The following day I rushed home from school because I wanted to know who our visitor was the evening before. Something was happening and no one was telling me. Why do parents always have to keep so many secrets? I'm a freshman and by no means a child anymore. I deserve to know everything, especially if it's about me.
I had to wait until after dinner and my brother and sister were in bed to sit down with my mom and dad. My mother did most of the talking, beginning with reminders of Patty (the child with cerebral palsy) and how she is gone from home for periods of time getting special treatment for her disability. Patty has a sponsor who is helping her get the medical attention she needs. It seemed that Mr. Smith was looking for other children to help, and Pauline (Patty's mom) gave him my name.
My mother continued, "He came to visit us last night to learn more about you and to see if he could perhaps help you. He's a mason with the Al Beddoo Shriner's organization, and it's his goal to find as many children in need as possible. So next week you and I are getting on the train and going to Spokane to the Shriners Hospital for Children to meet with the doctors. But...there are no promises...it's just for a consultation."
This was all beginning to make sense to me now except for the "money." I knew my parents didn't have much money; and my father was working three jobs since my grandfather had been killed the year before. When I questioned my mother about it, she explained that Mr. Smith would be providing the train tickets, the hotel room, and some spending money for us.
My dad proceeded to tell me that he wouldn't be going with us because he needed to work and take care of my brother and sister, but he would be thinking of us while we were gone. He also mentioned that we were going to be meeting his Aunt Clara and Uncle Barney who lived in Spokane.
Clara and Barney? It sounded like a couple of characters from the comic strips, but oh so little did I know back then.
To be continued...
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
Conquering Obstacles (Part 12--The Visitor)
Despite my mother's reassurance that "God had a plan" for me, I resorted to the fact that I would have this brace for life. Yes, I had somewhat given up, and decided that as I entered junior high, I was going to put all my energy into school because I knew that I still wanted someday to become a teacher.
During the next three years, I earned straight A's (with one minor setback), won various awards including the Daughter's of the American Revolution Award and was admitted into the National Honor Society; performed regularly as a member of Mrs. Chapel's elite choir; and even decided to run for Treasurer of the Student Council. I never expected to win, but did so with flying colors. Perhaps I had more friends than I realized.
My neighbor friend Linda was having many more problems adjusting to junior high than I ever thought of having. She had a huge growth spurt over the summer and now towered over everyone in the school at 6'1". Classmates made a mockery of her with their snide comments, and it reminded me of just how cruel people can be. But she was still my good friend even when we were nicknamed Mutt and Jeff after the comic strip. I could have cared less because those contemptible classmates would never become one of my "true" friends.
That minor setback, as one might expect, was PE class. I cringed at the thought of the "learning to dance" segment, but actually got lucky. Remember Lawrence, the boy who kissed me on the cheek in the fourth grade? He was my dance partner. I promised not to step on his toes too many times as long as he caught me if I started to fall. All in all, it was an "okay" class with NO falls. Yeah me!
But as a freshman, I met my new PE teacher, Ms. Beaumont, who looked like a bulldog and had the temperament of one. I just could not please that woman except when it came to doing sit ups. Oh, yeah! That didn't exactly make me a prime athlete. She gave me my first "C" grade ever, and I definitely let her know that I was NOT average! I tried harder than any other student in her class, and she needed to take that into consideration--which, by the way, she didn't. All in all, I had become a well-adjusted young teenager with a mind of my own. When things didn't go my way, I definitely let my parents know....like the night of "the visitor."
One evening I happened to be the one to answer the front door and found a stranger standing before me. I wasn't about to let him inside, but my mother appeared and told me to take my brother and sister into the bedroom and stay there. We were not to leave that room until we were asked to come out. I did as I was told, but didn't close the door all the way--I wanted to know who that man was. It was just so unlike my parents to send us to our room. She followed me and closed the door tightly. Dang! I listened intently and had the strangest feeling that they were talking about me. I heard my name several times along with " Patty," "money," "train," "no promises," and "help."
After he left, I confronted my parents. "Who was that man? Why was he here? and what did he want?"
They quietly responded, "It's late...not tonight...we'll explain tomorrow." Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough for me.
To be continued...
During the next three years, I earned straight A's (with one minor setback), won various awards including the Daughter's of the American Revolution Award and was admitted into the National Honor Society; performed regularly as a member of Mrs. Chapel's elite choir; and even decided to run for Treasurer of the Student Council. I never expected to win, but did so with flying colors. Perhaps I had more friends than I realized.
My neighbor friend Linda was having many more problems adjusting to junior high than I ever thought of having. She had a huge growth spurt over the summer and now towered over everyone in the school at 6'1". Classmates made a mockery of her with their snide comments, and it reminded me of just how cruel people can be. But she was still my good friend even when we were nicknamed Mutt and Jeff after the comic strip. I could have cared less because those contemptible classmates would never become one of my "true" friends.
That minor setback, as one might expect, was PE class. I cringed at the thought of the "learning to dance" segment, but actually got lucky. Remember Lawrence, the boy who kissed me on the cheek in the fourth grade? He was my dance partner. I promised not to step on his toes too many times as long as he caught me if I started to fall. All in all, it was an "okay" class with NO falls. Yeah me!
But as a freshman, I met my new PE teacher, Ms. Beaumont, who looked like a bulldog and had the temperament of one. I just could not please that woman except when it came to doing sit ups. Oh, yeah! That didn't exactly make me a prime athlete. She gave me my first "C" grade ever, and I definitely let her know that I was NOT average! I tried harder than any other student in her class, and she needed to take that into consideration--which, by the way, she didn't. All in all, I had become a well-adjusted young teenager with a mind of my own. When things didn't go my way, I definitely let my parents know....like the night of "the visitor."
One evening I happened to be the one to answer the front door and found a stranger standing before me. I wasn't about to let him inside, but my mother appeared and told me to take my brother and sister into the bedroom and stay there. We were not to leave that room until we were asked to come out. I did as I was told, but didn't close the door all the way--I wanted to know who that man was. It was just so unlike my parents to send us to our room. She followed me and closed the door tightly. Dang! I listened intently and had the strangest feeling that they were talking about me. I heard my name several times along with " Patty," "money," "train," "no promises," and "help."
After he left, I confronted my parents. "Who was that man? Why was he here? and what did he want?"
They quietly responded, "It's late...not tonight...we'll explain tomorrow." Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough for me.
To be continued...
Conquering Obstacles (Part 11--The Dream)
With the incidents with Mr. Eckhart and my Aunt Grace behind me, I looked forward to the remainder of the summer before starting junior high school. I was soon turning 12 and and actually excited about my yearly visit to Dr. Allard. My life was about to change forever! All of the braces would finally be gone, and I could become a "normal" young lady.
All I heard the doctor say that day was, "I'm sorry. I can't help her." before bursting into tears. The rest became a blur. I think that my mother was even more disappointed than I was if that was possible. I knew now what she would say to comfort me:
"No one is perfect. Everyone has something wrong with them. It can be on the inside where you can't see it, or it can be on the outside for the world to see. God chose the outside for you, and because of this, you will become a stronger person."
This seemed to be her solution for every problem I encountered; but this time she added:
"God has a plan and this just wasn't part of it. Believe me."
That was our last visit to see Dr. Allard.
Remember the Davis family that lived next door? The family now included five children, Patty, being the youngest at 2 years old. She hadn't learned to walk yet because she was born with cerebral palsy and wore full-length braces on both legs similar to those that I had worn years earlier. My mother and I talked about her often because she was so very much like me. I thought of her often and hoped she wouldn't have too many disappointments in her life.
I was surprised, though, that my mother talked about Patty, because my childhood years had never even been mentioned...until the dream.
For more than a week, I had had the same dream every night. It was short, but so, so vivid in my mind. Why? Why? was I having this same dream? It didn't frighten me at all, but just made me curious. It was time to share it with my mother.
She listened intently as I described the dream to her: "In my dream, we were in the car. I was in the back seat eating carrots, but I got really sick and started throwing up; and you pulled me over the seat into the front between you and Dad. When we got home, you both got out to take things into the house. I scooted across the seat to the door and stepped outside. I fell down. When you came back, I told you that I couldn't get up. I can't walk. Then you pulled me up into your arms and yelled, "Fred, call the doctor. The end."
As I finished sharing my dream, I asked, "Mom? Why are you crying? It's just a dream."
She quietly whispered, "It's more than a dream. It's exactly what happened the day you got sick. It's God's way of telling you something that perhaps we should have told you years ago. It must be part of His plan for you."
To be continued...
All I heard the doctor say that day was, "I'm sorry. I can't help her." before bursting into tears. The rest became a blur. I think that my mother was even more disappointed than I was if that was possible. I knew now what she would say to comfort me:
"No one is perfect. Everyone has something wrong with them. It can be on the inside where you can't see it, or it can be on the outside for the world to see. God chose the outside for you, and because of this, you will become a stronger person."
This seemed to be her solution for every problem I encountered; but this time she added:
"God has a plan and this just wasn't part of it. Believe me."
That was our last visit to see Dr. Allard.
Remember the Davis family that lived next door? The family now included five children, Patty, being the youngest at 2 years old. She hadn't learned to walk yet because she was born with cerebral palsy and wore full-length braces on both legs similar to those that I had worn years earlier. My mother and I talked about her often because she was so very much like me. I thought of her often and hoped she wouldn't have too many disappointments in her life.
I was surprised, though, that my mother talked about Patty, because my childhood years had never even been mentioned...until the dream.
For more than a week, I had had the same dream every night. It was short, but so, so vivid in my mind. Why? Why? was I having this same dream? It didn't frighten me at all, but just made me curious. It was time to share it with my mother.
She listened intently as I described the dream to her: "In my dream, we were in the car. I was in the back seat eating carrots, but I got really sick and started throwing up; and you pulled me over the seat into the front between you and Dad. When we got home, you both got out to take things into the house. I scooted across the seat to the door and stepped outside. I fell down. When you came back, I told you that I couldn't get up. I can't walk. Then you pulled me up into your arms and yelled, "Fred, call the doctor. The end."
As I finished sharing my dream, I asked, "Mom? Why are you crying? It's just a dream."
She quietly whispered, "It's more than a dream. It's exactly what happened the day you got sick. It's God's way of telling you something that perhaps we should have told you years ago. It must be part of His plan for you."
To be continued...
Conquering Obstacles (Part 10--Look at the Witch!)
Shortly after my sister and brother were born, my mother signed me up for babysitting lessons at the YMCA. This was not on my list of things I wanted to do; my life was already filled with swimming, singing, church, and "playtime." I informed her that I really didn't want to babysit, especially my brother and sister. I had better things to do. She won again as she explained that in a year or two I would be old enough to earn money by babysitting for others; and if she needed me to babysit, she would also pay me. Now THAT sounded like a great plan to me!
The summer before entering junior high school, I was offered a full-time babysitting job by my Aunt Grace and Uncle Harry. They had adopted a little boy which everyone called "Little Harry." He was now 3 years old, and I thought, "How hard could it be to entertain a toddler from 7 a.m. until 4 p.m.? and earn $1 a day. That was good money way back then, so I eagerly accepted the offer. They only lived a block from us so I could easily ride my bike back and forth. It was perfect!
My Aunt Grace (my mother's youngest sister) would also be at home in case of an emergency. She had been a diabetic since the age of 8 and had just had a partial leg amputation due to an infection. There was no doubt in everyone's mind that she truly needed help. I was to watch "Little Harry" and make lunch for the three of us, which usually consisted of soup and sandwiches.
I had a great time for the first few weeks, but then things seemed to change. My Aunt Grace wanted me to do her dishes (which I didn't mind because I was still doing chores at home), but daily kept adding more chores...change the bedding, scrub the kitchen floor, vacuum the carpets, in addition to caring for "Little Harry," which I felt now I had been ignoring. I never complained to my mother about it because I was hoping that my aunt and uncle would pay me something extra for the work I was now doing.
One afternoon as I was preparing our lunch, I heard my aunt say, "Look at the witch, little Harry." I turned around to see what book she was reading him...only to see her pointing at ME. I couldn't believe she would say that, so I ignored it. But the same words poured out of her mouth again and again while we were eating lunch: "Look at the witch! Look at the witch!"
I couldn't hold back the tears and ran to lock myself in the bathroom where I sobbed my heart out. I repeated asked myself, "Why would she say that? What did I do wrong? I wasn't a witch, was I?" I had no idea what to do, except cry. My feelings were crushed. I could hear her pounding on the bathroom door and screaming at me, "Get out here! Get out here, you witch!"
Eventually I opened the door, pushed my way around her wheelchair, ran out the front door, hopped on my bike, and rode home to my mother as fast as I possibly could. I knew she would be upset because I had left them alone; but as I told her what had happened, she gave me a hug and said, "You will never go back there."
I learned an important lesson in life that day: I told myself that I would never become like my Aunt Grace--full of bitterness and hatred for others. I didn't ever want to feel sorry for myself or want anyone to pity me. I am who I am--and I just prayed that I would be treated like a "normal" person.
To be continued...
The summer before entering junior high school, I was offered a full-time babysitting job by my Aunt Grace and Uncle Harry. They had adopted a little boy which everyone called "Little Harry." He was now 3 years old, and I thought, "How hard could it be to entertain a toddler from 7 a.m. until 4 p.m.? and earn $1 a day. That was good money way back then, so I eagerly accepted the offer. They only lived a block from us so I could easily ride my bike back and forth. It was perfect!
My Aunt Grace (my mother's youngest sister) would also be at home in case of an emergency. She had been a diabetic since the age of 8 and had just had a partial leg amputation due to an infection. There was no doubt in everyone's mind that she truly needed help. I was to watch "Little Harry" and make lunch for the three of us, which usually consisted of soup and sandwiches.
I had a great time for the first few weeks, but then things seemed to change. My Aunt Grace wanted me to do her dishes (which I didn't mind because I was still doing chores at home), but daily kept adding more chores...change the bedding, scrub the kitchen floor, vacuum the carpets, in addition to caring for "Little Harry," which I felt now I had been ignoring. I never complained to my mother about it because I was hoping that my aunt and uncle would pay me something extra for the work I was now doing.
One afternoon as I was preparing our lunch, I heard my aunt say, "Look at the witch, little Harry." I turned around to see what book she was reading him...only to see her pointing at ME. I couldn't believe she would say that, so I ignored it. But the same words poured out of her mouth again and again while we were eating lunch: "Look at the witch! Look at the witch!"
I couldn't hold back the tears and ran to lock myself in the bathroom where I sobbed my heart out. I repeated asked myself, "Why would she say that? What did I do wrong? I wasn't a witch, was I?" I had no idea what to do, except cry. My feelings were crushed. I could hear her pounding on the bathroom door and screaming at me, "Get out here! Get out here, you witch!"
Eventually I opened the door, pushed my way around her wheelchair, ran out the front door, hopped on my bike, and rode home to my mother as fast as I possibly could. I knew she would be upset because I had left them alone; but as I told her what had happened, she gave me a hug and said, "You will never go back there."
I learned an important lesson in life that day: I told myself that I would never become like my Aunt Grace--full of bitterness and hatred for others. I didn't ever want to feel sorry for myself or want anyone to pity me. I am who I am--and I just prayed that I would be treated like a "normal" person.
To be continued...
Conquering Obstacles (Part 9--The Song)
I adored Mrs. Chapel, my music teacher, who came to our room only once a month because she also taught at several other elementary schools as well as the junior high school I would soon attend. I eagerly awaited her visits because she always brought with her surprises such as treats, new musical games to play, new songs to learn, and her metronome, which I found fascinating.
On one occasion, she informed the class that she was searching for someone "special" to participate in an activity she was developing. Each student would audition by singing several lines from a favorite song. Did she just say "special?" That would be ME! I could do this, and I knew exactly which song I would choose because I had it memorized and had played it for hours on my organ. It was my very favorite song.
As I waited for my turn, I kept rehearsing it in my mind, wanting to sing it perfectly. I can do this! When Mrs. Chapel signaled for me to begin, the words just rang out:
When I had finished, I saw that Mrs. Chapel was signaling for me to continue, so I belted out the entire song. All I heard was a huge applause coming from my peers and my teacher at the conclusion. I felt the happiest I had felt in a very long time. Before she left that afternoon, she announced that I had been selected to participate in her project as long as my parents approved. Yeah for me! I DID IT! I DID IT!
For the next three years I spent most of my Sunday afternoons at Mrs. Chapel's home practicing along with the other chosen few. We performed at events throughout the city as well as in churches and other schools, and would sometimes hold our own junior high concerts.
It wasn't until years later that I realized why I loved "I'll Never Walk Alone" so much. It was me...my life...and perhaps a sign from that angel watching from above.
To be continued...
On one occasion, she informed the class that she was searching for someone "special" to participate in an activity she was developing. Each student would audition by singing several lines from a favorite song. Did she just say "special?" That would be ME! I could do this, and I knew exactly which song I would choose because I had it memorized and had played it for hours on my organ. It was my very favorite song.
As I waited for my turn, I kept rehearsing it in my mind, wanting to sing it perfectly. I can do this! When Mrs. Chapel signaled for me to begin, the words just rang out:
When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark
When I had finished, I saw that Mrs. Chapel was signaling for me to continue, so I belted out the entire song. All I heard was a huge applause coming from my peers and my teacher at the conclusion. I felt the happiest I had felt in a very long time. Before she left that afternoon, she announced that I had been selected to participate in her project as long as my parents approved. Yeah for me! I DID IT! I DID IT!
For the next three years I spent most of my Sunday afternoons at Mrs. Chapel's home practicing along with the other chosen few. We performed at events throughout the city as well as in churches and other schools, and would sometimes hold our own junior high concerts.
It wasn't until years later that I realized why I loved "I'll Never Walk Alone" so much. It was me...my life...and perhaps a sign from that angel watching from above.
To be continued...
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Conquering Obstacles (Part 8--I Hate You!)
At the beginning of the fifth grade, I was introduced to my worst nightmare--physical education class. When I realized what it entailed, I dreaded every type of activity the teacher would present to the students. Each one always involved "teams and hours of jumping and running." Whenever it was a PE day, I begged my mother to keep me home from school; and when that didn't work, I tried playing sick....to no avail. Wait...I can't wear tennis shoes, that would work! But the principal made an exception and allowed my hard-soled shoes on the gym floor.
Why couldn't anyone understand that it was humiliating to always be the last one picked for a team? always be the last one to run the length of the gym? always be the slowest one to catch or chase a ball? always be the only one to fall down during an activity? I complained to my mother constantly hoping that she would explain to the principal that I was not able to participate. She would just smile at me and say,
"Remember, nobody is perfect. All we ask is that you try...try to do your very best. That's all that matters."
That's when I discovered I couldn't play the game "basketball" which was no surprise to anyone, but I COULD shoot a free throw. So that's what I did whenever I had the opportunity....until I got it perfect because I knew there was going to be a city-wide free throw contest. I was determined to win that contest. There was no rule about how to throw the ball, so I chose to shoot "underhand." I knew exactly where to plant my brown and white "Oxfords" on that line. The day of the tryouts, I shot 10 for 10...not once, but twice...to represent my school at the contest. I didn't win the contest because I only shot 9/10, but I tried to do my very best, and that's all that mattered...until my encounter with Mr. Eckhart, the PE coach and also my 6th grade teacher.
Toward the end of the school year, all the students were to participate in various exercise activities to earn the "Presidential Physical Fitness Award." I was feeling very positive as we started the required exercises. I could do more pull ups and push ups than all the girls in my class and even some of the boys. I was the top performer for sit ups! Yeah for me! What my classmates didn't realize was that I had been doing exercises daily since I was three years old. It paid off! But my mental "high" was about to crumble.
Mr. Eckhart led the class outside to a distant part of the school grounds that was nothing more than a huge section of dirt and clumps of weeds where the students were not allowed to play. He explained that we were to run to the fence and back...which would fulfill our "600 Yard Dash" requirement and that it would be a timed event, just like the others had been. My friend Jacque didn't have to do anything for the award because she had a doctor's excuse. I needed one of those right about now.
Almost in tears I approached him and said, "No, I can't do this. I will fall down. I don't want to do this." His response was, "You ARE going to do this." It was so unlike me, but I raised my voice and insisted, "NO! I am NOT doing this." I could see the anger in his eyes..."You WILL do this or you will be sent to the principal's office." My mother explained to me what would happen if I was ever sent to the office...the punishment at home would be twice what it was in school. I think she used that threat because I was such a good girl and would never get in trouble. This certainly wouldn't make her proud of me...
So I lined up alongside all the others; and tried to think of a plan. I really didn't want to fall down because the kids would laugh at me, and these weeds and dirt clods were everywhere. I decided then and there that "time" didn't matter to me and that I would NOT run my hardest, but just try to finish on two feet. By the time I reached the fence, there were no other children in sight, but that was okay with me...I expected to be last. But as I turned to run back to the starting line, I saw what I didn't expect! There was no one at the finish line. Mr. Eckhart was leading my classmates back into the school building, leaving me alone to finish the challenge.
I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, MR. ECKHART! not for who you are, but for what you just did to me!
To be continued...
Why couldn't anyone understand that it was humiliating to always be the last one picked for a team? always be the last one to run the length of the gym? always be the slowest one to catch or chase a ball? always be the only one to fall down during an activity? I complained to my mother constantly hoping that she would explain to the principal that I was not able to participate. She would just smile at me and say,
"Remember, nobody is perfect. All we ask is that you try...try to do your very best. That's all that matters."
That's when I discovered I couldn't play the game "basketball" which was no surprise to anyone, but I COULD shoot a free throw. So that's what I did whenever I had the opportunity....until I got it perfect because I knew there was going to be a city-wide free throw contest. I was determined to win that contest. There was no rule about how to throw the ball, so I chose to shoot "underhand." I knew exactly where to plant my brown and white "Oxfords" on that line. The day of the tryouts, I shot 10 for 10...not once, but twice...to represent my school at the contest. I didn't win the contest because I only shot 9/10, but I tried to do my very best, and that's all that mattered...until my encounter with Mr. Eckhart, the PE coach and also my 6th grade teacher.
Toward the end of the school year, all the students were to participate in various exercise activities to earn the "Presidential Physical Fitness Award." I was feeling very positive as we started the required exercises. I could do more pull ups and push ups than all the girls in my class and even some of the boys. I was the top performer for sit ups! Yeah for me! What my classmates didn't realize was that I had been doing exercises daily since I was three years old. It paid off! But my mental "high" was about to crumble.
Mr. Eckhart led the class outside to a distant part of the school grounds that was nothing more than a huge section of dirt and clumps of weeds where the students were not allowed to play. He explained that we were to run to the fence and back...which would fulfill our "600 Yard Dash" requirement and that it would be a timed event, just like the others had been. My friend Jacque didn't have to do anything for the award because she had a doctor's excuse. I needed one of those right about now.
Almost in tears I approached him and said, "No, I can't do this. I will fall down. I don't want to do this." His response was, "You ARE going to do this." It was so unlike me, but I raised my voice and insisted, "NO! I am NOT doing this." I could see the anger in his eyes..."You WILL do this or you will be sent to the principal's office." My mother explained to me what would happen if I was ever sent to the office...the punishment at home would be twice what it was in school. I think she used that threat because I was such a good girl and would never get in trouble. This certainly wouldn't make her proud of me...
So I lined up alongside all the others; and tried to think of a plan. I really didn't want to fall down because the kids would laugh at me, and these weeds and dirt clods were everywhere. I decided then and there that "time" didn't matter to me and that I would NOT run my hardest, but just try to finish on two feet. By the time I reached the fence, there were no other children in sight, but that was okay with me...I expected to be last. But as I turned to run back to the starting line, I saw what I didn't expect! There was no one at the finish line. Mr. Eckhart was leading my classmates back into the school building, leaving me alone to finish the challenge.
I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, MR. ECKHART! not for who you are, but for what you just did to me!
To be continued...
Conquering Obstacles (Part 7--Oh, Baby!)
I'm 9 years old now and finally settling in at Newman School, even though I really only have two friends, Jacque and Linda, the girl next door. This year brought me several up and downs, but I believed that my life could only get better.
UPS
My yearly visit to Dr. Allard actually gave my mom and dad some signs of hope as he explained to us that once I was 12, they could do something about the brace I was still wearing. 12? Hey! I can wait three more years. Good news for sure!
During recess one day, a boy named Lawrence ran up and kissed me on the cheek. Did I like him? No. Did I like the kiss. No. Besides that, someone probably dared him to do it. There is no way that any boy would ever like me. I wasn't "normal" quite yet.
Once again I found myself on a stage, but this time it was for the state spelling bee. Like the majority of children, I missed a word that I had spelled a hundred times--sepErate instead of sepArate. But it didn't matter how I did because I knew that my parents would be so very proud of me. My dad gave me a special present after the spelling bee--a crisp, new $2 bill. I thought that was the most special thing he had ever done for me and tucked that bill away in a very safe place, where it still remains today.
DOWNS
The orchestra came to our school, and I immediately decided that I should play the cello. When I asked my parents, they were not only shocked, but gave me the adamant, "Absolutely NOT!" I couldn't believe my ears....what did they mean NO? I had never been told "No" before but always, "You can do anything you want if you put your mind to it." My mother explained to me that the cello was bigger than I was, and I wouldn't be able to carry it. She had a good point, so that "Join the Club" activity didn't last long. BUT the next Christmas they did present me with an organ, which I played for hours on end. They always seemed to know what was best for me. They knew me better than I knew myself.
One UP turned into a DOWN because I was no longer the only apple of my parents' eyes. My sister was born, and the first few months were HORRIBLE! All she did was cry and cry and cry some more. My mother spent all of her waking hours walking the floor trying to soothe my sister who had been diagnosed with the "colic." My new baby sister was driving everyone crazy, me included.
Why is it that babies can cry and scream for hours and never get hoarse and lose their voice?
My brother was born two years later; but to be quite honest, I don't remember much of either my sister's or brother's childhood years because my life found bumps and bruises of the worst kind and was about to shatter.
To be continued...
UPS
My yearly visit to Dr. Allard actually gave my mom and dad some signs of hope as he explained to us that once I was 12, they could do something about the brace I was still wearing. 12? Hey! I can wait three more years. Good news for sure!
During recess one day, a boy named Lawrence ran up and kissed me on the cheek. Did I like him? No. Did I like the kiss. No. Besides that, someone probably dared him to do it. There is no way that any boy would ever like me. I wasn't "normal" quite yet.
Once again I found myself on a stage, but this time it was for the state spelling bee. Like the majority of children, I missed a word that I had spelled a hundred times--sepErate instead of sepArate. But it didn't matter how I did because I knew that my parents would be so very proud of me. My dad gave me a special present after the spelling bee--a crisp, new $2 bill. I thought that was the most special thing he had ever done for me and tucked that bill away in a very safe place, where it still remains today.
DOWNS
The orchestra came to our school, and I immediately decided that I should play the cello. When I asked my parents, they were not only shocked, but gave me the adamant, "Absolutely NOT!" I couldn't believe my ears....what did they mean NO? I had never been told "No" before but always, "You can do anything you want if you put your mind to it." My mother explained to me that the cello was bigger than I was, and I wouldn't be able to carry it. She had a good point, so that "Join the Club" activity didn't last long. BUT the next Christmas they did present me with an organ, which I played for hours on end. They always seemed to know what was best for me. They knew me better than I knew myself.
One UP turned into a DOWN because I was no longer the only apple of my parents' eyes. My sister was born, and the first few months were HORRIBLE! All she did was cry and cry and cry some more. My mother spent all of her waking hours walking the floor trying to soothe my sister who had been diagnosed with the "colic." My new baby sister was driving everyone crazy, me included.
Why is it that babies can cry and scream for hours and never get hoarse and lose their voice?
My brother was born two years later; but to be quite honest, I don't remember much of either my sister's or brother's childhood years because my life found bumps and bruises of the worst kind and was about to shatter.
To be continued...
Friday, October 8, 2010
Conquering Obstacles (Part 6--Shoes!)
I'm not exactly sure what was said at my next trip to Dr. Allard's, but all I knew was that he wanted to remove one brace and change the other to a half brace. This was the best day of my life! I could hardly wait as my mom took me for my fitting. "Yeah!" as I beamed from ear to ear.
"Mom, can I have a new pair of shoes? I want those pretty ones like all the other girls wear. I hate my black and white shoes!" (Oxfords). I didn't want the "new" brown and white ones now available...they were still Oxfords. I yearned for a pair of white, shiny patent leather ones...there just had to be a way this guy could put a brace on it. I could have a pair of all white leather hightops. Nooooooo way...those were baby shoes! To my chagrin I had to settle for the brown and white pair, but at least they were different than what I had always worn before.
Third grade was off to a great start! I got alot of attention because some of my braces were gone now, and even the girls said they liked my new shoes. They were probably just trying to make me feel good. My teacher, Mrs. Smith, was so nice that I decided right then and there that when I grew up, I wanted to be a teacher just like her!
As I rode my bike into the driveway one day after school, I saw my mom in her usual spot on the front step. She was holding a box and looked so very happy. I wondered what was in the box. As we sat down to discuss the day's activities, I kept eyeing the box she was holding. Finally she said, "I have a surprise for you," and pulled out the coolest pair of black patent leather shoes I had ever seen. They were fancy! I loved them for sure. I didn't get it, though. This was so strange because I knew they wouldn't fit on the brace.
"I signed you up for tap dancing lessons."
"Moooooooom! I can't dance."
Then came her words of wisdom:
"Remember, you are one of God's special children. You can do anything you want. But if you don't try, you'll never know. This will make you a stronger person."
So I tapped, tapped, tapped away at those lessons, thinking the entire time that this was the dumbest idea my mother had ever had. I couldn't tap with my right foot because the brace wouldn't move, and the right shoe--well, it stayed in the box. My mother sewed diligently making my green "teapot" costume for the recital. I absolutely hated the costume--if it had been orange, I would have looked like a huge pumpkin.
I had never been on a stage before and just prayed that I wouldn't throw up. But the dance instructor kept telling me that the show must go on. I peeked through the stage curtain to look for my mom and dad and found them sitting in the front row patiently waiting.
As the group walked out onto the stage, I kept telling myself, "I can do this. I can do this."
"Mom, can I have a new pair of shoes? I want those pretty ones like all the other girls wear. I hate my black and white shoes!" (Oxfords). I didn't want the "new" brown and white ones now available...they were still Oxfords. I yearned for a pair of white, shiny patent leather ones...there just had to be a way this guy could put a brace on it. I could have a pair of all white leather hightops. Nooooooo way...those were baby shoes! To my chagrin I had to settle for the brown and white pair, but at least they were different than what I had always worn before.
Third grade was off to a great start! I got alot of attention because some of my braces were gone now, and even the girls said they liked my new shoes. They were probably just trying to make me feel good. My teacher, Mrs. Smith, was so nice that I decided right then and there that when I grew up, I wanted to be a teacher just like her!
As I rode my bike into the driveway one day after school, I saw my mom in her usual spot on the front step. She was holding a box and looked so very happy. I wondered what was in the box. As we sat down to discuss the day's activities, I kept eyeing the box she was holding. Finally she said, "I have a surprise for you," and pulled out the coolest pair of black patent leather shoes I had ever seen. They were fancy! I loved them for sure. I didn't get it, though. This was so strange because I knew they wouldn't fit on the brace.
"I signed you up for tap dancing lessons."
"Moooooooom! I can't dance."
Then came her words of wisdom:
"Remember, you are one of God's special children. You can do anything you want. But if you don't try, you'll never know. This will make you a stronger person."
So I tapped, tapped, tapped away at those lessons, thinking the entire time that this was the dumbest idea my mother had ever had. I couldn't tap with my right foot because the brace wouldn't move, and the right shoe--well, it stayed in the box. My mother sewed diligently making my green "teapot" costume for the recital. I absolutely hated the costume--if it had been orange, I would have looked like a huge pumpkin.
I had never been on a stage before and just prayed that I wouldn't throw up. But the dance instructor kept telling me that the show must go on. I peeked through the stage curtain to look for my mom and dad and found them sitting in the front row patiently waiting.
As the group walked out onto the stage, I kept telling myself, "I can do this. I can do this."
I'm a little teapot
Short and stout.
Here is my handle
Here is my spout.
When I get all steamed up,
Hear me shout:
Tip me over
And pour me out!
I can still see my parents grinning throughout the entire performance. I know they were so proud of me. Afterward, they did let me quit the lessons because I think my mother felt "Mission accomplished."
I DID IT!!!
To be continued...
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Conquering Obstacles (Part 5--Join the Club)
Once a year my mother and I would make our trek to my orthopedic "expert," Dr. Allard. The pokes, the prods, the pulls, the pushes, the battery of x-rays were consistently followed by the same comment: "We have to wait until she gets a little older before anything can be done." My mother didn't seem disappointed this time, but I didn't ask any questions. Remember, my illness was NEVER discussed. It was what it was.
Shortly after that doctor's visit, my mother decided I should learn to swim. She signed me up for lessons at the YMCA. I loved water and was looking forward to this; besides that, it would be the only time I could actually go without braces. (I had to wear them even at night, UGH!) I thought learning to swim would be easy...and it would have been...if it weren't for that flutter kick. I wasn't coordinated and had very little strength in my legs. It took months for me to pass from Group 1 to Group 2, but I DID it! My mother watched me become stronger and stronger as I swam three days a week for years. I never realized at the time what a financial burden these lessons must have been for my parents.
As the new school year neared, I wasn't exactly thrilled about starting the second grade, but hoped that my classmates would be the same ones as in first grade. They weren't, which meant I had to start all over with making new friends. It was so hard to do. I just hated it!
But my mother had a plan. She suggested that I become a "Brownie" in the Girl Scout Association. I had no idea what a "Brownie" was or did, but I loved the uniform. It made me look just like the other girls in my school. Now I felt as though I belonged. I liked the field trips our troop took, as well as the overnight campouts down by the Yellowstone River. I learned a great deal and, of course, wanted to share it with my parents. They beamed with pride as I built a stove from a cardboard box lined with tinfoil and cooked them S'mores.
The worst thing about being a "Brownie" was selling all those cookies! From door to door I lugged those boxes of goodies. I did learn, though, that if the buyer happened to see my braces, they bought alot of cookies, probably more than they normally would have. Maybe, just maybe, there was a good side to this life of mine.
As for my mother and her "mission," she had only just begun!
To be continued...
Shortly after that doctor's visit, my mother decided I should learn to swim. She signed me up for lessons at the YMCA. I loved water and was looking forward to this; besides that, it would be the only time I could actually go without braces. (I had to wear them even at night, UGH!) I thought learning to swim would be easy...and it would have been...if it weren't for that flutter kick. I wasn't coordinated and had very little strength in my legs. It took months for me to pass from Group 1 to Group 2, but I DID it! My mother watched me become stronger and stronger as I swam three days a week for years. I never realized at the time what a financial burden these lessons must have been for my parents.
As the new school year neared, I wasn't exactly thrilled about starting the second grade, but hoped that my classmates would be the same ones as in first grade. They weren't, which meant I had to start all over with making new friends. It was so hard to do. I just hated it!
But my mother had a plan. She suggested that I become a "Brownie" in the Girl Scout Association. I had no idea what a "Brownie" was or did, but I loved the uniform. It made me look just like the other girls in my school. Now I felt as though I belonged. I liked the field trips our troop took, as well as the overnight campouts down by the Yellowstone River. I learned a great deal and, of course, wanted to share it with my parents. They beamed with pride as I built a stove from a cardboard box lined with tinfoil and cooked them S'mores.
The worst thing about being a "Brownie" was selling all those cookies! From door to door I lugged those boxes of goodies. I did learn, though, that if the buyer happened to see my braces, they bought alot of cookies, probably more than they normally would have. Maybe, just maybe, there was a good side to this life of mine.
As for my mother and her "mission," she had only just begun!
To be continued...
Conquering Obstacles (Part 4--True Friend?)
Now that my mother had given me the "big girl" status, changes soon occurred. Early one morning she sat me down and explained that I would now have "chores" to do. I was totally elated--until she explained to me what the word "chores" actually meant. I was to make my bed and dry the dinner dishes daily. When I was told, I would shake the rugs and take the trash to the alley. It didn't take long to realize she meant business. If the bed wasn't made in the morning, it would be waiting for me after school. Whine! Whine! Whine! Yes I did...and vehemently...to no avail. I'd rather go to school than do chores!
As for school, it was just "ok" now--better than chores! The friends I had made at The Good News Club still wouldn't play with me at recess, which I couldn't understand; but at least the staring and teasing had stopped for the most part.
One morning as I lumbered into the classroom, I saw a "new" girl. Wow! Even I had to stare...as she sat in the coolest wooden, fanciest wheelchair that I had ever seen. I wanted one of those! Looking even closer, I saw that she had casts on both her legs, just like the picture I had seen of myself. "She must be like me," I thought. "I bet I could be her friend. Maybe she'd let me ride in that wheelchair." I was so excited to meet Jacque. She will become my "true friend" if I had any say in the matter.
Because of the weather, I didn't have to go outside for recess. It was then that we chatted and laughed and soon became friends. We both knew that we were so much the same and would encounter similar obstacles. Within the next several months, Jacque exchanged those casts of hers for a set of braces just like mine. I didn't feel alone any longer. Life was good!
Toward the end of our first year of school, Jacque asked me to spend the night at her house. I wasn't exactly sure how my mom would react because I had never spent a night away from home. But she telephoned Jacque's mom and gave me the YES I was wanting to hear so badly. Once my bag was packed, we drove to my "best friend's" house where I was planning to have the time of my life.
Following dinner that evening, Jacque headed for the bedroom to retrieve her favorite "dollies" while I trailed behind her mother to the kitchen. I quietly asked her, "Where is your dish towel?" (My mom had given me strict orders to help with the dishes.) "Honey, you don't have to do work here. Jacque doesn't do any and I would never ask you to help me. You go play now." This first night away from home was going to be better than I thought!
For years to come, our weekend sleepovers became a ritual. I did have one question though. Why was it that Jacque ALWAYS wanted to come to my house rather than have me over to hers. Her toys, records, clothes were so much better than mine. She jumped at the chance to chat and help my mom. I just didn't GET IT!
She had definitely become my "true friend" or so I thought. Unfortunately, it took a boyfriend and telephone calls to realize that I had been "used" all these years. I was shattered.
To be continued...
As for school, it was just "ok" now--better than chores! The friends I had made at The Good News Club still wouldn't play with me at recess, which I couldn't understand; but at least the staring and teasing had stopped for the most part.
One morning as I lumbered into the classroom, I saw a "new" girl. Wow! Even I had to stare...as she sat in the coolest wooden, fanciest wheelchair that I had ever seen. I wanted one of those! Looking even closer, I saw that she had casts on both her legs, just like the picture I had seen of myself. "She must be like me," I thought. "I bet I could be her friend. Maybe she'd let me ride in that wheelchair." I was so excited to meet Jacque. She will become my "true friend" if I had any say in the matter.
Because of the weather, I didn't have to go outside for recess. It was then that we chatted and laughed and soon became friends. We both knew that we were so much the same and would encounter similar obstacles. Within the next several months, Jacque exchanged those casts of hers for a set of braces just like mine. I didn't feel alone any longer. Life was good!
Toward the end of our first year of school, Jacque asked me to spend the night at her house. I wasn't exactly sure how my mom would react because I had never spent a night away from home. But she telephoned Jacque's mom and gave me the YES I was wanting to hear so badly. Once my bag was packed, we drove to my "best friend's" house where I was planning to have the time of my life.
Following dinner that evening, Jacque headed for the bedroom to retrieve her favorite "dollies" while I trailed behind her mother to the kitchen. I quietly asked her, "Where is your dish towel?" (My mom had given me strict orders to help with the dishes.) "Honey, you don't have to do work here. Jacque doesn't do any and I would never ask you to help me. You go play now." This first night away from home was going to be better than I thought!
For years to come, our weekend sleepovers became a ritual. I did have one question though. Why was it that Jacque ALWAYS wanted to come to my house rather than have me over to hers. Her toys, records, clothes were so much better than mine. She jumped at the chance to chat and help my mom. I just didn't GET IT!
She had definitely become my "true friend" or so I thought. Unfortunately, it took a boyfriend and telephone calls to realize that I had been "used" all these years. I was shattered.
To be continued...
Conquering Obstacles (Part 3--Finding God)
Unfortunately, my mother convinced me somehow that I was a "big girl" now and needed to return to school--that it would get better with time. I didn't believe that for a second, but I did like my teacher because she was the only person who was nice to me. Well...almost nice anyway. She wouldn't let me play Dodge ball because it was too rough and I might get hurt. Like I hadn't ever fallen down before? Taking tumbles was so much a part of my life! But she would allow me to play "Hopscotch" or "Jacks" or even better--help her in the classroom. I liked that last option the best because then I wouldn't have to try to make friends; but I soon realized that along with helping her came the phrase "Teacher's Pet." I wanted no part of that...so "Jacks" it became.
Winter was coming and the colder it grew, the more miserable I became. Mrs. Davis, our neighbor, would usually give me a ride to and from school, but there were days when I had to walk the four "long" blocks home. Trudging through the snow one afternoon, I noticed that some of the kids were taking a shortcut, so I decided to follow them. Within minutes, I found myself in front of this small wooden building that I had never seen before. Going inside to warm up, I found much more than I expected. This was "The Good News Club" which I immediately joined.
I knew that I was going to be in trouble because I was late getting home from school that afternoon; but as I burst through the door, I yelled, "Mom! I found God today. I joined the Club. Is it okay?" as I handed her the information she needed. How could she possibly be upset with me? Of course, she couldn't and shared in my excitement. I had been attending Sunday School since I could remember, but this was different because my classmates were there, and now I could have lots of friends. I wanted so badly to have new friends, but being "different" wasn't making it easy for me.
Along with the excruciating cold winter came one HUGE problem! Make that TWO huge problems! The metal of the braces against my skin made me so cold that I could barely stand it. Girls were not allowed to wear long pants to school, but after complaining for an eternity to my mother, she finally made her first trip to the Principal's office. Remember her mission for me to be "normal" meant that I should receive no special attention. But this was "different;" and the Principal agreed wholeheartedly that I should be allowed to wear pants, but they had to be removed once I reached school. Problem solved!
The second problem required help from my dad. So one evening after dinner, I approached him..."Dad, please, please, could you give me a can of oil?" He just stared at me and smiled, "What? What are you talking about?" He's really smart, so why doesn't he understand? "Dad, I SQUEAK! and the colder it gets, the louder I SQUEAK! I need some oil for school because everyone can hear me walking down the hall." How dare he laugh at me; but the next day as I opened my lunch sack, alongside my sandwich, apple, and cookies was a small can of oil to keep in my desk. Problem solved! Love you, Dad! You're the BEST!
To be continued...
Winter was coming and the colder it grew, the more miserable I became. Mrs. Davis, our neighbor, would usually give me a ride to and from school, but there were days when I had to walk the four "long" blocks home. Trudging through the snow one afternoon, I noticed that some of the kids were taking a shortcut, so I decided to follow them. Within minutes, I found myself in front of this small wooden building that I had never seen before. Going inside to warm up, I found much more than I expected. This was "The Good News Club" which I immediately joined.
I knew that I was going to be in trouble because I was late getting home from school that afternoon; but as I burst through the door, I yelled, "Mom! I found God today. I joined the Club. Is it okay?" as I handed her the information she needed. How could she possibly be upset with me? Of course, she couldn't and shared in my excitement. I had been attending Sunday School since I could remember, but this was different because my classmates were there, and now I could have lots of friends. I wanted so badly to have new friends, but being "different" wasn't making it easy for me.
Along with the excruciating cold winter came one HUGE problem! Make that TWO huge problems! The metal of the braces against my skin made me so cold that I could barely stand it. Girls were not allowed to wear long pants to school, but after complaining for an eternity to my mother, she finally made her first trip to the Principal's office. Remember her mission for me to be "normal" meant that I should receive no special attention. But this was "different;" and the Principal agreed wholeheartedly that I should be allowed to wear pants, but they had to be removed once I reached school. Problem solved!
The second problem required help from my dad. So one evening after dinner, I approached him..."Dad, please, please, could you give me a can of oil?" He just stared at me and smiled, "What? What are you talking about?" He's really smart, so why doesn't he understand? "Dad, I SQUEAK! and the colder it gets, the louder I SQUEAK! I need some oil for school because everyone can hear me walking down the hall." How dare he laugh at me; but the next day as I opened my lunch sack, alongside my sandwich, apple, and cookies was a small can of oil to keep in my desk. Problem solved! Love you, Dad! You're the BEST!
To be continued...
Conquering Obstacles (Part 2--The Mission)
Yes, my mother proved those doctors wrong with prayers and perseverance in making sure I did those leg exercises three times a day. She would not even listen to me as I begged her to forget them just once. The summer I turned three years old, I was "walking" the neighborhood (no further than two doors from home) to play with other children.
The Davis family lived next door, and their daughter Linda was my age. We were "best friends," but I wouldn't realize until years later what an impact they would have in my life. Next came the Larson family. Their daughter Sandra, who wasn't home except during the holidays, would also change my outlook on life.
During the next several years, I learned to play "Hopscotch," covering our sidewalks and driveway with HUGE squares. After all, I was wearing full-length braces on both legs and wasn't the best jumper. I learned to ride a bike because I would need it once I started school. I was surprised, though, they didn't take it away from me after scratches started appearing on not only their car, but also the neighbor's. They did threaten, however, to take my rollerskates away from me after I broke the antenna off the Davis' car while trying to catch my balance. I remember looking around to see if anyone was watching and placing the antenna on the curb next to the car. I don't know how my dad found out, but I got the lecture that night at dinner, and learned one very important lesson in life. Do NOT try to lie to my father.
Before I knew it, my first day of school was upon me. My mother and I had made a few test runs to make sure I knew my way and that I knew the rules about looking both ways before crossing the road. But there was one important thing that she failed to teach me...how to deal with the other children who weren't from my "neighborhood."
There are only two things I remember about my first day at school: 1) my teacher's name, Mrs. Applegate, and 2) all the pointing fingers, the stares, the giggling, and the other boys and girls trying to "walk" like me. How could my mother have possibly prepared me for this?
It being the worst day of my life, after school I rode my bike home as fast as I could, tears rolling down my cheeks, telling myself again and again that I was NOT going back to school. I quit! As I neared home, I saw my mother standing on the front step anxiously waiting to hear about my first day. She had to have known what it would be like for me because she was the smartest person I knew.
As we sat together on the steps, she listened ever so intently to my horror stories of the day. Only when I was finished did her words of wisdom come:
"No one is perfect. Everyone has something wrong with them. It can be on the inside where you can't see it, or it can be on the outside for the world to see. God chose the outside for you, and because of this, you will become a stronger person. When you meet a true friend, you will know it."
I now believe that it was at that moment, my mother learned her "mission" in life--to prove to me and everyone surrounding us that I was "normal."
To be continued...
The Davis family lived next door, and their daughter Linda was my age. We were "best friends," but I wouldn't realize until years later what an impact they would have in my life. Next came the Larson family. Their daughter Sandra, who wasn't home except during the holidays, would also change my outlook on life.
During the next several years, I learned to play "Hopscotch," covering our sidewalks and driveway with HUGE squares. After all, I was wearing full-length braces on both legs and wasn't the best jumper. I learned to ride a bike because I would need it once I started school. I was surprised, though, they didn't take it away from me after scratches started appearing on not only their car, but also the neighbor's. They did threaten, however, to take my rollerskates away from me after I broke the antenna off the Davis' car while trying to catch my balance. I remember looking around to see if anyone was watching and placing the antenna on the curb next to the car. I don't know how my dad found out, but I got the lecture that night at dinner, and learned one very important lesson in life. Do NOT try to lie to my father.
Before I knew it, my first day of school was upon me. My mother and I had made a few test runs to make sure I knew my way and that I knew the rules about looking both ways before crossing the road. But there was one important thing that she failed to teach me...how to deal with the other children who weren't from my "neighborhood."
There are only two things I remember about my first day at school: 1) my teacher's name, Mrs. Applegate, and 2) all the pointing fingers, the stares, the giggling, and the other boys and girls trying to "walk" like me. How could my mother have possibly prepared me for this?
It being the worst day of my life, after school I rode my bike home as fast as I could, tears rolling down my cheeks, telling myself again and again that I was NOT going back to school. I quit! As I neared home, I saw my mother standing on the front step anxiously waiting to hear about my first day. She had to have known what it would be like for me because she was the smartest person I knew.
As we sat together on the steps, she listened ever so intently to my horror stories of the day. Only when I was finished did her words of wisdom come:
"No one is perfect. Everyone has something wrong with them. It can be on the inside where you can't see it, or it can be on the outside for the world to see. God chose the outside for you, and because of this, you will become a stronger person. When you meet a true friend, you will know it."
I now believe that it was at that moment, my mother learned her "mission" in life--to prove to me and everyone surrounding us that I was "normal."
To be continued...
Friday, October 1, 2010
Wanted: One Mouse--Dead or Alive!!
Terry was home the morning I was preparing to leave for my three-week road trip to the Wisconsin Dells and various destinations--and that was a good thing! Returning from his first trip to the car, he chuckled and said, "Jason and Nicole picked up a hitchhiker." I was totally lost at this point and asked, "What on earth are you talking about?" He chuckled again..."You had a mouse in your car." "What the hell!!" No one could possibly hate mice more than I do!
To update you, the first part of August, Jason and Nicole had dropped off my four grand kids. I would be watching the kiddies while the two of them ventured off to Hawaii. I had loaned them my car to get to the airport in Billings, but the plan was for them to park it at my brother's home, which they did. Upon their return, they parked my car in the garage, and I hadn't driven it since.
And now I have a mouse in my car? YIKES!! TC had found a small nest in the trunk as well as shreds of paper from a magazine I had left behind. He seemed to think that this rodent was limited to the trunk area, but when I opened my glove box and found tissues chewed into a million pieces, I knew that TC was clueless. He cleaned my car thoroughly and found no signs of a mouse anywhere. "Did you check under the hood? Check under the hood!!" and he did as he was told. He reassured me, though, that the car was "mouse-free," but just in case, he pleaded, "Please do NOT drive off the road if you happen to see it." Oh great!! Not what I wanted to hear at this point!
I spent the first night in Dickinson at Janelle's and found no signs of a mouse the next morning. Whew! Perhaps TC was right. I headed for Moorhead where I would be spending the next night at Jason's. Of course, I had to tease them about bringing back a mouse from Hawaii in their luggage. How else would it have gotten into my trunk?
On the third day (Sunday) as I set out for the Dells, I felt relieved and confident that I WAS traveling alone. Signs of the little creepy creature had not been found. I no longer kept an eye on the passenger floorboard or even had thoughts of a mouse. Life was good and I was looking forward to spending a week of ultimate relaxation with no cares in the world. After checking into the resort, I spent the rest of the evening unloading my luggage and settling in for my much-needed stay.
The following morning after my daily swim, I adventured to Wal-Mart for a few groceries, without Suzie's help (my so undependable GPS), by the way. After placing my items into the trunk, I thought I'd tour Kohl's across the way. I love that store!!! After what seemed like hours, I was totally bushed and headed back to the the condo. Oh!! How I hate carrying in packages, but grabbed a few on my first trip inside. It was hours later when I realized that I still had packages in the car. (To say I get easily side-tracked is an understatement.)
As I was grabbing the remainder of my plastic Wal-Mart "Gucci" bags, I noticed that one of the bags had a hole in it toward the bottom. I know these have holes in them, but they're usually on the bottom of the bag, not the side. AND...this one was different...ragged edges... OMG!!! That mouse is alive and surviving in my car!!! I cautiously peeked into the bag to make sure he wasn't inside, (like I would have known what to do if he was!) and hurriedly slammed the trunk lid shut. Great! Just Great!!
NOW what am I going to do? This is not funny! Just the thought of a mouse gave me the shivers! and to think I had been riding with him for days! Ohhh....this is NOT good! For the next several hours, I contemplated what to do. I could call Maintenance..."Would you please get a mouse out of my car for me, PRETTY PLEASE?" I could hear the laughter already. The only way to rid this creature would to be to trap him--I could do that! BUT...that would mean another trip to Wal-Mart and the sooner, the better!
After slowly opening the car door, I peered into the back to make sure he wasn't running rapid and cautiously slipped into the driver's seat, eyeing the floorboards the entire time. Immediately I noticed two small pieces of some type of wire netting lying on my dashboard. "Oh TC! You are sooooooo wrong! He is not always in the trunk! This mouse is eating my car!" I have to admit that I more than "flew" to the store. I wanted to spend as little time as possible in that car.
Once inside the store, I felt somewhat lost. What to choose? What works best? What works the fastest? After all, it had been more than 30 years since I had to catch a mouse. I'll get one of each---maybe two of each would be better. After spending more than $25 on mouse boards, mouse trays, and mousetraps, I felt confident that my little varmint friend would soon disappear into the world beyond.
Once back at the condo, I went into my "catch" zone. I ever so carefully placed mouse trays along the edges of the floorboard in the front and back seats of the car. In the trunk I lined the entire edges with mouse boards, along with two mousetraps that I had filled with chocolate still wishing that I had bought some peanut butter, but I was good to go!
It was only later that evening as I was having dinner, did the questions begin. Am I crazy? What have I done? Grabbing the various empty boxes from the trash, I reread the instructions and realized instantly that this MOUSE could still be alive even after he was caught. YEEW!!! I'm not liking this thought at all. I hope he likes chocolate! I wonder how little or big he is? Thoughts of that critter kept me up until the wee hours of the night. Oh, dear me...not good...not good.
Even the next morning, I was still questioning my plan. What do I do if he's alive? How long should I wait before checking the car? Should I call for help--let the maintenance fella take care of it for me? I felt sick to my stomach at just the thought of having to finish my task. Around 3:00 that afternoon, I grabbed a "Gucci" bag and headed outside. I will not and cannot drive this car until he's gone. As I gradually opened the passenger door, my eyes immediately spied the mouse trays, which were empty. I peeked at the back floors...those trays, too, were empty. That could only mean one of two things--either he's in the trunk, or he's still on the run.
"I truly do not want to do this"...as I clicked the trunk button on my key. "Where is TC when I need him?" "This is NOT my job!" "I'm never loaning my car to anyone again!" Gently lifting the trunk door, I grimaced as I saw the scoundrel stuck in a mouse board. Oh, no!! He's alive! ...and staring up at me while trying to pull his feet from the glue! If I grab that board, can he bite me? Oh! Oh! This is not fun! I don't like him looking at me! What should I do now? Then the plan hit me! I'll cover him up! I reached for the mouse board farthest from him, and gently placed it on top of his squirming body. That should do it...wait...I'll put another one on top...and so I did...ALL of the extra boards.
I guardedly picked up the sandwiched varmint by the end of the boards to place him into the "Gucci" bag. "Houston...we have a problem." I didn't realize that if the glue touched any part of the plastic bag, it would stick instantly. I couldn't get him into the bag! However, after several attempts, he was in far enough that I could tie the bag shut. Looking into the bag for one final glance, all I remember is his pleading eyes staring up at me between those mouse boards. "Farewell, Buddy!" as I escorted him to the nearest dumpster and tossed him inside. I hope he's a survivor, but in someone else's car.
To update you, the first part of August, Jason and Nicole had dropped off my four grand kids. I would be watching the kiddies while the two of them ventured off to Hawaii. I had loaned them my car to get to the airport in Billings, but the plan was for them to park it at my brother's home, which they did. Upon their return, they parked my car in the garage, and I hadn't driven it since.
And now I have a mouse in my car? YIKES!! TC had found a small nest in the trunk as well as shreds of paper from a magazine I had left behind. He seemed to think that this rodent was limited to the trunk area, but when I opened my glove box and found tissues chewed into a million pieces, I knew that TC was clueless. He cleaned my car thoroughly and found no signs of a mouse anywhere. "Did you check under the hood? Check under the hood!!" and he did as he was told. He reassured me, though, that the car was "mouse-free," but just in case, he pleaded, "Please do NOT drive off the road if you happen to see it." Oh great!! Not what I wanted to hear at this point!
I spent the first night in Dickinson at Janelle's and found no signs of a mouse the next morning. Whew! Perhaps TC was right. I headed for Moorhead where I would be spending the next night at Jason's. Of course, I had to tease them about bringing back a mouse from Hawaii in their luggage. How else would it have gotten into my trunk?
On the third day (Sunday) as I set out for the Dells, I felt relieved and confident that I WAS traveling alone. Signs of the little creepy creature had not been found. I no longer kept an eye on the passenger floorboard or even had thoughts of a mouse. Life was good and I was looking forward to spending a week of ultimate relaxation with no cares in the world. After checking into the resort, I spent the rest of the evening unloading my luggage and settling in for my much-needed stay.
The following morning after my daily swim, I adventured to Wal-Mart for a few groceries, without Suzie's help (my so undependable GPS), by the way. After placing my items into the trunk, I thought I'd tour Kohl's across the way. I love that store!!! After what seemed like hours, I was totally bushed and headed back to the the condo. Oh!! How I hate carrying in packages, but grabbed a few on my first trip inside. It was hours later when I realized that I still had packages in the car. (To say I get easily side-tracked is an understatement.)
As I was grabbing the remainder of my plastic Wal-Mart "Gucci" bags, I noticed that one of the bags had a hole in it toward the bottom. I know these have holes in them, but they're usually on the bottom of the bag, not the side. AND...this one was different...ragged edges... OMG!!! That mouse is alive and surviving in my car!!! I cautiously peeked into the bag to make sure he wasn't inside, (like I would have known what to do if he was!) and hurriedly slammed the trunk lid shut. Great! Just Great!!
NOW what am I going to do? This is not funny! Just the thought of a mouse gave me the shivers! and to think I had been riding with him for days! Ohhh....this is NOT good! For the next several hours, I contemplated what to do. I could call Maintenance..."Would you please get a mouse out of my car for me, PRETTY PLEASE?" I could hear the laughter already. The only way to rid this creature would to be to trap him--I could do that! BUT...that would mean another trip to Wal-Mart and the sooner, the better!
After slowly opening the car door, I peered into the back to make sure he wasn't running rapid and cautiously slipped into the driver's seat, eyeing the floorboards the entire time. Immediately I noticed two small pieces of some type of wire netting lying on my dashboard. "Oh TC! You are sooooooo wrong! He is not always in the trunk! This mouse is eating my car!" I have to admit that I more than "flew" to the store. I wanted to spend as little time as possible in that car.
Once inside the store, I felt somewhat lost. What to choose? What works best? What works the fastest? After all, it had been more than 30 years since I had to catch a mouse. I'll get one of each---maybe two of each would be better. After spending more than $25 on mouse boards, mouse trays, and mousetraps, I felt confident that my little varmint friend would soon disappear into the world beyond.
Once back at the condo, I went into my "catch" zone. I ever so carefully placed mouse trays along the edges of the floorboard in the front and back seats of the car. In the trunk I lined the entire edges with mouse boards, along with two mousetraps that I had filled with chocolate still wishing that I had bought some peanut butter, but I was good to go!
It was only later that evening as I was having dinner, did the questions begin. Am I crazy? What have I done? Grabbing the various empty boxes from the trash, I reread the instructions and realized instantly that this MOUSE could still be alive even after he was caught. YEEW!!! I'm not liking this thought at all. I hope he likes chocolate! I wonder how little or big he is? Thoughts of that critter kept me up until the wee hours of the night. Oh, dear me...not good...not good.
Even the next morning, I was still questioning my plan. What do I do if he's alive? How long should I wait before checking the car? Should I call for help--let the maintenance fella take care of it for me? I felt sick to my stomach at just the thought of having to finish my task. Around 3:00 that afternoon, I grabbed a "Gucci" bag and headed outside. I will not and cannot drive this car until he's gone. As I gradually opened the passenger door, my eyes immediately spied the mouse trays, which were empty. I peeked at the back floors...those trays, too, were empty. That could only mean one of two things--either he's in the trunk, or he's still on the run.
"I truly do not want to do this"...as I clicked the trunk button on my key. "Where is TC when I need him?" "This is NOT my job!" "I'm never loaning my car to anyone again!" Gently lifting the trunk door, I grimaced as I saw the scoundrel stuck in a mouse board. Oh, no!! He's alive! ...and staring up at me while trying to pull his feet from the glue! If I grab that board, can he bite me? Oh! Oh! This is not fun! I don't like him looking at me! What should I do now? Then the plan hit me! I'll cover him up! I reached for the mouse board farthest from him, and gently placed it on top of his squirming body. That should do it...wait...I'll put another one on top...and so I did...ALL of the extra boards.
I guardedly picked up the sandwiched varmint by the end of the boards to place him into the "Gucci" bag. "Houston...we have a problem." I didn't realize that if the glue touched any part of the plastic bag, it would stick instantly. I couldn't get him into the bag! However, after several attempts, he was in far enough that I could tie the bag shut. Looking into the bag for one final glance, all I remember is his pleading eyes staring up at me between those mouse boards. "Farewell, Buddy!" as I escorted him to the nearest dumpster and tossed him inside. I hope he's a survivor, but in someone else's car.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
It's Playtime!!!
Directing the school plays was absolutely my favorite activity while teaching. There were nights at practice that I just couldn't stop laughing; and the harder I laughed, the crazier the cast became. It was my goal to ensure that everyone had fun. Unlike other school activities, there was no pressure except to learn your lines which wasn't always easy. But they learned to be creative whether it was writing their lines on huge pieces of paper stapled to the back of furniture or plastering their palms or props with clues. However, I didn't always feel that way, especially those first few years. At times I felt like a huge stress ball of nerves. Then again, all I had to do was look at my students who weren't exactly motivated to execute a command performance. It seemed as though it were more like "execute the director." Earlier in the school year, I had caught three boys purchasing beer while I was chaperoning them, several were accused of being intoxicated in school at 8 a.m., and they were all very, very much in love.
Love may conquer all, but it almost ruined my first production. The night before the play, a cast member failed to show up. When I asked where he was, no one volunteered any information until I became quite upset. "Mrs. C., he's at the bar." "WHAT? He's at the BAR? What is he doing at the bar?" "Ummm...playing pool?" was NOT the response I want to hear. Not funny!!! (though it was an idiotic question on my part)
As I left the cast to practice on their own, I headed out the door to retrieve my student. Once I found him, he bluntly yelled, "I QUIT!!" Explaining to him that this was not an option, I needed to know what the problem was...why would he quit? He unwillingly admitted that he had a fight with his girlfriend, and she dumped him. He didn't want to be anywhere near her. It's hard enough to convince a stubborn 18-year-old of "anything," let alone that "the show must go on." He did eventually return, but I believe he left his mark ... 
...that mark being empty beer cans outside the stage door, like so many cast members before and after him. I heard about it every Monday morning following the production. "Really? There were beer cans outside the back door? How many? Only 6? I had no idea." Of course, I knew it was my responsibility and I did inform the students of the drinking rules, but in reality I was the director, not the babysitter. "What was that again?" as I was pondering to myself, "Let me see...I have a stage to check, makeup to put on 25 cast members, boys' hair to fix, money and programs to give to the ticket takers, and now you want me to check the playgrounds for stashed beer? This has to be a joke." And so it went until the school switched to coal for heating and the back door was blocked. Whew! 
I did get other lectures, but one particular instance "sticks" in my mind. I couldn't imagine why "MY" boys would string chewed bubble gum back and forth across the stall doors in the elementary restroom. What a waste of good gum!! Oh yes! Then there was the feminine hygiene problem. I don't know who was more embarrassed--the superintendent telling me that the boys were playing with the tampons in the girls' restroom--or the boys when I told them, "I know you are the curious type, but please do not play with the tampons." I've never seen so many red faces in one place! 
The students were extremely creative when it came to conjuring up costumes and props. We did have a little trouble finding heels big enough for Jason Nelson, but he could "walk the walk" with the best of them. Then there was Ron Etzel who had a plastic Brownie camera for an eye and a plunger for a leg. He, too, could "walk the walk" of a different sort. It seemed like we always had problems with those plastic swords and knives breaking, but it did get laughs...as well as the planned buckets of water being dumped on fellow cast members or plates of spaghetti being thrown across the stage and just praying that it would actually be caught. THAT TOOK PRACTICE!! 
I always felt that the boys enjoyed going to the extreme when it came to playing tricks on fellow cast members. Most of them I never knew about until after the fact, such as Daren Reynolds sharing his tale of inserting Tabasco sauce into Zane Reed's medication during the matinee. That happened several times later in years as well. (I'm wondering if Daren didn't pass that trick along to others.) The cast members were responsible for pre-selling the tickets and turning in the stubs and money before the play. I'll never forget the day that one young fella came to me with ticket stubs in hand and very, very meekly said, "I know I have to turn these in now, but I...I...I don't have the money." I was obviously quite surprised and asked, "What happened?" "I...I...I spent it--on cassette tapes, but I'll pay it back." I laughed uncontrollably because it had never ever occurred to me that anyone would actually do that. I responded by telling him that he didn't owe me the money, he owed the class fund, so he just needed to take care of it...and he did.
Our productions were always comedies, but when things went wrong, they became even funnier according to the audience comments. They always waited in anticipation for the "goofs." I can still picture students forgetting lines and the person next to them saying it for them, or hearing the prompter over everyone else on stage, or the actors and actresses ad-libbing ... which always caught me off guard. I remember them trying to hold back their own laughter, which just made it all the funnier. But, I'll never forget the time an actor skipped about 3 pages of the play and left everyone staring at each other on the stage in a dead silence. Whoops! The recovery was awesome, but it was definitely the topic at the cast party afterward.
The class productions were memorable moments for me, and I hope that they were for you as well. It is definitely what I miss most now that I'm no longer with you.
PS: Glenn McRae is searching for another copy of his class play because his tape is almost worn out from his kiddos watching it. If anyone has videos they would like to share with fellow classmates, please let me know.
Monday, September 13, 2010
A Huntin' I Will Go!
It is said that "opposites attract." What that really means is once you are married or have a partner, you spend your entire lifetime trying to understand and participate in activities that your other "half" enjoys. It could be a hobby, a sport, a type of entertainment, an enterprise, a pastime, or a project just to mention a few. It's my impression that the male may make an attempt at various activities his wife loves, but I'm totally convinced that the wife is more apt to continually pursue whatever it takes to be with her loved one.
TC and I are total opposites if there ever was such a pair. I'm a city slicker--he's a farm boy. I'm an indoor person--he's an outdoor person. I'm not competitive--he is. I am easily upset--he's easy going...and the list goes on. Over the years, I HAVE made attempts at various activities he loves, but I must admit, most were failures.
The second year we were married, TC decided that I should go hunting with him. As I was purchasing my deer tag, I asked him if this wasn't putting the cart before the horse (or deer) because I had never even held a gun, let alone shot one. "Oh, that won't be a problem. We'll go target practicing." "Yeah, right!" I mumbled under my breath, but I was willing to try anything, especially for him. (What we women won't do for a man! or vice versa)
The day before we were to go hunting, we drove into the country and stopped by a small sagebrush-covered hill. He proceeded to place a Copenhagen lid on the hillside, walked back to where I was standing, approximately 100 yards away, and handed me his rifle. He gently adjusted my hands and fingers, propped the gun against my shoulder, explained how I was to look through the scope and zero in on the lid, and then very gently squeeze the trigger. He briefly mentioned that I should brace myself because the gun might have a "kick" to it. I'm thinking to myself, "Forget the KICK! Does he expect me to hit that little lid from way back here?"
But I did exactly as I was told, except brace myself. Slowly pulling the trigger, I anticipated the sonic boom that would ring through my ears, but nothing prepared me for that "kick" which knocked me off my feet and buried the barrel of the gun into the ground. While he was helping me up from my "seat," I calmly said, "I don't think I hit the target." I thought he was a man of patience, but I knew that practice was over as we headed for the car. He kept reassuring me that I would do better tomorrow. I could hardly wait.
Early the next morning, TC, Bill (a hunting partner), and I headed for deer country. We stopped at Fred and Irma's farmhouse to let them know we would be hunting on their land that day and was treated to a great cup of coffee. Of course, I had to relive TC telling the story of my target practice debacle, but I just kept smiling. Am I having fun now or what?
Within the hour, Terry knew we had found the best hunting spot. As we were walking toward the edge of a cliff surrounded by deep tree-filled coulees, he started giving me instructions. "You lie on the ground right here (pointing downward) and Bill and I are going to go down into the trees and spook the deer toward you. Just keep looking through the scope until you see one, aim, and fire. It's easy!" Once again, I did as I was told.
Lying on the ground with the gun propped against my shoulder, I waited so patiently--and waited--and waited--and looked through the scope only to find nothing except trees. All of a sudden I heard someone screaming at me. It was TC, but I couldn't understand him because of the echo bouncing throughout the coulees. Looking through the scope, I slowly moved the gun to the left and then to the right until I spotted him jumping up and down, wildly waving his arms, and yelling. Why would he be acting like an idiot while I was engaged in some serious hunting here!
As if that wasn't strange enough, I instantly felt the earth move, so I placed my ear to the ground like we probably all did as children to feel the vibrations of our surroundings. When I looked up, I about died as I stared directly ahead. That deer and I saw each other at exactly the same moment; and as my piercing scream rang out, he skidded to a halt less than three feet in front of me, throwing dirt into my face and hair. I don't know which of us was more scared.
It took me more than a moment to realize what had happened; and by the time I grabbed the gun and stood up, the deer had already jaunted away. He actually didn't seem too concerned that I was going to harm him. It dawned on me then that TC was trying to tell me the deer was coming and I should be ready. Within minutes both boys were standing in front of me with the strangest looks on their faces as if they were holding back the laughter. TC approached me, placed his hand ever so gently on my shoulder, and said, "Dear, now that you know what one LOOKS like, do you think you could shoot one?" What a smart aleck! He could have at least told me that I was lying in the middle of a deer trail!! At least he wasn't upset with me--but my first day of hunting had just begun!
Shortly thereafter, we came upon eight to ten deer grazing in a clearing. They must have already heard the rumor of the "huntress" wandering the hills because they never flinched as we drove within 50 yards of them. As I opened the door of the pickup, Terry suggested I place the gun on the edge of the open window to steady the gun. This would make it much easier for me to shoot a deer. I did as I was told...including bracing myself. I shot and not one deer moved or fell. They kept grazing as though I weren't there. So I turned to TC and whispered, "Can I shoot again?"
By now his patience was running slightly below empty as he grumbled, "Yes, dear!" Well, I did try but nothing happened! No shot. No sonic boom in my ear. No deer falling to its knees. I might not be a hunter by any standard, but I did know that I had to empty the used casing in the chamber, (or whatever its called) It seems that TC failed to show me how to do that. In the meantime, the deer decided to move on to greener pastures. Does this mean it times to go home now? I was certainly hoping so...
I eventually shot a deer that day from 250 yards away and at the bottom of a ravine. If you're a hunter, you can imagine the dismay TC felt as he spent the next two hours dragging my prize hunt to the top of the hill. He was very proud of me but continually reminded me that it would have been nicer if I had hit the one only 50 yards from the vehicle. It would be 13 years before he asked me to go hunting with him again. Bless his heart!
TC and I are total opposites if there ever was such a pair. I'm a city slicker--he's a farm boy. I'm an indoor person--he's an outdoor person. I'm not competitive--he is. I am easily upset--he's easy going...and the list goes on. Over the years, I HAVE made attempts at various activities he loves, but I must admit, most were failures.
The second year we were married, TC decided that I should go hunting with him. As I was purchasing my deer tag, I asked him if this wasn't putting the cart before the horse (or deer) because I had never even held a gun, let alone shot one. "Oh, that won't be a problem. We'll go target practicing." "Yeah, right!" I mumbled under my breath, but I was willing to try anything, especially for him. (What we women won't do for a man! or vice versa)
The day before we were to go hunting, we drove into the country and stopped by a small sagebrush-covered hill. He proceeded to place a Copenhagen lid on the hillside, walked back to where I was standing, approximately 100 yards away, and handed me his rifle. He gently adjusted my hands and fingers, propped the gun against my shoulder, explained how I was to look through the scope and zero in on the lid, and then very gently squeeze the trigger. He briefly mentioned that I should brace myself because the gun might have a "kick" to it. I'm thinking to myself, "Forget the KICK! Does he expect me to hit that little lid from way back here?"
But I did exactly as I was told, except brace myself. Slowly pulling the trigger, I anticipated the sonic boom that would ring through my ears, but nothing prepared me for that "kick" which knocked me off my feet and buried the barrel of the gun into the ground. While he was helping me up from my "seat," I calmly said, "I don't think I hit the target." I thought he was a man of patience, but I knew that practice was over as we headed for the car. He kept reassuring me that I would do better tomorrow. I could hardly wait.
Early the next morning, TC, Bill (a hunting partner), and I headed for deer country. We stopped at Fred and Irma's farmhouse to let them know we would be hunting on their land that day and was treated to a great cup of coffee. Of course, I had to relive TC telling the story of my target practice debacle, but I just kept smiling. Am I having fun now or what?
Within the hour, Terry knew we had found the best hunting spot. As we were walking toward the edge of a cliff surrounded by deep tree-filled coulees, he started giving me instructions. "You lie on the ground right here (pointing downward) and Bill and I are going to go down into the trees and spook the deer toward you. Just keep looking through the scope until you see one, aim, and fire. It's easy!" Once again, I did as I was told.
Lying on the ground with the gun propped against my shoulder, I waited so patiently--and waited--and waited--and looked through the scope only to find nothing except trees. All of a sudden I heard someone screaming at me. It was TC, but I couldn't understand him because of the echo bouncing throughout the coulees. Looking through the scope, I slowly moved the gun to the left and then to the right until I spotted him jumping up and down, wildly waving his arms, and yelling. Why would he be acting like an idiot while I was engaged in some serious hunting here!
As if that wasn't strange enough, I instantly felt the earth move, so I placed my ear to the ground like we probably all did as children to feel the vibrations of our surroundings. When I looked up, I about died as I stared directly ahead. That deer and I saw each other at exactly the same moment; and as my piercing scream rang out, he skidded to a halt less than three feet in front of me, throwing dirt into my face and hair. I don't know which of us was more scared.
It took me more than a moment to realize what had happened; and by the time I grabbed the gun and stood up, the deer had already jaunted away. He actually didn't seem too concerned that I was going to harm him. It dawned on me then that TC was trying to tell me the deer was coming and I should be ready. Within minutes both boys were standing in front of me with the strangest looks on their faces as if they were holding back the laughter. TC approached me, placed his hand ever so gently on my shoulder, and said, "Dear, now that you know what one LOOKS like, do you think you could shoot one?" What a smart aleck! He could have at least told me that I was lying in the middle of a deer trail!! At least he wasn't upset with me--but my first day of hunting had just begun!
Shortly thereafter, we came upon eight to ten deer grazing in a clearing. They must have already heard the rumor of the "huntress" wandering the hills because they never flinched as we drove within 50 yards of them. As I opened the door of the pickup, Terry suggested I place the gun on the edge of the open window to steady the gun. This would make it much easier for me to shoot a deer. I did as I was told...including bracing myself. I shot and not one deer moved or fell. They kept grazing as though I weren't there. So I turned to TC and whispered, "Can I shoot again?"
By now his patience was running slightly below empty as he grumbled, "Yes, dear!" Well, I did try but nothing happened! No shot. No sonic boom in my ear. No deer falling to its knees. I might not be a hunter by any standard, but I did know that I had to empty the used casing in the chamber, (or whatever its called) It seems that TC failed to show me how to do that. In the meantime, the deer decided to move on to greener pastures. Does this mean it times to go home now? I was certainly hoping so...
I eventually shot a deer that day from 250 yards away and at the bottom of a ravine. If you're a hunter, you can imagine the dismay TC felt as he spent the next two hours dragging my prize hunt to the top of the hill. He was very proud of me but continually reminded me that it would have been nicer if I had hit the one only 50 yards from the vehicle. It would be 13 years before he asked me to go hunting with him again. Bless his heart!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
"I'm Ready...Willing...and Able!!"
As I was lugging my belongings into my new summer apartment, this tiny, gray-haired pip-squeak of a lady was trailing me closer than my shadow. The continuous questions reminded me of the "Energizer Bunny": "What's your name? Where are you from? Do you like boys? Do you have a car? Are you a clean person? How old are you? ... Oh...my name is Janet, and I'm the boss here!" I would never have guessed that in a million years.Moving from the "questioning phase" into the "order" mode, Janet wanted to inform me of the house rules as I nonchalantly began unpacking. "There will be no loud music or partying. Don't forget to empty your trash. NO BOYS ALLOWED because I'll beat them with my baseball bat. Don't leave your clothes in the washer and dryer. No screaming or yelling. Feed my cat if he's hungry. Did I tell you that no boys are allowed? I think I'm wrong. Boys are only allowed from noon until midnight. No boys after midnight! Make your bed and clean your room every day." Even my mother didn't tell me to make my bed every day, but somehow I felt Janet was quite serious about her "rules."
By the end of the first day, I knew her life story. She had never been married but had one daughter, whom she referred to as the "BRAT," and lived with her daughter and son-in-law in California. (Had I just met the "Little Old Lady from Pasadena"?) According to Janet, she was leading a lonely, unhappy existence until the summer she toured Yellowstone National Park by stagecoach. While she jounced through mountain canyons, lodge pole pine forests, sprawling grasslands, and gagged from the sulphur smell of the geyser basins between Mammoth Hot Springs and Old Faithful, she fell in love with the awe-inspiring wonders of nature and knew unquestionably that she would someday return.
When I met Janet, she had been working in Yellowstone every year from April through October for the past 42 years. She never revealed her age to anyone, but it was meaningless--her actions and comments made her as young as the rest of us. However, we ascertained that she was in her mid-seventies.
Janet loved her beer! She had a 6-oz. Olympia beer every night before bedtime, reminding us always that it made her sleep better. "Oh, of course, Janet." When any of us went to Livingston, it became our duty to stop at Safeway's and get her beer, which she stockpiled under her bed. She would place one beer in her fridge an hour before bedtime to "chill" it. I found that to be somewhat quirky--why not put in the entire six-pack? It's not like there wasn't room. But that was Janet!
Every evening following dinner, Janet wanted us to gather together in her room so she could reveal the "gossip of the day," (and she truly knew everything that happened) and tell stories of past years. After being with her for seven summers, we knew the stories by heart but always listened attentively. As we left her room, I would always check to see if she wanted me to lock the door behind me though I knew what her reply would be: "No! No! No! If a handsome young boy wants to come in, I'm ready, willing, and able!" I had no doubt that was true, even if the baseball bat was within reach at all times.
She actually used that bat upon discovering several young gentlemen, which we learned later were lost tourists, roaming the hallway. When she saw them, she asked no questions but darted into her room for a split second and returned "swinging" and screeching at them in her high-pitched wail. She nailed one of them in the arm, and they vanished within seconds. They knew they had truly met their match!
There were occasions when employees or tourists were wed in the Chapel at Mammoth. Janet loved weddings, but loved the receptions even more; or should I say she loved the champagne (pronounced cham pag' ne by Janet) even more. The photo depicts her being carried home by Nick following one of these special galas. We made her put down the magnum of champagne before shooting the picture. We naturally didn't want to give anyone the wrong impression. She truly knew how to have a great time!
I was forever intrigued by her mind--how she could remember the most minute detail about a particular event and yet forget where she placed her roomkeys. Once I took her to Livingston for an eye appointment and never laughed so hard in my life. After she paid her bill, she barked at the receptionist in her gruffiest voice, "Well!! Where are my glasses, you idiot! Give them to me!" Baffled beyond belief, the woman timidly replied, "Ummm...they are on your face. You are wearing them." Janet grumped, "Yah, yah, yah" as she stomped out the door. The receptionist and I exchanged glances and roared as I explained, "It's just Janet. No harm intended."
One afternoon as I walked into the laundry room hoping to find an empty washer and dryer, I saw Janet busily at work. She hadn't heard me because the room was echoing a THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! "Janet, are you drying your tennis shoes or what?" After I frightened the "jaheebies" (her favorite expression) out of her, she glanced down at her feet. "No! I'm wearing them!" She approached the dryer, carefully placed a hand on top as though she could tell what was inside, and mumbled to herself, "What's that?" She quickly opened the dryer door and out sprang her CAT! That cat disappeared for days and I didn't blame him.
The apartments were located above the kitchen and restaurant area. I loved the aroma of food drifting through my window but late one night I met an unexpected surprise. Around 3 a.m. I was awakened by a fierce pounding on my door. It was Nick, my neighbor. He was hysterically yelling, "The building is on fire! GET UP!!" Forget the aroma of food. As I opened my eyes, all I remember seeing were billows of smoke rolling in through the open window and the reflection of red lights flashing across the walls. Panic didn't come close to describing what I felt at that moment. As I searched for my slippers, I kept telling myself, "I do NOT want to die! I do NOT want to die!" I grabbed my afghan and hustled outside...
...only to find firetrucks, Park Ranger vehicles, and what appeared to be hundreds of onlookers. I needed to find Janet to assure myself that she was safe. Minutes later as I approached her, the anxiety I had felt shifted to disbelief. Not only was she safe, but she was fully clothed and guarding a suitcase filled with her belongings. It appeared that she even took time to comb her hair. Not awakening the residents was a minor oversight I'm quite sure. She had other business at hand. (What a woman!)
Janet was undoubtedly the most extraordinary, memorable lady I had ever known. Several years after leaving the park, I received news that she had passed away in her sleep at her "home away from home." Her funeral was held at the Chapel in Mammoth Hot Springs; and her lifelong wish was granted as her ashes were scattered over Yellowstone National Park.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Yes! I AM a Junkie!
For my 16th birthday, my parents flew me to California to spend six weeks with relatives who would drive me up and down the scenic coastline from San Diego to Sacramento seeing the awesome sites of the Golden State. They didn't realize at the time, and neither did I, that I would discover my life's greatest passion.
It all began in 1966 as I peered upward at the Giant Dipper, a wooden roller coaster at Mission Beach, San Diego. I wanted to ride it so badly, but was hesitant. The blood-curdling screams from daredevil riders gave me butterflies in my tummy, but my thrill-seeking cousin wouldn't take "no" for an answer. It was the ride of a lifetime: My wide-open eyes gaping at the "itsy-bitsy" people below as the car crawled to the top of the first big drop, my tummy feeling queasy as the car fell over the edge, the wind blowing my hair out of control as my face contorted into who-knows-what shape, the rough bumps in the track making me scream even louder, and the screeching sound of the ride coming to an end. Cool ride!!! May I go again, please? The long wait in line was definitely worth it! (The coaster was condemned in 1976, but eventually became a national landmark, was renovated, and began it's new life in 1990.)
The only other coaster I rode that summer was the Cyclone Racer at the Pike in Long Beach. It had side-by-side tracks built on a pier that extended out into the ocean. When the coaster made the lower-end ocean turns, I could feel the splash of sea spray against my face. Another awesome ride! Sadly, the ride was destroyed two years later because the City of Long Beach wanted to improve their image! If they only knew then what gigantic coasters lied ahead for daredevils like myself, they might have rethought their decision.
It would be 19 years before I rode my next coaster, the Screamin' Eagle at Six Flags, St. Louis. As the four of us stood in line and peered at the 11-story extravaganza, I soon discovered that I had my own personal "Screamin' Eagle." His name was Jason, 8 years old. He was determined NOT to ride and told me again and again that he would just wait at the exit for us. (1/4 mile away) But I insisted that it would be fun...that he would be safe with mom. I'm sure that didn't make him feel any better as the screaming, crying, and whining continued until the ride was over. You might classify this as another "BAD MOM" moment, but I wasn't going to pass up the thrill of it all. Janelle, on the other hand, begged to ride again--YEAH!! We have another thrill-seeker in the family!
We made numerous trips to Orlando as our children were growing up, but the coasters at Disney World or Universal Studios were "baby toys" compared to those at Busch Gardens in Tampa Bay. As for Jason, he became our official "camera-purse-souvenir" holder. It would be years later before he started "riding." I'm not sure if it was peer pressure or a girlfriend that led him to overcome his fear. As for me, my children had now nicknamed me the "Coaster Junkie!" I went crazy just thinking about my next "fix."
I felt fortunate that Terry liked coasters, or should I say, "tolerated" them. Around noon one Saturday as we were driving into Dallas, he mentioned that I-35 was splitting and wanted to know which way the hotel was. I said that the hotel was 35E, but we were taking 35W. He made the mistake of asking, "Why?" "Ummm... well... we're going to Arlington." "What's there?" he questioned. "Six Flags," I responded as I tried not to watch his reaction. After a long sigh, he reluctantly replied, "Okay, BUT...we're leaving the park before dark because I don't want to be looking for the hotel in the middle of the night." Needless to say, we closed the park down (rode each coaster twice) and admired the night lights of Dallas as I navigated him directly to the hotel without a glitch. (It's a good thing we didn't own Suzie, the GPS.)
When we moved to northern Virginia, my passion for coasters grew beyond belief. We lived half an hour from Six Flags America in Maryland, less than 100 miles from Busch Gardens and King's Dominion in VA, and just a mere two hours from Hershey Park, Pennsylvania. Anyone who came to visit this "junkie" could count on spending at least a day at one of these parks. We even ventured as far north as Jackson, New Jersey, to check out Six Flags Great Adventure, and as far west as Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, to test the Dollywood coasters. (a super disappointment)
I never missed an opportunity to feed my addiction. I recall Terry asking me early one Mother's Day morning what I'd like to do. I casually said, "Take me to Six Flags today, please?" He thought that was about the dumbest suggestion ever because the park would be packed and the lines would be so long. "Are you kidding?" I chuckled. "What mother in her right mind would take her children to an amusement park on HER day?" :) We rode the coasters all day without having to wait in line once...our kind of day.
I've traveled the country to ride coasters but am so disappointed that I was never able to ride the coaster atop the Stratosphere in Las Vegas. It could only operate if the wind was less than 5 miles per hour (at 1100 feet above ground level). The morning we planned to ride it, Terry came down with vertigo...the poor fella spent the day at the ER instead. He was having his own thrill ride of sorts. (Sorry!) The roller coaster is no longer there, but I just might have to try the extreme thrill rides that replaced it the next time I travel to Vegas.
I have ridden "stand-up" coasters, "water soaker" coasters, "lie down" coasters, a "backward" coaster (the Rebel Yell which is no longer at King's Dominion). You name it, I've probably ridden it or one similar to it. I LOVE ROLLER COASTERS!!! That's why I absolutely crave the thought of riding the coasters at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio, which people say have the best coasters in the world. I have put that trip on my bucket list...
...which leads me to one final note. I have informed Terry and my children that when I die, cremate me--find the fastest, tallest outdoor coaster they can, and turn me loose!! I will be smiling down upon them and having the greatest, most fulfilling ride of my life! (I suggest you choose the last car!)
It all began in 1966 as I peered upward at the Giant Dipper, a wooden roller coaster at Mission Beach, San Diego. I wanted to ride it so badly, but was hesitant. The blood-curdling screams from daredevil riders gave me butterflies in my tummy, but my thrill-seeking cousin wouldn't take "no" for an answer. It was the ride of a lifetime: My wide-open eyes gaping at the "itsy-bitsy" people below as the car crawled to the top of the first big drop, my tummy feeling queasy as the car fell over the edge, the wind blowing my hair out of control as my face contorted into who-knows-what shape, the rough bumps in the track making me scream even louder, and the screeching sound of the ride coming to an end. Cool ride!!! May I go again, please? The long wait in line was definitely worth it! (The coaster was condemned in 1976, but eventually became a national landmark, was renovated, and began it's new life in 1990.)
The only other coaster I rode that summer was the Cyclone Racer at the Pike in Long Beach. It had side-by-side tracks built on a pier that extended out into the ocean. When the coaster made the lower-end ocean turns, I could feel the splash of sea spray against my face. Another awesome ride! Sadly, the ride was destroyed two years later because the City of Long Beach wanted to improve their image! If they only knew then what gigantic coasters lied ahead for daredevils like myself, they might have rethought their decision.
It would be 19 years before I rode my next coaster, the Screamin' Eagle at Six Flags, St. Louis. As the four of us stood in line and peered at the 11-story extravaganza, I soon discovered that I had my own personal "Screamin' Eagle." His name was Jason, 8 years old. He was determined NOT to ride and told me again and again that he would just wait at the exit for us. (1/4 mile away) But I insisted that it would be fun...that he would be safe with mom. I'm sure that didn't make him feel any better as the screaming, crying, and whining continued until the ride was over. You might classify this as another "BAD MOM" moment, but I wasn't going to pass up the thrill of it all. Janelle, on the other hand, begged to ride again--YEAH!! We have another thrill-seeker in the family!
We made numerous trips to Orlando as our children were growing up, but the coasters at Disney World or Universal Studios were "baby toys" compared to those at Busch Gardens in Tampa Bay. As for Jason, he became our official "camera-purse-souvenir" holder. It would be years later before he started "riding." I'm not sure if it was peer pressure or a girlfriend that led him to overcome his fear. As for me, my children had now nicknamed me the "Coaster Junkie!" I went crazy just thinking about my next "fix."
I felt fortunate that Terry liked coasters, or should I say, "tolerated" them. Around noon one Saturday as we were driving into Dallas, he mentioned that I-35 was splitting and wanted to know which way the hotel was. I said that the hotel was 35E, but we were taking 35W. He made the mistake of asking, "Why?" "Ummm... well... we're going to Arlington." "What's there?" he questioned. "Six Flags," I responded as I tried not to watch his reaction. After a long sigh, he reluctantly replied, "Okay, BUT...we're leaving the park before dark because I don't want to be looking for the hotel in the middle of the night." Needless to say, we closed the park down (rode each coaster twice) and admired the night lights of Dallas as I navigated him directly to the hotel without a glitch. (It's a good thing we didn't own Suzie, the GPS.)
When we moved to northern Virginia, my passion for coasters grew beyond belief. We lived half an hour from Six Flags America in Maryland, less than 100 miles from Busch Gardens and King's Dominion in VA, and just a mere two hours from Hershey Park, Pennsylvania. Anyone who came to visit this "junkie" could count on spending at least a day at one of these parks. We even ventured as far north as Jackson, New Jersey, to check out Six Flags Great Adventure, and as far west as Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, to test the Dollywood coasters. (a super disappointment)
I never missed an opportunity to feed my addiction. I recall Terry asking me early one Mother's Day morning what I'd like to do. I casually said, "Take me to Six Flags today, please?" He thought that was about the dumbest suggestion ever because the park would be packed and the lines would be so long. "Are you kidding?" I chuckled. "What mother in her right mind would take her children to an amusement park on HER day?" :) We rode the coasters all day without having to wait in line once...our kind of day.
I've traveled the country to ride coasters but am so disappointed that I was never able to ride the coaster atop the Stratosphere in Las Vegas. It could only operate if the wind was less than 5 miles per hour (at 1100 feet above ground level). The morning we planned to ride it, Terry came down with vertigo...the poor fella spent the day at the ER instead. He was having his own thrill ride of sorts. (Sorry!) The roller coaster is no longer there, but I just might have to try the extreme thrill rides that replaced it the next time I travel to Vegas.
I have ridden "stand-up" coasters, "water soaker" coasters, "lie down" coasters, a "backward" coaster (the Rebel Yell which is no longer at King's Dominion). You name it, I've probably ridden it or one similar to it. I LOVE ROLLER COASTERS!!! That's why I absolutely crave the thought of riding the coasters at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio, which people say have the best coasters in the world. I have put that trip on my bucket list...
...which leads me to one final note. I have informed Terry and my children that when I die, cremate me--find the fastest, tallest outdoor coaster they can, and turn me loose!! I will be smiling down upon them and having the greatest, most fulfilling ride of my life! (I suggest you choose the last car!)
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
A Fearful, Sad Celebration
"Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)?" by Alan Jackson is a clear reminder of how we all felt on September 11, 2001. For TC and me, it began as a great day of celebration because it was our 25th Wedding Anniversary, a day we will relive for years to come. Even as I am editing this blog and listening to the music, I can't help but shed a few tears...it's like it was yesterday.
Picture ten miles in your mind--the distance from Savage to Crane. Perhaps it's how far you drive to attend a movie, do some shopping, or take your child to a special park to play. It seems so close, doesn't it? Terry was working less than 10 miles from the Pentagon that morning, operating heavy equipment for the groundwork of a new housing development.
Picture twenty miles in your mind--the distance from Savage to Sidney. Do you realize that it's 20 miles from the Billings Heights to Zoo Montana on the West End? Perhaps it's how far you travel to your favorite fishing spot. Or maybe it's how far you drive, take a bus, or even a subway to visit your loved ones. It seems so close, doesn't it? That was the distance from my workplace to Washington, DC.
I had been at work for less than an hour when my boss summoned the staff to her office. Her teary eyes were glued to the television screen watching clips of the first hit on the World Trade Center. The horror in the commentator's voice and the eerie silence of my five co-workers, except for the small gasps of disbelief, seemed surreal. When the second tower was hit, the tears began flowing from us all as we joined hands and prayed for the injured and dying, for their families, for the rescue workers who would be called upon to miraculously save as many lives as they possibly could, and for those feeling the pain of all this senselessness.
At 9:20 the ringing of a single phone brought us back to reality. The call was from Noelle's acquaintance who worked at the British Embassy. He quickly informed her that there was another plane in flight, and it was headed for Washington. He also told her that two F-16's had been dispatched. Why? He didn't say, but in the back of our minds I'm sure we were all thinking the same thing. We hadn't heard that shocking news on the telecast yet, but it inevitably sent chills down my spine as fear now replaced sorrow. Where would it hit? Am I in danger here? What about Terry? Am I being a thoughtless and selfish person while others are losing their lives?
As horrible thoughts of death ravaged through my mind, I rushed to my office for my cell phone. I called TC, and only heard voice mail. I left a message...told him to call me right away. I just needed to hear his voice. That phone never left my side the entire workday, but it never rang either. In fact, none of the phones were ringing...they had gone dead. Within a half hour, news of the Pentagon being struck by a plane flashed across the screen. Oh no....my boss had worked at the Pentagon for 12 years and had many friends still employed there. She was devastated! Thank God our prayers were answered and that none of her friends lost their lives that day.
Now I began thinking of my own friends and what they must be feeling. Adrienne, a dear companion of mine, had just moved to Cape Cod. Her daughter worked for Morgan Stanley Associates at the World Trade Center. I couldn't imagine what Adrienne must be feeling when she heard of the attack. The next day I was finally able to reach her and learned that her daughter had had an early breakfast meeting and was two blocks from the World Trade Center when it was struck. Prayers had once again been answered. However, her daughter Lisa did lose more than a thousand friends that day. She left NYC but eventually returned to once again work for Morgan Stanley
I thought of Bill, our neighbor, who worked at the FAA Headquarters in the District. I remembered that he was actually in Alaska on business, so I knew he was safe. Then there was Nancy, his wife, an air traffic controller. I learned later of her harrowing experience.
It was to be her day off, but as soon as the World Trade Center was hit, she was called into work. It was a 15-mile drive to Leesburg for her; and once she reached the facility, she realized the magnitude of the situation. As she parked her vehicle, she saw military personnel armed with machine guns surrounding the building. By this time, all planes had been grounded, and it was her job to make sure that no one, absolutely no one, would fly on the eastern seaboard.
She told us later about one specific gentleman who insisted that he get permission to fly his private jet out of the area. He was absolutely belligerent, but she told him emphatically, "My orders are to tell you...if you fly, your plane WILL BE shot down." Needless to say, even if he thought he was above and beyond the law, he wisely chose not to fly that day. It's rather scary to think, however, that it could actually have happened.
Regarding Terry, the phone call finally came as I was on my way home from work. I wish that he would have called sooner, but thank God he was safe. My prayers had been answered once again. We went out for dinner that night, but it was the saddest celebration ever. It was only then that he relayed his own hair-raising experience.
While running heavy equipment he listens to the radio all day long (probably why he can't hear his cell phone). He knew of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and knew that all aircraft had been grounded. Feeling his machinery begin to vibrate and hearing a thunderous roar above him, he looked up only to find a huge plane flying so low (he estimated several hundred feet) that he said he could read the writing on the bottom of it. As shivers covered him, his first thought was that of yet another attack on Washington. Later, we learned that aircraft from overseas were still being allowed to land at Reagan National Airport rather than Newark or Atlanta.
We have been to Ground Zero since that day; and as I watched the ceremony yesterday for those who lost their lives on Flight 93, which crashed in Pennsylvania, I was appalled to learn that the monument is not finished because of a lack of funds. I felt ashamed that our government could be so insensitive to those who lost their loved ones.
September 11, 2001--I don't think I have to worry about TC ever forgetting our anniversary in coming years...and I already know what the topic at dinner will be as we count our blessings. For any of you who lost loved ones on this saddest of days, please know that we continue to pray for you. God Bless You All.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
My "Bad Mom" Moments
When my children were growing up in a rural Montana town of 500 residents, the thought never crossed my mind that they could possibly be kidnapped or harmed by others. Predators, pedophiles, or "Amber Alert" were never topics discussed among the morning coffee ladies. I was oblivious to "that" outside world even though TC and I spent a great deal of time traveling with our children. Today the world is a much different place than it was in the 1980's.
It doesn't mean, however, that my children were never lost due to my "BAD MOM" moments. If I had an opportunity for a "redo", I would definitely use more common sense than I had exhibited in the following:
JANELLE
It was a Saturday morning in the dead of winter, the temperature hovering around zero degrees with about a foot of snow on the ground. As my two children, Janelle, 2 1/2, and Jason, almost 4, watched cartoons, I went about doing my household duties: making the beds, starting my laundry, and cleaning up after breakfast. TC mentioned that he was going to the store and wouldn't be gone long.
Several minutes later as I walked into the living room, I noticed that Janelle was not there, so I called out her name and heard nothing. I asked Jason where his sister was..."I dunno." The search was on as I combed our tiny home room by room looking into closets, under beds, in corners, the entire time calling out her name. No Janelle! I checked again and again...still no Janelle. Where IS she?
I slipped on my shoes and stepped outside yelling her name. No answer! I walked around the outskirts of the house to no avail. I was one hysterical mother!! "Janelle! Janelle!" All I could hear was the dead silence of a cold winter morning. Why wasn't TC back yet? I need help!! She was wearing a long nightie...no footies...she'll freeze out here!
Finally TC drove into the yard and saw that I was frantic. I blurted out that I couldn't find Jen and that he needed to do something...AND NOW!! He called out her name several times and rushed indoors. He thought she was inside and that I had just missed her. As he ran from room to room doing a search, I heard a knock at the door.
It was Mae...with Janelle in her arms. I couldn't imagine what had happened. As we put the story together, it was apparent that Janelle had followed TC out the door. (We're still debating if he actually closed the door behind him as he left.) She proceeded to make her way across the street to Frank's house. He was an elderly gentleman who adored all the children in the neighborhood and was always giving them little goodies of chips and sodas.
Janelle opened his door, walked into the living room where Frank, Mae, and Shorty were visiting and having their morning coffee, did a few trips around the living room, helped herself to a cookie--never saying a word the entire time. That's when Mae heard TC calling for Janelle and returned our curious one to her rightful home, bare feet and all.
It didn't take TC long to install hooks on our doors high enough so neither Janelle nor Jason could reach them. There was no way that I wanted to relive that nightmare! Needless to say, there were more....
JASON
During our family vacation to Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, we thought it would be fun to spend several days in St. Louis to see the Gateway Arch and Riverfront area, as well as the St. Louis Zoo. I was never much of a baseball fan, but TC wanted to go to a Cardinals game at Busch Stadium. Jason and Janelle begged to go to the game even though they had never even seen a baseball game in their short lifetimes. (Kids will say anything to get a hot dog and soda!) So...off we went!
TC got the perfect tickets in the Bob Uecker "Section 433." (located above the right field boundary pole or whatever it's called) Oh my! Oh my! Did anyone bring the binoculars? It was so apparent that TC spent more on hot dogs and pops (and rain ponchos) than he did on those tickets. The only good thing about the seats was that there was a slight overhang so when the rain began to pour, we didn't get quite as soaked as those with the more expensive seats. YEAH! BOB UECKER!!
It wasn't long into the game before Jason had to use the restroom. It was NOT my job to take an 8-year-old into the ladies room, but TC was engrossed in the game. He told Jason that the restroom was right outside the exit door and to remember "433," (pointing to the big section sign) and that we would be waiting for him. At least TC got one thing right...we waited and waited...and waited some more. No Jason! After 30 minutes, I was obviously more than hysterical! TC was now the "BAD DAD!" How could he be so damn calm? and why wasn't he leaving to go find him? I was NOT a happy mother!
It seemed like hours had passed before TC finally said that he had spotted Jason....near the home plate section but he was working his way toward us. TC did go meet him halfway, but I was so curious as to how Jason ended up nearly half way around the stadium. "Ohhh...so there was a line and you didn't want to wait? and you looked for the next one? and the next one? until there was no line...I get it!" A stadium filled with 50,000+ people and you found a restroom with no waiting line....Way to go, Jason!
JANELLE AND JASON
One early June I thought it would be a great time to adventure to Edmonton during the Stanley Cup Playoffs and hopefully get a glimpse of Wayne Gretzky during a scheduled parade on Jasper Avenue after the finals were over. We could have gotten tickets to the final game, but it was standing room only; and no way was I going to let my two darlings out of my sight after the hair-raising incident at the ballgame even though they were another year older.
TC wasn't able to go (that didn't surprise me) so I invited a lady friend to come along for the ride. I did warn her, though, to "expect the unexpected." She giggled because she had known my children since they were born and had four of her own.
Once we arrived in Edmonton, we discovered a vast amount of activities within the mall. Our first day was spent in Galaxyland, an indoor amusement park. I swear they rode every ride at least a dozen times and spent hundreds of dollars on those carnival sideshow rip-offs. The second day was spent at the indoor water park with its 17 water slides and tidal pool. They had never been to a huge water park before so it was an awesome day for us.
When the third day rolled around, it was time to stroll the remainder of the mall beginning with the full-size hockey rink located in the center of the mall. My two ice skaters would have spent hours watching the little ones practicing various routines, but my friend and I wanted to do some serious shopping. However, it seemed that everywhere we went, more activities would magically appear: the life-size replica of the Santa Maria to explore, the dolphin shows to watch, miniature golf to play...and we hadn't even left the first level yet.
As we meandered through the mall doing serious shopping, the darlings were quite bored unless it was a toy store or a game room that we happened to find. They spotted an escalator and begged me if they could ride it. I casually said, "Sure, just be sure to ride the DOWN escalator, and I'll meet you." As I continued to walk straight ahead, I began searching for the down escalator...where was it?...25 feet ahead....50 feet ahead...100 feet ahead...and still no down escalator! I back-tracked thinking that I had missed it. Still I couldn't find it. I DO know that what goes up MUST come down!
Hysteria time once again!! My friend wasn't the most helpful because I think she was just as anxious as I was. What to do? What to do? It was time to think like a 7- and 9-year old. "If we keep walking ahead, we'll come to the hockey rink--I bet you money that's where they are"--so off we went still hoping to find the down escalator along the way.
As we neared the rink, I began scanning the railing surrounding the ice looking for two wide-eyed darlings. We walked the entire perimeter of the rink and still no Jason and Janelle. As I scanned the mall map looking for "Security" (my next option), my friend yelled, "I see them!!" "Where?!!" I screamed back at her. Pointing across the rink, she blurted out, "THERE!! RIDING THE GLASS ELEVATOR!"
Sure enough!! I saw their faces plastered against the glass watching the ice skaters! I waved frantically, hoping I could catch their glance as my friend ran toward the elevator. Finally, tiny hands began waving back as I prayed for them NOT to get off the elevator until they reached Level 1.
Big hugs were the order of the day as I approached them and began hearing of the great "ride" they were on. (Just think how much I could have saved in Galaxyland if I had found this elevator first!) How could I possibly be upset with them. After all, I was the one who let them slip away from me...my "Bad Mom" moment. Did they ride the escalators again? Of course, but mom wanted to ride it, too!
It doesn't mean, however, that my children were never lost due to my "BAD MOM" moments. If I had an opportunity for a "redo", I would definitely use more common sense than I had exhibited in the following:
JANELLE
It was a Saturday morning in the dead of winter, the temperature hovering around zero degrees with about a foot of snow on the ground. As my two children, Janelle, 2 1/2, and Jason, almost 4, watched cartoons, I went about doing my household duties: making the beds, starting my laundry, and cleaning up after breakfast. TC mentioned that he was going to the store and wouldn't be gone long.
Several minutes later as I walked into the living room, I noticed that Janelle was not there, so I called out her name and heard nothing. I asked Jason where his sister was..."I dunno." The search was on as I combed our tiny home room by room looking into closets, under beds, in corners, the entire time calling out her name. No Janelle! I checked again and again...still no Janelle. Where IS she?
I slipped on my shoes and stepped outside yelling her name. No answer! I walked around the outskirts of the house to no avail. I was one hysterical mother!! "Janelle! Janelle!" All I could hear was the dead silence of a cold winter morning. Why wasn't TC back yet? I need help!! She was wearing a long nightie...no footies...she'll freeze out here!
Finally TC drove into the yard and saw that I was frantic. I blurted out that I couldn't find Jen and that he needed to do something...AND NOW!! He called out her name several times and rushed indoors. He thought she was inside and that I had just missed her. As he ran from room to room doing a search, I heard a knock at the door.
It was Mae...with Janelle in her arms. I couldn't imagine what had happened. As we put the story together, it was apparent that Janelle had followed TC out the door. (We're still debating if he actually closed the door behind him as he left.) She proceeded to make her way across the street to Frank's house. He was an elderly gentleman who adored all the children in the neighborhood and was always giving them little goodies of chips and sodas.
Janelle opened his door, walked into the living room where Frank, Mae, and Shorty were visiting and having their morning coffee, did a few trips around the living room, helped herself to a cookie--never saying a word the entire time. That's when Mae heard TC calling for Janelle and returned our curious one to her rightful home, bare feet and all.
It didn't take TC long to install hooks on our doors high enough so neither Janelle nor Jason could reach them. There was no way that I wanted to relive that nightmare! Needless to say, there were more....
JASON
During our family vacation to Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, we thought it would be fun to spend several days in St. Louis to see the Gateway Arch and Riverfront area, as well as the St. Louis Zoo. I was never much of a baseball fan, but TC wanted to go to a Cardinals game at Busch Stadium. Jason and Janelle begged to go to the game even though they had never even seen a baseball game in their short lifetimes. (Kids will say anything to get a hot dog and soda!) So...off we went!
TC got the perfect tickets in the Bob Uecker "Section 433." (located above the right field boundary pole or whatever it's called) Oh my! Oh my! Did anyone bring the binoculars? It was so apparent that TC spent more on hot dogs and pops (and rain ponchos) than he did on those tickets. The only good thing about the seats was that there was a slight overhang so when the rain began to pour, we didn't get quite as soaked as those with the more expensive seats. YEAH! BOB UECKER!!
It wasn't long into the game before Jason had to use the restroom. It was NOT my job to take an 8-year-old into the ladies room, but TC was engrossed in the game. He told Jason that the restroom was right outside the exit door and to remember "433," (pointing to the big section sign) and that we would be waiting for him. At least TC got one thing right...we waited and waited...and waited some more. No Jason! After 30 minutes, I was obviously more than hysterical! TC was now the "BAD DAD!" How could he be so damn calm? and why wasn't he leaving to go find him? I was NOT a happy mother!
It seemed like hours had passed before TC finally said that he had spotted Jason....near the home plate section but he was working his way toward us. TC did go meet him halfway, but I was so curious as to how Jason ended up nearly half way around the stadium. "Ohhh...so there was a line and you didn't want to wait? and you looked for the next one? and the next one? until there was no line...I get it!" A stadium filled with 50,000+ people and you found a restroom with no waiting line....Way to go, Jason!
JANELLE AND JASON
One early June I thought it would be a great time to adventure to Edmonton during the Stanley Cup Playoffs and hopefully get a glimpse of Wayne Gretzky during a scheduled parade on Jasper Avenue after the finals were over. We could have gotten tickets to the final game, but it was standing room only; and no way was I going to let my two darlings out of my sight after the hair-raising incident at the ballgame even though they were another year older.
TC wasn't able to go (that didn't surprise me) so I invited a lady friend to come along for the ride. I did warn her, though, to "expect the unexpected." She giggled because she had known my children since they were born and had four of her own.
Once we arrived in Edmonton, we discovered a vast amount of activities within the mall. Our first day was spent in Galaxyland, an indoor amusement park. I swear they rode every ride at least a dozen times and spent hundreds of dollars on those carnival sideshow rip-offs. The second day was spent at the indoor water park with its 17 water slides and tidal pool. They had never been to a huge water park before so it was an awesome day for us.
When the third day rolled around, it was time to stroll the remainder of the mall beginning with the full-size hockey rink located in the center of the mall. My two ice skaters would have spent hours watching the little ones practicing various routines, but my friend and I wanted to do some serious shopping. However, it seemed that everywhere we went, more activities would magically appear: the life-size replica of the Santa Maria to explore, the dolphin shows to watch, miniature golf to play...and we hadn't even left the first level yet.
As we meandered through the mall doing serious shopping, the darlings were quite bored unless it was a toy store or a game room that we happened to find. They spotted an escalator and begged me if they could ride it. I casually said, "Sure, just be sure to ride the DOWN escalator, and I'll meet you." As I continued to walk straight ahead, I began searching for the down escalator...where was it?...25 feet ahead....50 feet ahead...100 feet ahead...and still no down escalator! I back-tracked thinking that I had missed it. Still I couldn't find it. I DO know that what goes up MUST come down!
Hysteria time once again!! My friend wasn't the most helpful because I think she was just as anxious as I was. What to do? What to do? It was time to think like a 7- and 9-year old. "If we keep walking ahead, we'll come to the hockey rink--I bet you money that's where they are"--so off we went still hoping to find the down escalator along the way.
As we neared the rink, I began scanning the railing surrounding the ice looking for two wide-eyed darlings. We walked the entire perimeter of the rink and still no Jason and Janelle. As I scanned the mall map looking for "Security" (my next option), my friend yelled, "I see them!!" "Where?!!" I screamed back at her. Pointing across the rink, she blurted out, "THERE!! RIDING THE GLASS ELEVATOR!"
Sure enough!! I saw their faces plastered against the glass watching the ice skaters! I waved frantically, hoping I could catch their glance as my friend ran toward the elevator. Finally, tiny hands began waving back as I prayed for them NOT to get off the elevator until they reached Level 1.
Big hugs were the order of the day as I approached them and began hearing of the great "ride" they were on. (Just think how much I could have saved in Galaxyland if I had found this elevator first!) How could I possibly be upset with them. After all, I was the one who let them slip away from me...my "Bad Mom" moment. Did they ride the escalators again? Of course, but mom wanted to ride it, too!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Oprah vs. Blackhawks
I've been a great lover of hockey since my son first started playing the sport in grade school. Weeknights were filled with practices, and weekends were spent traveling to North Dakota and Canada for games and tournaments. We traveled as far north as Winnipeg and as far east as the Twin Cities to watch NHL games.
When my five co-workers and I headed to Chicago to host a national convention, hockey was the furthest thing from my mind. We would spend the next ten days in the "Windy City," with a few spare days for site-seeing. We were staying at the Marriott on Michigan Avenue also known as the Magnificent Mile (of shopping.) A mile of stores? Were they serious? I'm the one who even hates to venture to Wal-Mart.
Early one morning my co-workers and I made our way to the concierge's desk to see what type of activities we could find to entertain ourselves. Oprah tickets? Why were my friends so excited? I didn't even watch Oprah, let alone want to see her. They got tickets while I continued to wait in line. I definitely wanted something better to do...now sell me a hockey ticket and I'll be in seventh heaven.
I had watched the Chicago Blackhawks for years on television and had always wondered why the fans cheered through the National Anthem. To me, it seemed that such behavior was utterly disrespectful. I needed to see up close and personal what that was all about--sell me a ticket if you have one, please. What? They're playing the Detroit Redwings, their rivals from hell? I'll take the best seat in the house if you have any left!!
As the gentleman handed me my ticket, the only question I had for him was, "Ummm...how do I get to the game?" He laughed and pointed toward the door. "At 5:00 go out that door, take a right, and walk to the corner. The bus will pick you up." That sounded easy enough. My friends peered inquisitively at me, shook their heads, and said, You're crazy!" Perhaps....
As I stood on the corner at 4:45 waiting, I thought to myself, "I'm not crazy, or am I? A lady alone in the city headed for a hockey game at night?" The red Blackhawk jerseys began surrounding me in groves. In fact, once the bus arrived and I jumped aboard, all I saw was a sea of red. I felt a strange sense of security knowing that I wasn't alone. It seemed like only seconds before the United Center loomed ahead of me as the bus drew to a halt. I chose to be the last to depart the bus; and as I peered at the driver, he must have been reading my mind. "After the game, come out this same entrance and I'll be waiting for you but across the street. Look for bus #27. I won't leave without you." What a great guy!!
I had been in hockey venues before and knew that if I didn't pay attention to my surroundings, I could easily get lost. It wouldn't be the first time for me! I noted every vendor, restroom, and sign as I strolled the outer edge of the venue in search of Section 113. Once I found it, I grabbed a soda and snack and headed for my seat. I didn't want to miss the National Anthem; after all, that's why I was here.
"Great seat," I thought as I slipped into it and got comfy. I was just in time to watch the players do their routine stretching and warm up shots. The seats on both sides of me were currently unoccupied, but I was hoping to have friendly bodies beside me, perhaps someone that would at least occasionally chat with me. Within minutes, my "neighbors" began arriving; it only took a second to realize that I undoubtedly got more than I had bargained for as the sea of red-jerseyed gentlemen swarmed my space, a beer in one hand and a tomahawk in the other.
When the players were being introduced on the ice, I saw absolutely NO empty seats in the house; and the Redwing fans were definitely letting it be known that they were out in full force. I'm sure that for the next three hours, I'd be a Blackhawk fan, considering I might get scalped with a "nerf" tomahawk if I cheered for the opposition.
As the first note of the National Anthem rang throughout the venue, the whoops and hollers began, accompanied by clapping hands, stomping feet, as well as the faint sound of words being sung. I was speechless! It's difficult to verbally describe the aura that hugged the arena except that goosebumps covered me from head to toe. The sensation I felt was totally awesome and in no way disrespectful. Now I knew, but still didn't understand. It's a phenomena at it's greatest moment.
Once my beer-drinking, tomahawk-toting "neighbors" discovered that I had come to the game alone, they were on a mission to keep me entertained during the entire game; then again, I'm easily amused at times. "Yes, I came alone." "Yes, I love hockey!" "No thank you. I have a soda here." "Yes, I do know what offsides is." "Oh, yes, I saw that hit." "Yes, I know the Hockey Song. lol" "No, I really don't care to have a beer." "I'm originally from Montana, but am a true Caps fan now because I live outside D.C." "I'm here for work and chose the Blackhawks over Ophrah." "I thought so, too." "Whoopsie! It's okay; I've had beer spilled on me before. :)" ...and so went the evening. They were, without a doubt, more entertaining than the game itself.
Following the game, I didn't have any difficulty finding the bus once I squished my way through the massive crowd of fans to the correct entrance/exit. As I approached the bus, the driver gave me an enormous smile and asked if I enjoyed the game. "LOVED IT!!" During the return bus trip, he chose not to stop at the corner, but directly opposite the Marriott, waited until I crossed the street, and gave a huge wave out his window. What a great guy!
By the way, the Blackhawks won the game! Woo Hoo!!
When my five co-workers and I headed to Chicago to host a national convention, hockey was the furthest thing from my mind. We would spend the next ten days in the "Windy City," with a few spare days for site-seeing. We were staying at the Marriott on Michigan Avenue also known as the Magnificent Mile (of shopping.) A mile of stores? Were they serious? I'm the one who even hates to venture to Wal-Mart.
Early one morning my co-workers and I made our way to the concierge's desk to see what type of activities we could find to entertain ourselves. Oprah tickets? Why were my friends so excited? I didn't even watch Oprah, let alone want to see her. They got tickets while I continued to wait in line. I definitely wanted something better to do...now sell me a hockey ticket and I'll be in seventh heaven.
I had watched the Chicago Blackhawks for years on television and had always wondered why the fans cheered through the National Anthem. To me, it seemed that such behavior was utterly disrespectful. I needed to see up close and personal what that was all about--sell me a ticket if you have one, please. What? They're playing the Detroit Redwings, their rivals from hell? I'll take the best seat in the house if you have any left!!
As the gentleman handed me my ticket, the only question I had for him was, "Ummm...how do I get to the game?" He laughed and pointed toward the door. "At 5:00 go out that door, take a right, and walk to the corner. The bus will pick you up." That sounded easy enough. My friends peered inquisitively at me, shook their heads, and said, You're crazy!" Perhaps....
As I stood on the corner at 4:45 waiting, I thought to myself, "I'm not crazy, or am I? A lady alone in the city headed for a hockey game at night?" The red Blackhawk jerseys began surrounding me in groves. In fact, once the bus arrived and I jumped aboard, all I saw was a sea of red. I felt a strange sense of security knowing that I wasn't alone. It seemed like only seconds before the United Center loomed ahead of me as the bus drew to a halt. I chose to be the last to depart the bus; and as I peered at the driver, he must have been reading my mind. "After the game, come out this same entrance and I'll be waiting for you but across the street. Look for bus #27. I won't leave without you." What a great guy!!
I had been in hockey venues before and knew that if I didn't pay attention to my surroundings, I could easily get lost. It wouldn't be the first time for me! I noted every vendor, restroom, and sign as I strolled the outer edge of the venue in search of Section 113. Once I found it, I grabbed a soda and snack and headed for my seat. I didn't want to miss the National Anthem; after all, that's why I was here.
"Great seat," I thought as I slipped into it and got comfy. I was just in time to watch the players do their routine stretching and warm up shots. The seats on both sides of me were currently unoccupied, but I was hoping to have friendly bodies beside me, perhaps someone that would at least occasionally chat with me. Within minutes, my "neighbors" began arriving; it only took a second to realize that I undoubtedly got more than I had bargained for as the sea of red-jerseyed gentlemen swarmed my space, a beer in one hand and a tomahawk in the other.
When the players were being introduced on the ice, I saw absolutely NO empty seats in the house; and the Redwing fans were definitely letting it be known that they were out in full force. I'm sure that for the next three hours, I'd be a Blackhawk fan, considering I might get scalped with a "nerf" tomahawk if I cheered for the opposition.
As the first note of the National Anthem rang throughout the venue, the whoops and hollers began, accompanied by clapping hands, stomping feet, as well as the faint sound of words being sung. I was speechless! It's difficult to verbally describe the aura that hugged the arena except that goosebumps covered me from head to toe. The sensation I felt was totally awesome and in no way disrespectful. Now I knew, but still didn't understand. It's a phenomena at it's greatest moment.
Once my beer-drinking, tomahawk-toting "neighbors" discovered that I had come to the game alone, they were on a mission to keep me entertained during the entire game; then again, I'm easily amused at times. "Yes, I came alone." "Yes, I love hockey!" "No thank you. I have a soda here." "Yes, I do know what offsides is." "Oh, yes, I saw that hit." "Yes, I know the Hockey Song. lol" "No, I really don't care to have a beer." "I'm originally from Montana, but am a true Caps fan now because I live outside D.C." "I'm here for work and chose the Blackhawks over Ophrah." "I thought so, too." "Whoopsie! It's okay; I've had beer spilled on me before. :)" ...and so went the evening. They were, without a doubt, more entertaining than the game itself.
Following the game, I didn't have any difficulty finding the bus once I squished my way through the massive crowd of fans to the correct entrance/exit. As I approached the bus, the driver gave me an enormous smile and asked if I enjoyed the game. "LOVED IT!!" During the return bus trip, he chose not to stop at the corner, but directly opposite the Marriott, waited until I crossed the street, and gave a huge wave out his window. What a great guy!
By the way, the Blackhawks won the game! Woo Hoo!!
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