Adventure Awaits: Costa Rica Style

“Fill your life with adventures not things; have stories to tell not things to show.”
Jaswant Soni

Growing up, traveling became second nature. I enjoyed going on trips, seeing and doing things other kids don’t normally get to experience. I rode a bus in Peru up the side of a mountain where the road was so narrow that our bus had to back up several times in order for a car to continue going down the rocky, rutted road. One slight turn of the wheel in the wrong direction and the bus was going off a cliff with me and the 7 other tourist who were visibly shaking and holding on for dear life. All of this just to pet a herd of llamas and see the terraced rose gardens where the Pro Flowers ilk ship their boxes of roses from. I learned to row a dugout canoe down the Amazon River on my 13th birthday where out of the blue and in the middle of who knows where another canoe filled with tourists started singing Happy Birthday to me as they rowed passed us. I got to travel to Curacao and Trinidad for sports exchanges once a year throughout middle school playing basketball, volleyball, tennis, and soccer. I was even named MVP for basketball and volleyball my 6th grade year. I have traveled by ship, train, air, and cars to visit friends, family, and places of interest all over the world. I had not, however, traveled alone to a destination where no one I knew was waiting to greet my arrival. At least not until I decided to go on a Wild Woman’s Retreat in November of 2018.

The Woman’s Retreat was in Costa Rica and would focus on self-love, forgiveness, and after letting go, being ready to move on. We completed hours of meditation sessions daily, but instead of doing them in a class or in a living room, we did them in the rain forest or on the beach. We did various exercises to support each other letting go and working on transitioning into the butterflies we knew we were, but couldn’t see. We did this by finding our voices while we chanted and danced, often naked, in the rain forest. We went zip lining. We had massages. We had long meaningful talks about life experiences and listened to each other as we spoke our truths out loud. We had a marriage ceremony were we spoke heartfelt vows to ourselves. On the last day of the retreat, I went to the beach and put my feet in the water and spoke to the spirits around me about love and how I was proud of who I am and that the right guy will be proud to be with me. I forgave myself for past issues as there is nothing to be done about them now. I promised to never let any one person make me feel bad about myself because the only person who can do that is me and I was no longer going to do that.

I will admit that I was apprehensive about going on the trip, but I figured at the age of 30, it was about time I went on a grand adventure that I would remember and talk about for years to come. I am glad I did. I was able to meet wonderful souls who were willing to be exposed and discuss their vulnerabilities, something I hadn’t done in forever. I was able to learn from them and from the many hours of self-reflection that being confident is great, but it is also great trying and failing. I learned that the hardest thing to do, but the simplest thing to do is just ask for help and be honest with others. I learned to let go of expectations of what might happen and just be in the moment. Not as easy for me as it sounds and something I am still working on today. The moments I had been surrounded by those strong powerful woman, whether it be in the in the middle of the jungle or under a water fall, or simply just sitting in a circle holding hands were the few times I ever felt completely free and not judged. I was able to embrace the imperfections that make me who I am and be proud of my whimsical self.

Moral: 1) Sometimes stepping outside your comfort zone is just what the doctor ordered. 2) Being able to sit in silence and listen to someone tell their story is hard, but good for everyone. 3) You, my friends and readers, are amazing. 4) Remain Wild and Free.

Thank you for reading and following my blog. If you have any comments or stories you would like to share you can do so in the comments below or by emailing zsmisadventures@gmail.com.

Embracing Kindness

“Do things for people not because of who they are or what they do in return, but because of who you are.”
Harold S. Kushner

Before college, riding the bus alone would have been one of my biggest fears. Fearful that I would miss my stop, that I would get on the wrong bus going the wrong direction, or that I would be seated next to the Boston Strangler and that no one would be there to help pull his boney fingers from my throat. However, without a car and in need of food, I took the bus two miles down the road to Target for grocery shopping. After a few trips, I not only avoided starvation but also slowly started to embrace the practice of public transportation.

My last year at Humboldt, I lived in a place that did not have a washer or dryer. The nearest laundromat was 5 miles away. I still did not have a car and would often relay on friends to take me and we would enjoy doing our laundry together. However, on the days that my friends were booked and laundry couldn’t wait, I took the bus. At first, I felt a bit strange and embarrassed riding the bus with my big purple laundry basket under my arm and, in fact, avoided eye contact rather than feel the stares of pity. About the third laundry excursion, I tripped as I walked down the aisle and spilled my dirty clothes down the rubber walkway. Before I could scream in mortification, a young lady jumped out of her seat, put here clothes basket down and helped me gather my things together. Laundry Laurie became a lifelong friend. We began scheduling our trips and sitting together proudly with our laundry baskets. We joked about the questioning looks we got as the passer-byes tried to figure out why we were walking down the street with laundry baskets balancing on our heads. I even turned down free rides with my roommates in order to join Laundry Laurie for the public
transportation trip.

10 years later, I have graduated from college, acquired a Master’s Degree, and bought a home where I can walk to my own washer and dryer in my Harry Potter, Slytherin, bath robe. Instead of riding a bus to do laundry, I now take the light rail to work. I opted to reduce my carbon footprint and use public transportation three years ago due to the heavy traffic on the freeway, the growing number of careless drivers crisscrossing lanes and causing avoidable accidents, and the stress of having two bumper to bumper freeways merge within a mile of my exit ramp which is four lanes to the right. I found that the light rail allowed me a chance to relax both on my way to and from work. I could watch the progress of buildings being developed all over Tempe and downtown Phoenix, but most of all, I could watch and interact with the community around me. I have had lengthy, heartfelt conversations with strangers who have later become friends. I see familiar and smiling faces rather than horn blaring, steering wheel banging, screaming red faces of our freeway commuters. We make a habit of looking out for each other. We make sure to hold a spot for a seat mate on the train as it can get quit full. We inquire if someone has been missing from our section for a few days. Beyond that, there is the simple joy of closing my eyes and listening to my music and not worrying about what the raging road warriors may do next.

If you ride the light rail daily you will see some interesting human behaviors, such as, a young lady attempting to start a 6 AM argument with her significant. She kept saying, “I don’t want to start an argument but ….. “ over and over for about 20 minutes. When she finally stopped talking and looked over at him, he was sound asleep. There are times when a seat mate may “accidentally” fall asleep on your shoulder. There are those who think that women always need to be escorted, but are lucky enough to have friends restrain them from following you off the light rail.

However, there are also those times when an older gentleman falls on their back as the train comes to a sudden stop causing their leg to bend like a rag doll. I was able to see firsthand how human kindness makes a different in someone’s life. I was able to see also how technology has caused us to be less aware of the world around us. While I was going to help the gentleman up and check if he was alright, I noticed that most people were looking at their phones and didn’t even notice that the man had fallen. I spoke with the man and was able to convince him to allow me and a friend of mine to help him up when the train stopped. He spoke about being embarrassed and the hardships he faces having one artificial leg. He also stated that he was grateful for our help. He spoke of being aware that most people are always on their phones or use it as a way to avoid looking at someone like him who is older, looks homeless, and shuffles as he walks. I let him know that I was happy to help and reassured him he had nothing to be embarrassed. I spoke about falling all the time and I have two good legs. I have never seen someone laugh so hard. In the end we were able to get someone to move their backpack off the handicap bench so he could sit down. I stood next to him
and talked through the next few stops.

It is moments like that I am happy that I get to ride the light rail because I would not be able to hear about his love for his dog or how he sees society otherwise. I would not be reminded to take the time to reflect on my own actions and how they may or may not affect others. I would not see the impact that one simple of act of kindness can have; it can make a person feel seen and valued which is not
something to be taken lightly.

Moral: 1) Choose Kindness, even if it is just a smile, it can turn a person’s whole day around. 2) You are never alone as we are all in this together and in the end you always have you for company. 3)Public Transportation is nothing to fear it is something to celebrate.

Please feel free to share your stories in the comments below or email me at zsmisadventures@gmail.com and your story may be featured in a future post.

Together We Rise

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
Martin Luther King Jr.

I have always been fascinated by Martin Luther King Jr., originally born Michael King Jr., and his ability to stand up for what he believed, regardless of the consequences. He was able to use his voice as a catalyst to ignite change in a peaceful, yet attention-getting, forceful manner. He was able to shine a light on racism in a way that others could not. He did more than just say racism is wrong.
He helped communities speak up about the injustices of segregation, about the importance of freedom of speech and how to conduct demonstrations the drew attention to their movement.

In October of 1958, Martin Luther King Jr. was stabbed in the chest while autographing books at a department store book signing event. His survival only reinforced his dedication to nonviolence. He committed his life to organizing and being a part of peaceful protests. He did not believe violence sustained change.

One such protest took place in front of 250,000 demonstrators at the Lincoln Memorial in August of 1963 where he articulated his beliefs in the celebrated “I have a Dream” speech to kick off the March on Washington. The speech that day was more than just one of America’s most iconic speeches, it also served as a lesson on how to organize and fight for freedom and equality. It was the defining
moment of the Civil Rights Movement. Without Martin Luther King Jr.’s willingness to speak out for injustice and be arrested more than 30 times in the process, who knows when segregation issues would have been addressed.

I have given my fair share of speeches in the past when running for class president, being the commencement speaker at graduation and addressing a Kiwanis meeting on the issues of child neglect and abuse. While not as gifted a speaker as King, I did learn that speaking about an issue which you are passionate about is, not only, more fun, but also, can be more heart felt and
inspirational. I had no idea what I was really trying to do with my class presidential speech, but I knew exactly how and why the business leaders in the Kiwanis club could help our community’s foster children.

One of today’s leading issues is Women’s Rights. I was excited to hit the pavement in 2018 to protest the hideous attacks on Planned Parenthood offices that provide health services to women, failures to recognize the insidious date-rape culture, and the never ending assaults on women’s right to choose.

Having spent a lot of time in Planned Parenthood waiting rooms during college in order to get free pap smears, breast exams, and birth control pills, I was visibility upset at the thought of this resource not being available to those that need it. In college, I was able to work to make enough money to pay rent and eat food thru my work for free. I did not have health insurance due to being over 18 and
excluded by insurance companies from my parents plan and part time employees are excluded from company health plans. I did not have money for doctor visits. Being a woman, diabetic, and having a history of breast cancer in my family, it was important that I be able to see a gynecologist. Planned Parenthood was that resource that allowed me to have peace of mind on health care concerns.

It was heartening to see the number of men that showed up at the state capital for the First Women’s March in Arizona. Men had signs, shirts, and megaphones in order to speak out on behalf of their loved ones. It is because of those men and women that conversations about sexual abuse where able to be discussed in a non-shameful manner. It is because of those men and women’s voices about the
importance of their health services that our local Planned Parenthood clinics provide they did not get shut down. It is because of those men and women who I joined in a peaceful march and because of inspirational leaders like Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks and Betty Friedan’s NOW (National Organization of Women) that I too felt empowered to speak up on my own behalf in order to be treated as an equal. I was able to say with confidence that fighting like a girl is something to be proud of and not mocked as girls are strong, witty, and fierce. For I too have a dream worth fighting for, a dream where one day it is no longer asked or debated if a woman can be president, it is just a given that presidency has no gender.

Moral: 1) It is important to speak out against the injustices that you see as it can inspire others to do the same. 2) Change does not happen overnight, so be patient. 3)As Martin Luther King JR. has stated, “No one is free until we are all free.”

Please feel free to comment about your experiences in the comment section or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com and it could be used in a future blog. Thank you for following zsmisadnventures and stay whimsical.

My Lucky Strike

“There are rules to luck, not everything is chance. To the wise; luck can be helped by skill.”
Balthasar Gracian

My brother, Todd, who lives in Corvallis, Oregon is known for the poker tournaments that he hosts. He is proud of the ten player green felt table that he made. Additionally, he is a little beyond competitive and loves the statistics involved in poker. He has played at the World Series of Poker tournaments in Vegas. While he didn’t win he did broaden his skills. In 2009, while on summer vacation from Humboldt State University located on the Northern California coast, I visited Todd and posted the $20 entry fee for his poker tournament. We meet to eliminate our competition every month for 3 months until there was only 2 of the original 18.

Having never played in a poker tournament, I expected to go out in the first round and spend the rest of the time serving cocktails. I was excited when the first night of the tournament was over and I was still alive. Comparatively speaking, I had plenty of chips to carry me to the next round, which meant that I also had more time to study the do’s and don’ts of High Stakes Poker. Todd was not so lucky. His pair of Queens was taken out by a pair of Kings. It was the first time he didn’t make it to the final round of his tournament.

As the second round of the tournament began, my brother played the gracious host and dealer. I listened to him still talk smack even though he was a bleacher bum. The cards came my way. On the final hand of the evening, I was pushed to an all-in and hit a full house on the river. The player with three aces cried. Big crocodile tears too. I never would have dreamt of making it to heads up for 360 bucks. My previous gambling luck was winning $300 on a Caribbean Cruise bingo game playing my dad’s card.

The final round came and I was ready. I had read every article and watch every YouTube video I could find on tournament poker playing. Chester and I sat down at the table to begin the final round of play while Todd dealt the cards. We traded a couple of wins each. I drew a pair of Aces on the flop and all of the books and videos suggested a heavy bet. While I held about 40% of the chips between us, I felt that this jackpot was mine and went all in. The turn and the river were low hearts and I felt invincible. But Chester showed a flush and with a big smile pulled all of my chips into his corner. Winning would have been great, but it sure felt great to come in second in Toddy’s poker tournament.

I have learned that Lady Luck has a treasured place in our family and that being broke doesn’t stop one from having fun. It just forces you to come up with innovative ways for entertainment.

For example, when my dad was young, he and his college roommate Charles, didn’t have much money. In fact, on this particular day between them they only had $6. Their collegiate wisdom suggested the fastest way to quadruple their money was to bet at the horse track. Knowing little about the art of reading horse racing forms, they decided the best money was to be made betting quinellas or betting 2 dollars on two horses that would finish first and second. It didn’t matter the order. Not knowing which jockey or horse to root for they decided to pull numbers out a hat. So while driving down the freeway to the race track they pulled two numbers out of a hat. Their lucky numerals were 6 and 3. They had to wait until after the 6^th race to get in free and not further deplete their already miserable betting wad. They lost two thirds of their money in races 7 and 8. When my dad got up to put their last 2 dollars down, Charles grabbed his arm and pointing to the racing program said, “Let’s wait til race 10. These horses will only make money pulling a milk wagon.” So they sat in the grandstands and watched the 3 and 6 horses edge across the finish line and pay $780 for a $2 bet.

50 years later if you mention the numbers 3,6 and 780, they will shake their heads. I, too, can still picture peeking at the Ace of Hearts and Spades and then confidently pushing all of my chips to the center of the table. Must be a gambler’s nightmare.

Moral: 1) Don’t stop believing in one’s ability to accomplish tasks even if that task has never been one you have completed before. 2) Don’t be afraid to take chances, that is where the real excitement lies.

Please feel free to share your comments below or email zsadventures@gmail.com with your adventure stories that may be included in a future blog. Stay Whimsical.

Ringing in the New Year with ASU

“Passion is what makes life interesting, what ignites our soul, fuels our love and carries our friendships, stimulates our intellect, and pushes our limits.”
Pat Tillman

On December 31st, 2019, I attended my first Tony The Tiger Sun Bowl in El Paso, Texas. I am grateful for the opportunity to support my Devils, but to also bond with another group of people I would never have interacted with if not for this bowl game. El Paso is a place that is both welcoming and kind.

On August 31, 2019, El Paso lost 22 innocent lives during a Walmart hate-crime shooting aimed at killing Hispanics. Instead of choosing to see this act as an attack only on Hispanics in the community, they decided to come together and help one another through the grieving process. They created a memorial in front of the Walmart to memorialize those that were lost. It is a 30 foot candle with 22 individual aluminum arcs that light up. Throughout the town the logo, El Paso Strong, can be seen on billboards and stenciled on buildings and walls. It signals strength which unites a community. This is rare to find and rarer to see several months after such as tragedy. Countless people are needlessly killed every day but due to the high volume are overlooked. It gave me hope to see El Paso come together and say enough, this is not acceptable, and we will do our best to make sure another tragedy of this caliber doesn’t happen again.

I was grateful for the opportunity to attend a bowl game. It’s not often you can get reasonably priced 49 1/2 yard line seats twenty rows from the field of play but we did. Mid way through the first half ASU kicked a field goal and the ball went into the crowd. Rather than returning it to the field of play, it was tossed further up into the stands and eventually made its way to plunking and bruising my mom’s shoulder after somehow going right through my hands. (My Excuse: I was twisted sideways trying to catch it over my back shoulder with a confining jacket restricting my normally smooth movements.) My neighboring ASU alumni was able to throw it further from the on-coming security guards. It was fun watching those around us get into the game and yell some of the most absurd things: on fourth and 15, “Let’s go for it. It’s only a bowl game”. Florida State University fans around us were so outnumbered that they could not get a good cheer going for more than a few seconds.

I enjoyed meeting Tony the Tiger and the Sun Bowl mascots at the battle of the bands the night before the big game. ASU won, but it wasn’t hard to see why. We had, for example, 10 xylophones to FSU’s zero and 22 tubas to their measly 6 and over double the amount of band members. I enjoyed seeing the thousands of fans at the ASU tailgate party and the homemade signs welcoming FSU to join our beer fest since they didn’t have an organized gathering. ASU’s band and cheerleaders provided some entertainment to awaken the cheering spirits.

The Sun Bowl certainly lived up to its name because my face was fried after 6 hours of exposure. It was worth it to see Tyler Johnson, # 41, recover a Florida States fumble in the last minute of the game to synch the win for Arizona State. Though only a sophomore he is retiring from the game due to multiple lingering injuries and concussions. A sweet and memorable way to end his Sun Devil career.

Driving back to Arizona after a 20 – 14 win, singing the fight song, laughing at some of the game time antics and giving the fork salute as we passed FSU alumni heading West never felt so good.

Looking forward in the near future to going to the Rose Bowl and wearing the same sweatshirt that my mother was wearing at the Rose Bowl when preggy with me. Go Devils!

Moral: 1) Always be there for your fellow man as you never know what they are going through. 2) There is more to football games than just football.

Please feel free to share your stories of courage and comradely in the comments below or at zsmisadventures@gmail.com to possibly be shared in a later blog.

Here Comes The Boom

My soul sister, Yenzully, and I bringing in the New Year (2000)

Klapchie

“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!

Adventures of Scooter Melgreen

“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.

The Power of Chewing Gum

” 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.

Territorial Cup: Why It Matters

“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.

Thanksgiving Chronicles

” 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.