” 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. 

“Stay Humble and Be Hungry.”

Herm Edwards

I am an Arizona State University (ASU) Sun Devil inside and out! I bleed maroon and gold. You may have read recently that knowrivalry.com named ASU vs UofA playing for the Territorial Cup as the best football rivalry game in the nation. While that may or may not be true,  I know that I wouldn’t date a Wildcat if he were the last breathing man on earth. The man for me will find joy and excitement in my cheering on the fearless Sun Devils. He will understand that a Sun Devil keeps fighting till the very end and, regardless, of the score, remains focused on mayhem until the last second.

I have been going to ASU football games since I was in my mother’s belly. I went to the Rose bowl in 1987 and, reportedly,  kicked up a storm like my mother had never felt before as the Devils trounced the Michigan Wolverines.  To this day, I have celebrated 219 Sun Devil victories with my family. My dad and I are roving season ticket holders. Every year we change our seat locations as we search for just the right spot. Two years ago we sat in the wrong seats for three games until the rightful owners came and we realized that our assigned seats were significantly better. We have left very few games feeling that we didn’t get our money’s worth. Last week’s home game against Washington State was no exception.

While surveying the stadium seating charts my dad and I found two seats, row 7 from the field and on about the 10 yard line. They were the same price as the nose bleed section on the home team side of the field. We thought it would be a good idea to spread the ASU love to the visitors side for this year’s games. For this particular game we were 2 gold dots in a sea of Wassu red. We were surrounded by a couple who just got married and part of their wedding party of 30 who flew in from Washington. During most of the first half of the game they were feeling on top of the world, drinking like fish, getting burnt to a crisp and talking trash. The Devils scored 10 points in the last few minutes to end the half tied at 17-17. All my dad and I could do was laugh because we know that Coach Herm likes to keep the game close. Hope and ferociousness are two of ASU’s biggest traits.

Late in the game with the score tied at 31, the Cougars were on the opposite end of the stadium trying a field goal to take the lead. Our view from 7 rows up was a missed to the right field goal. The Wassu fans were devastated. Dad and I were slapping hands and laughing. The party of 30 were talking about how their team “sucked.” After a brief lull we turned back in disbelief to see WSU kicking and making a field goal. We had no idea a time out had been called just before the kick. The tables had turned. The sea of red was all puffed out with the 34-31 score and a little over 2 minutes to play. I tried to tell them, “This is where ASU lives. We love close games. You will soon see it is far from over.” They started chanting – “nanana na, nanana na, Goodbye.” After three quick passes to Benji and a nice throw to Aiyuk the chants ended. The Devils were on the move. My hands were shaking and I could barely breath. (Can you have a panic attack at a football game?) It was the next pass to Aiyuk that got the ball in field goal range that our male friends in red were screaming, “Defense, Defense” while the women prayed in silence. All of the action was right in front of us just 7 rows away. My dad wanted a high five for picking these seats which I gave him after our freshman quarterback ran the final 15 yards and helicoptered over the goal line. The stadium erupted in a deafening roar, dad and I, the two gold dots did as well. Our enemy in red crumbled like a cheap suit. The Devils were up by 4 with 30 seconds to go. Score a touchdown or go home. They settled for the latter.

The final score 38-34. I noticed some Washington State fans with tears in their eyes, some yelling at each other to just move so they could leave their misery behind and one guy near me just sitting with his head in his hands. We congratulated them on a good game as we continued to stand on our seats and smile as they schlepped past. I tried to console the inconsolable but he would not have it. The difference between him and I – I’m the Pride of the Southwest and he’s the pride of Pullman. I take pride in being a gold dot where ever I am. GO DEVILS!

Moral: 1) Every second counts, use every one of them. 2) Be yourself no matter where you are or who are with. 

Feel free to share your sports memories in the comments or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com and it could be used in a future blog.

“We Can’t help everyone, but everyone can help someone.”

Ronald Reagan

On my way from work this week, I witnessed a motorcyclist slam into the side of a car that turned across traffic in front of him. It is a sight that gets etched into you mind. The motorcycle was in the lane to my right and about 2 car lengths in front of me. When the car suddenly turned across my lane I could see the inevitable. My reaction was to scream, “NOOOOO” as the bike’s front brakes grabbed the asphalt and lifted the back end up perpendicular to the roadway launching the cyclist headfirst into the passenger’s window. The motorcycle bounced to a stop. A blur of cars and trucks moved toward the curb and stopped. I called 911 and joined the dozen or more people running to help the accident victim.

The rider’s face was a bloody mess. His front teeth were dangling through his upper lip. He was asking what had happened. He didn’t remember riding the motorcycle. He stated that he was unaware of how the helmet or the bike got there. When he was told by the group of people around him that help was coming, he dissociated. When asked about family or friends to call, he didn’t seem to know of any despite having his cell phone on him. He did say his name was Will. He sat oblivious to the commotion and strangers surrounding him. It took several minutes before I realized my heart beat and adrenaline levels were returning to normal. I really feared he might have died.

It took the police and ambulances about 15 minutes to get to the scene. It really seemed like forever. People comforted him while others pulled the motorcycle off of him, helped remove his bloodied helmet and backpack. Thankfully, Will was wearing a helmet, or this may have been a different blog. It was nice to see that there was a semblance of order to the help of these strangers in a chaotic commotion.

I listened to the cyclist say he didn’t know what happened, the driver say the motorcycle sped out of nowhere and hit the car, and everyone else seeing what I saw.  It is important to fill out witness statements because everyone may see the same accident, but everyone picks up on something a little different. It is fifteen minutes of paying it forward.

I often wondered if something were to happen to me when I am on the light rail or driving around town, would someone contact my loved ones or call 911. Today showed that the answer is, yes. There may be times when I feel as though I am just another stranger in the crowd, but today showed that there is a community of compassion and concern.

Moral: 1) Always make sure to take in everything around you because you never know when you may need to take a witness statement. 2) Always wear a helmet on a bike or motorbike. 3) Always watch for motorcyclist. 

If you have any misadventures or acts of kindness you would like to share feel free to write about it in the comments or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com for it to be possibly mentioned in a future blog post.

“Life is either daring adventure or nothing at all.”

Helen Keller

Being a diabetic has not always made life easy, but it certainty has made life interesting. I have had to deal with the ever changing insurance policy restrictions, medical supply hurdles, and medical treatment improvements from needles to pumps and finger pricks to continuous glucose monitoring. There is also a need to share this medical history with employers, supervisors, colleagues and friends so that, if blood sugar levels sink dangerously low and I appear incoherent or intoxicated, they will know to get me to drink some sugary juice that I carry in my purse and keep in my desk. Airport security is more extensive than entering an event since they always have me hold the insulin pump and then wipe my hands for bomb residue.  You would be surprised at the number of lay experts who know someone who is a diabetic. More than once they have told me that if I just didn’t eat foods with sugar I would no longer be diabetic. I was even told that I needed to use a treadmill for 30 minutes a day in order to wake up my pancreas to start producing insulin once more. While I do find some advice that people give is coming from a place of caring, I am more inclined to listen to my endocrinologist.

I have had to overcome plenty of obstacles since a virus disabled my pancreas and resulted in my body not being able to process sugars, hence, diabetes at the age of 7. When first diagnosed, I spent a week in the hospital to learn:  how to give myself shots; how to count carbohydrates in the foods I was going to eat; and how to figure out the amount of long term and short term insulin to mix into each shot that would account for the intake of those carbohydrates. Count your carbs wrong and take too much insulin and you go a little wacky and possibly die. No problem there intimidating a seven year old. The next week I moved to Aruba where treatment was quite different. In Aruba I was given an insulin pen that I just dialed in  the exact number of units my carb math indicated that I needed to take for each meal. Much easier that than a needle marked in 5 unit increments. A few years later I was introduced to a one shot a day product which didn’t work well for an athletic youngster who burned sugars at widely various rates throughout the day. When I moved back to the states for high school, doctors put me on the newest treatment, the insulin pump. This looked like a “pager” and contained a vial of insulin that injected very small amounts of insulin through a small plastic tube 24/7. I only had to change twice weekly the small needle inserted in my stomach that the tube hooked into. Easy-peasy. I used to wear sweatshirts or baggy shirts to hide the pump and tubing that made me feel “part human and part machine”. For diabetics the insulin pump is a real game changer that will add healthier years to our lives. As a young adult now, I am still adjusting to buying clothes that will work with my pump and injection site. I am still self-conscious when wearing a bathing suit since you can see this floppy plastic tubing stuck in my stomach or thigh. I have been asked more than once if it is a feeding tube. LOL.

While working for Department of Child Safety in Northern Arizona, I had to testify about some guardianship issues. During the cross examination, the parent’s attorney asked me what expertise I had with dealing with childhood diabetes. I stated that I have been diabetic since I was 7 years old, but was in no means a medical expert. He would ask other routine questions, then came back to my being diabetic and stating that because I am diabetic, I am unfit to be on the case and should not even be a caseworker …. period. I paused a second to wait for the state attorney to object, but as he seemed more interested in cleaning his ear with a paperclip, I stood up and declared, “Objection your honor. Badgering the witness.” The judge chuckled and politely reminded me that only lawyers can object. After the hearing I went to the parent’s lawyer, who I had worked with on multiple cases over the years, and asked why he was so insistent that being diabetic meant I should not be a case worker. He just smiled and said, “You are good at everything else, that was the only thing I could pick on.”

While I have often felt self-conscious that testimony reminded me that I have no choice but to move with the cheese as there will always be someone trying to use your insecurities against you.

Moral: 1) You are worth it. 2) When the going gets tough, learn to move with the cheese.

You can’t help getting older. But you don’t have to get old.”

George Burns

In honor of my grandmother, Eleanor, who was 96 when she passed. This is one of her famous stories. Enjoy.

My grandma was the one of four sisters who did not become a nun. She and her sisters were strong and independent women. Their inspiration may have been their mother, Anna, who was 13 years old when she came to America from Lithuania in the late 1800s. She walked alone over 800 miles thru unfriendly territories, slept in heavy grasses along the dirt roads, and begged for food along the way. She sailed on a steam ship to the Statue of Liberty and landed at Ellis Island with thousands of European immigrants. Without the instantaneous communication of email, her brother in Chicago would not get the letter that she was coming to America until two months after she arrived. With no one to meet her at the Immigration Station, she would have been sent back were it not for the Lithuanian Catholic nuns that vouched for her care and took her in. By the time her brother arrive several months later, she had a job as a maid and donated her earnings to the convent. Thus my grandma, despite, not becoming a nun, has always instilled the ethics of being a kind and generous person whenever possible to whomever may need help.

Sister Mary Elizabeth, a few years older than, Grams, ran an orphanage in Alton, Illinois and later the Catholic Charities Adoption agency.  I became a social worker involved with neglected children, foster families, and adoptions as a result of the lovely and fascinating stories I heard growing up about the strong, educated, and loving women in my family.

Grams, as the story goes, was a bit of a rebel rouser and not afraid to speak her mind when needed. My favorite story occurred when she was 92 years old and went to Walmart with a friend to purchase a couple of bottles of wine for a little party celebrating her winning  the women’s pool championship at her retirement community. My grandma may only have been able to see with any clarity across the room which meant a pool table was well within her visual parameters. She was skilled with a pool stick from her early 20s when bowling and pool were a small community evening out. A little arthritis and an aching back would never let anything stop her from doing something that she loved. Her strength and determination lead to trouncing her opponents and saving her smiles until popping the celebration cork.

Back to Walmart and checking out. While my grandma and her friend were reliving the highlights of the big game, the cashier asked my grandma to see her ID. Thinking the cashier was just being silly, she handed over her driver’s license. The Cashier looking up from card said, “I’m sorry your card is expired.”

My grandma without missing beat let the cashier know, “It may be expired, but I am not.” Grams and her friend laughed.

The cashier didn’t. She explained to my grandma, “that may be the case, but per policy, Walmart has to check everyone’s ID regardless of age and can’t sell liquor if the card is expired.” My grandma tried to explain that she only has the card for ID purposes as she no longer drives due to her poor eyesight. However, the cashier repeated again, that policy is policy and because of that, her friend was not able to buy her wine either. My grandma had the head cashier come over, but he confirmed what the cashier had already told her. My grandma not easily flustered decided that she would let it go for the night. When she returned the next morning with the intention to speak to the store manager, she was pointed instead toward the regional manager. Grandma cut loose with her charm. “Sonny,” she began, “would you do me the favor of selling me a bottle of wine to celebrate me winning the neighboring community’s pool championship.”

“Of, course, “ he answered, “it would be my pleasure.” He took her bottle of wine and lead her to a register. She held out her driver’s license. He looked at it and at her and said, “Mam, that’s not necessary.”

“Well it was yesterday,” she began. She ended with her credo, “It may be expired, but I’m not.” He apologized profusely. They talked as he walked her to her friend’s car. The next day a case of her favorite wine was delivered to her door with a note, “You’re an inspiration.”

Moral: 1) Age does not have to define you, you do. 2) We live and grow through family stories, so always share them when you can.

If you have any family stories you would like to share, feel free to do so in the comments or email, zsmisadventures@gmail.com to possibly have your story featured in a future blog. 

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid.”

Albert Einstein

One of my summer jobs while pursuing an undergraduate degree at Humboldt State was at a 5000 home HOA (Home Owner’s Association). I mention the size because with ten thousand or more residences there are usually a variety of activities available for the homeowners.  I was in charge of checking in guests to use one of the 3 pools and registering for various classes, such as yoga, zumba, and children’s youth club activities, etc. Not difficult work but an introduction to customer service and complaint resolution. One of my first get-out-from-behind-the-counter assignments was to help out at the Sleepy Dog Saloon and Brewery tasting event. It was a try-the-local-craft-beer event that included games and dancing under the stars to Pandora’s greatest hits.

One of the new games was the Gold Fish Race. I was put in charge of recruiting attendees to participate in the races, as well as, setting up the race brackets so that we could crown a Nemo and Aerial of the Sea winner. I was somewhat ecstatic to be trusted with such a task while, at the same time, somewhat leery that this would be a spectacularly exciting event. The race course was a 10 foot gutter sealed at both ends, filled with water and painted with a start and finish line 6 inches inside both ends. Since this was a one and done match race, I set up two gutters on extra-long rectangular tables that gave the crowd of spectators plenty of room to cheer on their favorites. Each fish trainer/competitor was given a little squirt gun and allowed to net their fish racer from a bowl containing 6 freshly purchased gold fish. I made sure the gutters had enough water for the goldfish to feel at home. After explaining the rules to the racers that they must stay at the Start-Line end of the table and could coax their fish to swim to the other end with directional reminders using their squirt gun, I indicated that I was told that goldfish wanted to compete and that swimming was a healthy exercise for a long and productive life.

While trying to recruit participants, I found quite a few people voicing animal rights concerns. If goldfish died during this cruel exhibit of human dominance, their demise was on my shoulders. The races began about three craft beers into the night and when the auditorium loud speakers were turned to broadcasting the race action, an overwhelming crowd gathered around my little event. Some of the loudest cheers and rowdiest contestants were the animal activists.  When the ‘Golden Flash’ was inches from the finish then turned around and sped off to the start line, the laughs drowned out the cheers. It was a great experience to see the community come together and cheer and laugh each other on. At the end of the night everyone was smiling and thanking me for bringing some excitement to the night. After crowning the Nemo and Ariel winners, Nemo’s daughter asked if she could keep ‘Tuna of the Sea’ her dad’s winning fish. I am proud to announce the entire school found a loving home.

Morals: 1) Fish Races are a fun way to bring people together. 2) Step out of your comfort zone, you may have a memorable time.