The Wild Child

In my blog, I almost always refer to my daughter as the Wild Child. Why? Mainly because she's such a free spirit. Not long ago, she said, "Mom, I don't know why you call me the Wild Child. I'm really not all that wild anymore." And in some ways, that's true. At the ripe old age of 24, she's settled into a routine of sorts. She has a steady job and a steady boyfriend. She's responsible with her obligations, and has a good head for budgeting her money and making sure her bills get paid. Still, in many ways, she's a Wild Child.

In my world, quilting is about as extreme as it gets. In her world, . . . well, the sky's the limit. She's constantly engaged in one outdoor activity or another, many of which in my mind involve at least some element of risk. Surfing, hiking, kayaking, snowboarding--the list goes on and on. In fact, she and her boyfriend will be spending a week kayaking around Lake Tahoe soon. Last summer they had no formal residence, unless you can call the occasional campsite a "residence"--and that was largely by choice.

She's not bound by conventional thinking, although she is a deep thinker and always has been. Once she's thought something through, there's no wishy-washy-ness about her opinions and she's not afraid to express them, although she is open minded and listens fully to what others have to say about what they believe. If something strikes her as funny, she'll say it or do it no matter how outlandish it might seem, although she's rarely cruel in her humor.

She's a throw back to the hippie era. Make up and hair styles don't occupy much of her time. What she wears isn't all that important to her, and her style of dress is more a matter of comfort and utility than the latest trend. Although her clothes are clean, wrinkles don't bother her much. If she had no mirrors to look at herself in, I doubt she'd miss them.

On Saturday, she called to ask if she could come down and spend the night Sunday because she had a court appearance on a traffic ticket this morning. She told us she and her boyfriend planned to get into town around mid-day. They wanted to drop her stuff off and then leave to run some errands. They would be gone all afternoon, and after that, they planned to go out to dinner, so we needn't worry about feeding them.

Right on schedule they arrived around noon, chatted with us a little bit, and left, promising to return in the early evening. Sure enough, they came home around 8 p.m., bearing leftover Chinese food. And those errands she had to run?

Of course, she knew better than to tell me ahead of time, although Hubby knew what they had planned. I would have been a nervous wreck! The last time I told her not to tell me something was when she planned to hike up Half Dome--I didn't want to know until she was down again. So what did she do? She called me at my office from her cell phone when she was at the top!

And you might appreciate the email she sent me today along with her photos:

"A note from Wild Child:

I, as most people, have been greatly influenced by my parents. They inspire and encourage me constantly. My father's limited mobility has given me an appreciation for the experiences that he cannot share with me. My mother, on the other hand, inspires me with her irrational fears. Yesterday was no exception. For some sick reason I enjoy the disapproving looks and disdain in her voice almost more than the act which causes it.

Love you mom talk to you soon."

I don't know where she gets her wry and twisted sense of humor. Must be her father.