Handle every stressful situation like a dog, if you can’t eat it or play with it, just pee on it and walk away.
Prashant Ahire
I am happy to announce that my brother, Todd, his significant friend, Jenny and her daughter, Ada have expanded their family. This past week they adopted a 9-week-old Lab and Black Mouth Cur mixed rescue puppy. They named him Twister, a nickname my brother acquired from his childhood day’s claim that he outrun a Texas Tornado on his bike. Everyone was super excited, especially Ada. She was so excited she tried out his travel crate to make sure it would be appropriately comfortable. Nothing was going to be too much for this little guy.
Twister was expected to have his own travel adventure getting to their Oregon home, but just how much was grossly underestimated. He rode in an air-conditioned animal freight liner with 3 other pups from Houston to Vancouver, Washington about 2,270 miles and roughly 33 hours. Fortunately, it was set up in a way that he could get in and out easily to use the facilities at various stops along the way. He was able to see and open his doggie curiosity to science and aviation along the trip by spotting signs for the Future Flight Aviation Center and the SPARKS Museum of Electrical Invention. The first electronic razor and Thomas Edison’s three wired powered cable can be seen there. While he was most likely dreaming of what fun he might have wearing his own white lab coat and helping Mr. Edison when the truck broke down. Luckily, the drivers where skilled mechanics and with Twister’s support were able to fix the issue within several hours. Once back on the road it was only a matter of time before he would meet his Forever Family who sat in The Acorn, Vancouver’s famous vegan diner, trying to stretch an herb and edible blossom salad lunch into a two hour tofu extravaganza.
When Twister finally made it to Vancouver and spotted them kneeling on the tarmac with arms wide open, he sprinted to Todd, Jenny, and Ada. Licking their faces and wanting to play, he thought he was home. He wasn’t told that Albany, Oregon was another hour and a half ride. He was so exhausted after playing and traveling for 33 hours that he laid on Todd’s lap for the full hour until they stopped at Willamette University in Salem to get Todd’s car. Ada and Jenny wanted to give Twister a chance to try out the basket they made with buckles and harnesses and pillows to keep him safe and comfy in the back seat. It was deemed escape-proof. Twister, however, lived up to his name and within minutes wiggled out of the basket. The two cars pulled off to the side of the road where Todd assured Jenny that he and Twister had bonded, and that Twister would sit on his lap the rest of the way home.
Within minutes of Twister transferring cars for the third time on this journey, he continued his bonding by climbing onto Todd’s belly and sleeping with his head snuggled into Todd’s shoulder. It was when Twister awoke with a wiggle that Todd’s Buck-Naked Wicking Shirt filled with the warmth of pee and poop. Todd laughed. He couldn’t scold nor scare their new puppy. The caravan stopped at a rest stop and cleaned both Twister and Todd. Shirtless Todd and Sparkling Clean Twister got back into the car to finish the journey. Just a few miles from his new home, Twister raised up and licked Todd’s nipple and then emptied all that was left onto Todd’s lap. The new pet master had to drive for several miles with the aromatic juices seeping through his lightly woven shorts before he could get out of his car. Jenny and Ada could not stop laughing as they watched the flow of liquid begin staining Todd’s new white socks and drip into his nonskid deck shoes.
I am happy to report that Twister has settled in and there has not been any more incidents of marking his human. He instead finds it fun to wake Todd up at 2 AM to let him out to use the facilities and then have some playtime. He is of the age where it is important to sleep all day and party all night. This nighttime scheduling will change as he goes on more daytime adventures. He will go rafting, camping, disc golfing, hiking, gardening, hide and seeking and fetching. His life will never be dull. He will even be able to fulfill his dream of wearing a white lab jacket as Todd, the scientist, and Ada, the one in training, both wear theirs when making slime and blowing things up. Which reminds me that doggie goggles might be a good welcome-to-the-family present.
Moral: 1) There is humor all around us. 2) Adoptions are always appreciated and needed.
Thank you for following my blog. Please feel free to comment below or email Zsmisadventures.com and your story may be used in a future blog.
Life is a beautiful collage of priceless moments and memories, which when pieced all together creates a unique treasured masterpiece.”
Melanie M. Koulourius
Before the East Coast portion of my family began their cross-country journey home, I enjoyed one more memorable misadventure with my nephews, Landen and Jayce. Living in Virginia the only scorpions they have seen are the ones I have sent encased in resin. Not too scary and easy to handle. As luck would have it, my community gossip and news on Next Door has been rumored to have quite a few. According to smrtblondy@AOL a little creature dropped from the ceiling and landed right in front of her, while she walking through the clubhouse which caused many sleepless nights. When the boys asked if it was true that scorpions lived around here, I told them about a friend of mine, Mareike, who caught them around the clubhouse for fun. Jayce wanted to know if he could look for some while the others went swimming. It did not take long for Landen to realize this was an opportunity he did not want to miss either.
Never having been a scorpion hunting aficionado myself, I decided to contact Mareike to see if she would lead a nighttime safari. To our delight, she said “yes” and within the hour the hunt was on. It doesn’t take expensive hunting gear, all that is needed is a black light, pliers (preferably with long handles), a jar, and a keen sense of awareness.
The expedition took us around the community clubhouse and pool. She explained that the Arizona Bark scorpions are indigenous to the Sonoran Desert. They can grow up to 8 cm long. The females usually birth between 25-35 babies and carry them on their back for about 3 weeks. She pointed out the hiding places, such as around the base of certain bushes, behind the mailboxes, grills, gravel, and lounging on textured walls (they cannot climb smooth surfaces). When she added, “sometimes even ceilings” the boys and I said in unison “Smart Blondie.” When asked why the black light and not a flashlight is used, the answer became obvious. As soon as the black light hits a scorpion it glows neon green under the UV light allowing them to be easily spotted from a non-attack distance up to 6 ft away.
Landen and Jayce each took turns with the black light while we all kept our eyes peeled for the next shiny green glob. After watching Mareike clasp them with her pliers, the boys thought they were ready to snag a few. I was amazed at the quickness, accuracy and dexterity that my nephews exhibited while whipping the pliers to the belly of the beast, extracting them from their hidey hole, and placing each in a new group-home, a plastic jar, for further study. When our expedition ended, we reduced our community population by 20. There was a brief discussion whether a text to “Smart Blondie” of our conquest, could it possibly relieve some of her stress or make it worse? We decided that catching 20 in 20 minutes might not reduce her paranoia. However, we did learn that if other sporting dreams don’t pan out, Jayce can continue his study of scorpions at Arizona State University and host his own TV show “The Scorpion King”.
Moral: 1) The best adventures are unplanned. 2) Don’t be afraid or reluctant to reach out to others to learn new skills.
Please feel free to share your comments and stories below or at Zsmisadventures@gmail.com as they might be featured in future blogs.
As much as you want to plan your life, it has a way of surprising you with unexpected things that will make you happier than you originally planned.
Unknown
The youngsters that I hold dearest to my heart are my nieces Laci and Maeve, and my nephews, Landen and Jayce. Unfortunately, they live in Virginia while I reside in Arizona. Family get-togethers are very rare. But thanks to an invisible deadly enemy, I got to seem them sooner than expected.
This past Thursday, while I was deep in thought and lost in my work, I saw out of the corner of my eye a tall, slender, blonde hair, blue eye boy with the biggest smile looking at me. I had to refocus twice before it clicked that my nephew Landen was standing right in front of me. I could hardly believe it. I thought I was dreaming. My desk clock read 11 am. I thought I missed him so much that I fabricated him to appear. None the less, he was in my home with the rest of the gang. I could not have been happier.
My brother, Justin decided to ask his wife, Kim how she felt about going on a road trip. They welcomed baby, Maeve, into the world a month ago and still had some maternal and paternal leave left to spare. Their 3 children did not start school for another two weeks. Kim agreed that a road trip might be nice. She figured that it would be good to get the children out of the home before they destroyed it even further due to the Covid Coop. A few destinations were floated around, but when my brother asked Kim if she would be okay with going to Arizona she said, “Yes,” without hesitation. She knew my mom was super upset that Covid was keeping her from flying to see her newest granddaughter. She also knew the children would be thrilled to try and take their Popop down in a dice game called 5000 (A.K.A Farkle). The trip was a go and Justin knew he had to jump on it before minds were changed.
Justin used Google Maps to plan the trip so that they would hit beaches in as many different states as possible. He let Google suggest other oddball attractions as well. From Virginia to Arizona they went thru 11 states; hit the beaches in all the Gulf states; drove down Bourbon Street in New Orleans (One of my preteen nephews saw a lady on a balcony as they drove by lift her blouse to scratch her breast. She smiled after flashing him.); went to the USS Alabama Memorial park in Alabama where they learned about WWII, and other fun stops that were still open. My brother made a packet for each of the children with the itinerary for each day, information about the places they were seeing, and activities to keep them entertained. He even included detailed driving instructions so they could help co-pilot if they were sitting in the passenger seat.
He then investigated rentals and settled on a 4-row passenger van that allowed each of his kids to have their own elbow and leg room. He knew the spacing between the children would be important for a peaceful 7000-mile trip. He even contacted Amazon and rerouted Jayce’s birthday gifts to Arizona. One challenge to keeping the surprise visit a surprise was to arrive in Arizona before all the packages. Starting Monday morning, the clock was ticking. He contacted my mother to find out about the gates to our community and our sister Serena for the gate code. All by asking probing questions making sure not to give away too much. For example, for the code, he told Serena a package was being delivered and they were asking for some type of code, within seconds he had all the information he needed. He was even able to ask my mother about where we have our cameras so she wouldn’t see him when they arrived to lure my mother outside and film her awesome, tearful reaction.
Lastly, he packed the children’s bags up and loaded up the ice chest with snacks and drinks. He made sure they had everything they would need to be self-sustaining for a few days, such as silverware and blankets. He told the children they were all getting up the next day when Mauve did at 2:30 AM. That night the children went to sleep thinking their dad was being silly, but if he was being serious, they were going to see their Great Aunt in North Carolina. Either way, they were going to sleep and thinking nothing more of it.
At 2:30 AM when Justin woke them up and had them all sitting at the kitchen table with packets in front of them, he let them know they could open them. One the front page, it stated: Destination: Arizona. They were ecstatic. Justin managed to not only surprise us in Arizona but his little ones as well. Best surprise in 2020.
Moral: 1) Spontaneity is the spice of life, but some foresight and planning are okay.
Thank you for reading and following my blog. Feel free to comment and share your surprise stories below or at Zsmisadventures@gmail.com for it might be used in a future blog.
John Geddes said, “Light a campfire and everyone is a storyteller.”
The real saying should be, “Light a campfire and everyone THINKS they are a storyteller.” I have been camping quite a few times and can say with certitude that some people are born storytellers, and some would be better listening. I am one of those people. I am great at writing stories but need time to think and really make them into something great. If I tell a story on the spot it tends to go off in a hundred different directions. I‘m compelled to give an overly detailed description of each person and where the event took place which does not allow any time to tell the actual story. Thus, I leave the campfire stories to the man who was born to tell stories… My dad.
My dad can tell stories in such a convincing way that despite one’s better judgment you might start questioning if it is true that he once was asked out by an Arabian Princess, but decided my mother was too fine a woman to pass up.
Over the years he has learned to perfect his storytelling by using the plethora of gadgets that modern technology has to offer. On the last camping trip with nieces and nephews in Oregon, he even got his sons in on the mischief. My dad spent at least a day constructing a story about wolves. He gave a brief outline of the story to my brothers so they knew what keywords they might need to listen to. The day we arrived at the campsite my dad and brothers placed several Bluetooth speakers in the trees North and South of our campsite. After a thrilling day of rafting and fishing, everyone sat around the campfire roasting marshmallows and making the world’s biggest s’ mores. Once everyone was full and could hardly move, my dad started to tell his campfire tale.
It was subtle. Campfire stories usually talk about a monster eating children in the middle of the night who do not brush their teeth. Dad talked about reading that the State had recently re-introduced wolves to the forests of central Oregon. He explained how farmers, worried about their farm animals, enlisted the help of hunters back in the 1940s to kill all the wolves. With the help of Wolf Conservation groups, the area North of our campsite was now home to a large pack of grey wolves. The brown wolves known as the Fivemile Pack lived in the forest area South of our camp. As my dad finished drawing a map in the dirt of where we were camped and where the wolves hunted for food, a faint howl could be heard off in the distance. When the children asked if that was a wolf they just heard, my dad and the rest of the group assured them it was alright as the wolves keep to their own territory, so we should be fine for the night. As my dad continued his “history lesson” the wolf sounds started to become more frequent and sounded as if they were coming from both the North and South sides of our camp. Dad explained that there was nothing to worry about as long as no one wandered off into the woods alone without a flashlight. When they asked the obvious, “How is a flashlight going to stop a wolf.”
“Wolves won’t come near a fire or light at night unless they are in a fight,” he answered. He told about reading that a young boy in a campground not far from ours, had gone off to pee in the woods without a light and was ripped to shreds by a hungry wolf. As the gory details of the story were laid out, the wolf howls faded into the distance. Dad said not to worry, “You will hear wolf howls from the North and from the South. It is when the howling gets louder and closer from both sides that we might have a fight on our hands. If that happens just stay quiet. They are looking for a fight not food. Understand?”
They nodded and said dad’s tale was not scary at all, despite asking several times if we should leave the area to avoid the wolves. 20 minutes after the kids crawled into their sleeping bags, the wolf sounds started up again. The oldest, flashlight in hand, unzipped my neighboring tent and asked if I would sleep with them. About the time we got settled in again, the howling got louder and louder. A few minutes later sounds of movement in the bushes could be heard right outside the tent. While one of the kids started crying, I kept reassuring them that I would not let them get hurt, willingly that is. Eventually, the night was quiet, and I fell asleep. The kids tugged me awake and asked if I would take them to the restroom, not because they were scared, but because they felt it best to go in a larger group. I didn’t question their logistical tactic and assured them if they were scared that was completely normal. I was scared too. I have never encountered a wolf, nor do I plan to.
Towards midnight, the adults began howling when the wolves howled. The children were not amused, they just knew that they were surrounded by wolves and now the wolves knew exactly where we were. They came up with a plan to evacuate the campsite, a plan to spend the night in the campsite restroom, and a plan to run in different directions and jump in the river because one of them thought that wolves like cats wouldn’t jump in the water. I promised to stay awake and keep watch. Finally, everyone slept.
For the next few days, the children talked about the wolves and assured everyone they were not scared and would be willing to take on a wolf if need be. Eventually, the children were let in on the secret and thus refused to speak to any of us for the remainder of that day. They reminded us how mean we were while, at the same time, it was something they wanted to try out on their children someday.
My dad, the storyteller, has turned his tale into a family acknowledgment, whenever the Melgreens get together and a quiet settles over the gathering, someone will let out a glorious wolf howl. Like good packs, we all join the chorus.
Moral: 1) Technology is one way to make an innocent story come alive. 2) Not all campfire stories have to be a tale of death and destruction.
Feel free to share your campfire stories in the comments below or email Zsmisadventures@gmail.com and your story may be featured in an upcoming blog.
Alone we can do so little. Together we can do so much.
Helen Keller
Arizona is best known for being the home of one of the world’s natural wonders, you guessed it, The Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon spans 277 miles of the great Colorado River. From the rim, visitors catch a glimpse of a canyon that took the river over 6 million years to carve a mile deep into the red rock. While a mule ride down the narrow cliff path to the Havasupai Falls is a breathtaking journey, a new sensory experience is The Grand Canyon Skywalk, a horseshoe-shaped cantilever bridge with a glass walkway, that will scare the bejesus out of you. For a cooler but no less exciting venture there are white water rafting and camping trips down the Colorado. There truly is something for everyone at the Canyon.
When most people think Arizona, they think of its extreme summer weather. Unlike Florida, there is no humidity, which makes those 100-degree days more like living in an oven than a sauna. On the rare pizza oven days of 125 degrees, planes are not allowed to fly. But when I think Arizona, I think of bundling up in my favorite “fur” coat and putting on my pink snow boots. I think of trudging through 6 inches of snow to get to the best view of the Alaskan dog sled races that take place outside of Show Low, Arizona. The first time I heard about the races my jaw dropped. I thought it had to be a joke. This is Arizona, how could there be such a thing as dog sled races here. Snow yes, dog sled races, now that is taking things to another level. None the less my curiosity got the best of me and I decided to check it out.
I was surprised by how eager the huskies were to get to work. They were howling, jumping and then sprinting to the starting line eagerly awaiting for their musher (the dog driver) to let them know it was time to go. When he yelled, “Mush,” the team went from zero to 10 in seconds. They zoomed past me at upwards of 15 miles an hour and into a left-hand corner as the musher barked out, “Haw. Haw.” As they disappeared into the forest trail I could hear, “Gee. Gee. Gee.” which meant the lead dog should pull the team to the right. There were so many huskies, sleds, and piles of snow around me that I forgot that I was in Arizona. It felt like I was in the outskirts of Anchorage on the first Saturday of March at the start of the Iditarod. I highly recommend going to a race at least once, you will not regret it. Cheering is encouraged, yelling, “Whoa! Whoa!” is not.
Moral: 1) Embrace the now. 2) Approach every challenge with as much gusto as a husky in a dog sled race and you will find a way to make it thru.
Please feel free to comment below or email your story to zsmisadventures@gmail.com for your story to be featured in future blogs.
Doing anything with attention to how you feel is doing yoga.
Jean couch
Prior to the pandemic I spent time each summer attending meditation retreats, waking up daily and writing down every thought that came into my head for 5 minutes as a way to clear my mind and get a jump start on the day. I found from these retreats that there are hundreds of methods to achieve mindfulness. I even completed a course to start my path to becoming a mindfulness teacher.
When talking about meditation among friends, some would tell me they could never sit still for 15 minutes and others saying that while they would love to do yoga their bodies were no longer flexible. I was glad to have these conversations and assure people that meditation is more than just sitting on the ground in a cross-legged lotus position. It is about understanding that our thoughts do not make us who we are, but instead, they are just that – thoughts. We don’t have to hold on to them as fact but can instead admire them as they pass by. It is about working on becoming more aware of our surroundings, our body, and our emotional and physical responses to various stimuli. It is about helping us see things and to experience daily routines as fresh and new. It has been shown to be a great tool to help with panic attacks, racial trauma, maintaining attention, etc. Studies have shown that just 13 minutes a day practicing meditation helps improve one’s attention span and mood. It has also shown to be great for children. It can be done by taking your time when eating to enjoy the flavors and texture of the food we consume, by paying attention to the colors and smells when out for a walk or by simply closing your eyes and slowly breathing in and out.
I was happy to show people videos on YouTube of chair yoga, a simple method of yoga without the complexity of many yoga poses, of Yin yoga with sound bowls where you recline while being soothed by the sounds of the chimes and, if they loved the outdoors and animals, goat yoga is the way to go.
Yes, Goat yoga is a thing. It was started in Arizona in 2015 and despite other countries creating their own take, Arizona Goat Yoga in Gilbert remains #1. They even had Ozzi Ozborn attend a class. It is ranked as one of the top things to do in Arizona. I recommended it, especially now with so much cruelty and uncertainty in the world. It’s good to find something to make us smile and laugh. I enjoyed the setting, an expansive green field, the experience of sharing it with others as we watched the goats interact with each of us and the hilarity of seeing animals dressed up. If you are looking for something different and fun to do while finding some inner peace, then I suggest going to goatyoga.com to sign up for a class. It’s mindful and mind filling.
Moral: 1) Learn patience. 2) Mindfulness comes in many forms, so why not have some fun with it.
Please feel free to leave a comment below or at zsmisadventures@gmail.com and your story may be used for a future blog. Stay whimsical.
You can’t understand a city without using its public transportation system.
Erol Ozan
First – CONGRATULATIONS to Kim, and my brother, Justin. Their daughter, Maeve, took her time entering this world but finally made her presents known just before midnight on 7/15/20. We are super happy you are here to spoil; you can tell by the 6 pairs of shoes, a dozen colors of stretch leggings and tops, coats, hats, jewelry and even a baby couch you have yet to use. Yes, a baby couch. Facetime is nice but we will wait until we can safely fly and get some real face to face time.
I have been asked since working from home if I miss riding the light rail. To be honest, I do not miss the commute, but I do miss the community and spontaneity that each commute brought. I enjoyed knowing that when I got on, there were people who I never spoke to but would share fleeting moments with eye rolls and smiles at the silliness that occurred in front of us. I enjoyed starting my day by wishing other regular riders a good day and vice versa. I enjoyed the fact that when I stepped on board, I never knew what I was in for.
Most days were calm and spent talking to the regulars about their weekend plans or comic books or just relaxing while listening to my favorite music. While riding rather than driving offered time to contemplate and explore the zillion thoughts that crossed your mind, there were several days that were more lively. On those days, I could not wait to get to work and share the tale of my epic morning journey with my best friend, Rachelle. We had many moments of laughter and reflection. I lived for those talks as it added excitement and meaning to my life. I was able to be the storyteller of daily life in a way that no one else in my office could because I was the only one riding the rails. I was able to interact with people that I never would have given more than just a passing nod. By riding the rails with them I was able to hear their life stories, stories about their heroes, usually their mothers, stories about hope as they expressed admiration for those in the community willing to help them fulfill their life dream of being sober, and stories of hardship as they cared for those they loved on a limited income. While some stories were told in a drunken stupor and a failed attempted to win my affection, they were none the less appreciated. It is not every day a stranger, let alone a great friend or family member is candidly open about brushstrokes that make up the painting of their life.
However, the downside of riding the light rail as a female, is certain guys tend to think they can get away with resting their head on your shoulder and in some sleepy gesture claim their inappropriate touch was accidental. Those same guys would then grab or smack a woman’s backside as she walked past and claim they were merely stretching. Guys would offer to walk me to my car claiming that a woman should never be unaccompanied. These awkward situation usually occurred during the afternoon ride home. In the mornings, my station was the second stop, my favorite car near empty and I sat in the same small grouping almost daily. The afternoon ride, however, was a free for all. Some days were standing room only, while most were Whac-a-mole rush to get to an open seat. I would think more about where I sat as well as developing stories lines of a husband and children. I wore a ring that could pass as a wedding ring at first glance. When asked to see my adorable munchkins, I would show a picture of my nephew at his first birthday party. I have called my friend, Roy, and while I am telling him, “I’m 10 minutes out, so you better leave” all I can hear is him laughing. Just declining an advance or saying I had a boyfriend, was often not sufficient for some of the Light-rail Romeos. But the married with kids story worked the best and was the most entertaining.
I did carry mace in case a situation turned sideways. One slight turn was when a passenger across the aisle from me kept pointing at me and saying, “I know what you did, and you won’t get away with it.” As he kept saying it over and over, I did find myself grabbing the mace firmly in my hand. I was prepared for action. My companions around me just kept looking from him to me wondering the same thing as I was: “Where is this going?” Luckily for all of us he just talked about me covering up a murder and stealing his friends camping gear. The more he talked the more outlandish the story became until worn out he passed out slumped in his seat.
Earlier on that day’s ride, a man stood up in his aisle seat and slammed a hamburger to the floor yelling, “This is no church” at a lady who was whispering verses of the bible to herself while she got ready for the day ahead. It was humbling to see others around her kindly remind the man that the world and every place in it can be a place of personal worship if needed. Shortly thereafter, security wrote the man a $200 ticket for not having purchased the mandatory $2 pass and escorted him off the train. Whether it was an intervention from above or just happenstance, I couldn’t help but smile.
Moral: 1) Always buy a pass to ride the light rail. 2) Don’t be afraid to let others know when a boundary has been crossed. 3) Enjoy life’s stories as they are what make us who we are.
Please feel free to comment below or share your life stories at Zsmisadventures@gmail.com and it might be shared in a blog post. Stay Whimsical.
You don’t choose the day you enter the world and you don’t choose the day you leave. It is what you do in between that makes all the difference.
Anita Septimus
Below is a letter written by Carolyn Settle to my Grandmother Eleanor on her 90th birthday.
Back in my hot-air ballooning days in Arizona, I met a woman named Leandra. She came out to help crew and get a balloon ride with one of her co-workers who was a friend of the man who owned the balloon I flew. We liked giving people a chance to help launch and/or pack up the balloon a few times, if possible, because they usually found it fun and exciting, and ultimately appreciated their ride much more because they understood better what it was all about. Leandra reacted pretty much the way I had on my first ballooning occasion; that is, she was crazy about the whole thing, couldn’t wait to go again, and volunteered to crew for me anytime, didn’t even have to get a ride, just let her be involved. We hit it off very well, so I called her to go with me the next weekend and then again the next, and the next, until she was part of my regular crew. We had some wild and wonderful times on those flying weekends, meeting early Saturday morning to launch just as the sun peeked over the horizon, flying for a few hours, landing near other balloonists to hold First Rider ceremonies and celebrate with champagne (always!) and whatever else anyone brought out from fancy breakfast cookouts to beer and pretzels, and all pretty much before 10 or 11 am! Then everyone went home to recuperate and go to bed early, so we could do it all over again Sunday. This went on most weekends from the first cool mornings in October until around the end of May. The Memorial Day Race in Farmington, New Mexico was often the last flight of our season. There were several races throughout the season as well as the “normal” weekend flights. And Leandra and I were generally right in the middle of it all!
I also met her family. Her mother and stepfather were wonderful, and her brothers and their families were fun and interesting. We took most all of them for balloon rides a some point, and I enjoyed their hospitality and friendliness many times. Then things changed a bit. The balloon changed ownership and I could not afford to buy my own. I started working a lot more overtime, often on weekends. Leandra and I slowly drifted apart. Eventually, I met a man, married, moved, and lost touch with Leandra.
Life went on, my husband Terry, and I both worked hard and built our own group of friends and relationships. We had horses instead of balloons. I enjoyed just being around them – both Terry and the horses! Ten or twelve years passed quickly. Then one day I was checking my emails at home, and on some general newsletter about a park where you could horseback ride, I saw a name among the addressees that looked familiar: Leandra L. I wondered if there could possibly be two people with that name. So, I quickly fired off a message asking if she was the same Leandra that used to be crew chief for the Buzzard’s Roost balloon, and immediately got back, “Yes, yes, yes! Where have you been?” She came out to visit us, had dinner and met Terry, and we caught up on things a little. It was wonderful to see her again.
Now I need to explain that when we moved, my mother moved in with us. She was about 78 at the time and seemed in good health. But during the next couple of years, she became more and more housebound, afraid to go out on her own or drive anywhere. She began a slow decline into a state of senile dementia. As it got worse, she wanted to move to where she had more people around her. Since Terry and I were off to work all day, I thought that possibly she was falling more often than she admitted. My sister and I found a nice independent living apartment and moved her there. That lasted about a month, during which we realized that she did not attempt to make friends, and just sat and worried herself into a panic, then called 911 – a lot! We moved her to assisted living, where she continued to get worse. Several times, she was hospitalized and taken off all her medications, which were then restarted one by one to rule them out as the cause of her problems. Those times were terrible; she had no idea what was going on, although she always knew everyone, and could fool someone for 15 or 20 minutes into thinking she was quite normal. We often found ourselves laughing at things she did and said, only because it was better than crying, which was what we really felt like doing. But those are stories for another day.
Eventually they found that she had a subdural hematoma (along with the senile dementia), and she ended up having brain surgery at the age of 80. She was in a nursing home for a month or so, then went into a group home where she stayed until she was taken to hospice when she was 82, and was there for two months before she passed away.
The year or so before she went to hospice was the worst time of all for my sister and me. She eventually regressed to about age 17 and just kind of hung out there. Actually, she seemed to be having a pretty good time for a while, and she still remembered us, although she claimed not to know me for a couple of weeks once when I did or said something she didn’t like! But she was no longer the person we had known all our lives. Whatever our issues and problems with her might have been, she was still our mother until this happened. Then we did not know her at all! We did find out quite a bit more about the family, however. All those old secrets…
As we had no experience with senile dementia, my sister and I were really shocked at what happened to our mother. I started to think that there was very little point to living to a ripe old age if it was going to be like that. We were used to heart attacks and strokes (especially among the men), and the women lived into their 80’s and 90’s on both sides of the family, and usually died in their sleep. But we never lived near her parents, and my father’s family was small, so our experience was limited. I was rapidly becoming depressed and very frightened of having the same experience that she did. I kept talking to Terry about how afraid I was of becoming like my mother, and I hoped he and the kids never had to deal with that for me. And it was at that point that, once again, I heard from Leandra. She called to tell me that her uncle had written a book and published it, and they were going to have a book- signing party at her home. She invited us to attend. Most of her family would be there as well as other friends I knew.
Well, I was excited about that. I liked her mom very much and had heard a lot about her aunts; had met her brothers and their families. Her brother Dennis would be there with his son, Justin, who was about five the last time I saw him, and was now a young man, standing almost six feet, three inches tall! And Leandra always had interesting friends. I talked Terry into going, and we went to the party.
When we got there and walked into the living room, my first reaction was surprise at how much older everyone looked after 15 years. The next thing that occurred to me was that Terry was probably thinking, “Oh, great, who are all these old white-haired people? What kind of party is this going to be?” But Leandra introduced us, and we both got involved in conversation. Terry was enjoying hearing Leandra’s aunt tell about when she left the convent! and how she met her husband. I got to spend some time catching up with her mother, Eleanor, who was as bright, lively, funny, and nearing 90 as I remembered her.
But what impressed me the most throughout the evening, and what I have never forgotten since, was that many of the family present that night were in their 80’s, and not a one of them showed signs of the senility and dementia that had overtaken my mother! And then I realized that in caring for and visiting my mother, I had only been exposed to older people who were in some condition similar to hers, and there were a whole lot of people her age and older who were not like that at all! There were women and men in their 70’s, 80’s, even 90’s and beyond who were quite healthy, mentally fit, and full of life and love! I just never saw them.
I went home that night feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I could anticipate having a worthwhile future, of maintaining my independence for the most part, and participating in and enjoying life for many years to come! And even if my body started to deteriorate, it did not mean I would lose my mind. For me, in the long run, having intelligence and the ability to reason and understand is what would make longevity worthwhile.
My point, I would like to thank my good friend Leandra for the privilege of knowing her and her family, and for her kindness in sharing them as well as being a real friend herself. If I can live long enough and stay well enough to be as enduring and inspiring as you, Eleanor, I will consider my life a great success. I believe Leandra will follow in your footsteps. She and your family continue to give me hope for the future and reason to look forward to life.
Moral: 1) Friendship is the greatest gift one can give. 2) There is no age limit to making an impact in someone’s life. 3) Hot Air ballooning is a great way to bring people together.
Thank you for reading my blog this simple act puts the biggest smile on my face every Sunday. Feel free to comment below or email Zsmisadventures@gmail.com for a chance for your story to be used in a future blog. Be well and stay whimsical.
Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never where. But without it we go nowhere.
Carl Sagan
Growing up in Oranjestad, Aruba with 29,999 other friends I was accustomed to small town living. When I moved to Show Low, Arizona to begin my career in social work, I felt right at home being one ten thousandth of the population. Show Low is a Northern Arizona city in Navajo County balancing on the Mogollon rim. As the story goes, the name of the town “Show Low” originated from a game of poker between two gentlemen who were partners on a ranch, Corydon Cooley and Marion Clark. After years of riding and bickering, they decided to part ways. Not known for their astute business acumen, they decided to play a game of cards to see who would take sole possession of the ranch. Poker to be exact. The winner takes all. After countless hours and their stack of chips still nearly the same, Clark suggested they change the game to low ball. The worst hand gets the ranch. Cooley feeling confident took the challenge. After the deal, Clark with a huge smile laid down his with no pairs and a 4 as his low card but Cooley showed low with a deuce. The main street in Show Low is named “Deuce of Clubs” to honor the hand that created the city. My office was on Cooley. On New Year’s Eve a Deuce of Clubs that is located on the Deuce is dropped at midnight.
Show Low has other unique ways to show their spirit and love of silly old fashion competition. Every year during Show Low Days a handful of creative minds get together to show off their talents to not only entertain but to also win prize money. The objective is simple: build either the fastest soap box or the craziest designed race car to traverse the ½ mile down the Deuce hill section of town. The fastest and the craziest-designed box car designer to finish the race takes home $1000.
As a newbie, I had to check it out. Standing on the block planter at the finish line in front of Tractor Supply, I had a good view of the entire course. I could hardly control my excitement as I waited to see 1) what a boxcar was and 2) is it something I could do. I was not disappointed. I saw a man in a cardboard boat flip over when he lost control of his sail steering mechanism (he was fine, just minor cuts and bruises), a man in an actual box, a man wearing a leather jacket and pants around his ankles sitting on a toilet attached to a wheeled platform, and a group of nearby college students driving a well-used couch roll past me at speeds of 15 miles per hour. I was stunned. I never thought I would see a man driving a toilet “carriage” down the street like it was just another day. Later that day I went home and sat down with my dad and constructed on paper our own boxcar that would consist of me sitting in an airplane dressed like Amelia Earhart. Unfortunately, we realized quite quickly just how hard making a boxcar with both steering and braking devices really was and decided it was best to leave it to the “professionals.” I saw one driver carried away on a stretcher who had bounced down the asphalt across the finish line when the wheel of his “magic carpet” hit a pothole and went airborne. He had a better time then his “magic carpet.” Race time, that is.
Moral: 1) Imagination leads to fruition and joy. 2) When making a difficult life-altering decision some take out a coin and flip it or “show low” in a poker hand. 3) Number 2 can lead to a magic carpet ride. Not a good idea.
Please feel free to share your comments and stories below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com and your story may be used in a future blog. Thank you. Be safe, Be well, and Stay whimsical.
Hello world, I hope you got a little patience, You’re such a beautiful arrangement, But I’m not waiting for my turn…
O-town: Hello World Lyrics
Aruba was not a regular stop on the stadium concert scene. Of course, the entire population of Aruba in 2000 would not fill the Horseshoe in Columbus, Ohio. My only real chance to rock out with my favorite group as a pre-teen was during the summer when I visited family in Arizona. I did however spend countless hours watching Making the Band. I would not leave my little pink 8 X 10-inch television with a built-in VCR while it was on. Those were the days before recording all your favorite shows and watching them at your leisure. Thus, I drove my best friend, Yenzully, crazy because Wednesday late afternoon was a ‘I’m not to be interrupted’ time of day. She thought that watching a group of guys trying to earn their spot in a boy band was unappealing (Ok, stupado). She would rather be dancing to any one of her thousand scratchy radio recorded tapes. It was the music that moved her not the story of how it came about. I too have concluded that I just want to dance and not get caught up in backstories. I will admit to watching a few Netflix music documentaries with my parents of how some obscure group like the Mamas and Papas, I’m not making that up, got their start.
For those who have never seen Making of the Band ,it was the first reality television show on ABC later shown on MTV about creating an American Boy Band in 2000 and following their journey from those with a dream to those living the dream of selling out stadiums to thousands of screaming fans. At the end of the first season, O-Town was born. However, after three successful years and despite mass pleas from fans, yes, I was one of them, they disbanded in 2003. They spoke of legal reasons and wishes to pursue solo careers being the major reasons. I was heartbroken and moped around the house for weeks mourning the loss of the music that would never be created. I like countess others felt I knew Erik-Michael Estrada, Trevor Penick, Jacob Underwood, Dan Miller, and Ashley Parker Angel. I was proud of their success because I had dedicatedly watch on my little pink 8 x 10 tv how much effort and love they put into making their band. I was saddened that they would not create new songs that would set my heart aflutter, such as “All or Nothing.”
But to my surprise, while scrolling thru Ticketmaster in 2016 I found the band did indeed get back together and, OMG, would be coming to Phoenix. They would not be performing in one of the larger venues where a hundred dollar ticket will get you within a thousand feet of the band, but in an intimate setting where 50 bucks will get you bumping the stage. I got there early enough to bump the stage front and center. When they sang about love and wanting no one else but the girl in front of them, they were singing directly to me. It was magical. I was transported to my 12-year-old self and the moments I spent sitting in front of my television wishing I could see them perform.
As you may know, dear reader, I like morals to stories. I remember thinking on my way home that night, patience is indeed a virtue. It may have taken 16 years to see them, but I also got to meet them. That would not have happened had I seen them at the Horseshoe in 2000. I would have just been another dot, not even a face, in the crowd. This time, however, I got to be front and center. I danced, laughed, smiled, sang and shared with them the joy they brought to me. It is a moment in time that will forever be etched in my mind. If I am ever in a town or an island that is not on the regular concert tour schedule, I can put on my favorite CD and dance around my room knowing that some musical dreams really do come true.
Moral: 1) Always go for what you want. 2) Never let go of the child within. 3) When all else fails let the music take the reins.
Please feel free to comment and share your stories in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com.
Lady Z's MisAdventures 