On the other hand, I feel so good when I get off the bike. I'm not being facetious there; I mean to say that my leg muscles seem quite happy with my new form of recreation, and my whole body is really enjoying the extra bit of outside time that bicycling represents. Did you ever notice how much better food smells and tastes when you've been exercising? And did you ever notice, under those same circumstances, how much more easily will power comes? As I walked into the staff lounge this morning, the tray of newly-baked cookies sitting on the table didn't even remotely tempt me; all I wanted at that moment was some quality time with a bottle of ice water.

Now if I can only figure out how to operate the silly gears on this bike. I've mastered the gear shift on the right hand, which has seven settings, but on the left hand, I've got three more that are supposed to work in cooperation with the other seven, I gather from the manual. The only problem is that when I try to shift out of "1" to "2," the whole bike shudders and makes the most horrible noises. I can't imagine what I'm doing wrong; I've followed all the instructions that were provided in the owner's booklet. Can one of you kind readers help me out?

Oh, and I was informed today that a local senior citizen, for a hobby, goes to yard sales and purchases bikes, which he then refurbishes and sells out of his garage. This might be perfect for Eric. I'm honestly not trying to skimp on his bike; it's just that he's worried about money, and (let's face it) is far less likely to actually use the bike than I am. I'll bike to work, but his work is too far away. I like to get out and ride around; he won't even go for walks without a tangible purpose. Maybe if this turns out to be a real interest for both of us, we'll go get him a new bike too. And you never know; maybe this gentleman will have some really nice bikes from which to select.

My downfall was color. With the sort of blind optimism that always gets me into trouble, I had thought to give the kids - ages ten through thirteen, by the way - a brief mini-lesson on hexadecimal colors at about the halfway point of the class. Nothing too complicated; I wanted them to grasp a few points and be able to create some of the more simple colors. Unfortunately, I was quickly shown the error of my ways. I won't get into details, but suffice it to say that those few moments were panicky, at best.

The first group of children was very concerned about being "found" on the Internet.

"Do we have to use our names?" one little girl asked.

"You don't have to use anything you don't want to. In fact, I'd be a whole lot more comfortable if you did not use your whole names. Use your first name only, or even use a fake name."

"We can make up names?" The possibilities loomed before them. "What about ages? Do we have to use our real ages?"

"You can say whatever you want. It's your page, you know."

I should have seen what was coming. Suddenly I was surrounded by twenty-year-old professional French athletes and Broadway actresses. The kids were so caught up in designing their new "personas" that they remained in blissful ignorance of the fact that real pro sports figures rarely misspell "athleet." Their exuberance was quite charming, and we had a great time.

The second group was much more frustrating. Two of the girls were in desperate need of eyeglasses; they could see a single thing I typed onto the display monitor, so they had to keep running to the front of the room to squint at the screen. Another student kept hopping out of his seat, though for no readily apparent reason except for a severe case of nervous energy. He was the one who kept me occupied for most of that class.

Next week, I hope to get to the point where I can teach them how to upload their pages; I'm planning on finding some free web space ahead of time so that they can really see how it's done. If you happen to stumble across a collection of pages that have been created by color-blind billionaire tycoon supermodel Pokemon-enthusiasts from Brazil, those will be my kids, God bless 'em.

I was in a craft store this weekend, picking up a bra extender for the contraption I'll have to wear under my bridesmaid's dress, and the rack of knitting needles just pulled me in their direction with an irresistible force. The only thing that stopped me from picking up a pair was the fact that every single "Teach Yourself to Knit Today!" booklet that I picked up insisted that I begin working with 10" needles, and the store only carried needles in the 14" size.

I've since been informed that size doesn't matter - at least, not in the arena of knitting needles. I'll have to keep that in mind next time I'm out shopping.