago, a movie titled “Bride and Predjiduce” popped up in my suggested titles. This movie, though an Americanized remake of Jane Austen’s book “Pride and Prejudice,” opened my eyes to the country and culture of India. Since then, I have watched countless Hindi films, both old and new. Yes, the acting in the old and some of the new movies are corny and over the top, but the Bollywood dancing is to die for. It’s like watching the old 1950s films of Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire when they danced and sang across the big screen. Excuse me while I gush here in happiness…

My husband won’t watch these films with me. He calls them “artsy-fartsy,” but my children I have already tainted—especially my youngest. He’s more interested in watching the dance sequences over and over again, but it can be hard for an eight-year-old to keep up with the English subtitles so I don’t mind indulging him. I have no problem gushing over a dance sequence more than once 🙂

I’m a parent of child whose spends most of his time on the sidelines. I know he’s small for his age. I have eyes. The other boys tower over him, but it still kills me to see him ignored.

Only three years ago we were living a whole different experience. We were part of a team with a coach who believed in my son. I’ve never seen a coach since who saw value in every one of his players like this man did. And the boys repaid that man for his support by playing their hearts out every game. Our last season there, we went undefeated. Not because we were the biggest. Oh no, a lot of those games were like David and Goliath. That coach had convinced every single kid on the team that they were capable, powerful, and as a team, unstoppable.

Sadly, the light of confidence in my son’s eyes dims a little more with every game he sits. Why he goes back year-after-year I’m not sure. But it’s not my choice. I clap. I cheer. All the while hoping one of the coaches on the sidelines will break the cycle of disappointment and give my son a chance to play again.