It's my belief that every teacher education program across the country should include a class titled, VANDALISM 101. Prospective teachers should have some guidance in handling such a situation if and when it arises. I understand that vandalism is not limited to educators alone, but it's what I'm most familiar with after 27 years in the classroom. You or someone you know will more than likely become a victim as well. Each of us reacts differently, but all ask ourselves, "Why? Why me? Why my family?"
I personally believe that there are at least four major reasons a teen chooses of his/her own free will to vandalize: peer pressure, boredom, the community, and the parents. These will, by all means, become apparent in the events I'm about to share with you.
My first teaching experience came in a very small farming community in central Montana. The students (all 30 of them in high school) were hard workers not only in the classroom, but also on their farms. Everyone was involved in school activities or there would have been no activity. When they weren't in class or playing basketball, they were plowing, planting, and harvesting crops. The majority of students had no spare time; thus, avoiding trouble for themselves and their parents. After moving to eastern Montana, though, it wouldn't take long to realize that not all small communities were the same.
My most horrific example begins with Susan, a friend of mine that I had met while attending various conferences. She taught business courses while her husband Steve taught physical education and coached wrestling, in an eastern Montana high school of approximately 200 students. For reasons unknown at the time, five young boys decided late one night to "visit" Susan and Steve. They slashed all the tires and broke all the windows in two vehicles; they used black spray paint to totally cover the windows of the home; they painted obscenities on every wall of the home and garage, as well as the cars, driveway, and sidewalk. As she was sharing her grief with me, I couldn't imagine why anyone would choose to do such massive destruction. Then I remembered: Students are invincible; nothing ever happens to them; they would never get caught, and if they did, "We'll just lie our way out of it." At least that's what I had been told by my very own students.
What's fun about committing vandalism if no one else knows who did it? It was for fun, wasn't it? The boys bragged about their adventurous escapade and were turned in by their unforgiving classmates. The punishment--pay restitution for the property damage, community service, 7-day school suspension, and probation until they turned 21. But WHY? Why did they do it? One of their friends had been suspended from the next wrestling tournament for drinking alcohol; and even though none of the five were on the wrestling team, they chose to defend him by "getting even" with the coach.
Spray paint--orange spray paint--The Class of '79 Loves You!" The morning I saw the message on my white garage door written in huge letters, I felt nothing but hurt. TC was angry, angrier than I had ever seen him before. He wanted to paint over it immediately, but I wanted him to leave it. He didn't understand WHY; and frankly, neither did I. Perhaps a student would come forth and reveal the culprit as some had done in the past, but no one did. They did, however, question me on a daily basis during the next week, wondering when we were going to paint our garage door. I laughed, "Are you serious? It's not every day that a class actually admits they love a teacher." But I wasn't laughing on the inside.
For the next seven years, I glanced at the garage door as I was leaving for school each morning. The Class of '79 had come and gone, their "mark" still evident for everyone to see. As my two babies grew into toddlers, they, too, saw the "mark" and had questions: "Mommy, what is that?" "Can I paint, too, Mommy?" and eventually, "Why did they do that, Mommy?" I was wondering that very same thing even after all those years.
In 1985, the long awaited answer came in the form of a letter, filled with words of regret and apology. The student wrote, "Every time I return home, I drive by your house and gaze at the reminder of what I had done so long ago. If I could only take it back... Please let me make it right. I will do anything for you." When Terry arrived home that night, I showed him the letter; and as he read it over and over, I quietly said to him, "It's time to paint the garage door." Did I honestly believe that I would earn a confession by leaving those words open to the world? Absolutely not, but sometimes I do things for reasons even I can't explain.
There are times when students have absolutely too much free time. More often than not, it comes during the wee hours of the night as the rest of the world sleeps. A student of mine chose to "visit" me during such an occasion. I wonder what he was thinking as he threw that over-sized rock at our vehicle windshield. Was he expecting it to shatter into a thousand pieces, or would the rock just leave a minor chip barely visible to the naked eye? Regardless, once the rock had been released from his hand, the damage was done.
Unfortunately for the student, his identity became known to me early the next morning by a classmate who felt that what the vandal had done was morally wrong and chose to tell me, even if it meant becoming an outcast of his/her peers. (To this day, I have never revealed the name of the student who turned him in. I made a promise.) Rather than admit the events of the previous night to his parents, the student forced me to be the one to notify them of his destructive prank. He paid to have our windshield replaced from his own hard-earned money, but still there was the question, "Why did he commit vandalism?" He told a story of how he didn't appreciate the "daggers" being thrown at him in class--"daggers" being those looks of disapproval from me. Demonstrating acceptable behavior in class could have prevented the "looks," but perhaps he would rather have been pointed in the direction of the superintendent's office.
When parents are confronted with news that their son or daughter is in serious trouble, each reacts differently. I have seen a mother cry from pure shame of her child's behavior, have had a mother scream at me because her son would never do such a thing (though the student had already admitted his guilt to me), and had a parent tell his son and daughter that once they turn 18, they are on their own. Which best decribes you or parents you know?
If you are a parent, have you taught your children to accept responsibility for their actions, to respect others and other's property, and to respect those in authority? Have you taught them to avoid peer pressure, to make good use of their spare hours, to improve the community by volunteering their services, and to respect themselves by being the very best they can be? It's never too late.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Meet Suzie, My GPS
Being the technology expert that I thought I was, I now find that the older I get, the more frustrated I become with all the latest electronic gadgets. Bluetooth, the iPod, iPad, Blackberry, iPhone or any of the other wonders of the world cannot be found anywhere in my home. Enough is enough! I'm still learning to use my TVO remote, which I have had for more than three years now.
I do have a cell phone but have never taken a picture with it, and I tried to text once, which was, without a doubt, a major catastrophe. I tried to respond to a message by texting the word YES; but instead I sent WDP. I looked at my cohort Shelly Sanders as she laughed and blurted out, "WELL DONE PARTNER!" "Gee, thanks, Shelly." That was my first and only attempt to text.
I also have a Wii for my grandsons, ages 4, 5, and 7, but Jackson, the 5-year-old, is the one who sets everything up, not me! [In fact, I'm still trying to score a point playing Super Mario Kart. I should be practicing now instead of writing this blog because the boys (and Norah, almost a year old) will be here for at least 12 days beginning this Friday.]
When TC suggested that we purchase a GPS, I was somewhat hesitant. We had just moved back to Montana--it's not like I was going to get lost! After all, I had just survived years of driving alone up and down the east coast and never found the need for one. I had driven from Virginia to Montana alone at least three times while building our new home and did just fine without getting lost. Taking a different route by accident through Chicago each trip didn't count. I blamed that on road construction. MapQuest always seemed to work for me!
But along came Suzie! I installed the software, fully charged her, updated the maps, and programmed our next destination, Branson, MO. I had to admit that she did a great job during that excursion (though I could have done the same thing with my Atlas). She found the resort and all the necessary attractions and got us home without any major detours.
However, it didn't take me long to realize that she put on her best behavior because TC was in the car. When I was alone with her, she definitely showed her true personality. Several years ago, my kids and grand kids and I spent a few days in the Twin Cities traipsing through the Mall of America. Afterward, they headed home while I headed for Christmas Mountain Village in the Wisconsin Dells. TC and I had been going there for a few years, but he wasn't able to make this trip. No problem--I had Suzie!
I need to interrupt this blog for an important announcement: TC decided that we should hook up the Wii in the family room to Netflix to get movies for the grand kids while they are here. He spent two hours yesterday traveling from store to store looking for a cable that he thought he needed to connect the wii to a computer. At his last stop, the clerk told him that she just uses her "wireless." TC looked at her..."Hmmm...We have wireless." OH DUH!!! I chuckled when he told me what happened; and I believe that he and I could be classified as "the blind leading the blind." He eventually completed the programming stage, but we have yet to watch a movie. That will be our adventure for tonight!
Back to the Dells... After spending several days relaxing poolside, I decided it was time to find Wal-Mart to have a prescription refilled. I knew there was one nearby, but couldn't remember the exact location. Suzie to the rescue! After doing a search, Suzie told me that Wal-Mart was 22 miles away in Baraboo, Wisconsin. "Suzie, that can't be right. We are in the midst of a huge tourist trap--there has to be one closer." I searched again...and again...same answer. Off to Baraboo I went and she thankfully led me directly to Wal-Mart. However, the following day I decided to do a little shopping. As I was leaving the resort, I knew that if I turned left, the road would take me directly to Kohl's about a mile down the road. Reaching the first major intersection, I eyed Kohl's directly ahead--and Wal-Mart to my left. "Suzie!! You lied! I'd wring your neck if you had one!"
From the Dells, I ventured to South Dakota to attend my niece's wedding. Suzie was actually very pleasant and did her job exceptionally well until it was time to head to Montana. When I reached Broadus, MT, she told me to "Turn Right in 500 Feet." I gazed right and saw nothing but a field of sagebrush and kept driving. "Turn Around Whenever Possible," she chanted over and over. I turned her off and quickly reverted to reading highway signs, telling Suzie that she had totally lost her way. When reaching home, I reprogrammed her. But during three subsequent trips from South Dakota to home, she was still telling me, right on cue, to turn into that damn field.
It amazes me how what we say and do can influence children's thinking patterns. All of my grand kids have been in the car with Suzie at one time or another and know that I treat her as a real person. One day I was taking Jackson to preschool for the first time and casually said, "I hope I can find your preschool." He said in the most serious voice, "Suzie knows how to get there." I roared! He was more of a believer than I was at that point. Believe! Believe! Maybe that's my problem with Suzie.
My friend Shelly knows Suzie quite well and has witnessed "Attitude" in her; for example, we were driving down King Avenue West in Billings, 6 lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic, and Suzie blurts out, "Make a U-turn NOW!" We both gave her the "look," laughed uncontrollably, and immediately reached to turn her OFF! I was born and raised in Billings; no piece of electronic wizardry was going to tell me I was going in the wrong direction!
In May Shelly and I were headed to Las Vegas to the Miss USA Pageant. Of course, Suzie came along, and I have to admit that she totally outdid herself this trip time and time again. We left home earlier than we had initially intended and found we had some spare time before reaching Vegas. I suggested that we sidetrack to Jackpot, Nevada, 45 miles south of Twin Falls, ID. I had been through Twin Falls numerous times and wanted to show her the beautiful waterfalls, even though the sun had set and the skies had begun to darken.
What was I thinking when I trusted Suzie to lead us in the right direction? As we reached the outskirts of the city, I followed Suzie's directions to the letter. At one particular intersection, I mentioned to Shelly that I didn't recognize the area, that it looked like an industrial park. But I kept driving--and driving--and driving, what seemed like forever. The industrial area had turned into farmland and the city lights were vanishing into the distance as I peered into the rear view mirror.
The farmhouses and yard lights were now few and far between; the road had become very narrow, though it was at least still paved. If it turned into gravel, I knew we were in deep trouble. The weeds alongside the road were at least 2 or 3 feet high, and we kept spotting moving objects. Was that a cat? Wait, it was a coon or a dog or a coyote! Perhaps it's a lion or tiger! OH ME! OH MY!!
After what seemed like hours, we came to an intersection in the road. "Yeah! I know this road...it's the right one!" and off we were to Jackpot and eventually Las Vegas. We never questioned each other about not having seen the waterfalls but will save that for our next adventure.
While in Las Vegas, I chose to use the concierge services for maps to the various attractions we planned to visit. I felt that Suzie needed a very, very long rest, and for the most part, I thought I knew my way around Vegas.
However, after dinner one night we decided to venture to the outlet mall near Fremont Street. Once exiting on Charleston Blvd., I knew I was close to the mall but obviously missed a turn. There we were...sitting in the parking lot of Home Depot programming Suzie to get us to the mall. It suddenly became apparent that Suzie was going to send us on a scenic route through North Las Vegas as we weaved in and around dark side streets. We were not appreciating her endeavor to show us the sites, especially when we would come upon groups of young gentlemen standing on the corners.
Finally reaching South Las Vegas Blvd., I knew that Suzie was back on track. Then came the highlight of our journey!! Elvis had left the building! as we watched him run across the street, guitar strung over his shoulder bouncing with his every step. WOO HOO!! We laughed hysterically, wondering if he was the same Elvis we had seen at the Legends show. As for the mall, it was closed by the time Suzie got us there. So much for shopping that night as I tucked Suzie into her case where she comfortably rested for the remainder of our journey.
Suzie is now three years old, and I'm wondering if the time has come to recycle her. She has been at times a royal pain in the neck; and yet, she has brought so much laughter to my friends and family. How would her sister Samantha (TC's GPS) survive without her? Perhaps I'll keep her for now and hope she gets better with age!
I do have a cell phone but have never taken a picture with it, and I tried to text once, which was, without a doubt, a major catastrophe. I tried to respond to a message by texting the word YES; but instead I sent WDP. I looked at my cohort Shelly Sanders as she laughed and blurted out, "WELL DONE PARTNER!" "Gee, thanks, Shelly." That was my first and only attempt to text.
I also have a Wii for my grandsons, ages 4, 5, and 7, but Jackson, the 5-year-old, is the one who sets everything up, not me! [In fact, I'm still trying to score a point playing Super Mario Kart. I should be practicing now instead of writing this blog because the boys (and Norah, almost a year old) will be here for at least 12 days beginning this Friday.]
When TC suggested that we purchase a GPS, I was somewhat hesitant. We had just moved back to Montana--it's not like I was going to get lost! After all, I had just survived years of driving alone up and down the east coast and never found the need for one. I had driven from Virginia to Montana alone at least three times while building our new home and did just fine without getting lost. Taking a different route by accident through Chicago each trip didn't count. I blamed that on road construction. MapQuest always seemed to work for me!
But along came Suzie! I installed the software, fully charged her, updated the maps, and programmed our next destination, Branson, MO. I had to admit that she did a great job during that excursion (though I could have done the same thing with my Atlas). She found the resort and all the necessary attractions and got us home without any major detours.
However, it didn't take me long to realize that she put on her best behavior because TC was in the car. When I was alone with her, she definitely showed her true personality. Several years ago, my kids and grand kids and I spent a few days in the Twin Cities traipsing through the Mall of America. Afterward, they headed home while I headed for Christmas Mountain Village in the Wisconsin Dells. TC and I had been going there for a few years, but he wasn't able to make this trip. No problem--I had Suzie!
I need to interrupt this blog for an important announcement: TC decided that we should hook up the Wii in the family room to Netflix to get movies for the grand kids while they are here. He spent two hours yesterday traveling from store to store looking for a cable that he thought he needed to connect the wii to a computer. At his last stop, the clerk told him that she just uses her "wireless." TC looked at her..."Hmmm...We have wireless." OH DUH!!! I chuckled when he told me what happened; and I believe that he and I could be classified as "the blind leading the blind." He eventually completed the programming stage, but we have yet to watch a movie. That will be our adventure for tonight!
Back to the Dells... After spending several days relaxing poolside, I decided it was time to find Wal-Mart to have a prescription refilled. I knew there was one nearby, but couldn't remember the exact location. Suzie to the rescue! After doing a search, Suzie told me that Wal-Mart was 22 miles away in Baraboo, Wisconsin. "Suzie, that can't be right. We are in the midst of a huge tourist trap--there has to be one closer." I searched again...and again...same answer. Off to Baraboo I went and she thankfully led me directly to Wal-Mart. However, the following day I decided to do a little shopping. As I was leaving the resort, I knew that if I turned left, the road would take me directly to Kohl's about a mile down the road. Reaching the first major intersection, I eyed Kohl's directly ahead--and Wal-Mart to my left. "Suzie!! You lied! I'd wring your neck if you had one!"
From the Dells, I ventured to South Dakota to attend my niece's wedding. Suzie was actually very pleasant and did her job exceptionally well until it was time to head to Montana. When I reached Broadus, MT, she told me to "Turn Right in 500 Feet." I gazed right and saw nothing but a field of sagebrush and kept driving. "Turn Around Whenever Possible," she chanted over and over. I turned her off and quickly reverted to reading highway signs, telling Suzie that she had totally lost her way. When reaching home, I reprogrammed her. But during three subsequent trips from South Dakota to home, she was still telling me, right on cue, to turn into that damn field.
It amazes me how what we say and do can influence children's thinking patterns. All of my grand kids have been in the car with Suzie at one time or another and know that I treat her as a real person. One day I was taking Jackson to preschool for the first time and casually said, "I hope I can find your preschool." He said in the most serious voice, "Suzie knows how to get there." I roared! He was more of a believer than I was at that point. Believe! Believe! Maybe that's my problem with Suzie.
My friend Shelly knows Suzie quite well and has witnessed "Attitude" in her; for example, we were driving down King Avenue West in Billings, 6 lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic, and Suzie blurts out, "Make a U-turn NOW!" We both gave her the "look," laughed uncontrollably, and immediately reached to turn her OFF! I was born and raised in Billings; no piece of electronic wizardry was going to tell me I was going in the wrong direction!
In May Shelly and I were headed to Las Vegas to the Miss USA Pageant. Of course, Suzie came along, and I have to admit that she totally outdid herself this trip time and time again. We left home earlier than we had initially intended and found we had some spare time before reaching Vegas. I suggested that we sidetrack to Jackpot, Nevada, 45 miles south of Twin Falls, ID. I had been through Twin Falls numerous times and wanted to show her the beautiful waterfalls, even though the sun had set and the skies had begun to darken.
What was I thinking when I trusted Suzie to lead us in the right direction? As we reached the outskirts of the city, I followed Suzie's directions to the letter. At one particular intersection, I mentioned to Shelly that I didn't recognize the area, that it looked like an industrial park. But I kept driving--and driving--and driving, what seemed like forever. The industrial area had turned into farmland and the city lights were vanishing into the distance as I peered into the rear view mirror.
The farmhouses and yard lights were now few and far between; the road had become very narrow, though it was at least still paved. If it turned into gravel, I knew we were in deep trouble. The weeds alongside the road were at least 2 or 3 feet high, and we kept spotting moving objects. Was that a cat? Wait, it was a coon or a dog or a coyote! Perhaps it's a lion or tiger! OH ME! OH MY!!
After what seemed like hours, we came to an intersection in the road. "Yeah! I know this road...it's the right one!" and off we were to Jackpot and eventually Las Vegas. We never questioned each other about not having seen the waterfalls but will save that for our next adventure.
While in Las Vegas, I chose to use the concierge services for maps to the various attractions we planned to visit. I felt that Suzie needed a very, very long rest, and for the most part, I thought I knew my way around Vegas.
However, after dinner one night we decided to venture to the outlet mall near Fremont Street. Once exiting on Charleston Blvd., I knew I was close to the mall but obviously missed a turn. There we were...sitting in the parking lot of Home Depot programming Suzie to get us to the mall. It suddenly became apparent that Suzie was going to send us on a scenic route through North Las Vegas as we weaved in and around dark side streets. We were not appreciating her endeavor to show us the sites, especially when we would come upon groups of young gentlemen standing on the corners.
Finally reaching South Las Vegas Blvd., I knew that Suzie was back on track. Then came the highlight of our journey!! Elvis had left the building! as we watched him run across the street, guitar strung over his shoulder bouncing with his every step. WOO HOO!! We laughed hysterically, wondering if he was the same Elvis we had seen at the Legends show. As for the mall, it was closed by the time Suzie got us there. So much for shopping that night as I tucked Suzie into her case where she comfortably rested for the remainder of our journey.
Suzie is now three years old, and I'm wondering if the time has come to recycle her. She has been at times a royal pain in the neck; and yet, she has brought so much laughter to my friends and family. How would her sister Samantha (TC's GPS) survive without her? Perhaps I'll keep her for now and hope she gets better with age!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The Bedroom Ghost
There is no doubt in my mind that I am truly a "creature of habit." When getting dressed, my left leg goes into the pair of pants first, the right sock goes on before the left sock, and the necklace is always in place before a watch or bracelet is donned. The habits are quite obvious in the bedroom as well. I sleep on the same side of the bed, sleep on my tummy, and definitely face in the direction of TC (Terry); thus begins my saga...
Life was wonderful in Sterling, Virginia, the year 2003. We resided in a home that we absolutely adored, had the best of neighbors, and loved our jobs. TC would rise much earlier than I would because he had a 45-mile commute to work, while I worked in Reston, just 9 miles from home; therefore, we each had our own nightstands with our own alarm clocks. I would normally sleep through his but awaken to the buzzing of mine, followed by hitting that snooze button more than several times before crawling out of bed to a new day, a new dawn.
Lying in bed early one morning, I felt so warm, so cozy that I had no desire to even move, let alone get ready for work. I could feel the warm sun beaming on my still-closed eyes and that nasty alarm clock buzzing louder than usual. Blindly reaching for the snooze button, I slowly opened my eyes knowing that TC would have already left for work. It was then that I let out the most blood-curdling scream ever known, though I myself didn't hear it. That's how horrified I was to see a man standing across the bed from me. He was wearing a silver jumpsuit and had that Leo DeCaprio hair, but I couldn't make out his face. It was a total blur! My heart was running rapid, pounding throughout my entire body!
I slammed my head face-down into the pillow and prayed that he would just go away. "Wait! This is more than likely just a dream," so I reached up and pinched myself...slapped myself on the cheek. "Nope...not a dream! I think I'm really awake." I slowly raised my head to face the mirrored headboard. Staring at myself, I could see that my eyes were open, my lips were moving. "I AM AWAKE!!!" Trying to stay as calm as I could (and not doing an especially good job of it), I thought, "He must be gone by now; otherwise, I would be dead."
After checking once again in the mirror to see that I was wide awake and my eyes were totally open, I slowly turned in his direction and prayed, "Oh, please God, help me!!" He is still there, but he hasn't moved and hasn't spoken. So I did what I do best...I screamed! "GO AWAY!" Right on command, I saw him fade through the bedroom wall to the outside world. "What the hell was that all about?"
Needless to say, I didn't get anything accomplished at work that day because my head was filled with "Leo." I felt inside quivers whenever I thought of that early morning awakening. I came up with every imaginable reason for his being there and nothing made any sense. One major conclusion I did reach, though, was that I would NOT be telling TC. Either he would have me committed to the closest loony bin or make an appointment with the first psychiatrist he could find in the telephone book.
That night while I was preparing for bed, waves of anxiety flooded over me. Will I dream of "Leo?" Will he be here in the morning? Should I just crawl out of bed with my eyes closed? Maybe I'm being paranoid. He won't be here. It was a dream. Just count sheep. Everything will be perfectly fine. I know that for a fact!
Nevertheless, for the following two mornings as I opened my eyes, I saw "Leo" planted in the same spot across the bed from me. Out came the scream, along with "GO AWAY!"; and he gracefully exited through the wall as he had done previously. This is just too weird. I'm going to start a full-fledged investigation, beginning with Nancy, my neighbor.
Bill and Nancy became our good friends after we moved from an apartment in Herndon to Sterling. They were fun-loving friends who could have a good time doing just about anything. It became a daily ritual to gather on their deck after work for a glass of wine and chat about everything from dirt to golf. (I chose water or root beer even though I had seriously considered taking up drinking to get away from "Leo.")
For the next week "Leo" appeared every morning right on cue, never talking, never moving. I no longer screamed at him but told him quietly, "Go away" and he did, just as always. But one morning he was nowhere to be found. I blinked once, twice, three times, and still no "Leo." I breathed a sigh of relief as I rolled over to turn off the alarm. "AHHHHHHHH!!" He was at the edge of the bed within inches of me! I could have reached out and touched him. I swear I have never moved so fast in my life, pouncing to the end of the bed and out the door. I was trembling from head to toe, shivers everywhere. When I returned to the bedroom, he was gone; in fact, I didn't see him for the next several days. That wail of a scream I belted out must have scared even him. Thank goodness!
There was one strange occurrence, however, that made me suspect he had not gone far. Early one morning I awoke before the alarm went off. No "Leo" was to be found on either side of the bed. While I was gazing at the clock, contemplating whether or not to get up, the clock began to move very slowly across the nightstand. "Okay, the clock is really not moving." I blinked once, twice, and yes--it was definitely moving. I decided that my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I reached out, and slowly moved it back to its original spot and waited. Within seconds, it started the trek across the nightstand. "I am going crazy, I really am going crazy. This is not funny anymore, Leo."
The wanna-be super sleuth inside me once again appeared. "I'm going to pull that clock back into place, and leave my hand on it to prove that it is definitely NOT moving." DAMN! It actually moved while my hand was on it! I jumped out of bed, got dressed and scurried off to work. At least my co-workers didn't think I was going insane, even though I honestly did.
When I was able to eventually drift off to sleep at night, I slept soundly with one exception. This particular night I was abruptly awakened around 3 a.m. by an enormous jolt, as though someone had jumped on the bed. Opening my eyes drowsily, I saw "Leo" lying between TC and me. I blurted out, "OH! OH! Buddy, you have cross the boundary now!" I started wailing on "Leo" with all the strength I could muster. I was going to beat the living daylights out of him if it killed me. I pounded and pounded...every hit harder than the previous one. And only then did he finally speak:
"Arlinda, Arlinda...WHAT are you doing?" That voice sounded so familiar...and I felt as though someone was shaking me. It was TC! Oh no! I'm beating up TC! What have I done now? I kept apologizing over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He thought I was having a nightmare, which it could have been classified as one, and laughed about it. He did admit that the first hit to the middle of his chest was quite a wallop.
From that night forward, "Leo" behaved himself better than I had anticipated. In the morning I would see him standing outside the bedroom door, but not alone. He was accompanied by a woman. She didn't leave much of an impression on me because I cannot recall what she even looked like or what she wore. However, I did tell "Leo" that he was a bad boy; if he wanted to use my bedroom, he should have just asked.
Several weeks later I had an appointment with Dr. Cintron, my neurologist. He was an awesome physician, always coming to the waiting room to greet me, and taking me into his office to chat before running any tests. On this particular visit, I told him about "Leo," incident by incident, and he didn't even look at me as though I were crazy. I concluded my tales with: "But life is good, Dr. Cintron, I have learned to live with "Leo." It was only then that he chuckled. He further explained to me that I was having what is known as "night terrors," caused by the drug amitriptyline.
Once he prescribed a new drug for me and the amitriptyline was out of my system, "Leo" truly vanished and not through the bedroom wall like his initial exit. However, I have to admit that I do miss him sometimes. Does that make me crazy?
Life was wonderful in Sterling, Virginia, the year 2003. We resided in a home that we absolutely adored, had the best of neighbors, and loved our jobs. TC would rise much earlier than I would because he had a 45-mile commute to work, while I worked in Reston, just 9 miles from home; therefore, we each had our own nightstands with our own alarm clocks. I would normally sleep through his but awaken to the buzzing of mine, followed by hitting that snooze button more than several times before crawling out of bed to a new day, a new dawn.
Lying in bed early one morning, I felt so warm, so cozy that I had no desire to even move, let alone get ready for work. I could feel the warm sun beaming on my still-closed eyes and that nasty alarm clock buzzing louder than usual. Blindly reaching for the snooze button, I slowly opened my eyes knowing that TC would have already left for work. It was then that I let out the most blood-curdling scream ever known, though I myself didn't hear it. That's how horrified I was to see a man standing across the bed from me. He was wearing a silver jumpsuit and had that Leo DeCaprio hair, but I couldn't make out his face. It was a total blur! My heart was running rapid, pounding throughout my entire body!
I slammed my head face-down into the pillow and prayed that he would just go away. "Wait! This is more than likely just a dream," so I reached up and pinched myself...slapped myself on the cheek. "Nope...not a dream! I think I'm really awake." I slowly raised my head to face the mirrored headboard. Staring at myself, I could see that my eyes were open, my lips were moving. "I AM AWAKE!!!" Trying to stay as calm as I could (and not doing an especially good job of it), I thought, "He must be gone by now; otherwise, I would be dead."
After checking once again in the mirror to see that I was wide awake and my eyes were totally open, I slowly turned in his direction and prayed, "Oh, please God, help me!!" He is still there, but he hasn't moved and hasn't spoken. So I did what I do best...I screamed! "GO AWAY!" Right on command, I saw him fade through the bedroom wall to the outside world. "What the hell was that all about?"
Needless to say, I didn't get anything accomplished at work that day because my head was filled with "Leo." I felt inside quivers whenever I thought of that early morning awakening. I came up with every imaginable reason for his being there and nothing made any sense. One major conclusion I did reach, though, was that I would NOT be telling TC. Either he would have me committed to the closest loony bin or make an appointment with the first psychiatrist he could find in the telephone book.
That night while I was preparing for bed, waves of anxiety flooded over me. Will I dream of "Leo?" Will he be here in the morning? Should I just crawl out of bed with my eyes closed? Maybe I'm being paranoid. He won't be here. It was a dream. Just count sheep. Everything will be perfectly fine. I know that for a fact!
Nevertheless, for the following two mornings as I opened my eyes, I saw "Leo" planted in the same spot across the bed from me. Out came the scream, along with "GO AWAY!"; and he gracefully exited through the wall as he had done previously. This is just too weird. I'm going to start a full-fledged investigation, beginning with Nancy, my neighbor.
Bill and Nancy became our good friends after we moved from an apartment in Herndon to Sterling. They were fun-loving friends who could have a good time doing just about anything. It became a daily ritual to gather on their deck after work for a glass of wine and chat about everything from dirt to golf. (I chose water or root beer even though I had seriously considered taking up drinking to get away from "Leo.")
For the next week "Leo" appeared every morning right on cue, never talking, never moving. I no longer screamed at him but told him quietly, "Go away" and he did, just as always. But one morning he was nowhere to be found. I blinked once, twice, three times, and still no "Leo." I breathed a sigh of relief as I rolled over to turn off the alarm. "AHHHHHHHH!!" He was at the edge of the bed within inches of me! I could have reached out and touched him. I swear I have never moved so fast in my life, pouncing to the end of the bed and out the door. I was trembling from head to toe, shivers everywhere. When I returned to the bedroom, he was gone; in fact, I didn't see him for the next several days. That wail of a scream I belted out must have scared even him. Thank goodness!
There was one strange occurrence, however, that made me suspect he had not gone far. Early one morning I awoke before the alarm went off. No "Leo" was to be found on either side of the bed. While I was gazing at the clock, contemplating whether or not to get up, the clock began to move very slowly across the nightstand. "Okay, the clock is really not moving." I blinked once, twice, and yes--it was definitely moving. I decided that my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I reached out, and slowly moved it back to its original spot and waited. Within seconds, it started the trek across the nightstand. "I am going crazy, I really am going crazy. This is not funny anymore, Leo."
The wanna-be super sleuth inside me once again appeared. "I'm going to pull that clock back into place, and leave my hand on it to prove that it is definitely NOT moving." DAMN! It actually moved while my hand was on it! I jumped out of bed, got dressed and scurried off to work. At least my co-workers didn't think I was going insane, even though I honestly did.
When I was able to eventually drift off to sleep at night, I slept soundly with one exception. This particular night I was abruptly awakened around 3 a.m. by an enormous jolt, as though someone had jumped on the bed. Opening my eyes drowsily, I saw "Leo" lying between TC and me. I blurted out, "OH! OH! Buddy, you have cross the boundary now!" I started wailing on "Leo" with all the strength I could muster. I was going to beat the living daylights out of him if it killed me. I pounded and pounded...every hit harder than the previous one. And only then did he finally speak:
"Arlinda, Arlinda...WHAT are you doing?" That voice sounded so familiar...and I felt as though someone was shaking me. It was TC! Oh no! I'm beating up TC! What have I done now? I kept apologizing over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He thought I was having a nightmare, which it could have been classified as one, and laughed about it. He did admit that the first hit to the middle of his chest was quite a wallop.
From that night forward, "Leo" behaved himself better than I had anticipated. In the morning I would see him standing outside the bedroom door, but not alone. He was accompanied by a woman. She didn't leave much of an impression on me because I cannot recall what she even looked like or what she wore. However, I did tell "Leo" that he was a bad boy; if he wanted to use my bedroom, he should have just asked.
Several weeks later I had an appointment with Dr. Cintron, my neurologist. He was an awesome physician, always coming to the waiting room to greet me, and taking me into his office to chat before running any tests. On this particular visit, I told him about "Leo," incident by incident, and he didn't even look at me as though I were crazy. I concluded my tales with: "But life is good, Dr. Cintron, I have learned to live with "Leo." It was only then that he chuckled. He further explained to me that I was having what is known as "night terrors," caused by the drug amitriptyline.
Once he prescribed a new drug for me and the amitriptyline was out of my system, "Leo" truly vanished and not through the bedroom wall like his initial exit. However, I have to admit that I do miss him sometimes. Does that make me crazy?
Monday, July 19, 2010
Wacky Weed Encounters
During my late teens and early twenties, not only were The Beatles on the scene, but also the likes of the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and the Mamas and the Papas. The drug of choice for many young adults was, as you might expect, not alcohol, but marijuana. While my friends and I would meander from party to party, the scent of the forbidden would seep from behind closed doors; but I had no desire to step beyond the boundaries I had set for myself. After all, I had taken the required drug courses in college and had learned to recognize the plant, the scent, and the paraphernalia. Those drug-searching dogs were enough to put the fear of God into me. I didn't want any part of it, but knew that it would likely cross my path more than once in my life.
Three of those moments are embedded in my mind as if they were yesterday. The first incident was rather humorous, while simultaneously frightening; the second was truly heart-breaking; and the third changed my life forever.
FIRST ENCOUNTER
During my second year of college, I transferred from EMC (Billings) to Eastern Washington State University, Cheney, Washington, which is located 15 miles from Spokane. I had never lived in a co-ed dormitory before and found it to be exhilarating--making new friends, huddling with girls on the dorm floor sharing our deepest thoughts and secrets, and surviving the numerous bomb threats that forced us down seven flights of stairs in the middle of the night only to sleep in the lobby of the neighboring dorm.
My roommate Janice had migrated from a tiny farming community and a graduating class of three students to a university of more than 12,000 students. She was forever walking around campus with her mouth dropped open in awe of what she saw. I knew then that she had to be the most naive girl I had ever met. It certainly didn't take her long to prove me right.
One Saturday she needed to venture into Spokane to pick up money at the Western Union office. Neither of us having a car on campus, we decided to wait until after the football game, walk to the top of the hill, and hitch a ride into the city rather than wait an hour for the bus. Students did it all the time; we didn't foresee any problem, but perhaps I had a moment of naivety as well.
Within seconds of reaching the top of the hill, a car stopped and the door flew open. Inside was one HUNK of a guy who looked innocent enough, so I slid into the front seat while Janice hopped into the back. We were babbling incessantly like most girls do when our "taxi" driver turned to me and asked, "Do you care if I smoke?"
"Oh no...go right ahead," I quickly responded, only then to eye him reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a baggie filled with the "wacky weed" and several joints rolled in red, white, and blue papers. "How patriotic" was NOT what I was thinking! He lit the joint, had a toke, and offered it to me. I graciously declined, thinking to myself while peering out my passenger window, "Just drive...get us there...FAST...but don't speed...I do not want to see red, flashing lights!" My thoughts were quickly broken as Janice blurted out, "I'll have one!" It was now my mouth that dropped open in awe!
After he handed her the joint, she enjoyed drag after drag and didn't understand why she had to give it back. When she finally returned it to its proper owner, she commented, "That's really a good cigarette." I didn't dare look at the driver because I knew he had to be laughing at her. She was unbelievable!
Having arrived at the Western Union office without further incident, I couldn't get out of that car fast enough. As I explained to her what she had actually smoked, her only response was: "No wonder I was feeling a little dizzy," to which I giggled and replied, "You ARE dizzy!" However, we eventually went our separate ways. I suspect that she enjoyed that "cigarette" more than she wanted me to believe.
SECOND ENCOUNTER
I was having an awesome Monday at school. Homework appeared to have been finished over the weekend, and those "push-the-teacher-to-the-limit" characters in my classroom were rather subdued--a teacher's dream! As the bell rang to end freshman English class, I followed the students out of the room and headed for the faculty lounge to retrieve my mail.
Making my way down the crowded hallway, I noticed that a student, while walking away from a locker, had dropped what looked like a prescription bottle. I picked it up, noticed that it didn't have a label on it, shook it, and heard no rattle of pills. I assumed that it was empty and once inside the faculty lounge, I casually tossed it into the trash receptacle and never gave it another thought.
Shortly after I returned to my room to work on lesson plans during my free hour, a student quietly entered the room and in almost a "whisper" of a voice asked for the bottle that I had found. When I explained that I didn't have it, that I had disposed of it, the whisper became a full-blown ranting and raving tirade as the student DEMANDED I return it. "What? A student in my face?" I wasn't going to engage in an argument about an empty pill bottle. Conversation over! I wrote a pass and sent the student back to class.
But the case of the pitched prescription bottle was NOT over! The longer I thought about it, the more curious I became. What was so important about that bottle? Unsuspectingly, I returned to the faculty lounge, retrieved it from the trash, carefully removed the cap to peer inside, and felt a huge lump rise into my throat. It was filled to the brim with that ever-forbidden marijuana. So many thoughts began pouring through my mind that even to this day, I can't remember what they were.
The next several hours were spent talking with the superintendent and the sheriff as I completed the necessary police report. The entire time, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, felt the pain a student of mine was about to feel, and felt that what had begun as a great day at school had somehow transformed into my worst day at school.
THIRD ENCOUNTER
I always say that TC (Terry) and I had the longest "enragement" in history; after all, it was six months between our first two dates. During the five years we dated, our time was spent playing pool, taking long drives in the country jiving to our favorite tunes, or spending time with his and my friends. I'm quite positive that we were considered the "wild ones," which is probably closer to the truth than I would like to admit.
Of course, we had our disagreements, but he was a fun-loving, free-wheeling kind of guy. Life was good back then...neither of us had a care in the world until the inevitable happened. While sitting around one night chatting with his friends, someone pulled out a joint and proceeded to light up and pass it around. When it came to me, I once again graciously declined. TC was next in line; and as he held that joint, our eyes locked. In a soft whisper, I told him, "It's your choice; but if you do, it's 'down the road, Charlie.'" After what seemed like an eternity, he casually passed it along without partaking the forbidden. Within moments, he took me by the hand and led me out the door. If you were to see us today, you would find us still holding hands. MY HERO!!
Three of those moments are embedded in my mind as if they were yesterday. The first incident was rather humorous, while simultaneously frightening; the second was truly heart-breaking; and the third changed my life forever.
FIRST ENCOUNTER
During my second year of college, I transferred from EMC (Billings) to Eastern Washington State University, Cheney, Washington, which is located 15 miles from Spokane. I had never lived in a co-ed dormitory before and found it to be exhilarating--making new friends, huddling with girls on the dorm floor sharing our deepest thoughts and secrets, and surviving the numerous bomb threats that forced us down seven flights of stairs in the middle of the night only to sleep in the lobby of the neighboring dorm.
My roommate Janice had migrated from a tiny farming community and a graduating class of three students to a university of more than 12,000 students. She was forever walking around campus with her mouth dropped open in awe of what she saw. I knew then that she had to be the most naive girl I had ever met. It certainly didn't take her long to prove me right.
One Saturday she needed to venture into Spokane to pick up money at the Western Union office. Neither of us having a car on campus, we decided to wait until after the football game, walk to the top of the hill, and hitch a ride into the city rather than wait an hour for the bus. Students did it all the time; we didn't foresee any problem, but perhaps I had a moment of naivety as well.
Within seconds of reaching the top of the hill, a car stopped and the door flew open. Inside was one HUNK of a guy who looked innocent enough, so I slid into the front seat while Janice hopped into the back. We were babbling incessantly like most girls do when our "taxi" driver turned to me and asked, "Do you care if I smoke?"
"Oh no...go right ahead," I quickly responded, only then to eye him reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a baggie filled with the "wacky weed" and several joints rolled in red, white, and blue papers. "How patriotic" was NOT what I was thinking! He lit the joint, had a toke, and offered it to me. I graciously declined, thinking to myself while peering out my passenger window, "Just drive...get us there...FAST...but don't speed...I do not want to see red, flashing lights!" My thoughts were quickly broken as Janice blurted out, "I'll have one!" It was now my mouth that dropped open in awe!
After he handed her the joint, she enjoyed drag after drag and didn't understand why she had to give it back. When she finally returned it to its proper owner, she commented, "That's really a good cigarette." I didn't dare look at the driver because I knew he had to be laughing at her. She was unbelievable!
Having arrived at the Western Union office without further incident, I couldn't get out of that car fast enough. As I explained to her what she had actually smoked, her only response was: "No wonder I was feeling a little dizzy," to which I giggled and replied, "You ARE dizzy!" However, we eventually went our separate ways. I suspect that she enjoyed that "cigarette" more than she wanted me to believe.
SECOND ENCOUNTER
I was having an awesome Monday at school. Homework appeared to have been finished over the weekend, and those "push-the-teacher-to-the-limit" characters in my classroom were rather subdued--a teacher's dream! As the bell rang to end freshman English class, I followed the students out of the room and headed for the faculty lounge to retrieve my mail.
Making my way down the crowded hallway, I noticed that a student, while walking away from a locker, had dropped what looked like a prescription bottle. I picked it up, noticed that it didn't have a label on it, shook it, and heard no rattle of pills. I assumed that it was empty and once inside the faculty lounge, I casually tossed it into the trash receptacle and never gave it another thought.
Shortly after I returned to my room to work on lesson plans during my free hour, a student quietly entered the room and in almost a "whisper" of a voice asked for the bottle that I had found. When I explained that I didn't have it, that I had disposed of it, the whisper became a full-blown ranting and raving tirade as the student DEMANDED I return it. "What? A student in my face?" I wasn't going to engage in an argument about an empty pill bottle. Conversation over! I wrote a pass and sent the student back to class.
But the case of the pitched prescription bottle was NOT over! The longer I thought about it, the more curious I became. What was so important about that bottle? Unsuspectingly, I returned to the faculty lounge, retrieved it from the trash, carefully removed the cap to peer inside, and felt a huge lump rise into my throat. It was filled to the brim with that ever-forbidden marijuana. So many thoughts began pouring through my mind that even to this day, I can't remember what they were.
The next several hours were spent talking with the superintendent and the sheriff as I completed the necessary police report. The entire time, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, felt the pain a student of mine was about to feel, and felt that what had begun as a great day at school had somehow transformed into my worst day at school.
THIRD ENCOUNTER
I always say that TC (Terry) and I had the longest "enragement" in history; after all, it was six months between our first two dates. During the five years we dated, our time was spent playing pool, taking long drives in the country jiving to our favorite tunes, or spending time with his and my friends. I'm quite positive that we were considered the "wild ones," which is probably closer to the truth than I would like to admit.
Of course, we had our disagreements, but he was a fun-loving, free-wheeling kind of guy. Life was good back then...neither of us had a care in the world until the inevitable happened. While sitting around one night chatting with his friends, someone pulled out a joint and proceeded to light up and pass it around. When it came to me, I once again graciously declined. TC was next in line; and as he held that joint, our eyes locked. In a soft whisper, I told him, "It's your choice; but if you do, it's 'down the road, Charlie.'" After what seemed like an eternity, he casually passed it along without partaking the forbidden. Within moments, he took me by the hand and led me out the door. If you were to see us today, you would find us still holding hands. MY HERO!!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Night I Was Almost Arrested
Having turned 18, I ventured off to that wonderful world of work in Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park. Little did I know then that this would be my home away from home for the next seven summers. I was assigned to work for Yellowstone Park Company in the accounting office as an auditor. All of the summer employees in the office were not allowed to live in the dormitories with other summer transients, but were to live in small apartments above the restaurant. The reasoning behind that was so we could actually get some "sleep." If they only knew...
My roomie was JudyAnn, a typical southern California girl from San Diego. She was drop-dead gorgeous, with long blonde hair and a wardrobe of long dresses and sparkling shoe wear that was totally opposite of this Montana-born girl. It didn't take the two of us long to hook up with Kay and Rozanne, sisters from Dubuque, Iowa. They were the outdoor type--jeeping through creeks and rivers, climbing mountains, fishing, camping--doing all those things I had never done growing up. The fifth wheel was Linda, a meek, mild, intelligent student from Moscow, Idaho--the quiet type, unlike the rest of us.
Our first summer together was quite subdued compared to the following summers. We mostly saw the sites of Yellowstone, played tricks on tourists (hanging our heads out the car window yelling "Look at the MOOSE" when we saw them taking pics of buffalo--okay, so we weren't the brightest crayons in the box back then!), and traveling to other park locations for dances and volleyball matches. I had unfortunately been assigned as coach of the Mammoth team...BIG mistake. So went our first summer together.
Kay and Rozanne chose to work year-round in the park, and the following summer, JudyAnn, Linda, and I returned to continue our adventures. By then all of us had turned 19 years old, and because the drinking age at the time was 19 in Montana, we found ourselves spending much of our free time in Gardiner, MT...only 5 miles from Mammoth. We spent time playing pool at the K Bar, chowing down on home-made tacos at a local restaurant because the Park food for the employees was NOT the best, going to the movies, and in general, just being five silly girls enjoying life.
But everything changed when we all turned 21. It was time to expand our horizons beyond the streets of Gardiner. Early one Saturday morning, we packed our bags, grabbed a few bottles of Catawba wine, and headed for Jackson Hole, Wyoming. And so began one of many unforgettable adventures. Kay drove while JudyAnn, Rozanne, and I dove into the wine. Even back then we knew that we needed a designated driver. (Linda stayed home because she had relatives coming to visit.)
I'm not sure who came up with the idea, but during our 150 mile trek, we decided that we were all going to "become" foreigners. I have to admit that I did have a superb English accent that I had perfected over the years while chatting with tourists. JudyAnn, too, was going to be from England while Kay and Rozanne chose to be from France. Frankly, I thought they sounded more German, but they were trying their best. We concocted stories of how and why we crossed the "pond," (from England to the States), where we had traveled during our visit and the sites we had seen, and most importantly, how the four of us had met. Yes!! We had covered everything or so we thought.
Upon arriving in Jackson, we found our hotel which was within walking distance of the quaint shops, numerous restaurants, and several local "establishments," including the infamous Cowboy Bar. During a late dinner, we continued to use our accents and finalized our "plot." As we began our memorable "night on the town," I convinced my cohorts that the Cowboy Bar was probably NOT the place to go. All the girls needed to do was take one look at the four of us, and they agreed unanimously that we would definitely not fit in with that crowd--no blue jeans or cowgirl hats!
As we were strolling the streets of Jackson, in and out of the boutiques and gift shops, we suddenly heard music...music to our ears. Oh yes!!! It was definitely our kind of music!! Three Dog Night...Paul Revere and the Raiders...and the BEATLES!! Off we went! As we searched for a booth near the bandstand, I could feel the eyes watching us, the heads turning. Of course, they had to be checking out JudyAnn, the knockout of our entourage. Once we were seated, the drinks started arriving out of nowhere, along with offers to dance and chat. This was going to be an awesome night!
Whenever the band started playing a Beatles' tune, we screamed in delight, the crowd cheering right along with us. I wondered if they were cheering at the music or at us. lol At that point it didn't matter...nothing mattered. Some of the fellas were HOT and some were NOT, but in our eyes, they were all HUNKS!! Some were just better looking than others, that's all. Throughout the evening, the HUNKS came and went, but some stayed. I don't recall the name of the fella that seemed to have latched onto me, but I knew he was there for the duration. We chatted, laughed, told stories, and for the most part was having a great time until....
He asked me, "Do you see that guy sitting over there alone?" pointing across the dance floor. "That's my Cousin Sonny. Would you mind if he joined us?"
"Of course not....the more the merrier!"
Once Cousin Sonny was part of our crowd, I noticed that he seemed quite intrigued with JudyAnn, but who wouldn't be? He eyed her from top to bottom, grinning the whole time while trying to make small talk with her. After a few minutes, it seemed that Cousin Sonny was not only intriqued with JudyAnn, but he was becoming rather inquisitive, saying the strangest things and asking her out-of-the-ordinary questions. He had never seen a passport...could he see hers? He wondered what a work visa was...could he see hers? (JudyAnn had told him that she was on sabbatical from London University and teaching several classes at San Diego State University.) She explained to him that she had neither item with her--that she had left them in the jockey box of her rental car.
Before I knew what was happening, "Cousin Sonny" flashed his badge and very bluntly stated: "If you ladies do not provide proper identification within the next five minutes, I'll be forced to arrrest you." It seemed that Cousin Sonny was an officer of the law in search of illegals.
I turned to JudyAnn, who was sitting directly beside me and whispered, "I do believe we are in a bit of a sticky wicket."
I had never seen those three girls move so fast in all my life! They were on the dance floor whooping and hollering to a Beatles' tune. I was dumbfounded...I didn't know what to do. But I did know that I was NOT going to be the one to confess!! I became the "Linda" of the group, the meek and mild one, the quiet one, as I continued to watch my friends devour that dance floor, begging for more and more Beatles' tunes.
Five minutes came and went. Cousin Sonny was quietly waiting the return of my sidekicks. I knew that they would eventually have to find their way back to the booth, but WHEN was the question. And WHAT we were going to do was the next question.
That's when I spotted the three of them heading for the Ladies' Room, so I excused myself from the booth and joined them. It was total chaos in that restroom to say the least. Kay tried to convince us that the badge wasn't real. "Have you ever SEEN one before?" I asked her. "Well, noooooo, but it didn't LOOK real," she adamantly replied.
We giggled uncontrollably as we went over our options. We could find a back door to sneak out (but would probably be seen while searching for that door), we could walk right out the front door and hope no one noticed (like THAT was going to happen!), we could fess up and show him our state driver's licenses (that would make Cousin Sonny look foolish, and we certainly wouldn't want to do that to the poor fella). Like a bolt of lightning, I came up with the perfect plan to escape the law without giving up our true identities!! Or perhaps it was the Catawba wine talking. lol
Cousin Sonny had obviously taken a special liking to JudyAnn. All she had to do was smooze him, cuddle up next to him, maybe put a hand on his knee, turn on the charm, bat her lashes at him a few hundred times, melt his heart, and definitely beg for mercy. She could do it--I knew she could! And that's exactly what JudyAnn did that night. Poor Cousin Sonny didn't know what hit him! He took the bait, hook, line and sinker! Maybe that badge wasn't real, but his very own "plot."
At closing time, we headed out the FRONT door after having said our farewells to all our fans. Even Cousin Sonny received a kiss on the cheek from JudyAnn, more or less to "seal the deal." BUT as we walked back to the hotel, we suddenly heard "Wait! Wait!" coming from behind us. We glanced at each other and slowly moaned together, "Ohhhh nooooo!"
A huge sigh of relief fell over us as we turned and saw it was one of our fans from earlier in the evening. He came running up to us and said that he was going to England...could we give him any ideas about renting a car? Of course, and as I wrote 11212 Carnaby Street on his shirt (no paper available), I told him that my Uncle John owned a car lot and would be glad to help him. RIGHT!! What a NIGHT!!
The next day we ventured to Teton Village to ride the Tram to the top of the Tetons and then headed for Mammoth. I drove this time because Kay was still yearning for a taste of that Catawba wine we were still toting around. All the way home we giggled and reminisced about our antics of the previous night. What a perfect weekend...with one final surprise lurking in the background.
Early the next morning I was awakened by a blood-curdling scream coming from the apartment next door....and then a pounding on my door. It was Rozanne, blurting out that something was wrong...definitely wrong with Kay. When JudyAnn I belted into their apartment, we burst into uncontrollable laughter. There was Kay--covered with hives! It seemed that she was allergic to something in that Catawba wine she wanted to drink so badly.
So ends the first of many great adventures lying ahead! and so ends Kay's taste for Catawba wine!
My roomie was JudyAnn, a typical southern California girl from San Diego. She was drop-dead gorgeous, with long blonde hair and a wardrobe of long dresses and sparkling shoe wear that was totally opposite of this Montana-born girl. It didn't take the two of us long to hook up with Kay and Rozanne, sisters from Dubuque, Iowa. They were the outdoor type--jeeping through creeks and rivers, climbing mountains, fishing, camping--doing all those things I had never done growing up. The fifth wheel was Linda, a meek, mild, intelligent student from Moscow, Idaho--the quiet type, unlike the rest of us.
Our first summer together was quite subdued compared to the following summers. We mostly saw the sites of Yellowstone, played tricks on tourists (hanging our heads out the car window yelling "Look at the MOOSE" when we saw them taking pics of buffalo--okay, so we weren't the brightest crayons in the box back then!), and traveling to other park locations for dances and volleyball matches. I had unfortunately been assigned as coach of the Mammoth team...BIG mistake. So went our first summer together.
Kay and Rozanne chose to work year-round in the park, and the following summer, JudyAnn, Linda, and I returned to continue our adventures. By then all of us had turned 19 years old, and because the drinking age at the time was 19 in Montana, we found ourselves spending much of our free time in Gardiner, MT...only 5 miles from Mammoth. We spent time playing pool at the K Bar, chowing down on home-made tacos at a local restaurant because the Park food for the employees was NOT the best, going to the movies, and in general, just being five silly girls enjoying life.
But everything changed when we all turned 21. It was time to expand our horizons beyond the streets of Gardiner. Early one Saturday morning, we packed our bags, grabbed a few bottles of Catawba wine, and headed for Jackson Hole, Wyoming. And so began one of many unforgettable adventures. Kay drove while JudyAnn, Rozanne, and I dove into the wine. Even back then we knew that we needed a designated driver. (Linda stayed home because she had relatives coming to visit.)
I'm not sure who came up with the idea, but during our 150 mile trek, we decided that we were all going to "become" foreigners. I have to admit that I did have a superb English accent that I had perfected over the years while chatting with tourists. JudyAnn, too, was going to be from England while Kay and Rozanne chose to be from France. Frankly, I thought they sounded more German, but they were trying their best. We concocted stories of how and why we crossed the "pond," (from England to the States), where we had traveled during our visit and the sites we had seen, and most importantly, how the four of us had met. Yes!! We had covered everything or so we thought.
Upon arriving in Jackson, we found our hotel which was within walking distance of the quaint shops, numerous restaurants, and several local "establishments," including the infamous Cowboy Bar. During a late dinner, we continued to use our accents and finalized our "plot." As we began our memorable "night on the town," I convinced my cohorts that the Cowboy Bar was probably NOT the place to go. All the girls needed to do was take one look at the four of us, and they agreed unanimously that we would definitely not fit in with that crowd--no blue jeans or cowgirl hats!
As we were strolling the streets of Jackson, in and out of the boutiques and gift shops, we suddenly heard music...music to our ears. Oh yes!!! It was definitely our kind of music!! Three Dog Night...Paul Revere and the Raiders...and the BEATLES!! Off we went! As we searched for a booth near the bandstand, I could feel the eyes watching us, the heads turning. Of course, they had to be checking out JudyAnn, the knockout of our entourage. Once we were seated, the drinks started arriving out of nowhere, along with offers to dance and chat. This was going to be an awesome night!
Whenever the band started playing a Beatles' tune, we screamed in delight, the crowd cheering right along with us. I wondered if they were cheering at the music or at us. lol At that point it didn't matter...nothing mattered. Some of the fellas were HOT and some were NOT, but in our eyes, they were all HUNKS!! Some were just better looking than others, that's all. Throughout the evening, the HUNKS came and went, but some stayed. I don't recall the name of the fella that seemed to have latched onto me, but I knew he was there for the duration. We chatted, laughed, told stories, and for the most part was having a great time until....
He asked me, "Do you see that guy sitting over there alone?" pointing across the dance floor. "That's my Cousin Sonny. Would you mind if he joined us?"
"Of course not....the more the merrier!"
Once Cousin Sonny was part of our crowd, I noticed that he seemed quite intrigued with JudyAnn, but who wouldn't be? He eyed her from top to bottom, grinning the whole time while trying to make small talk with her. After a few minutes, it seemed that Cousin Sonny was not only intriqued with JudyAnn, but he was becoming rather inquisitive, saying the strangest things and asking her out-of-the-ordinary questions. He had never seen a passport...could he see hers? He wondered what a work visa was...could he see hers? (JudyAnn had told him that she was on sabbatical from London University and teaching several classes at San Diego State University.) She explained to him that she had neither item with her--that she had left them in the jockey box of her rental car.
Before I knew what was happening, "Cousin Sonny" flashed his badge and very bluntly stated: "If you ladies do not provide proper identification within the next five minutes, I'll be forced to arrrest you." It seemed that Cousin Sonny was an officer of the law in search of illegals.
I turned to JudyAnn, who was sitting directly beside me and whispered, "I do believe we are in a bit of a sticky wicket."
I had never seen those three girls move so fast in all my life! They were on the dance floor whooping and hollering to a Beatles' tune. I was dumbfounded...I didn't know what to do. But I did know that I was NOT going to be the one to confess!! I became the "Linda" of the group, the meek and mild one, the quiet one, as I continued to watch my friends devour that dance floor, begging for more and more Beatles' tunes.
Five minutes came and went. Cousin Sonny was quietly waiting the return of my sidekicks. I knew that they would eventually have to find their way back to the booth, but WHEN was the question. And WHAT we were going to do was the next question.
That's when I spotted the three of them heading for the Ladies' Room, so I excused myself from the booth and joined them. It was total chaos in that restroom to say the least. Kay tried to convince us that the badge wasn't real. "Have you ever SEEN one before?" I asked her. "Well, noooooo, but it didn't LOOK real," she adamantly replied.
We giggled uncontrollably as we went over our options. We could find a back door to sneak out (but would probably be seen while searching for that door), we could walk right out the front door and hope no one noticed (like THAT was going to happen!), we could fess up and show him our state driver's licenses (that would make Cousin Sonny look foolish, and we certainly wouldn't want to do that to the poor fella). Like a bolt of lightning, I came up with the perfect plan to escape the law without giving up our true identities!! Or perhaps it was the Catawba wine talking. lol
Cousin Sonny had obviously taken a special liking to JudyAnn. All she had to do was smooze him, cuddle up next to him, maybe put a hand on his knee, turn on the charm, bat her lashes at him a few hundred times, melt his heart, and definitely beg for mercy. She could do it--I knew she could! And that's exactly what JudyAnn did that night. Poor Cousin Sonny didn't know what hit him! He took the bait, hook, line and sinker! Maybe that badge wasn't real, but his very own "plot."
At closing time, we headed out the FRONT door after having said our farewells to all our fans. Even Cousin Sonny received a kiss on the cheek from JudyAnn, more or less to "seal the deal." BUT as we walked back to the hotel, we suddenly heard "Wait! Wait!" coming from behind us. We glanced at each other and slowly moaned together, "Ohhhh nooooo!"
A huge sigh of relief fell over us as we turned and saw it was one of our fans from earlier in the evening. He came running up to us and said that he was going to England...could we give him any ideas about renting a car? Of course, and as I wrote 11212 Carnaby Street on his shirt (no paper available), I told him that my Uncle John owned a car lot and would be glad to help him. RIGHT!! What a NIGHT!!
The next day we ventured to Teton Village to ride the Tram to the top of the Tetons and then headed for Mammoth. I drove this time because Kay was still yearning for a taste of that Catawba wine we were still toting around. All the way home we giggled and reminisced about our antics of the previous night. What a perfect weekend...with one final surprise lurking in the background.
Early the next morning I was awakened by a blood-curdling scream coming from the apartment next door....and then a pounding on my door. It was Rozanne, blurting out that something was wrong...definitely wrong with Kay. When JudyAnn I belted into their apartment, we burst into uncontrollable laughter. There was Kay--covered with hives! It seemed that she was allergic to something in that Catawba wine she wanted to drink so badly.
So ends the first of many great adventures lying ahead! and so ends Kay's taste for Catawba wine!
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