What's in a name? Plenty! (Vote for your favorite book title)

My publisher and I have been going back and forth on a short list of possible titles for my fourth book, a paranormal mystery planned for release later this year. My working title was The Green Marble, but my publisher wanted something with more pizazz that would leap off the shelves and grab readers' attention. Of course, the cover art is still being designed, and that's just as important, but for now, we're asking for your help.

We'd like you to vote for one of the titles at the end of this article. After reading the synopsis, please scan the titles and let us know which one "grabs you," as well as seems to represent the story the best. I have my favorites, as does my publisher, but I'm not breathing a word until I see your feedback!

Here's a synopsis of the first book in the Moore Mystery Series:

Sam Moore's little brother Billy disappeared fifty years ago. Riddled with guilt, Sam still hasn't recovered from the loss that locked him in a mental institution as a teenager. Life as a country doctor has helped soothe his soul, but he mourns for Billy each day and is obsessed with thoughts about his fate. What happened to him? Was he kidnapped? If so, why didn't he come home when he reached adulthood and subsequent freedom? Sam doesn't like thinking about the alternatives, and at the age of sixty-two sill feels a strong link to the eleven-year-old boy who slept in the bottom bunk.

Retirement allows Sam more time in his sumptuous gardens. One day, while struggling to eliminate the rapacious Japanese Knotweed from the grounds, Sam discovers a glowing marble. It warms to his touch and whisks him back in time to his childhood. Billy and Sam's childhood pals appear beside him - breathing, sweating, laughing - and very much alive. Sam is drawn into the strong young body of his twelve-year-old self to re-experience his past.

When Sam pops back into the future, he believes it must have been a dream until the next time the marble warms in his hand and flings him back to his youth. Thrust back and forth through time, Sam tries to untangle the mystery of Billy's disappearance. Demonic teenager Manfred Healy tortures the boys, exactly as he did in Sam's youth. Recently released from prison in real time, Healy haunts Sam and becomes a prime suspect. Did he murder Billy? Or were Sam's childhood friends involved? What about his old buddy, Bruce MacDonald, who'd risen to N.Y. State Senator and was about to be tapped for the Presidential nomination? Or Doug Smythe, the most annoying guy in the world? It couldn't be Harvey Allen, that puppy dog of a man with the shock of white hair who staunchly served his country in the Marines. Could it?

Sam's beloved wife Rachel frets when Sam "falls asleep" outside while journeying to the past. Stricken with multiple sclerosis, she harbors a fierce desire to maintain her independence. Sam cares for his wheelchair-bound wife between the events that escalate, although he's afraid to admit the truth about the marble. With her dry wit and persistent love, Rachel gently helps Sam stay afloat.

When Sam uncovers the skull of a young boy in the knotweed patch, the FBI flocks to his property, sifting through the soil to search for evidence. Sam is sure it's Billy's body, but he's astounded when he learns that the bones belong to young boy who disappeared five years before Billy. Aging FBI agent Mac Stewart befriends Sam and reveals the history of a serial killer who engaged in ghastly crimes for the past fifty years, and who may return to the scene of his first crime to make his final kill. Boys have been murdered every five years since Billy disappeared. Was Billy one of his victims?

As the deadline for the next murder rapidly approaches, Sam worries about his grandson Evan, who fits the profile of murdered boys. Billy's old toys mysteriously reappear in the present. Someone attacks the sixty-two year old Sam, shooting him and bludgeoning him in a nearby cave where the boys used to play near a waterfall. When Evan experiences the same "dream" as Sam, all hell breaks loose.

Little by little, Sam relives the past, following Billy until the day he disappeared. Horrified, he follows his brother's spirit to its final destination. Now, armed with knowledge that may save his grandson, Sam struggles to prevent Evan's murder and is shocked when confronted by the true killer during a raging thunderstorm for the final showdown.

Okay - that's the story. Now here are the titles we've winnowed down from a long, long list. I want to know if you don't like any of these, too. But if you find some that appeal to you, give me your top three votes in the comment section below. Also, if you find a combination of the titles below you think would work better, suggest it. (Actually, all of them would likely be followed by "a Sam Moore mystery" as a subtitle.)

I'll post a pareto chart with the answers, and hopefully we'll come up with the best one that is sure to sparkle and grab readers' attention. ;o)

Thanks in advance for being willing to participate in the voting. We value your opinions and feedback! And if you've time, please ask your friends to vote, too. The more, the merrier!

List of names:

 1. Betrayal

 2. Cat´s Eye

 3. Coward Falls

 4. Going Under

 5. Healey's Cave

 6. Rustle of Green

 7. The Disappearance of Billy Moore

 8. The Marble

 9. Unearthed

 10. Unholy Pact

That's the list! Now choose your top three and let us know
what you think. ;o)

***

Author and his grandson

In addition to a passion for photography, Aaron Lazar works as an engineer by day, but can be found on weekends in his gardens with his two toddler sidekicks, grandsons Julian and Gordon. His passion lies in writing, where he has created eleven books with characters of depth, color and substance. Lazar entices readers with intricate plots, lush imagery, breathless action, gourmet meals, classical music, bountiful gardens and surprising romantic moments.

Mr. Lazar also writes monthly columns for the Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine, Voice in the Dark newsletter, and has been published often in Absolute Write. He lives in Upstate NY with his extended family. Visit his websites at www.legardemysteries.com; www.mooremysteries.com, and his blog at www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com.

Here's the new bookmark. I'll be handing these out at my book signing this Saturday from 11 to 5 at the Heron Hills Winery on Keuka Lake, N.Y. Hope to see you there!

Stay tuned for a Blog Tour featuring Beryl Singleton Bissell's book, The Scent of God. You'll be blown away by this one!

Watch my grandson, Gordie, do his happy dance when he is given the green light to plant his tomatoes!

Quenched: a photo essay

A few days ago we had a lovely day of much needed May rain. I woke early and in the relatively dim light, wandered around getting very sopping wet knees. ;o)

I love pink bleeding hearts, but am especially fond of the "Alba" (which I didn't get a shot of yet - they are pure white.)

I planted the Blue Lake bush beans on the last day of April. A bit early (usually I put them in the first week of May), but they germinated well and are doing great!

I recently bought a red gazing globe. I always wanted a blue one, but they were out. Now I'm kinda hooked on the scarlet 'cause it goes with the hummingbird nectar color! Funny how it reflected me snapping the shot. ;o)

This is a lovely reseeding/spreading Centaura Montana, same family as the bachelor button. It's a large bloom, about 1.5 inches across, and is nice 'cause it's blue, really early in the season with the late tulips!

The kale overwintered and is blossoming. Soon seed pods will form, long and skinny, packed with seeds. I'll let them dry out, then save them for next year's planting!

Sedum, transplanted from my woods!

Menton tulip, slightly scarred on lower left petal.

Beet seedlings, long season variety. These grow late into the season and get HUGE, but they stay as tender and sweet as baby beets. One of my very favorites! Planted mid-March

The garlic is very happy!

Rembrandt Tulip

Lilacs from the front yard.

Fresh Lettuce, planted mid March in upstate NY!

Poppy pod, ready to burst into color.

Squash seedlings - volunteered from last year's crop. Wonder what kind they'll be?

Tulip, wide open and almost gone by.

Thanks, folks. Stop by again soon!

Another hot title, highly recommended reading!


Title: The Liar’s Diary
Author: Patry Francis
Publisher: Dutton
Publisher's Address: 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
ISBN-10: 0525949909
ISBN-13: 978-0525949909
Price: $16.47
Publisher phone number and/or website address: http://www.penguin.com/
Author’s website: http://www.patryfrancis.com/index2.htm
Author’s blog: http://simplywait.blogspot.com/

The Liar’s Diary
by Patry Francis
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar



The Liar’s Diary, a psychological suspense novel by debut author Patry Francis, should be tooled in fragrant red leather with gilt edges, and placed on your bookshelf in a place of honor.

Be forewarned. When you buy it, allow for an uninterrupted block of time. Forget sleep. The lure of The Liar’s Diary is strong, for it will call your name incessantly, and your dreams will be filled with Ms. Francis’s characters long after you’ve reached the end of this riveting new work.

Full of subtle, twisting truths that bob and weave in a surf of lies, The Liar’s Diary is like a fragile raft on a swelling sea of denial. Carefully selected truths are masterfully revealed as we are thrust into the life of high school secretary Jeanne Cross. The raft soars higher – just enough to almost peer over the whitecaps. Jeanne glimpses half-truths so disturbing she retreats into the safety of her compulsively ordered life. Disoriented and in psychological turmoil, we twist and weave in yet another direction beside her, constantly on edge and guessing until the final page.

Jeanne strives to be the dutiful wife, mother, housekeeper, nurturer, and employee. But we quickly learn her perfect life is built on a severely cracked foundation. Gavin Cross, the debonair doctor husband, is a controlling father who bullies his son, feeding an explosive eating disorder that sends Jamie Cross to chocolate for relief. Scenarios of mockery escalate, with full blame for Jamie’s lack of academic success laid squarely at Jeanne’s feet. In her picture perfect house, we soon discover a supremely unhappy woman who lives in suburban hell, trying to defend her beloved son and keep peace in the dysfunctional family.

Enter Ali Mather, the new music teacher at Jeanne’s school who flounces into Jeanne’s staid world of responsibility with flowing strawberry blond hair, fragrant perfumes, and tight jeans, enticing the high school boys and male teachers, and providing hours of juicy gossip for the rest of the staff. Ali, flamboyant, passionate, and unabashedly sexy, is the antithesis of sedate, controlled Jeanne. Yet, through a circumstance not fully understood, Jeanne is drawn to Ali like a powerful narcotic.

Ali, married to George Mather, a most perfect husband, has issues of her own. Unresolved childhood traumas send her into the arms of two men in Jeanne’s town, shocking the quiet community. George, strangely forgiving and still madly in love with his philandering wife, cuts a figure of loving forgiveness. As Ali embraces her hedonistic experiences, including an affair with the school shop teacher half her age, Jeanne reacts with simultaneous repulsion and fascination.

But someone is stalking Ali, entering her home and leaving subtle reminders of their presence. Is it one of her lovers? A student? A jealous wife? Her music is desecrated, personal items disappear, but the police don’t take her seriously. Jeanne struggles to help her friend overcome her fears and abandoned relationships, just when Ali’s diary disappears and people start to die.

The story twists into another realm, shocking the reader multiple times, surging higher now with dark half-truths. Jeanne’s son is accused of ungodly crimes, and it’s up to her to uncover the facts. She must discover who’s lying, in order to save her son.

Patry Francis is a gifted deep thinker who knows people and paints them well.
Her writing style is engaging and smooth going down – like a big bowl of lime sherbet. First time novelists often try too hard, peppering their prose with ostentatious adverbs and adjectives. But Ms. Francis’s writing focuses on the compelling story as the movie plays in your head with a clever appreciation of the craft.

I highly recommend The Liar’s Diary to anyone who enjoys a good suspense, mystery, or psychological thriller.


Aaron Paul Lazar is an engineer by day, but his passion lies in writing. The first book in the LeGarde Mystery series, Double Forté, is an absorbing tale of love, intrigue, and murder; “a feast for the senses that will leave you breathless.” Upstaged, the second book in the series, features a disturbed stage mother, a deviant predator, and a twisted saboteur who lurks backstage, terrorizing the drama club with deadly, psychotic games. “Lush, vibrant, and delicious.” Lazar’s latest book, Tremolo: cry of the loon, a literary coming-of-age mystery, is available through Twilight Times Books.

Lazar has written a second series featuring paranormal mysteries with Sam and Rachel Moore, a retired country doctor and his wife who suffers from multiple sclerosis. Watch for The Green Marble, coming in October, 2007, from Twilight Times Books.

Lazar’s monthly columns are featured in the Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine, Voice in the Dark newsletter, and The Back Room ezine and his writing advice articles have been often published in Absolute Write. He lives in Upstate NY with his extended family. Visit his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/; http://www.mooremysteries.com/, and his blog: http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com/.

Going Home

I've been offline for a while - visited my mom in Mass for a long Mother's Day weekend. Above is "Honey," my childhood teddy bear that my mom has kept all these years. I've also been recovering from a three week long bout with bad asthma, and am trying to get my garden in, even though it's slow and I've needed lots of help from the family.

I took a ton of photos on my trip, and will be doing some photo blogs soon. Also, I finished Patry Francis's The Liar's Diary and was completely hooked by it. I'll be doing a review here very soon!

Wish me luck with the premier (first ever) query for Lady Blues, coming up soon and going to a very good agent. Fingers crossed but holding my expectations at bay. It's the only way not to go nuts with this process!

Thanks and stop by soon for more photos. ;o)

Aaron

Walk Among the Tulips: a photo essay
by Aaron Paul Lazar

Spring has burst into color in Upstate NY. All of the flowers that were late, are now burgeoning with color.

The Tahiti Daffodils are my favorite variety. They stand strong, last long, and the colors explode from the vibrantly colored petals. I have three dozen, but I plan to buy many more. ;o)

The sun shone so brightly this morning. I was captivated by these hues.

Don't you just love the fiery orange fluffy petals that mingle with the yellow?

View of a Ballerina Tulip just starting to open, "from the top."

And from the side. These tulips go beautifully with the Tahiti Daffs.

So far, only the nectarine, cherry, and plum blossoms are blooming. We're waiting for the pear, apple, and peach blossoms. This is my Mericrest Nectarine tree, purchased from Miller's Nurseries on West Lake Road in Canandaigua, NY. They are a great company who will replace any trees that don't make it over the winter.

I have three forty foot rows of garlic this year. The funny thing is, I started out with two rows, but in January, when we had a really crazy thaw with very warm temperatures, a friend gave me more garlic that was sprouting in his garage, I planted it in the mud, and here it is, as tall and healthy as the stuff that went in in November!

Here's some of the kale that overwintered. I used it in a soup this week, and just noticed the seeds starting to form. I'll let it competely go to seed, dry the pods, then save them for next year's crop! This is how last year's seeds are doing.

I planted them about two weeks ago. Healthy little seedlings, aren't they? I planted a ten foot wide row. The only way to go with greens - they shade out all the weeds and do marvelously.

Finally, the maple trees are blooming! It's odd, though. There are two maples that are about 200 years old on the property, only about 75 feet apart. This one is full of emerging leaves. But this one is still full of flowers, no leaves! ;o)


Thanks for joining me on the "tour" this morning.

Keep informed on Gather.com! Content ranges from politics to cooking, and we earn Gather Points™ or cash for using the site!View my content here: aplazar
aplazar.gather.com

More Advice for Writers: Typing “The End.”

There is a time in every author’s life when he or she experiences a sudden pang of loss, and sweet sorrow descends like soggy tissues on a broken heart.

Man or woman, romance or action writer, sensitive poet or straight-shootin’ scene churner, it hits us one and all. It’s the moment we reach at the end of our long suffering days, those focused, driven, passionate hours, plastered with outpourings of words that evolved into our current work in process. The moment we type “The End.”

It happens to all of us. Sometimes, there’s a delayed reaction, and suddenly it sneaks up to slay us, the next day. Macho man or lyrical lady, none are immune. In my case, I don’t actually burst into tears. But my throat tightens, a lump forms, and I fight back moisture that puddles and threatens to overflow.

My God. It’s over. What will I write tomorrow?

Of course, I really know what I’ll write next. I have pages full of books begging to be written, and each vies for attention as the finish line comes into view, weeks before the ending is in sight. Articles crop into my head that have simmered there for weeks. Cover designs lure me like Sirens to the Photoshop Rocks, and I ache to try something new. Perhaps a psychological suspense, or a saucy romance?

What really happens is a tearing apart of a bond that forms between one’s heart and one’s work. It’s an invisible tug, a feeling of companionship about to be severed. This place that has become a refuge from life, this world with new friends, emotive scenes, and free adrenaline rushes – is suddenly balled up into a wad of virtual paper and tossed off the cliff into the next realm. The editing, or polishing phase. Which just doesn’t have the same allure, you know?

Last night I experienced this sensation for the eleventh time. It was a nostalgic kind of sadness, a choking momentary paralysis reminiscent of stolen memories from childhood or the loss of a loved one. I finished Lady Blues, the ninth in the LeGarde mystery series.

I admit I am obsessed. I hover over this parallel universe like a frantic father, controlling and finagling events for Gus LeGarde and his family to navigate through until they scream for help.

Sometimes, I’m kind. And sometimes, I’m not.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. Do you write series books that critics might react to with words like, “How can so many things happen to one guy?” If so, try this trick. Tell the naysayers they must “employ the suspension of disbelief.” It makes them stop for a minute to ponder, it is actually true for any type of fictional venue, and it makes you sound really literary. If that doesn’t work, tell them, “Hey. It’s fiction. It’s supposed to be entertainment, not a reality show.” Of course, our fictional works are often more authentic than contrived TV shows, anyway. If they’re still being jerks about it, tell them to go buy a manual on brake replacement.

Even though I am a series writer who gets to “keep” his characters from book to book, there is always a feeling of loss when I finish a novel, because I feature new characters from the local community in each successive work. The main cast of characters are ever-present. I’ll never lose them, thank God, and they do provide an immeasurable amount of comfort. I feel deeply for each one, I know them inside and out, and I treasure every scene I share with them. Okay, that sounds a bit hokey, but it’s true.

But the featured characters usually don’t come back. They flit in and out of Gus’s life, providing wonderful counterpoint or drama, need or redemption, and then… they’re gone. Oh, occasionally I mention them down the road, but it’s not my practice to bring them back. Just as my hero, John D. MacDonald never reintroduced Travis McGee’s lovers (he usually killed them off, much to my disappointment), each new episode thrust a needy client or vicious villain into our view for just…one…book.

And so, last night as I sat alone in the dark room with my sticky-hot laptop humming as it shut down, a sense of loss hit me. Hard.

I would spend no more evenings with Kip Sterling, the octogenarian who lost his memory on the night Glenn Miller mysteriously disappeared, the jazz era “music man,” shoveled from nursing home to nursing home for the past sixty years, with no family or real identity until Gus LeGarde befriended him and began to dig deeply into his past.

Or Bella Dubois, Kip’s Nubian black lover who crooned bluesy tunes in Harlem between secret trysts with Kip, her beloved piano player. I had fallen hard for Bella, just as Kip did, and imagined wonderful blue smoke-filled nightclubs with her purring at the microphone in a slinky green dress that sparkled and shifted like surf on the beach. Never mind that I hate smoke and can’t stomach the stench of it, I suppressed that little bit of truth to imagine the romance of the era.

And what about Debbie, the feisty, stout nurse who used to be a dancer, with penny red curls and a sense of righteous justice, who would not bend beneath threats from Novacom, the evil drug company? I grew quite fond of her fiery courage.

Or my most recent favorite, Lucy Sedgewick, the gay ex-FBI agent-turned-woodworker, who partnered up with Gus to save the lives of Debbie and Kip when the power of the mighty dollar turned against them. Gus and she shared the loss of their beloved partners through cancer, and the bond between them had just begun to cement toward the end of the book.

Maybe I’ll bring Lucy back. Or perhaps she’ll get her own book some day. It’s definitely on the list.

So, what do you do when you type “The End?” Do you put your work aside for a while, go out and live life for a few weeks? I’ve done that a few times. Sometimes it’s plain necessary to recharge the creative juices.

Or, do you immediately turn back to chapter one to polish the manuscript and look for inconsistencies before you send it out to your critique partners or inner circle of pre-readers?

Alternatively, do you put your manuscript aside for a year to let it simmer, while you blast through a few more novels? I’ve done it both ways. Normally, I set it aside for at least six months, and give in to my massive craving for “creating new.” Then, when I’ve forgotten most of what I wrote (don’t laugh, I’m serious!), I return to it and am both delighted and horrified at what I’ve written. That’s when the real roll-up-your-sleeves editing begins.

My advice is to discover what works for you through trial and error. There’s no hard and fast rule about dealing with this hand-off, and no unwritten rule that you must deal with it the same every time. Most importantly, whether or not you need a hiatus in which you reconnect to family or friends, be sure to return to writing as soon as possible. Whether it’s an article, like this, or the start of your next best-seller, keep writing. Don’t ever stop. Give us more, and steam ahead to forge those new bonds that will hopefully return you to the tissues the next time you type “The End.”

Thanks for stopping by!

- Aaron Paul Lazar

April Twilight: Surprise Encounter with Spring

and the birth of Wet Knees Photos on Gather

A week ago, we received a snowstorm in upstate NY. It wasn't a bad one, by any means. Nothing to compare to what the folks endured along the sopping coast. But it was April, darn it, and I ached to put tine to soil and start gardening in earnest. So I complained. Probably too much.

For days it remained gray. Spitting snow. Raining. Melting some of the white stuff. I checked my tulips, iris, and daffodils. They bent their heads in shame, enduring winter's last laugh in the form of a cold blanket.

And then it happened. Tonight, I drove home from work in this strange light. It was yellowish, golden, really, and it seemed to have some sort of warmth associated with it.

When all the chores were done, I sneaked outside to take a look around the yard, and was rewarded with the best "wet knees" adventures a photographer could dream of.

Rays of sun glinted over the grass and plants, just ready to disappear. It shone sideways, illuminating choice items. I followed it around the yard. And found these beautifully lit tulip leaves. Standing upright. Strong. And healthy. My knees were soaked by the time I was sure I had that "perfect shot."

I scanned the front yard, which only that morning had been covered with a thick blanket of snow. There, in the distance, I saw something red. Something alive, glowing in the rays of the sun.

I found a loner, a leftover tulip that refused to give up. Planted a decade ago, this early bloomer used to be part of a collection. Its petals - backlit by the sun - glowed ruby red.

Moving around the front of the house, I crossed over the lawn and hoped to find some lively croci, but alas, they were flopped on the ground and fading. Next year I hope to capture that deep, radiant purple.

I moved into my original perennial garden, the one I started so many years ago with phlox, daylilies, sundrops, obedient plant, rose mallow, iris, poppies, and many more varieties. It's about 20 feet across at its widest spot, amorphous in shape, and very full of leaves! When I approached the lenten roses, I nearly dropped. There, in full bloom, were glorious, softly colored lavender/magenta flowers. Three plants, all blooming as if it were June!

Afterwards, I looked them up again and realized they are SUPPOSED to do this! I'd just missed them last year, and they were a relatively new addition to the garden.

On my knees, in the wet leaves, I snapped this one...

Now, mind you, the sun had almost started to disappear. These were not in a shaft of light, but resting in twilight, smug in their ability to surprise a seasoned gardener like me.

Look how the diffuse light shines through the delicate petals. It almost looks like a giant apple blossom, doesn't it? But this is about 2-3 inches across.

My knees totally soaked now, I tore myself away from these beauties and followed a shaft of sunlight to the top end of my old paddock fence which encloses the largest vegetable garden now.

One lone daffodil had pushed through the leaves and survived the snow. It is the first of many.

I found these red berries, dried and shriveled, shining in the light.

Their color was electric, an orange-crimson that glowed and begged for attention.

Not to be outdone, just inside the fence and growing beneath these berries, was a patch of Chinese Lanterns. Now, most folks find them aesthetically pleasing when they are in full bloom orange - either dried or fresh. But these were gorgeous. There's just something about the fact that they survived the harsh winter, with their frail-looking shells, and still hung from the vine, defiant and proud.

When I thought it was all over, I tromped through the garden and found kale growing on stems that laid down on the ground. Looks harvestable to me, but I didn't get a clear shot. Next time.

On the way back to the house, another patch of reddish green called to me. I investigated, and found that my rhubarb had already sprouted, and its leaves were burned by their sudden exposure to snow. New growth is coming, though, and the old leaves will just fade away.

See that new growth? It'll be just fine.

I stopped to snap a photo of my wet knees. I had to rotate it 180 degrees so you could see what my knees looked like. Actually, these look pretty good compared to how they'll be when the garden starts up!!

I decided that I really liked the concept of Wet Knees Photos, and created a photography group with that name on Gather. If you'd like to join a community where family type folks who love nature commune via their photos and comments, join for free, here.

Keep informed on Gather.com! Content ranges from politics to cooking, and we earn Gather Points™ or cash for using the site!View my content here: aplazar
aplazar.gather.com

Just before coming inside, I snapped a shot of the last chunk of snow on the driveway.

A few days later, the temperatures shot into the seventies. Yesterday, I spent nine hours in the garden with my grandsons, barefoot and in shorts. We planted two forty foot rows of potatoes and some more beets and kale. And the peas, lettuce, and chard I planted in mid March are coming up!

I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings! ;o)

There's a first time for everything.

Yesterday, I took my grandson, Julian (4), on his first bike ride that was longer than our living room. He'd been scooting and careening all over the downstairs for a week, since we bought him a new bike. Red. His favorite color. And really shiny, with big knobby wheels.We live in the country, but our roads are traveled by many farmers, tractors, milk trucks, and commuters. Our corner has a four-way stop sign, but folks don't always stop, and I don't trust my rambunctious little grandson out there on his bike, even on the driveway.

He just learned to turn and brake his new bike on Wednesday. Yesterday, after a family emergency the night before that had his mom a hair's breadth away from surgery, I stayed home to help watch the boys so she could recover from her ordeal and sleep a bit.

Daughter Allison and I took him to the Greenway that starts out at York Landing, in Fowerville, NY. You remember the Greenway, right? I've posted lots of pictures from this wonderful trail system in Upstate NY before. It follows the old railroad bed that was laid atop the original Genesee Valley Canal tow path. Now it's a beautiful place to ride or walk.

When we got there, Julian was so excited he could hardly wait to get started. But the soggy ground was a bit hard to get started on. He really had to push down hard on those pedals!

When we left the gravel and hit the grass and mud, he really had a problem when his training wheels were up high and his tires rode in the shallow depression. The tires spun, his face crumpled, and he became very frantic, on the verge of tears.

"Papa! It's too hard!"

I grabbed hold of his handle bars and walked beside him, guiding him and helping him stay upright.

At one point, we stopped to listen to hundreds of Canada Geese flying overhead. Their honking was an elixir to him. He stopped, watched, and listened. Then he got back on and tried again.

We found a level spot that had been graded with some new gravel, and sat for a long time, letting him ride back and forth along a nice stretch. He got better and better, and worked out all that little boy energy that had been pent up the whole cold, cloudy week.

Then the sun came out, for a brief, flash.

It was a beautiful moment. We packed up his gear, took off his knee pads and helmut, and headed home, after promises to return soon. Next year, when his brother turns four, we'll all head out together.

I usually walk the Greenway.

But next year, maybe I should get a bike!