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formula one

Participation Trophy

By Lisa Scottoline

Let me tell you the story of Motorcycle Mary.

Not to be confused with Mother Mary.

Both women were inspiring, but in different ways.

Motorcycle Mary was Mary McGee, who was the first woman in the United States to race a motorcycle.

She passed away recently at eighty-seven, and I learned about her from a short film co-produced by my favorite Formula One race driver, Lewis Hamilton.

Yes, I’m into Formula One.

Ever since I found the Netflix series Drive to Survive I became immediately addicted to Formula One, even at this late stage of my life.

At the time, I was Formula 68.

Also I got a crush on Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Charles LeClerc, and the other drivers. Hot men in hot cars. What’s not to like?

Now I watch the races, read the books, buy the gear, and see film shorts about amazing women like Motorcycle Mary.

She’s also the first person to race a motorcycle alone, five hundred miles across the Baja desert, in 1975. She was denied recognition and awards because she was a woman, but she didn’t let that stop her. She loved racing, so she did it more and more, despite hardship and even sabotage. When she was asked why, she answered:

“I choose to participate in life.”

Wow!

I thought that was such a wonderful perspective, even for the holidays, when there are no motorcycles in sight.

I mean, we’re busy year round, then the holidays arrive and bring more and more tasks. We process this as stress, understandably, so the holidays can become negative. Buying gifts, finding the right size, and hoping the package comes on time become  chores that keep us up at night.

Or is it just me?

But lately I’m thinking about Motorcycle Mary.

And I might be Motorcycle Lisa.

Or more my speed, Tricycle Lisa.

Because I’m coming to believe that adding things is simply participating in life.

Which is good.

In fact, doing more things is just participating more and more.

Maybe life is about participating.

And we all deserve a participation trophy.

Since when do they have such a bad name?

I never agreed with that.

A participation trophy means you came, you had fun, and you went home.

Why not?

The participation trophy that motorcycle Mary is talking about is a life fully-lived.

With more adventures.

More stories.

Just, more.

After all, what’s the alternative?

Doing less?

Having fewer experiences?

I don’t want to be on my deathbed and think, I wish my life hadn’t been so damn eventful.

Okay, maybe the holidays added a few too many tasks, but I’m learning to add tasks that I like and subtract ones I don’t. So for example, nothing needs to be perfect. It doesn’t matter if I don’t have the good Scotch tape or the cutest gift tag, plus I forgot the nutmeg.

That’s three trips to the stores eliminated, right there.

And who needs another trip to the store at this time of year?

Not Tricycle Lisa.

Those aren’t the things I’d add.

In fact, you know what I just added?

A puppy!

Yay!

Yes, I got a puppy at the craziest time of year to anything, especially the thing that totally disrupts all the other things.

The new me said yes!

As you may know, I already have brothers Boone and Kit, two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, but I need more participation!

Or is it pupticipation?

Anyway holiday addition is another adorable Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and she’s already running the house from her ex-pen.

Her name is Eve, but I could have called her Motorcycle Mary or Mother Mary.

She’s the youngest in a long line of women who do too much.

But in a good way.

And I plan to enjoy life with her.

Happy Holidays!

Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2024

Survey Says

By Lisa Scottoline

I’m loved.

By an algorithm.

But I’ll take it.

As you may know, I haven’t had a date in forever and I write sex scenes from memory.

But now I can’t remember.

To return to point, that doesn’t mean I don’t have love in my life.

I have great friends, furry animals, and above all, a phone.

My phone loves me deeply.

And so does every place I shop online.

How do I know?

Because they tell me so, via my phone.

These days, every time I buy something, I get a text or email from the website fifteen minutes later, telling them how much they enjoyed my patronage.

All I did was click.

But now we’re in a relationship.

I’m not complaining.

I know, they’re trying to get into my pants.

I mean, my wallet.

But at least someone’s asking me questions and cares about my answer.

I didn’t get that in either marriage.

Even an algorithm is better than Thing One and Thing Two.

I should have married Al Gorhythm.

Sorry.

The same thing happens when I go into stores. I mean brick-and-mortar, like old-school buildings where you drive there, walk inside, and buy stuff.

Stores are better boyfriends than sites because they care about me, in detail.

After I leave, every store sends me a survey, asking me pages of specific questions:       

How was my experience at their store?

Were all of my questions answered?

Were the salespeople knowledgeable and courteous?

How about the store itself? Was it clean and well-lit?

Was it able to find everything I needed?

Would I recommend the store to my friends?

Or only my enemies?

I might be the only person who actually responds to these surveys.

I love it!

Ask me anything!

I have opinions!

I’m sharing them!

If it says, Is there anything else you would like us to know, I click, YOU’RE DARN TOOTIN!

Then I elaborate.

I show my work.

Every restaurant sends me a survey, too, and I tap away on my phone, rating the appetizers, the wait staff, and the specialty drink menu:

Yes, I sure would recommend that margarita with smoky mescal!

Last week I went to a horse show and even they sent me a survey.

What’s my opinion on the horse show?

I love horses!

I would recommend the show to every horse I know!

By the way, I give everybody good ratings, but it’s the truth. I’m not out to ruin anybody’s day or get anybody fired. I waitressed in college and I love everybody. I’m a five-star machine.

Why?

People don’t get enough positive reinforcement in life.

My point was proven last week, when I watched a Formula One race and British driver George Russell radioed in the middle of the race, “I need a bit of encouragement, mate.”

OMG, can you imagine?

He’s driving a racecar at 200 miles an hour.

I’d give him all the encouragement he needs.

I give him so much encouragement he wouldn’t need gas.

Meanwhile you should see me drive at 70 miles an hour.

My teeth start to chatter.

To return to point, I’m going to shop more often because I love all the surveys, which I answer in a loop of recycled love.

I even recommend stores on Yelp, if they ask me to.  

After all, I have my career because readers have been kind enough to recommend my books to others, so I pay it forward.

Thanks, mate!

Copyright Lisa Scottoline 2024

Vroom, Vroom

By Lisa Scottoline

It was a busy week, news-wise.

But there’s one story that didn’t make the headlines.

It was my birthday! And I had a great one!

Why?

Because I’m loving getting older.

First, I’m alive.

Like what number birthday was it?

Who cares?

Here’s all that matters:

It was Another Birthday!

Yay!

The second reason I love getting older is that I’ve lost my mind, but in a good way.

It all started with Netflix.

Like everybody, I love Netflix and I watch tons of shows, but somehow I stumbled onto Drive to Survive. If you’re not familiar, it’s real-life series about Formula One race-car drivers, and the bottom line is they’re hot drivers who drive even hotter cars.

Maybe in my younger days I would’ve watched the guys.

But I found myself looking at cars.

Their bodies.

Their muscularity.

Their passion.

The cars, mind you.

And before I go further, I have to tell you that I am the world’s slowest driver.

I not only drive in the slow lane, I live there.

I go seventy only if I’m on the Pennsylvania Turnpike and there’s a big truck behind me, flashing lights and threatening to kill me.

Especially if it has big teeth on the grille.

I love truckers, but really, with the teeth?

Do you need to scare us more than we already are?

Sometimes I see truck grilles that have a teddy bear tied to the front.

Those guys, I love.

Except sometimes it looks like the teddy bear is being throttled.

Anyway, you get the idea, I’m a timid driver.

It’s the only thing I’m timid at in my life, almost. I’ve grown into a mouthy broad and since I run my own company, I’ve learned to try to get what I want.

It’s not easy, and the world will try and stop you.

But as soon as I realized that, I stopped stopping myself.

In other words, I started not stopping myself.

If you follow.

So bottom line, I don’t obey and I try to get what I want.

This is probably why I’m divorced twice, but the good news is I had Another Birthday, I’m happier than ever, and I bought a sports car.

Yes, that was my birthday present to myself.

It has only two seats because I’m only one person. I was tired of driving around in a sedan that felt like an empty warehouse.

That’s the practical reason.

The real reason is I got excited about sports cars from Netflix and then I saw one in a dealership window and I bought it.

It’s also a convertible, and I’ve never driven a convertible in my life.

My roots are too gray for a convertible.

I was too shy to lower the top, then one time I was on the phone with Daughter Francesca, who loves her ancient VW convertible, and she said, “Mom, please, pull over right now and lower that top.”

Every mother knows that when her daughter tells her to do something, we do it.

In fact, Francesca is the only person I obey.

So I did, and it was fun, even though my gray roots showed.

And then my best friend Franca gave me a baseball hat for my birthday, so when I lower my top, I also cover my top.

Plus for my birthday, my best friend Laura gave me a Formula One video game.

This is the first video game of my life.

I can’t wait to play it and drive around fictionally!

I might even put the fictional top down!

My best friend Nan said, “It’s never too late to reinvent yourself.”

And I am reinventing like crazy.

So now I have a sports car that I drive in the slow lane, having the time of my life.

People will say I’m having a midlife crisis, but they’re totally wrong.

I’m having an end-of-life crisis.

My midlife crisis was late.

It drives slow, too.

Besides, it’s not a crisis, it’s my own personal Italian Renaissance.

Bottom line, I’m not sure if I’m going in a good direction or bad one.

All I know is I’m going forward.

And I’m in the driver’s seat.

Yay! And I’m not going anywhere without my daughter and my besties.

Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2024