A Daughter’s Tale

“She rinsed, Doctor, but she says she is too much of a lady to spit!”

I was not ladylike, not was I manly. I was something else altogether. There were so many different ways to be beautiful.
Michael Cunningham

I would like to thank Denise for sharing the following story. It is a great illustration of love being shown in a nontraditional way. A parent’s ideal of what is best for their child is rarely seen by the youngster with the same enthusiasm. However, an ” I love you” and an explanation goes a long way to preserving and enhancing a long term relationship. If you would like to share your stories you can do so as well at Zsmisadventures@gmail.com. Enjoy!

Next to the Bermuda Triangle, the disappearance of Amelia Earhart, and the success of the Gong Show, nothing is more mysterious than a relationship between a mother and daughter. My mother and I have known each other a long time, and yet I sense there are still moments when she doubts that she brought the right infant home from the hospital thirty-one years ago.

I really think our mutual tensions began when I was just a toddler taking those first unsteady steps. Mother would follow me around saying things like: “straighten your shoulders, don’t slouch, keep your knees together and act like a lady.” That in some form continues to this day.

My being a lady has always been most important to my mother. My problem was that with five brothers, she was asking way too much. Still who could blame her for disliking a daughter who only wanted a six shooter for her first communion gift? And there were all the times she glowingly itched to dress me up. Repeating “You’ll be lovely in this”, she would try to slip a petticoat over my head. Recoiling at the idea of lace and frills, I would immediately become limp as lettuce left in the sun. It was impossible for her dress a body with the consistency of Jello. As punishment, I stayed home from most “special occasions”. I missed more birthday parties than my friend, Eddy Barrows, who was rarely invited because he had a reputation for throwing up after ice cream and cake. Still I never understood why, after I had aged enough to like dresses, she accused me of only wearing the freshly ironed ones. Mom would say, “You didn’t feel the need to wear this when it was under four days’ supply of dirty underwear at the bottom of your closet.” Well of course I didn’t. Even I saw the possible health issues of wearing clothes that had developed terminal mildew in the closet.

Like Denise, I too have had a few conversations with my own mother about being ladylike and the importance of first impressions. However, after I showed her the definition of ladylike in Merriam-Webster dictionary that discussion quickly morphed into one of empowerment, as she took it to mean. She wanted me to be proud and confident and treat myself in a way that demonstrated that to the world. She was not prepared to hear that Merriam-Webster defined ladylike as “3 a: feeling or showing too much concern about elegance or property; b: lacking in strength, force, or virility.” We laughed because only last year I helped my dad carry 250 pound wooden beams up the stairs that would later become the base of my bed, and that is not something for the physical or mentally weak. The next day I wore a gown to the Phoenix Symphony. It just goes to show even dictionaries get it wrong sometimes. No one is “ladylike” as we are fierce whether it be taking on the world in our pajamas or Prada. Embrace being unladylike.

Moral: 1) Always be true to yourself. 2) When changing the world dress in clean clothes as it leaves a better first impression. 3) Being ladylike is stifling.

My Mother the Warrior

The woman who is my best friend, my teacher, my everything: Mom.

Sandra Vischer

I would like to wish my mother, Claire, a spectacularly happy Mother’s Day. If it weren’t for all the prior family Claires, I would not have such a Wonder Woman Claire to call mom. While I am Linzie Claire, I still consider myself a member of the Claire Clan. May I continue with the hope that all mothers, whether, biological, adoptive, step or great grand moms have a fabulous Day. Helping your children grow and learn to love and navigate through this world is the hardest and often, the most overlooked, function in a family. A Happy Day, also, to all those women expecting a little one to emerge and fill their day with wonder; may your little one not bounce around on your bladder all day today.

My mom and I have had our ups and downs over the years, but our relationship is stronger for it. I know that if I am ever troubled or need someone to talk to, she will be there. She has already helped me face the worry and uncertainty of being a diabetic, of being bullied, hospital stays, of the first and second heart ache and of handling stress with deep breathing and meditation. Mom slept next to me on the hospital sofa for a week while I underwent forced seizures, 24/7 brain scans and every test imaginable to pinpoint where the seizures may orignate. She goes out of her way to make sure I know that I am loved and that she will be spiritually with me forever. That thought is comforting.

I enjoy the time we spend together getting pampered at our hair and nail salons, going to plays and concerts, or just watching some sappy television show. Her patience with my quirks is undeniable. I roped her into going to see Penn and Teller perform at the Mesa Art Center. She waited with me for over an hour so I could meet and get a photo with them. One of our favorite memories was going to the midnight opening of a magical Harry Potter movie and the foggy haze that greeted us as we walked out of the theater. The misty vapor turned each parking lot light into an expanding rainbow of color. The wizardry of the movie followed us to the car. We both plopped into our car seats and sat for a moment. We finally looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Wow.”

Mom even made going to a Carrie Underwood concert more memorable. I went through high school in California watching her perform on American Idol. My mom and I would both call in and vote for her to go to the next round of the competition. After she won, we pinkie promised that we would go to one of her concerts someday. It was 11 years later in 2016 that we got our chance. Carrie was performing at the Sun’s basketball arena in downtown Phoenix. The concert was the week of my mom’s birthday, so my dad and I decided to buy tickets and surprise her. When the day came, we told her I got tickets through work to go to a Diamondbacks’ baseball game. My unit, for helping Foster Children, was to be honored on the field before the game. She was less than thrilled with the idea. Not only did she loathe the inaction of a 9-inning game, but also, she was experiencing bouts of shooting pain down her neck. We assured her it was for a good cause and we would only stay for about half the game. She reluctantly agreed.

We drove for half an hour listening to her groans at each bump in the road before boarding the light rail for another half hour ride. To ease the pain in her neck, she sat with her head down and missed all the Christmas lights that dotted the cityscape. As we exited the train and walked towards the arena, she asked with her head still hanging down, “Why are there so many women wearing cowgirl boots?” I laughed and reminded her, “We live in the West’s Most Western Town.” Mom didn’t notice that as we crossed Jefferson Street, we headed right toward the basketball arena, not left to the baseball stadium. Mom didn’t notice all of the Western Radio Station’s tents and banners and crowds in line for their giveaways. She didn’t comment on the country hits blasting from the plaza speakers or the cowboy hats the ticket takers all wore. In fact, she didn’t look up while we walked down the stands to the fourth row of seats before the stage. It wasn’t until we sat down that she looked up and realized we were not looking down at home plate. “Where are we?” she asked looking around in stunning silence. When I pointed to the three-story Carrie Underwood banner hanging behind the stage, her hands shot to her cheeks and she gasped, “I don’t have any make up on.”
That’s my mom and, maybe, yours too. Happy Mother’s Day.

Moral: 1) Be open to the memories you are making. 2) Share your spirit with those you love. 3) My mother is a Wonder Woman Warrior.

Please feel free to share your stories in the comments or email Zsmisadventures@gmail.com and it may end up in a future post.

And The Acadamy Award Goes To…

My Daddy was my hero. He was always there for me when I needed him. He listened to me and taught me so many things. But most of all he was fun.
Bindi Irwin

Anyone who has met my dad would agree that he is a blast to be around. He is someone who can light up a room just by being in it. He is a story teller and a craftsmen. He may be good with directions, but using them is another thing entirely. I can’t say that we have gone on one family trip without taking at least one wrong turn, thus refered to as taking a Melgreen short cut. He is intelligent, but easily distracted which results in countless trips to the grocery store without his wallet, looking for his glasses when he is wearing them, or walking into a hair salon and seeing a red haired woman and assuming it is my mother and going in for a kiss on the cheek ony to realize my mother is not the only red haired women in town. It is because of him I can carry on conversations about sports and actually enjoy them. He is one of a kind and I am lucky to call him dad.

When thinking of his birthday next week, I remembered the time my dad accidently became the center piece of a tv show back in 2014. My brothers from opposite coasts came to visit and wanted to go exploring. Having already hiked the Grand Canyon and visited every shop in Sedona, it was decided over tacos and margaritas that the Lava River Cave would fit their idea of sightseeing. The cave was only 14 miles outside of Flagstaff in the Coconino Forest. It is reported to be longest cave in Arizona at .75 miles. Armed with those two insignificant pieces of information, our exploration party of 4 adults and 3 kids were on our way.

As we left the pavement for a dirt road, we started to wonder if we were heading in the right direction. How many state parks have dirt roads for the grand entry? We finally saw a small sign hanging at an awkward angle with an arrow and the word ‘Cave’. Awkward because the word ‘Cave’ and the arrow were pointing down the base of the tree. We hung a left and eventually found a dirt clearing with a parked car. We parked and walked a few feet and found another small sign with an arrow pointing to a small hole in the ground. Cave Entrance. There was a couple in cargo pants, hiking boots and head lamps ready to enter. When the kids asked about their attire, I remember hearing, “It’s dark, it’s wet and you have to do some crawling”. We were in tennis shoes, shorts and only two of us had cell phones that were charged enough to provide light. After a short debate, the kids won. We wanted an adventure; and what an adventure we did get.

Once in the cave, we discovered the reasons for the hiking boots and headlamps. The cave flooring was damp river rock which proved slippery and 50 feet in you could not see your nose. With two phone lights and 7 people we had split into groups. We also quickly realized why everyone else was wearing pants and not shorts. The cave ranges from 2 feet to 30 feet high. The adults wormed their way through some openings while the kids crawled. Walking, stumbling, crawling and often just feeling our way for about 45 minutes we came to a fork in the cave. As we discussed which way to the exit, dad decided that he was too exhausted to keep stumbling along with his hand on my brother’s shoulder. “You see if that way is the exit. If it is come back and get me.”

We left my dad sitting on a rock in the middle of a fork in the darkest cave on earth.

He had been sitting for quite a while, when he saw spotlights scanning the walls of the cave coming straight at him. He could see shadows spraying the wall of the cave with slime. Then a voice, “Look we must be getting close. See their slime?” He could see intensified light on the slime, a camera man moving in for a closeup, and then back to three professionally outfitted spelunkers. “It looks fresh,” one of them said. “I agree, let’s get moving,” said another.

As one flashlight moved toward dad, he could see it was the camera man. He stopped about a hundred feet from the fork in the cave, turned and started filming the actors moving towards him with their flashlights scanning the cave walls. It was then that dad started making low grumbling sounds. All the lights stopped scanning and a voice could be heard, “Quiet, did you hear something?” It was then that dad stood up and screamed.

The professionally dressed spelunkers turned and ran. The cameraman turned and lit up dad.

Meanwhile the rest of us were crawling around trying to find the way out. It turns out the entrance and the exit are the same and the fork we did not take was a dead end. We had gone in a circle without seeing the side tunnel just inside the entry. My brother, Todd went back to retrieve dad still sitting on a rock at the fork in the cave. It wasn’t until dad and Todd reached us lunching at the car that dad pulled his glasses off and said, “No wonder I couldn’t friggin see in there, I had my sunglasses on.”

Moral: 1) Research is never a waste of time. 2) Before entering a darkened space, always check to make sure all light dimming eye wear is removed.

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

Here’s to More Birthdays to Come

Somewhere inside, we hear a voice. It leads us in the direction of the person we wish to become. But it is up to us whether or not to follow.
Pat Tillman

Tomorrow I will have been occupying space on this planet for 33 years. Like most, I am not a fan of aging. It is not so much the gray hair or the wrinkles that worry me, as there are entire indrustries dedicated to masking those signs. It is the thought that my child bearing years are, by the day, slipping away as my egg supply is running out. Sadly, I cannot search Amazon and order eggs with certain traits, at least, not yet. I still enjoy waking from the dreams of bringing my miracle child home from the hospital in a Sun Devil onesie. The thought that that may not happen is soul crushing. However, since immersing my life into child welfare, I have seen a future family that besides my own little Sun Devil, would also include an adopted little Devil. There are currently over 19,000 children in the Arizona foster care system and far too many are in need of a permanent home. I look forward to the day I get to make memories with my children like I have with my mom.

The last handful of celebrations, my mom and I try and do something relaxing and fun. In 2017, we took a short bumpy flight to Burbank to see one of my favs tapping his show. I couldn’t have been more excited to see Conan O’Brian in action. I donned my birthday girl shirt, a birthday crown and giant ‘Happy Birthday’ pin. I was not shy of being noticed. It worked, but not quite the way I imagined. We were featured during a segment piece of songs being made up about the audience members. My mom and I got the song, “She is going to a tapping of her favorite show, she is going to a tapping of her favorite show… tomorrow.” While I sat there bopping my head with a big smile on my face the camera zoomed in on my mother’s face for the finale. Caught off guard, her horrified expression were followed by some choice words. Conan shook his head, “She’s thinking of Ellen.” I can be seen laughing at the absurdity of the moment; she stole my thunder. I still tease her about that day.

Another awesome birthday memory was our girls weekend at The Buttes in Tempe. We got massages, pedicures, and laid out by the pool drinking mimosas. I felt like a movie star in my sun hat, polka dot bathing suit and giant ‘Happy Birthday’ pin. My mom and I got to chuckle as the man next to us fought with the waiter over who was buying us a mimosa. Luckily, they both did.

Last year I completed my first Pat Tillman Run. The Pat’s Run is great charity event. Pat Tillman, not only, played football locally at ASU, but also, for the Arizona Cardinals. In the aftermath of 9/11, he quit his 5 million dollar NFL career and joined the Army in 2002. As an elite Army Ranger, he was killed in the hills of Afghanistan by friendly fire on 4/22/2004. The Run is important because it not only is a way of remembering his legacy, but it is a way to build upon the values that he kept dear to his heart. It helps military families and veterans receive the educational tools and resources they need to reach their fullest potential as leaders.

This year’s memories will also be unique. Rather than sitting around the dining room table sharing cake and ice cream we will be sitting in lawn chairs in a giant circle in my grandma’s yard enjoying easy to distribute cupcakes. The only difference is we will have to speak a little louder. Mom and I will still have our mani/pedis, but this year will be done in the luxurious surroundings of the Salon de Madre.

Moral: 1) We choose how we approach the situations we are in. 2) Life is short, so don’t wait for a memory. Make them.

Please feel free to share your stories in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com and your story may be featured in an upcoming blog.

A Year Ago Today…

If you are always trying to be normal you will never know how amazing you can be!
Maya Angelou

A year ago to the day, I was sitting at my computer with my mouse pointer hovering over the publish button. I wondered aloud, if starting a blog was indeed a good life choice. I had already spent countless hours making my blog site look and feel the way I wanted, however, knowing little about the elements of good design, I was unsure what first impression it would make. The reasons not to publish raced through my mind: no one will read it, reading is a dying joy, it will not be interesting, and I am committing to writing something every week. I could not ignore the fear of negative comments, but then I thought “I can’t make everyone happy. I am not a jar of Nutella.” My last rumbling thoughts ended with – I am going to do this because I’ve always wanted to do it. So, I hit ‘PUBLISH’.

I am honored and humbled to say that after publishing my first post, The Journey Begins, I have gained followers outside my family and outside the United States. I was floored when I opened my WordPress account and saw that I had followers from France to my home island of Aruba. It warmed my heart to hear my grandma tell me how much she enjoys my blogs and looks forward every Sunday to the newest post. I have since heard the same from friends and followers that my blog brings them joy, and for some, a little laughter.

I have found that writing my blogs is not as easy as I first thought. I thought I could just sit down and spend 10 minutes and a blog post would be written. I am sure my aunt Julia, who has written a weekly sermon for more than 30 years, can chuckle at my naivete. I have spent a few hours every day thinking about topics, performing internet research on details, going thru old photos, etc. to make sure that this week’s endeavor is worthwhile and meets my expectations of offbeat interests. It is one thing to live a whimsically life and another to write about it.

I am grateful that I have kept daily journals since third grade. I page through them for inspiration and a laugh. For example, my eight-year-old self wrote only about the food we enjoyed on our family vacation from Phoenix to St. Louis to Chicago to Minneapolis and a few days in Colorado. Besides comparing the pizza in Chicago to that in Ouray, I did mention that we went white water rafting. I, probably, only mentioned that because the guide told me that I was so good at jumping from one side of the raft to the other that when I grew up, I could teach people about rafting.

What I hadn’t considered was that blogging was an awesome way to relieve stress, to share the importance of making memories and to spiritually connect to others. We all have days when things seem to go a bit off the rails. It’s writing about those days that make me laugh and realize that a life filled with billions of beautiful grains of sand, some little bits of worry, are good for adding flavor to my tropical island.

So, thank you all for helping me take the plunge into blogging and allowing me to share some whimsicality with you. You all are amazing. I enjoy your comments. Be well and stay whimsical.

Moral: 1) Don’t be afraid to try something new. 2) You are smarter, stronger, and more loved than you know.

Feel free to comment below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com with your own stories that could be posted in a future blog.

Patience To The Nth Degree

Stop pacing. Stop fretting. Stop worrying. Stop sweating. Some of the best things happen when you just let go.
Mandy Hale

Update: My mother and I received calls that our COVID-19 tests were negative. Since my mother is still coughing, she must stay quarantined in the house and cannot leave until clear of the cough for 72 hours. Thank you for all the support and kind words. Wish you all good thoughts and sending a virtual hug your way. Keep taking care of one another.

Last week was my brother Todd’s birthday. Anyone who knows Todd, knows that he is a go go getter. When he sets his mind to something, lord help any individual or obstacle that might slow his progress. He doesn’t wait for things to happen, he makes things happen. A great trait when he sets out to build a half dozen garden boxes in his new backyard to grow strawberries, lettuce, green beans, tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, the world’s hottest peppers, blue berries, and anything else you can grow to eat in Oregon. He is a Master Gardener without the certification. He researches then he does. A bad trait if you are the lonely soul that is always late or forgets, for example, to bring the pancake mix, from your camping to-do list that Toddy has organized and distributed.

He is also extreme in his outdoor enthusiasms. He taught himself how to be the Captain of his own whitewater raft. White water rafting is elegantly simple. You need to be able to do two things well – work a pair of oars and read a river. He watched countless hours of YouTube videos, talked and worked with multiple experts on river reading and power rowing. He has all the maps and books on the subject, and gone on more solo runs with his kayak buddies to hone his skills before he would take his family or friends down river aboard his raft. He has become one of the most trusted Captains among friends who know what that means. I treasure those rafting trips with my family that he has led. There is fun and chaos that usually ensues. My nephews’ high pitched squeals each time we would go through a rapid that would get them drenched with freezing cold river water, my mother bouncing so high out of her seat that she was left in shock standing or a friend’s friend that refused to wear a life vest and while not paying attention flew over board. She not only wore her life vest but warned us all when a rapid was approaching for the next two days.

The only thing missing from all those trips was my dad’s special margaritas to sip on while we recounted our favorite memories of the day around a camp fire. Lucky for us, that was all going to change, or so we thought.

In 2014, a Kickstarter campaign ended with “$13,285,226 collected from 62,642 backers making it the most funded Kickstarter campaign” in the history of money seeking funding as documented in Wikipedia. Not wanting to be left out of the opportunity to support a local Oregon small business man; my sister, Stephanie, decided to surprise Todd, the ultimate camper, with the Coolest Cooler. A $450 cooler idea that had more bells and whistles than the Titanic and could be bought for about half the price by joining the Kickstarter campaign. This insane cooler had an ice-crushing blender, a Bluetooth water-resistant speaker, a USB charging port, LED Lamps, a bottle opener, plates, knife, corkscrew, and a removable divider that could be used as a cutting board. It even had cup-holders in the lid. The cooler was indeed the Coolest Cooler and exceeded it’s tag line of being ‘a party in a box’.

A few months after Steph had funded the Coolest Cooler, she was notified that the wait time for the two coolers she bought had been pushed back due to the over load of orders. So at Todd’s birthday party in the spring of 2015 as we sat around a campfire and watched him open each gift and then reignite the fire with wrapping paper, she broke the news that her gift the Coolest Cooler, would be arriving around Thanksgiving. He was slightly disappointed, but still elated with how this product might change his outdoor camping experiences.

Steph received her cooler just before Thanksgiving and showed off its versatility by having dad prepare frozen margaritas while we watched her Cowboys play football. Steph emailed the company asking about Todd’s party in a box and received a reply that orders were back logged, but it was coming.

At our 2016 gathering for Todd’s birthday, Steph wrapped up an envelope that contained a flyer from the Coolest Cooler CEO, offering backers the opportunity to pay $97 to expedite their order as the funding for production was grossly under estimated and had to be halted for a time. Rather than pay $97 for his belated birthday surprise in a box, he chose instead to express his go go getter attitude and disdain for “Steph’s CEO”.

As the months turned into years, my family quickly started joking that Todd’s Coolest Cooler was either so cool that it couldn’t even be seen by the human eye or so lame that it wasn’t worth seeing. Steph would proudly roll her prize to every family outing which often lead to many enlightened discussions. By his birthday of 2017 Todd began spreading the theory that Steph hadn’t really bought it for him. It really was a cruel, older sister trick.

Wikipedia notes, “In September 2016, after receiving 315 consumer complaints in the past year, the Oregon Department of Justice confirmed that it was investigating Coolest Cooler for possible violations of the state’s Unlawful Trade Practices Act.”

Just before Thanksgiving 2017, more than three years after Steph’s funding, Todd’s Coolest Cooler arrived in a drab brown card board box without any indication that this was ‘the party in a box’. While he didn’t immediately call his sister and apologize for his sarcastic comments after a round of margaritas were made with her cooler, he did crank it up just before his beloved Cowboys Thanksgiving Day kickoff. He did not become one of the estimated 20,000 original backers left out in the cold when the company closed in 2019. Wikipedia deemed the “Coolest Coolers one the most disastrous campaigns ever on Kickstarter.” Wikipedia is being kind.

Moral: 1) Laughter is indeed the best medicine. 2) Never start a Kickstarter campaign without a solid distribution plan. 3) Always wear a life vest.

Feel free to leave your comments below or email, Zsmisadventures@gmail.com with your whimsical stories and it might be featured in a later post. Stay Whimsical and be well.

Weathering The Storm

Distance means so little when someone means so much.
Tom McNeal

I have grown up hearing the sayings, “Distance makes the heart grow fonder” and “I may not always be with you, but when we are far apart, you are always right here in my heart.” I believed those catchy maxims were reserved for Hallmark cards. Recently, however, I have been giving those ‘distance dicta’ a lot more thought. They are not only true, but great words to live by during this time of uncertainty. I never thought that being separated from those I care most about would be one of the greatest acts of love. I never thought that I would go to bed at night and not be able to hug my parents, but I have for the past month because I love them. I have not seen any of my friends, colleagues, or attended any regular scheduled doctor visits during that time either. I have remained in my home, watching recorded TV shows, working on craft projects, furthering my education in mindfulness practices, and taking occasional walks with my cat in her bubble backpack to the mailbox (making sure to avoid any people I may encounter) because I like many others have displayed symptoms of the virus.

A month ago, during the first week I started to work from home, I suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded for a few moments a day. Thinking it was from dehydration or stress associated with the new work experience, I drank plenty of water and went along with my day. The next week I noticed that my mom was coughing a lot and complaining of a sore throat. Thinking it was allergies, she took cough drops and went about her day. Then intense migraines set in and placed her in bed for 3 days. Since I was working from home, I took the time to check in and bring her tea and honey throughout the day. Then I noticed that I too had a sore throat and annoying bumps on the roof of my mouth. I coughed throughout the day and felt more fatigued than usual, but thankful that I was able to work from home and get in my 8 hours before crashing. Thankful too that I wasn’t riding the light rail everyday where a constant cough would have emptied the section of leery travelers. Usually, I wouldn’t think much of a slight cough, a headache or a sore throat, but now I was freaking out. Both my mom and I had the same symptoms that were the first signs before hospitalization and death. These thoughts might have contributed to the heavy chest and occasional shortness of breath.

Deciding it is better to be safe than sorry, I went online to order a thermometer. Afterall, everyone in China took their temperature before entering a building. Depending on the reading they could either enter or were assigned to the temperature tent. Like toilet paper, I discovered thermometers were scarce. After 2 hours of searching, I was able to purchase my first healthcare gadget. However, I didn’t read the fine print on line, and was startled to read the packaged instructions on how to take a pet’s temperature. I was not interested in cat scratch fever nor did I want to stick it where the instructions indicated. A few days and many searching hours later a human fever detecting instrument arrived and revealed that neither one of us ever had a temperature. Our new thoughts were homeward boundaries and let others who may need a test get one of few available in Arizona.

Being inundated with pandemic news 24 hours a day, a test for a test caught my eye. A click took me to the Banner Health’s Website (BannerHealth.com) for the test to see if my mother or I qualified for a test. Being a diabetic was a criteria for my testing and my mother who was still coughing checked off a number of symptoms. I called the screening number (1-844-549-1851 – for AZ and 1-877-462-2911 for Colorado) and they set up an appointment for two weeks out.

When the day arrived to go, my mother and I were both feeling better, but were still coughing and had runny noses. Getting out of the house and moving about the town was the beginning of our first misadventure. I must have been nervous when I wrote down the address of the Banner Health facility we were to drive through because there wasn’t one even close to where Siri took us. The correct site was a mile from home so we had to back track 15 miles in sparse traffic to see if we would still be accepted. Luckily, the officer, was kind enough to let us drive up to be evaluated despite being 20 minutes late for our scheduled appointment. The first stop was to process the appointment schedule where we were also told to stay in the vehicle and crack the window down 2 inches when the doctor came to make the evaluation. The doctor noted on his ipad our symptoms for the last week, added a few health history questions and told us to proceed to the testing station. There we met a nurse who asked us to hold up our photo ID and fill out contact and insurance information. After confirming the contact information, another nurse placed the longest cotton swab ever made in the history of the world up my left nostril. It felt as mildly uncomfortable as sticking a #2 pencil up your nose might feel but with a little added heat and tickle. While it only took a few seconds, my nostril felt weird for about 5 minutes. Results we were told would be by phone in 3 to 4 days.

In the meantime we are placed in quarantine until the symptoms end. Once we have coughed and blown our noses for the last time we will have to wait another 72 hours before we can leave the house. So for now, Amazon is our best friend. Although with Arizona’s stay at home in place until April 30th, I have a feeling we will be inside a lot longer than 72 hours. So now is the time to complete all the projects we said we would someday. For me, it is catching up on 5 years of scrape booking, learning Italian for free on Duolingo, and practicing my keyboard. Whatever you undertake to fill your day, be well and know you are not alone in this. We may not be together, but you are in my heart.

If you want to be able to help the Navajo Nation thru this time you can go to https://www.gofundme.com/f/NHFC19Relief to donate and learn about the impact COVID-19 is having on the reservations. If you have PPE, such as masks and gloves that you would like to share, you can mail them to Navajo Nation Social Services at : P.O. Box 2279, Window Rock, Arizona 86515
48 W. HWY 264, Quality Inn Office Complex, Window Rock, Arizona or call: 1 866 347-2403, if have questions and would like to do more.

If you feel that you or a loved one in Arizona may have symptoms or have been around someone who has symptoms or been diagnosed and you live in Arizona, you can go to Banner Health.com for assistance.

You may also reach out on Facebook to Hearts Helping Humanity and asked to join the group to see what you can do to help or be helped worldwide.

Moral: 1) Distance does not account for the amount of love a person feels for someone. 2) Reaching out for help is a part of being human, no one can weather a storm without something, whether it be material or emotional.

Feel free to leave a comment below or email your stories to zsmisadventures@gmail.com to possibly be used in future blogs.

Staying Afloat

Homemade Boat
This boat that we built is just fine –
And don’t try to tell us it’s not.
The sides and the back are divine –
It’s the bottom i guess we forgot…
Shel Silverstein

One perk of growing up in Aruba was that my school was a mile from the ocean. I could smell the ocean breeze from my science classroom. My science teacher, Ms. Napier, feeling taunted by being so close to the ocean daily, but not being able to walk the white sandy beaches of Baby Beach during her work hours, came up with an ingenious plan to eradicate this issue. After 4 years of teaching in Aruba, she was given a prestigious opportunity back in the states and decided to take it, but not without making a last memory for her students. Every year the seniors, be it 2 or 8 would make boats out of cardboard, duck tape, and wax as part of their senior project. Ms. Napier thought it would be a great idea to do a competition between the 8th graders and the Seniors to see who could not only build their boats, but who could row them across a 1 mile stretch. Being an enthusiastic young teen who is always up for a challenge, I was ecstatic, to say the least, when I was told that my class could participate. I was even more excited that my brother’s class didn’t.

My class was able to pick who our partners were, so I choose a friend of mine, Rachelle. She was a creative young girl, who was very wise. I figured with her on my team we could not only crush the challenge, but we would be the fastest team across.

Rachelle came over to my house two weeks before the challenge to start building our craft. We took a refrigerator box that we got from my dad’s work and covered it with about 4 rolls of duct tape. We then sat in it to make sure it was sturdy. We made whoosing sounds and tried to bend the sides as the tides might, feeling satisfied it wouldn’t bend, we moved on. The last step was brush about a gallon of wax over it, with most of it ending up in my lap. Then we let it dry.

The competition was held on a sunny Friday afternoon allowing our parents a chance to come to witness our triumph or our demise. For safety we were all given life jackets. After seeing several people’s boats sink as soon as they got in them, Rachelle got nervous. Right before we stepped in our boat and pushed off the dock, she turned to me and said… I don’t know how to swim. I assured her we would be fine and that she had her life jacket and the paddle to hold onto if anything went wrong. She agreed and stepped in the boat with me right behind her. We were able to get across in no less than 3 minutes flat.

Once we reached the other side I was so over joyed, I hugged everyone I saw on Baby Beach. I told strangers, that I ran into for weeks, about how my friend and I were able to build a boat out of duck tape, cardboard, and wax. I kept the boat and used it again a few times to row around various beaches that I went to with my family.

I have often thought about getting a group of friends together and doing it again, but the thought of sailing across Tempe Town Lake in Tempe, Arizona just doesn’t have the same majestic quality of rowing my home made boat across the Caribbean Sea.

Moral: 1) Education, when done right, utilizes more than just books. 2) You are capable of more than you think you are, so go for it.

Please leave your stories and comments below in the comments are email zsmisadventures@gmail.com and your story may be used in a future blog.

A Green Thumb

There is always a piece of fortune in misfortune.
Japanese Proverb

First and foremost I would like to say that my heart goes out to those who have or had the COVID-19 virus or have family and friends who do. I am saddened to hear about all the life stories that will not be able to continue and flourish, but instead will be remembered by the stories that they left behind. I would, also, like to thank all those in the medical field and the janitorial staff employees who are working to keep us as healthy as possible. I am grateful to see so many come together in a way that strengthens our communities.

Now on a lighter note. This past Tuesday was Saint Patrick’s day. A day where it is okay to pinch strangers for not wearing green. It is also an excuse to drink a beer with friends and dance the night away. It is one of the few days that the orthodox Lenten restrictions for drinking alcohol is lifted. Saint Patrick was a patron saint of Ireland and it is a day to celebrate him with our Irish friends.

This Saint Patrick’s day, my dad made it one for the memory books. We decided to make a trip to the grocery store to pick up a few essential supplies like Irish Soda Bread, wine, sliced turkey, cookies, and of course, green food coloring. We were not however, prepared for the checkout line that consisted of about 100 people with one roll of toilet paper each. Thinking that the line was just for toilet paper we moved ahead to a shorter register line. Within seconds we were cussed out by a lady stating that we had jumped this line too. “Go to the back of the store 6 aisles over,” she hissed.

While dad shuffled away, I, being the crafty one, decide to find out how one line could possibly break off into 10 separate checkout lanes. As it turned out, they don’t. The three carts in the cereal aisle led right into the first counter. I texted dad who found me next to Tony the Tiger. He dropped his armful of groceries in to my cart and pretended to leave the store empty handed just in case his lady friend thought he was cutting in another line. It took a few minutes more before I was waltzing out too but not without doing an act of human kindness. I bought a six pack of toilet paper for an 80 year old woman who was giving up after being told the end of the lines was 12 aisles over and back by the orange juice cooler.

When we got home my dad wanted to know if the turkey could possibly be dyed green for his Irish snack. After several minutes of soaking a few pieces in a glass loaf pan filled with green coloring, he took the ham out to admire his handy work. Placing the ham on a plate, he noted that his fingers were green but thinking nothing of it he splashed the coloring over several more slices and then took the whole concoction out to the garage and hung it up to dry. By the time he returned to the sink his entire hands to the wrist were shamrock green. After washing for 30 seconds, his hands were still shamrock green. In true dad fashion he started laughing as turned and held his hands out for all to see, ”I don’t just have a green thumb. I have two green thumbs and 8 green fingers.” It was a funny sight even for a green thumbed landscape professional and funnier yet an hour later when his lips and tongue we also a pretty shamrock green.

Moral: 1) Food coloring does not wash off easily. 2) Laughter makes everything better. 3) Practice compassion for all those who inhabit this big blue and green ball called Earth.

Please feel free to share your thoughts and stories in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com. Stay whimsical and stay safe. Thanks for taking the time to read my blog and share it, but thanks even more for looking out for each other.

Welcome To The Jungle

Change the way you look at things and the things you looks at change.
Wayne D. Dyer

Being an adult is mostly being exhausted and wishing you hadn’t made plans. Signs of recovery often lead to the couch where I recharge my cells by binge watching Netflix. If it’s small aches and pains, I soak in a bubble bath. For total rejuvenation, I need the driving sensations of a good concert. All these options allow the world around me to disappear as I am drawn into the NOW.

One such memory of escape from adulthood was a Guns and Roses concert at the Comerica Theater in downtown Phoenix. The plan was simple with the goal of stress evasion. The tension of driving in downtown traffic and fighting to find and exit and a parking spot was replaced with a leisurely 4 mile ride on the light rail, a three block stroll to the venue and then dance the night away. After another stroll and restful ride I would be back in the hotel bed and finishing off the night with a great dream probably with a musical theme. However, the best part about being an adult are the misadventures.

This unpredictable and memorable night began as I walked out of the hotel lobby and could see the train rapidly approaching the station. After a mad dash to the intersection and dodging cars that had the right of way, I bought tickets while my friend ran to block the doors from closing. I jumped on and we disappeared into the crowd belting out Sweet Child of Mine and convincing others to sing along. In the middle of the chorus a voice came over the loud speaker asking us to exit the train. Confused, I turned to my friend and asked if we could get arrested for singing too loud. I was assured we could not. Once we exited it wasn’t hard to see the real reason why we were all asked to exit the train. Right in front of us was a guy, sitting on the hood of his car which was sitting on the tracks, yelling that he is not drunk and the light rail was in his lane. This stalemate didn’t look good for anyone but once the conductor ensured everyone that it would only be 20 minutes or so before another train could arrive to take us to our destinations, everyone relaxed and my friend and I got the crowd to sing again.

For those who live outside of Arizona, the light rail rides on parallel steel rails that are separate from the asphalt roads that our cars drive on. At no time do cars drive on a light rail track and vice versa. The driver was definitely impaired if he thought his car could take on a light rail.

We were able to get on the other light rail and arrived at Comerica with minutes to spare. We were four rows from the front and still pumped up for a good time. The opening band was an hour and a half late for their 8 pm start. They warmed up the crowd for about a half hour, but not anything that I ever needed to hear again. After another 45 minutes of standing around the crowd was turning a little rowdy. Guns and Roses finally appeared a little after 11:00 PM.

Guns and Roses put on an awesome show: all out volume pulsating hit songs, lighting things on fire, having mini fireworks going off inside the venue and supplying the energy that had everyone transformed into the NOW. At one point I wondered if the fire department was on standby because the flames were getting a bit large. I then quickly went back to dancing to “Welcome to the Jungle” and “Paradise City.” The concert ended at 2:30 AM with Axel Rose throwing his mic into the crowd after the audience helped belt out the last words to “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.”

It did not dawn on me that our simple plan of stress evasion did not take into account that the light rail shuts down at 2 AM. Nor that I might have needed extra cash to get the 4 miles back to our hotel as I spent my last remaining dollars on the light rail passes. I failed to plan on walking 8448 steps in high heels. Have you heard that it doesn’t rain in Arizona? Well it does and it did that night at about mile three. By three AM as we arrived back at the hotel, I was barefoot, my cotton top and pants soaked through making me feel like I was going to drown in the ocean, my stringy head of hair dripped with water that left a trail of droplets as I across the terrazzo lobby and hit the elevator button with a spiked heel. I learned a new acronym that night, KISS which stands for Keep It Simple Stupid.

Moral: 1) Always have a spare pair of flats or tennis shoes if deciding to wear heels, no matter how many inches they may be. 2) Always keep it simple. 3) Learn to find the humor in everyday situations as nothing is predicable.

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