Conquering Obstacles (Part 17--Wrong Answers!)

I  had so many questions and so few answers with so little time to make what would perhaps be the biggest decision of my life; and it was quite apparent that my mom and dad were not going to give any direction. Unfortunately, they had made that perfectly clear.

When I arrived home from school the next day, though, my mom informed me that Mr. Smith had received the same letter that we had and that he would be coming to visit with us once again. He would be able to give me the answers I had been searching for throughout the night.

Even though I made a list, he was definitely more prepared than I was. He brought with him some basic rules that were to be followed:

1) I was to bring no personal belongings to the hospital except an address book, a pen, and stationery. If I brought anything else, it would be sent home with my parents, along with the clothing I wore to the hospital.

2) I could have as many visitors as I wanted, but they were to follow the very strict visiting hours posted. (Like I would be getting any visitors!)

3) I would not be allowed to talk to my parents on the telephone. However, they could call as often as they liked to check on me or relay messages through the nursing staff, and the nurses would in return tell me about the call. But we could write letters as often as we liked.

4) Packages received would be opened by the staff, and they would determine whether or not I could have the contents. (Stationery would be a safe gift to send.) Perishable items were to be shared with the other four girls in my ward. If flowers were received, they would be placed throughout the children's wing of the hospital.

WHAT? I just didn't get it!  This is going to be much harder than I thought it would be!

He knew that I was upset by the rules and explained to me that all children were to be treated equally; and if one child received hundreds of gifts while others received none, it could cause problems among them as well as hurt feelings. Their goal was to protect us the best they could.

Regarding school, a classroom was available. The hospital would contact my home school and together they would determine which courses I would be taking. The school would send the textbooks, but they needed to be approved by the Spokane School District because an instructor from that district would be issuing the grades, not the hospital.

For the most part, Mr. Smith gave all the wrong answers to my questions. How could I possibly go knowing that I couldn't even talk to my mom and dad on the phone?

THIS IS INSANE!!

To be continued...

Conquering Obstacles (Part 16--Questions???)

As I lay awake in bed that night, the questions rambled through my mind.

Am I truly happy the way I am? If that means wearing Oxfords for the rest of my life, then I would say NO. If it means not having as many people stare and point at me, then I would say Yes. My classmates are much nicer to me now than ever before. I think they have accepted me for who I am. That definitely makes me happy.

BUT...my parents are building a new home and will be moving across town this summer. The majority of my classmates will be going to West High School while I will be attending Senior High School. This means starting all over making new friends, so will I be happy the way I am? Probably not because it's going to be tough enough as it is to make friends.

I wonder how long I'll be away from home if I decide to go? I've spent  two weeks with my grandparents in Wyoming during the summers for the last few years. I didn't get homesick. Then there were the weeks at church camp, and I was okay with being away. I'm sure this is going to be more than just two weeks, though.

Wow! I'd be gone on my 15th birthday. That is definitely something I would miss. I wonder if they celebrate birthdays in the hospital?

Will I be back before school starts? I remember when Jacque came to school in the middle of the first grade. I think that would be hard to handle. Everyone has their friends made by then, and being older, I would think it would be even harder to make friends.

What if I'm gone the entire school year? I'd probably have to repeat my sophomore year which would be a total disaster!!  Hmmm...I wonder if the hospital patients even go to school...very good question!

Will this be my one and only chance to change my life? The Shrine Hospital only helps children up to the age of 16, which means that if I choose not to go, I will have thrown away this opportunity. But there could be others, couldn't there?

But then I hear my mother's words once again, "There are no promises." That's quite a negative thought coming from my mother considering she's usually so positive about everything, but perhaps she's preparing me for the worst.

What to do?  What to do?   Is this or is this not part of God's plan for me? 

So many questions and so few answers.

To be continued...

Conquering Obstacles (Part 15--The Letter)

When we returned from our trip to Spokane, it was as though it had never happened. Other than "How was your trip?" neither of my parents talked about it, and I somehow thought that it probably wasn't a good idea to mention it myself. My mom's comment "There were no promises" stuck in my mind; and for the next several weeks that's all I thought about.

Walking through the door one afternoon, I saw both my parents sitting in the dining room, a letter lying on the table between them. Seeing the return address, I knew that it was from the hospital. "Did you read it, Mom? What does it say? Tell me. Is it good news?" As she handed me the letter, I knew that they had already opened it. There was total silence as I read the letter not only once, but twice.

"Mom! This is super news! They have accepted me as a patient! and it says I need to be there on June 1."

"It's wonderful news, but your father and I need to talk to you about it." I'm thinking to myself, "There's nothing to talk about. I can go. I have no idea what the problem is. This is what all of us have been waiting for," and then she continued.

"You need to understand a few things. First, we don't know long you will be away from home. It could be months. You also need to realize that we won't be able to travel to Spokane to see you because your dad has to work and I need to be here with your brother and sister. You'll need to finish your schoolwork early because you will be missing the last two weeks of school."

"That's not a problem, Mom. What's wrong?"

Then she dropped the bomb! "Your father and I want you to be the one to decide whether or not you go. The final decision is yours."

"You are joking, aren't you?"

"No, We're not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do. We don't know what its like to be you. Maybe you're perfectly happy with the way things are. We don't want you to be unhappy living away from home for heaven knows how long. And we all need to remember that 'there are no promises.' We need to contact Mr. Smith by Friday so that will give you a few days to think about it."

I muttered, "I'm 14 years old. I'm just a kid. You have to tell me what to do. This is not fair!" as I walked away from the table and headed to my bedroom where I would spend most of the night thinking about what had just happened.


To be continued...

Conquering Obstacles (Part 14--The Woman)

I was so excited the morning my father took us to board the train. This trip was definitely going to bring many "firsts" for me. Once we found our seats, mom offered me an apple as we hadn't had breakfast yet. I declined because my dad had told me that when the train reached Livingston, the dining car would be hooked on and that we should have our "first" meal on the train. I knew that eating in the dining car would be expensive; so when the time came, I savored every bite.

The train ride took 12 hours, and I enjoyed each moment as though it were my last, rather than my "first." The Rocky Mountains were beautiful in the early spring with the heavy snow still piled on the tree branches and making them look as though they would break at any moment.

The most frightening part of the trip was crossing Coeur d'Alene Lake. When I peered out both sides of the train windows, all I saw was water--no track, no guardrails--nothing! It seemed as though we were just skimming over the water. Only when the track made a slight curve was I able to see the engine of the train.

After arriving in Spokane, we immediately checked into our hotel room (another "first" for me) and mother telephoned Aunt Clara, who was in the midst of preparing dinner for us. Within minutes Uncle Barney was picking us up and heading for their home. I'm not sure what I expected  to find there, but it definitely was not the white carpet I noticed as I walked through the front door. I don't think my mother would ever have had white carpet. I don't remember much else about that night because the three of them reminisced about relatives I had barely even heard of, but it was an "okay" time, and I thought Aunt Clara and Uncle Barney were especially nice people and definitely not out of the comics. :)

The next morning, we took our "first" taxi ride to the hospital. I was so nervous because I could see in my mother's eyes just how important this was to her. I felt quite proud of my performance that day as five doctors constantly took notes after pulling me, poking me, bending me every which way, and watching me do various exercises for them. It seemed like it took hours for the dozens of x-rays to be completed. This wasn't at all like Dr. Allard's office visit. Then before I knew it, we were heading back to the hotel. There was no big meeting with the doctors--we were just gone. I didn't get it! I hope my mom wasn't keeping secrets again!

I questioned her during the ride back to the hotel, but all that she said was, "Remember, there were no promises. The hospital only holds 40 children and it's full at the moment. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

Before boarding the train that night, my mother suggested that we do a little shopping, but it was short lived. As we were walking down the street, a complete stranger, a woman, stopped us dead in our tracks as she intentionally blocked our path. She stood in front of me...patted me on the top of my head...and said, "Oh, you poor child." I was totally stunned and speechless as I glared at her walking away. I can't remember anyone ever doing that to me before. I looked at my mother and very quietly said, "She doesn't know, does she?"  "Know what?" my mother asked.   "That I'm one of God's 'special' children."

Conquering Obstacles (Part 13--The Mason)

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...

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...

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...

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...

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 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

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...

 

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...

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...

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."

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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.

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.

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!

"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.