My tragic chipmunk story.

I accidentally killed a chipmunk today.  With my bike.  I'm not kidding.

It was mortifying.  I was just coming around the bend on the bike path near the Genesee River, when I saw the chipmunk.  Yes, I saw the chipmunk.  It was off to the side, not quite in the grass, but I thought it was instantly going to run further into the grass to get out of the way.  But no, it ran in the opposite direction, across the bike path, right as my bike was passing.  It all happened way too fast for me to stop before I realized the chipmunk had run right between my front wheel and bike chain.  I think it even dinged a couple of times off of my pedals like a pinball machine before it stayed still.

At first I didn't think it was dead.  I thought I had just knocked it over, because when I looked over my shoulder as I kept biking, it seemed to be moving, so I thought it was just having trouble getting up.  I kept going, shell-shocked from what had just happened, but also thinking, What do I do?  I decided that since it was alive, I should probably see if I can help or do something about it.  I thought I'd call Nathan to see if he had any good ideas.

So I turned around and started biking back, grateful that the two older ladies who were walking together were ahead of me when I hit the chipmunk.  As I biked, I kept hoping that I wouldn't see the chipmunk, that it had gotten back up on its own and managed to get off the bike path.

But no, I found the poor little creature in the middle of the path, lying still, and with a little bit of blood spattered on the ground.  I guess what I had seen looking over my shoulder was its little body spazzing before it died.

Yeah, I know.  Ew.

I felt SO terrible and SO grossed out at the same time.  I just couldn't stay.  I felt bad for the bikers and runners who would soon encounter this unexpected road surprise (hopefully noticing before they arrived) as they whizzed past me on my trip home.  I really did.  But there was just no way I could bring myself to move the little body out of the way...not even with a stick.

And that's how I accidentally killed a chipmunk with my bike today.  The End.

I'm sorry, little chipmunk.  I'm sorry I killed you and didn't give you a proper burial.  I asked Jesus for forgiveness.  I hope you'll forgive me, too.

Moderate homebody of sorts.

I'm a bit of a homebody.  Not to the truest sense of the word, though.  Maybe 'moderate homebody' is a more accurate description.  I don't prefer to be home at all hours on end.  When a great opportunity arises to travel to a different state or a different country, I'm usually down (if it's feasible).  I enjoy long car rides most of the time, especially if they're to new places I've never been.  I don't really enjoy flying as much anymore, but that's mostly because of the liquid limitations (as stupid as it sounds, I unashamedly love and need my lotion...and lots of it) and "new" costs to check baggage, which I find extremely annoying.

I guess I call myself a 'moderate homebody' because I enjoy going out and traveling on the minimum end of my time.  A special occasion.  Something to look forward to.  A temporary, clearly limited time living out of a suitcase until I can exhale a sigh of relief to be home.  It becomes not so great when I'm traveling back to back to back to back.

But being home can be so boring, some of you may say.  Not so for this moderate homebody.  Home has endless possibilities for me.  It can mean reading for hours on end, or trying a new dinner recipe I've always wanted the time to make.  It can mean crafting some birthday cards or dreaming up some creative ways to send my congratulations on the new baby.  It can mean baking something delicious from scratch, or watching some fun movies from Netflix, the library, or Redbox.  It can mean having the personal time and space to host my students in town for the summer, acquaintances I hope will become friends, or out-of-town friends who would grace us with their presence to visit for a few days.  It can mean cleaning and organizing what I had hoped would magically clean and organize itself.  It can mean quality time with my husband, talking or playing or eating.  It can mean a quiet place to think, reflect, or meditate.  I love it.  I bring the adventures home without having to go very far.

And now that my home is in Rochester, it can mean a lot of other things - exploring a local cafe or shop, attending a town festival, or learning something new.  It could mean visiting museums, the zoo, or art galleries.  It could mean volunteering somewhere to serve my community.  I could take a day trip to Buffalo, the Finger Lakes, or picnic on the "beach" at Lake Ontario.  Day trips to be back home without having to pack a suitcase.

But it seems as though when this moderate homebody agreed to marry a man who grew up and thrives in chaotic travel plans, she signed her summers of moderate homebody-ing fun away.  Well, maybe not away completely.  More like to a limit of one or two weeks?  As this is our first summer together as a married couple, it will be a test of sorts.  Last year we also had crazy travel plans, and since we were engaged it was particularly difficult for me.  It should be easier this time, but we'll have to see.

Now, since you're probably a faithful reader (or stalker, whichever floats your boat) of this blog so far (or you were referred to this by someone else who follows), keeping up with the sparse updates of what's going on in my mind, I'll let you in on a little secret (for those of you who don't already know):  if you'd like to follow my more superficial, day-to-day life adventures with Nathan, you can check out my other blog.  You'll probably find updates of where our crazy summer plans will lead us.  Happy stalking!