“What a wonderful thought it is that some of the best days of our lives haven’t even happened yet.”

Anne Frank

If you haven’t thought that the New Year’s holiday was the longest, loudest, and craziest holiday of them all, then you haven’t celebrated the New Year in Aruba. They do much more than bang pots and pans together at midnight, or sit in front of their TV watching a ball drop in New York City or sing and sway to the big band sound of Auld Lang Syne.

The holiday in Aruba officially begins when the Chinese ship docks at the downtown harbor on December 28th. I saw the newspaper headline “Klapchie Arrives” on Friday the 29th. The staff at the resort where my dad was working seemed overly excited that morning. When he asked his supervisor, “What’s going on?” He rubbed his hands together in a frenzy and said with a conspiratorial grin, “ Klapchie.”
“Klapchie?”
“Fireworks.”

When my dad went to the bank with my brother and I in tow, he told the teller that we needed some cash for Klapchie. She laughed when I asked for $50. “You better take $200,” she said smiling, “and get a nice pagada.”

A pagada is a long string of firecrackers that can be bought in various lengths. There must be about a hundred little finger sized firecrackers per foot with every tenth one the size of your thumb. The pagada ends in a massive finale of interwoven wicks and sticks that is a foot square. The idea, I was told, was to roll out the string the width of your property along the frontage road. It would, not only, ward off the evil spirits from entering the property, but also, provide the residents with good luck to start the year.

We bought a fifty foot pagada and a large grocery bag full of firecrackers, rockets, helicopters and an assortment of items that were a mystery to us New Year’s neophytes. We paid a little under $50. Cheap, I thought.

The pagada custom which no one explained extends to the closing of each business for the year. So beginning on that Friday afternoon, as many stores closed, the employees would gather along the fronting street and set off a pagada the width of the property right down the middle of the road. As you can imagine, traffic came to a halt while the celebration burned noisily down the pavement. The noise and smoke, and flying red paper could last for 10 to 15 minutes for a hundred foot business frontage. The business district behind the resort was especially loud because the narrow streets and two and three story buildings endlessly echoed the exploding sounds for all to enjoy. The celebration for most businesses did not end with the Klapchie finale but continued with drinks, food and music in the parking lot or in the red paper covered street. Those caught in the traffic jam were invited to  join the celebration. The larger businesses that had a good year would have a band on a semi-trailer half full of speakers that could drown out a Rolling Stones concert. These mini celebrations continued all afternoon and evening across the island.

The pagada for my dad’s resort was set off at 1 PM on Saturday. It was a tradition that attracted thousands of people, was over a half mile in length and took an hour to reach the finale which was a tightly bound ring of cherry bombs five foot in diameter. Five million fire crackers in all and an explosion at the end that knocked your socks off. It took twelve people about two hours to clean up all the remains.

While we originally intended to set off our grocery bag of pyrotechnics on Sunday evening which was New Year’s Eve, we got caught up with all the neighbors and the neighborhoods that traded explosions beginning Friday night and dispensed with our entire load. We reloaded Saturday morning with three grocery bags and two eight inch rockets. Beginning at 7 am Saturday and continuing throughout the day and late into the night you could hear the explosions and see rockets light up the sky.

I remember seeing people lined up Friday at the veterinarian clinic. We learned that they were there to buy pet tranquilizers. By Saturday night, we were beginning to see why. From our front porch that Saturday night, no matter which direction you turned, you could see something exploding in the sky. We are talking big time rockets with big time booms at the end. Anything you have ever seen or heard at a fireworks event, you could buy and you could launch. All of Aruba was the launching pad….and this was only Saturday night.

Then came New Year’s eve. While we were at a formal beach party to welcome in the new year with plenty of loud music, you could still hear the intensity of Klapchie rising as midnight approached. I slipped off with my soul sister, Yenzully, several times that evening to the roof of the resort that looked out over the island. Aruba is about three miles wide by twenty miles long and from our roof top vantage point you could see that every nook and cranny was lit up with the reds and blues and greens of 10 and 12 inch bottle rockets. By a quarter ‘til the new year a small group of us had gathered on the roof. Yenzully would volunteer me for a dance competition while we waiting for the countdown to start. I want to tell you, that at the stroke of 12, as the cruise ships sounded their fog horns, this island erupted. It was like a war zone … the ground shook, colors flashed, pagadas roared to a deafening crescendo … it was unbelievable. It was everywhere. Trying to describe it how much noise 10 thousand people with bottle rockets can make, impossible. Within 15 minutes, the sky was filled with smoke and the acrid smell of spent powder. We could not see the ground from 6 stories high.

We were home by 1 am to contribute to the excitement. It took us about three hours to shoot off our supply. Our finale was to be lighting and dropping an 8 inch in diameter rocket into a galvanized launching tube and watching it light up the sky and shake our little part of the island. My dad’s mistake was dropping an 8” rocket into a 10” diameter pipe. Without a snug fit, the rocket came out wobbling enough to turn about five feet into the air and blast like a fighter jet across our yard, slamming into the house as we all screamed for our lives, exploding near the front door and pelting us with paper shrapnel. The loudest and momentarily deafening boom at the end of that memorable expedition also knocked pictures off the living room wall. For a split second I thought the fire department was going to need to be called. I started to understand why fireworks of this calla bore are not sold in the states; to keep our homes standing. What a night.

Another custom is to visit your friends and relatives throughout the night and into the morning. Klapchie is set off with each arrival and each departure. Our neighbors had lots of friends and relatives it seemed, tranquility returned and the longest, loudest, and craziest holiday ended just before sun rise on the New Year’s morn.

Moral: 1) Once you have enjoyed Aruba’s New Years nothing else compares. 2) New Years is a time to embrace the here and now.

Please feel free to share your New Year’s experiences in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com.

Have a happy New Year! Feliz Aña Nobo!

“What a greater gift than a love of a cat.”

Charles Dickens

My name is Scooter Melgreen. My life began in Aruba where I hung out in an animal shelter with lots of other cats. One day a pretty blonde haired girl came to visit. She sat down inside our cage. Seemed sweet so I curled up in her lap. Next thing I know, she takes me for a car ride….OOOOW not so good.  It was the week before Christmas. At my new home I met Frenchie. She was a curmudgeon of a cat, it took her long time to get used to my energy and playfulness. I slept a lot. Anywhere I could find a spot, I slept! Sometimes I took showers. I loved water. I would play with the water in the sink between drinking it. I am not a fan of the water bowl.
A few months after I became a Melgreen, we packed up and moved to Clovis, California. First stop, however, was Arizona. We stayed there for a few weeks at Grandma Claire’s. Frenchie and I dwelt in the screened-in patio and learned the meaning of dry heat. ​
In California, I helped supervise the move by snooping and smelling everything in every box that crossed the threshold. I even got to chase butterflies in the backyard. When holidays came around my blonde haired provider would dress me up in costumes which everyone seemed to enjoy. On Halloween I was a pumpkin and Christmas a Snowman. I even got to visit Santa the year he stopped by the house. Frenchie was not into prancing down the runway. She would, however, play with me unraveling the bows on  packages under the Christmas Tree. We had a good time hiding some decorations under the sofa. I especially enjoyed dragging strands of garland under the bed to decorate my own little space. Truth be told I could get tangled up in most anything I set my mind to.​
After a few years of living in Clovis, we all moved West to a cabin on a tree covered hillside near Point Reyes Station which overlooked Tomales Bay north of the San Francisco. That was a very cool place. I got to sit out on the patio and watch all the birds and deer that visited and got fat in our garden. There were a lot of them too. I missed the blonde haired girl who took me in, but she had grown up and was off to college. The next time she came home she brought with her another cat that needed a loving home. For some reason they called her QT (Cutie) which, at first glance, I didn’t understand. After all, she had no color. She was plain vanilla and her eyes didn’t even match. One was blue and the other green. I soon learned that she knew how to have a good time though. Eventually, I was in LOVE. QT and I became very close. We tore into everything with unbridled energy and camaraderie.​
After a few years relaxing in the woods, we moved to Puerto Rico and my blonde haired friend studied miles and miles away at Humboldt State. The three amigos: Frenchie, QT and me, took up residence overlooking the ocean and a golf course. We were able to sun ourselves on the balcony and feel the breeze ruffle our fur. QT and I would slap around the curtains that swayed with the wind. Frenchie watched with disdain. I especially enjoyed the little Coqui frogs that came to visit during the night. It was so much fun chasing them around. ​
Then one day I didn’t feel well. I was taken to a vet where I had to stay for almost a week. I did not get better though, so they took me home to say good bye to my sweet QT and sour puss Frenchie. A little while later I went to sleep.​
My ashes are scattered about the rain forest in Puerto Rico, along the Oregon Coast, and at Humboldt State University. My last adventure was floating in the breeze across the Grand Canyon. ​
Two years later Frenchie joined me. Now Sourpuss and I are together again. She’s in much better spirits now a days. On reflection, I think of myself as a Christmas gift to a loving family that took me on grand adventures, but also let me be myself. I wish the same for all this Christmas Season.​
Moral: 1) The greatest gifts can’t be bought. 2.) Don’t be afraid to let your true colors shine. ​
Please feel free to share your stories in the comments below or at zsmisadventures@gmail.com. ​
​

” I am always with you. Be brave, have courage, and love life.”

Mir Seerat

December 16, 1951, is a day that shall be remember for its worth and substance not for ……

It is a day that my Grandma Claire has never forgotten. It was a day of great joy and great panic. It started out as a regular crisp December morn in New Jersey. My Grandma decided to do some last minute Christmas shopping with her mother, my Great Grandma Claire. They had walked about a half a mile from their farm house to the nearest bus stop. Once on board, they made light conversation about the fact that a little one was due to arrive in mid-January of ’52. Bis Noni could barely contain her excitement, it would be her first grandchild. Arriving at the festively decorated town’s main street, they were greeted by a vendor handing out chewing gum samples. My Grandmother loved gum and could not resist the chance to try out a new flavor. Since her mother was not a chewer, she give her sample pack to her daughter. It may have crossed her mind that being pregnant can be quit stressful and chewing gum was often touted in those days as a ‘tension reliever’. So my Grandma, like me, jammed a whole pack of gum in her mouth and decided to save the other sticks for the ride home.

After a few hours of shopping, they decided to head back to the farm to wrap their purchases and bake cookies for the relatives who would be visiting later that evening. As they walked back to the bus stop, my Grandma started to have some cramps and decided it would a good time to chew the rest of her gum.

They boarded the bus home with all their goodies. They were laughing and planning the holiday meal when all of sudden Grandmother felt a sharp pain shoot across her abdomen. Her mother reacted to the muffled groan by reassuring her that they were only 20 minutes from the farm and she could rest for a bit when they got there. Grandmother, however, realized that the discomfort she was feeling were not from muscle spasms but from labor contractions. As the contractions grew stronger and the commotion drew the attention of all of the neighboring passengers, there was a general panic about what to do next. Bert, everyone’s favorite driver, decided the best plan was to head to the hospital. As he turned the bus around to head back into town, he stopped and told the passengers that they could get off here and board another bus in about 30 minutes  or they could go along for the ride and eventually be home within the hour. All were excited to stay and  keep Grams calm. Like moths to a light bulb, the travelers circled around my great grandmother and her child bearing daughter in the center of the bus and gave their opinions on surviving labor pains. “Sit up straight” and “Lay on the floor” and “Bite down on your purse strap” and “I’ll fan you while you take deep breathes” etc.

At the hospital as my grandma went to throw away the gum wrappers she had held waded up in her hand the whole trip she notice the letters ‘ax’ along the fold. Flattening out the wrapper she gushed aloud, “Oh my god, it wasn’t gum but a laxative.” My mother, Claire, was born later that day.

Moral: 1.) December 16, 1951, is a day that shall be remember for its worth and substance not for my mom’s poop jokes. 2.)Before you put anything in your mouth, read the label. 3.) Small town neighborliness  is a compelling quality of life.

Please feel free to share your stories below in the comments or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com. 

“Our greatest strength comes not from what we possess, but from what we believe; not from what we have, but from who we are.”

Michael Dukakis

It all started on Thanksgiving Day in 1899 at Carrillo Gardens in Tucson Arizona. In front of 300 passionate fans, two teams met for the first ‘Duel in the Desert’. The devotees of the University of Arizona, now known as UArizona, were drowned out by the screams and cheers created by the students who railroaded over from the Territorial Normal School in Tempe (later known as Arizona State University) to play in their first conference championship and to determine the best football team in Arizona. The Arizona Normal School Normals won 11-2. While I am proud of their win, I am taken aback with their choice of team nicknames…..Normals.

Both schools have played each other sporadically since then, making it the longest rivalry in college football. In the 1950’s, things really heated up when ASU, as a result of its large enrollment, wanted to pass proposition 200 to become a University. UArizona, however, had other ideas. Members of the UArizona football team poured gasoline and burned “No 200” onto the Normal football field, which had then progressed to being labelled the Arizona Normal Teachers College. In 1958 the first rivalry game between the two “Universities”, ASU demolished UArizona 47-0 while Sparky, the new Sun Devil mascot, cheered wildly with the crowd. As alumni, we are forever grateful to the Sun Devil legendary coach, Frank Kush, Grady Gammage and the thousands of students for laying the groundwork and fighting to become, not only, a university, but also, today’s largest university in the country.

Keeping with tradition and expectations, my father and I attended the Territorial Cup this year at Frank Kush Stadium. We sang the ASU Fight Song. We chanted, cheered and jeered in our brightly colored maroon and gold get-ups to let UArizona visitors know that this was our house and that the Cup inscribed “Arizona Foot Ball League Championship 1899 Normal” stays here.

What was not expected, however, was that during the last 56 seconds of the game, I got a text message from mom stating that she had seen my dad and I raising our “pitchforks” in the air on ESPN. My “Partnership For A WildCat Free America” shirt and Sparky beanie were, also, proudly on display as the Sun Devils were counting down the clock to an easy 24-14 win.

All I could do was laugh when I got home and saw us cheering wildly on the big screen because my co-workers have always said, “If I will see anyone on ESPN, it will be you.” Probably since there is rarely a day that I am not seen without some Sun Devil related fashion accessory.

Fun Fact, the Normals first mascot was an owl which became a Bulldog during the Teacher College days. Sparky was created in 1946 by Disney illustrator, Berk Anthony. It is said that Sparky’s facial features were originally based off of Walt Disney. Sparky was last updated in  2013. GOOOOOO DEVILS! As for UArizona – Fork’Em.

Moral: 1.) Don’t be afraid to chant and cheer for what you believe in. 2.) Not all Universities are created equal.

Please feel free to share your stories in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com to be used in a future blog.

” Logic will take you from A to B, but imagination will take you everywhere.”

Albert Eisenstein

My dear reader, may I begin by thanking you for taking the time to read this blog. I truly appreciative the support and encouragement you have given me. It means more than you will ever know. I was hesitant to start this blog because I didn’t think it would get the love it has received. I am glad I took the chance of rejection. You all are amazing and I am truly blessed.

Thanksgiving is the day for spending time and making memories with our loved ones. It is, also, the day recognized for eating till you feel your stomach expand in half an hour to the size it takes a mother nine months to reach. I enjoy our family tradition of going around the table and mentioning the silly things we are thankful for, such as my dad no longer wearing white socks with his Nike flip flops or my sister representing Arizona State University (ASU) down in Tucson. Our gathering serves as a reminder that there are so many little things in life that I don’t always take the time to appreciate.

This Thanksgiving I learned that a family member made jelly doughnuts for the ASU graduating class of 1961. A neighbor, who was an English teacher at ASU, loved the family homemade jelly doughnuts so much that she wanted the graduates to experience the wondrous flavors as well. Nonie unhesitatingly agreed. She later learned the extent of their obligation …  she would be feeding the 150 English department graduates at their morning coffee. She trucked in supplies of flour, sugar and jelly and filled the kitchen with mountains of dough. She worked nonstop for two days. It made me wish I could teleport back in time to help and, maybe, to enjoy a few myself.

We may have possibly started a new hot chocolate Thanksgiving tradition this year. Nonie brought Carl, the hot chocolate snowman, to our feast. Carl is a dark chocolate hollow figure filled with hot cocoa mix and mini marshmallows. Heat up a pot of milk, place Carl in the pot and watch him slowly melt into hot cocoa for the entire family.

I laughed watching my family try to divide and stack the half dozen pie left overs so that everyone got an equal share to take home. We also talked about the Dinosaur poop soap from Amazon that we bought for my young nephews. While looking at the product on my phone and being told that it smelled like chocolate, one unnamed family member put the phone up to their nose to see if it really smelled like chocolate. We all laughed till we cried. I’m proud to be a member of this goofy bunch.

We have some great Thanksgiving memories captured on video. It is always fun to pop in the video tape and feel transported back in time. The one in particular involves my brother, Justin at the age of 5 years old with a yellow plastic baseball bat trying to get a turkey out of the tree. He is running around in his trousers with suspenders and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up yelling and screaming enthusiastically that he will get the turkey. My dad is right next to him encouraging him. Then all of a sudden a turkey named, butterball, flies over the fence. My brother runs to Butterball and starts hitting it asking if he got it over and over again. You can hear the voices of family members since passed telling my brother he is a great hunter in between spurts of laughter. It is like they are in the room with me reliving the moment as well. My dad tells my brother it is time to take Butterball to his mom to start dinner. Still wrapped in plastic and a mesh carrying sack, he carries him with such pride and asked if there are any more Butterballs he needs to be on the lookout for as he wonders into the house.

Moral: 1) Always make time for those you love. 2) Don’t be afraid to be a little silly, it may help you live longer.

Please feel free to share your family stories in the comments below or email me at zsmisadventures@gmail.com  in order to be used in a future blog. Thank you.

” Travel. It leaves you speechless then turns you into a story teller.”

Ibn Battuta

Traveling, whether it be by air, sea, or auto is a great way to see the world. It is also a nice way to connect with family and friends, and create new memories. One such memory occurred in 2009 when I went to Puerto Rico to visit my parents for Christmas vacation. I had enjoyed a great holiday vacation lounging at dad’s resort on the beach, playing bingo, hiking in the rainforest and taking in all this wonderful island had to offer. I, even, got to see the Target Rent-A-Car that has the same logo as your local Target and who wanted 6 million dollars to give up its island protected name and logo.

I dragged my dad to a kayaking expedition on the world’s largest bio-luminescent bay at Mosquito Bay. It is named Mosquito Bay after the pirate ship El Mosquito, but bug repellent is not a bad item to bring along. We went out on the tour at dusk. In the pale moonlight our oars sent teal sparkles of water zigzagging all around us. Manatees darted across the water to avoid being hit on the head with our oars. We even saw nurse sharks moving between the kayaks lighting up the water as they passed by. I was so fascinated by seeing my oar hit the water and create illuminating droplets that I almost hit my head on a few low hanging tree branches. My favorite memory was when we lined up in the middle of the bay and, at the word “Go”, raced the 100 yards to shore. Being a member of the Humboldt State University crew team, I was ready for a race speed, splashing free-for-all.  I felt free and unencumbered. The memory of my dad’s face as he desperately tried to keep my pace and, therefore, keep us flying straight across the sparkling water is priceless.

Feeling relaxed and refreshed, I was ready to head back to California and finish my Senior year at HSU. When I arrived at the gate it appeared that my plane was at the gate, however, there was no one at the check-in counter. I started to panic when I saw the sign behind the counter indicating that my plane was delayed. I ran to the attendant behind the counter across from mine to try and get more information. I was assured that my plane was indeed delayed because it needed to make a trip to another nearby island and would return in about an hour. I let out a sigh of relief knowing that I would not be left behind.

Four hours later the flight was cancelled. All passengers were instructed to go to the booking counters and get alternative flight plans, flight vouchers and hotel vouchers, if applicable. I contacted my parents to let them know to come back and get me while I made my way to wait in line. When I got to the front the lady asked me for my flight information and apologized for the cancellation. I let her know that it was nothing she could do and besides what better placed to be “stuck in” for one more day. She laughed and pulled up the itinerary. She let me know that I could get a flight to Washington, DC tomorrow morning around the same time, but my flight to Eureka, California from Washington would not be compensated due to the flight cancellation.

When I asked her to clarify what she meant by that, I was told, ” We will get you to Washington, but you will have to buy a $750 flight ticket in order to get to Eureka from DC.” “

I have a nightmare vision of looking at her with my mouth hanging open in shock. I then broke into tears. She asked if I was alright and apologized for the inconvenience. I explained loudly that I was a college student who most days doesn’t eat unless I am working at the University Grill and can eat grilled cheese sandwiches for free. I use my money to pay my rent and school books. I didn’t have $750 to pay for a ticket that I already had paid for and that the airline connecting flight delay was the reason I would miss using it. I didn’t want to be left in Washington with no way to get back to school to finish my last year of schooling. I didn’t want to have to forfeit my last year as a result of my plane getting cancelled. She again apologized, but said there was nothing she could do. I asked if I could avoid going to Washington and just go straight to Eureka, but was told no.

At that point, I raised my voice another tad and asked to speak to someone because it wasn’t my fault their darn plane missed an island stop and I did not feel I should have to pay for their mistake. The people in the line started to back up due to the cops coming towards my vociferous outburst, but my mom got there first and told me that we would call the airline directly and address it. I left and the policia kept walking.

After contacting the airline directly I was given a flight to Eureka. I was not asked to pay. I thanked the lady on the other line and let her know that she did more than give me new airfare plans, she saved my college dream.

The next day when I got to the DC boarding gate, I had a group of people asking me if I was alright. Some even offered financial help if needed. I laughed and let them know I was much better and would be flying onward to Eureka that day – free of charge.

To this day, I sense that airports and I haven’t always been the best of friends. On a family trip in Venezuela when I was 8 years old, our credit card account was frozen for security reasons because of a slew of charges while we travelled in a foreign country. My Spanish teacher, who was in line behind us, heard the commotion and offered to pay the $300 for the short flight back to Aruba.

The last time I flew with my dad, I had my insulin pump and my phone whipped down. They tested positive for drug related chemicals. I laughed out loud because I thought it was a joke. I guessed wrong, I was escorted to a cubical and the police were called. My dad sat peering through the glass and smiled. They whipped down my hands and equipment again; had a drug smelling dog give me a once over; and then released me with a “Have a good day.” As one of our finest walked me to the door, my dad met us and told the officer, “As a precaution I will walk her to the gate and keep an eagle eye on her.” While they smiled, I did not find their chuckles humorous.

Moral: 1) Kindness comes in many forms. 2) Never, Ever book flights on separate connecting airlines no matter how cheap it may seem. 3) If you plan on travelling abroad let you credit card company know your plans or you may be denied cash withdrawals.

Please Share your stories in the comments below or at zsmisadventures@home.blog to be used in a future blog.

“Our happiest moments as tourists always seem to come when we stumble upon one thing while in pursuit of something else.”

Lawrence Block

Located on the border between Canada and the state of New York, Niagara Falls welcomes more than 15 million people a year. There is always a subtle breeze. The air is crisp and a raincoat is a must. Niagara falls is perfect for a romantic getaway or a family vacation. It is the place to go to find oneself or to start a new life with someone special. No matter the reason for going, I have been assured, it is a place where memories are made.

While waiting for the light rail and talking about memorable trips, Caroline shared her memories of exploring Niagara Falls. About 7 years ago, Caroline and her husband travelled to Canada with plans to celebrate their anniversary visiting Niagara Falls. She talked about seeing the falls lit up at night and how majestic it appeared; about taking a walk over a bridge to get a better view of the falls; and about venturing into the surrounding forest for better photo opportunity. After climbing over some rocks for the perfect backdrop, another wide eyed tourist took their photo. As she turned around to grab a boulder for a safer decent, she saw something that didn’t quite look like it belonged. She kept staring at the outline shadowed in the rocks, but wasn’t quite sure if what she was seeing was real or if she had seen too many horror films. She nudged her husband and pointed, “What is that over in the rocks?”

His jaw dropped and he whispered, “That is a dead body. I mean a real dead body.”

Caroline questioned how he knew it was a body and not just an odd pile of rocks that looked like a body. She recalled him saying the rocks were black. She told me that even to this day she can still see the image of a bloated blueish/grey body on a shallow outcrop of stone near the bottom of Niagara Falls. She learned that the police were investigating the case and she was too woozy to probe for more details. One thing she did discover is that over 40 people fall to their death each year either as a victim of slippery footing on the rocks or suicide.

After our conversation of memorable trips stumbled into dead bodies, I recalled the late afternoon I was confronted by police outside my first apartment complex post college. The local authorities were investigating a neighboring young lady’s dead body that was stashed under her boyfriend’s bed for 3 months. It later come out that her boyfriend had killed her during an argument. He claimed to be unaware that he had killed her because he left their home for about 15 minutes. When he returned he claimed to have tried CPR, but to no avail. After three months of having her under the bed tightly wrapped in plastic, his conscious got the best of him and he confessed his crime to his father. His father told the local newspaper that he called 911 after confirming the young girl was in his son’s apartment and not breathing.

Luckily the train whistled its approach and ended our exploration of dead bodies. I remember sitting in silence for 10 to 15 minutes and thinking about the families of the victims, thinking about their grief and suffering and thinking about the randomness of not living to a ripe old age.

Moral: 1) Memories come in many forms. 2) If you or anyone you know is contemplating suicide or just needs someone to talk to; call  1-800-273-8255 (National Suicide Prevention Hotline).

Please feel free to share your stories in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com to have it possibly be used in a future blog.

“In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take, relationships we were afraid to have and the decisions we waited too long to make.”

Lewis Carroll

With Veterans day around the corner, I wanted to thank all those who have served in the military, especially those aboard the Naval USS Jason served along side my Grandpa Ed Gustafson. He was apart of the christening of the USS Jason in California prior to its departure to Korea. He was 32 years old. He is my role model for living because despite being told he was too old to enlist, he did it anyway. He wanted to fight to protect his family and his country and he didn’t let anyone or anything stop him.

Every time we visited, he had knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other that would later transform into an intricate piece of art. He would often take time from his carving to teach me to tie my shoes and to tell time on an analogical clock. This was no easy feat as I was later diagnosed as having a Visual Spatial Learning Disorder which makes it difficult for me to process patterns quickly. I was often amazed that he could eat one kernel of corn at a time. He was not phased when everyone at the table was finished with their meal in 12 minutes and it took him more than half an hour. Like his meals, he truly soaked up every minute of the day.

When I was 10 years old and he over 80, he visited my family in Aruba. When we went to the beach, we splashed each other in the ocean for hours on end. Despite being half blind, Grandpa Ed also played golf with my dad and brother on the windy Caribbean course, Tierra Del Sol. I drove the golf cart and watched a unique round of golf. Dad would line up Grandpa on the tee box and position the club in his hand so that it was right behind the ball and then step back and watch him smack the ball down the middle of the fairway. While vision more than 10 feet was a blur, he didn’t let anything stop him from living life to its fullest. When I asked, “Grandpa how can you enjoy golf when you can’t see?”

His reply is something I remember almost word for word today, “I can smell the ocean air, feel the warmth of your Aruban breeze and share some special time with you.”

He passed when he was 92 years old. I like to think that somewhere up in Heaven playing golf or dealing cards or catching fish with the same intensity and joy that we shared when together. If he is fishing then Grandma Eleanor is probably telling him how big the one that got away was. He would be laughing because he wouldn’t care. He would be having fun and enjoying the moments as they came.

Moral: 1) Try not to let the concept of time run your day, instead, try and enjoy the moments as they come. 

Feel free to share your stories in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com and it may be used in a future blog.

“On Halloween you get to become anything you want to be.”

Ava Dellaira

Halloween started as a Celtic tradition to ward off ghosts. They dressed up in costumes and danced around a fire pit. I must have a drop of Celtic blood since I will celebrate any opportunity to dress up in costume and dance around a fire.

My first costume was a Chiquita Banana. My mom made it for trick or treating with my brother and sister when I was 6 months old. That was also the last time I gave up my candy. Mom continued to make costumes for me and my brother until she thought we were too old to beg our neighbors for sweets. I have been a cheerful Jester, Peter Pan, and Pocahontas. I was always fascinated that she was able to take a plain looking piece of material and turn it into something magical and wonderful that didn’t look like a cheap 5 and dime outfit. I enjoyed knowing that my costumes were unique and different and made with love. I still have a steamer trunk full of those costumes in hopes of sharing them one day with my own little ones.

I think I must have known at an early age that I would never know how to cut out a pattern and then sew it all together as I can’t even draw a straight line with a ruler. I will, however, be able to share the wonderful memories of roaming our neighborhood in my mother’s homemade costumes. Walking with friends, like my mom and dad did, as the kids run from house to house.  While I’m much too old to knock on doors, I still enjoy heading to a nearby farm to pick the perfect pumpkin. While I cannot sew, I can carve a pretty mean pumpkin. My ASU pumpkin won a pumpkin carving contest.

To all those that made a costume or let the little ones pick one off the rack, I hope you have a good time making memories.

Moral: 1) Simple acts of kindness can and do last a lifetime. 2) Try your best to always live in the moment and cherish the here and now.

Feel free to share your Halloween stories and or costume pictures in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com for it to possibly be used in a future blog. 

“To be upset over what you don’t have is to waste what you do have.”

Ken Keyes

This week, the powers that be, assigned me an additional title – Floor Sweep. My first thoughts were of the chimney sweeps in Marry Poppins. Was I going to be handed a broom larger than life and be asked to sing, “Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be…”? Did the State of Arizona really want me to dance down the halls singing? Is there any pleasure in a warbling voice like mine?  Tomatoes may be hurled but I would be honored to do it.

I was quickly relieved, yet, saddened to realize that there would be no singing or dancing or even sweeping in the literal sense. I would, instead, be a part of the high rise team who are charged with making sure that everyone leaves the building safely in case of a fire.  I would “sweep the floor” and be the last one out of the top floor. We would have a fire drill sometime in the next week.

I had told the higher ups that I would, not only, take the position, but also, take it seriously despite the slim chances of a real fire actually engulfing our building. I feel practice is better than panic. No one ever gets in their car thinking they are going to get into an accident, or boards a plane thinking they will have to inflate a life vest for a water evacuation, or enters a bar to celebrate a promotion with friends thinking that they might soon be dodging bullets from a semi-automatic, but it does happen. While I wasn’t a Girl Scout, I like their motto – Be Prepared. I also believe that we can have fun getting prepared. As my brother, Todd, always says, “Safety First.”

A further reason for taking our drill seriously occurred several years ago. I had been sitting in my office for several hours listening to Pandora on my phone while I worked on a court report when I got up to stretch and retrieve some additional files. When I opened my door I sensed that it was awkwardly quiet. Then walking toward the file room I notice that there was no one at the front desk. As the hall opened into the large room of cubicles, there was no buzz of conversations, coughs, printers spitting out paper or phones ringing. As I turned to open the file room door, I realized I didn’t see the first row of heads peaking over the dividing partitions. If that wasn’t startling, seeing 2 fireman inspecting the electrical panel in the file room certainly was. They wanted to know why I wasn’t outside. I told them that I didn’t know that I was supposed to be outside since there was no alarm and no one told me of a problem. They looked dismayed and subsequently failed our offices preparedness.

It turns out our building was scheduled to have a fire drill, but the alarm did not go off. As this happened in a small town, the fire department showed up to see if we evacuated properly, but instead what they found was an office still full of people. The firemen told the office director that it would be best to evacuate so they could see how long it would take us in case of an actual fire while a couple of firemen looked into the alarm issue in the file room.

However, due to my building not having any floor sweepers, I was not accounted for during the “evacuation” and left for accidental cremation. The result, I took the requested sweeper’s position seriously. Everyone will be evacuated, accounted for, and will understand their own individual roles in the process. I took it upon myself to discuss with all of the supervisors and directors how we could account for who is in and out of the office at any given time. I also created a sign that will be held up by a designated person to make sure that our floor gathers appropriately in the parking lot for an accounting roll call. In a true emergency the Fire Department needs to know two things: 1. If there are unaccounted people possibly on a floor and 2. How many people on each floor are waiting for help down the stair wells.

 Moral: 1) Be Prepared. 2) Don’t be afraid to be creative and have fun when dealing with topics such as fire safety. 3) It is important to help others during an emergency.

Please feel free to share your stories in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com and they might be shared in a future post.