I know I will never be selected to perform in the Cirque du Soleil, but I consider myself solidly in the 50th percentile when it comes to coordination. So why is it that I am unable to simultaneously bag three kiwis while holding a coffee cup in one hand? It’s not that I don’t have any genetic inclination—I was raised by a coffee drinker who has no problem simultaneously balancing 2 cups of coffee with the New York Times crossword. However, I am coming to the game a bit late to say the least. You see, I am a novice coffee drinker. Actually, coffee would be a misnomer to all of my coffee consuming friends. I have only recently latched on to lattes, which my java drinking companions consider a poor imitation of the real thing.
Regardless, I so often see nonchalant coffee drinkers balancing their coffee cup while going about their daily lives. Okay, so I don’t frequently grocery shop with my dad, and I have no recollection of him holding his coffee while maneuvering a grocery cart through aisles of produce, yet certainly a pen and a newspaper are equally as slippery as a couple of kiwis. Here I am, managing without difficulty to select three just right kiwis with one hand and then comes the tricky part. How do I grab and open a plastic bag and slip the kiwis in while holding onto the coffee cup? Thank goodness it’s not the height of traffic at the grocery or surely I’d be embarrassed by my ineptitude. The cart is moderately full and I know if I attempt to nestle my cup among my groceries it’s only going to tip. Forget the plastic bag; I’ll drop the kiwis directly into my cart.
Onto a cucumber, surely I can manage to bag a lonely cucumber in this slightly encumbered state. I select a perfect cucumber, pretty straightforward with one hand. Now I need to grab a plastic bag. Less straightforward while balancing the cucumber with the coffee. Should have nabbed the bag first. Bag in hand, now how do I open it? I barely manage to slip the cucumber in and then, oh darn, the cuke slips out and splats on the floor. Well, it doesn’t actually fly apart, but there’s a pretty good soft spot on it. Now the ethical quandary. This dilemma surely wouldn’t make the grade for a college application, but I am not overseeing the production of countless pharmaceuticals, so this is the extent of my morning’s ethical considerations. Besides, if the admissions’ personnel ever read what my final choice is in this dilemma, I wouldn’t be admitted anyhow. I consider my options. Return the cucumber to the bin for the next unsuspecting shopper. Tell the produce manager; who is nowhere in sight. Tuck the cucumber among the Empire apples where it clearly doesn’t belong and therefore will be regarded as suspect and not selected by the next shopper. I admit, I take the low road, the apples get an interloper and I give up on bagging a cucumber today.
By this time my drink has cooled to luke warm at best—real coffee drinkers would now be truly aghast that I could continue to sip and shop. But I continue on, starting to gain mastery of right hand cart turns—much easier than left turns— contemplating my options when I get to the checkout. Putting the cup on the conveyor is only going to lead to an embarrassing mess and I’ll be uncovered for what I am—a neophyte latte drinker. Nestling the cup among my groceries is likely to lead to the same result with the store manager calling over the intercom, “clean up on check out lane 8”. So I opt for the only reasonable alternative—take it to the trash can. Next time, I’ll get the coffee after the grocery.
Opening Windows
When the minister asked the children gathered in front of him what Jewish holiday fell in the spring near Easter, one small boy piped up, “Hanukkah.” I laughed, thankfully not too loudly, as no one else in the congregation found amusement in his response. Whether that was because they didn’t realize that Hanukkah falls closer to Christmas or whether they thought it might be disrespectful of another religion to laugh I don’t know.
Being half of an interfaith couple, I found the response quite comical. Partially it was absurd because it showcased our society’s efforts at attempting to balance holidays with the egomaniacal Christian holiday, Christmas. Every child in our elementary school knows about Hanukkah, okay, perhaps not about the Maccabees and the oil, but they know it’s a Jewish holiday they need to mention every time Christmas is presented in their politically correct world. So the mere fact that Hanukkah would roll off of a young child’s lips as the only known Jewish holiday is a reflection of our absurd approach to managing Christmas as the top predator of solstice celebrations.
Also, the minister was attempting to be broadly ecumenical—embracing the Jewish religion by explaining important overlaps between Christianity and Judaism while talking about how Jesus was celebrating the Passover meal with his disciples before Good Friday. I applaud his efforts both to provide historical context and to open a window of respect for these children. Seeing the gears turning in these children’s minds was what got me laughing. And sure enough, in my Church School class, my students gave voice to their confusion.
When I asked why we celebrate communion, the first response was, “to remember Passover.” Well the minister had certainly gotten that window of respect wide open.
Being half of an interfaith couple, I found the response quite comical. Partially it was absurd because it showcased our society’s efforts at attempting to balance holidays with the egomaniacal Christian holiday, Christmas. Every child in our elementary school knows about Hanukkah, okay, perhaps not about the Maccabees and the oil, but they know it’s a Jewish holiday they need to mention every time Christmas is presented in their politically correct world. So the mere fact that Hanukkah would roll off of a young child’s lips as the only known Jewish holiday is a reflection of our absurd approach to managing Christmas as the top predator of solstice celebrations.
Also, the minister was attempting to be broadly ecumenical—embracing the Jewish religion by explaining important overlaps between Christianity and Judaism while talking about how Jesus was celebrating the Passover meal with his disciples before Good Friday. I applaud his efforts both to provide historical context and to open a window of respect for these children. Seeing the gears turning in these children’s minds was what got me laughing. And sure enough, in my Church School class, my students gave voice to their confusion.
When I asked why we celebrate communion, the first response was, “to remember Passover.” Well the minister had certainly gotten that window of respect wide open.
Cellmate
Ever since I was driving one sunny morning on a clear road and was plowed into by a car whose driver said in defense “I looked and she wasn’t there”, I have become more observant of drivers using cell phones. Not that I know she was on a cell phone, but honestly which is more likely, I have a Star Trek transporter or she was immersed in conversation?
In any case, I have noticed a number of different approaches to drivers holding cell phones and have unscientifically categorized them by the likelihood of their steering into my car.
Capsized Cranium—She manages to firmly grip the steering wheel with two hands by pressing the cell phone between her should and her ear. She appears to have good steering wheel control, I just wonder how distorted a perspective of the road she views with such a significant head tilt. Not recommended for individuals with a history of neck or upper back strain.
Everything Under Control— Phone in one hand, coffee in the other, how is she steering? But she looks so confident chatting away that I presume she has auto pilot and everything is under control… at least until the coffee spills.
Lean Look— His left hand holds the steering wheel, while his right hand holds the cell and the whole body leans to the right—perhaps with an elbow against the mid-console. Appears quite relaxing, hopefully his reflexes aren’t also relaxing.
Manicured Model—The phone is held gingerly by all 4 fingertips and thumb as if she is coming from a manicure. She certainly looks together, so hopefully her driving is as well.
Angry Audio—He has two hands on the wheel and is apparently talking to nobody as there are no passengers in the car. I used to presume that these drivers were using hands free phones. Then I had several conversations with male relatives who admitted to having quite dynamic soliloquies while driving alone. Apparently these aren’t the one off conversations that many of us have after a maddening encounter when we just didn’t get our point heard. No, this is a daily ritual for these drivers. I’m not exactly sure how to categorize this group—I tend to give them plenty of extra space.
Twist and Talk— While holding the cell in one hand, her other hand gesticulates wildly. As with the Everything Under Control driver I question her ability to quickly make a corner, but she would certainly do well as a mime.
Everyone Else—I’m not sure how many people drop through to this category—there just aren’t too many options for holding a cell phone while driving.
Now when I see a driver on a cell and am quickly considering my driving options, I try to recall my list and if I can’t remember all seven categories, I just use my acronym, CELMATE.
In any case, I have noticed a number of different approaches to drivers holding cell phones and have unscientifically categorized them by the likelihood of their steering into my car.
Capsized Cranium—She manages to firmly grip the steering wheel with two hands by pressing the cell phone between her should and her ear. She appears to have good steering wheel control, I just wonder how distorted a perspective of the road she views with such a significant head tilt. Not recommended for individuals with a history of neck or upper back strain.
Everything Under Control— Phone in one hand, coffee in the other, how is she steering? But she looks so confident chatting away that I presume she has auto pilot and everything is under control… at least until the coffee spills.
Lean Look— His left hand holds the steering wheel, while his right hand holds the cell and the whole body leans to the right—perhaps with an elbow against the mid-console. Appears quite relaxing, hopefully his reflexes aren’t also relaxing.
Manicured Model—The phone is held gingerly by all 4 fingertips and thumb as if she is coming from a manicure. She certainly looks together, so hopefully her driving is as well.
Angry Audio—He has two hands on the wheel and is apparently talking to nobody as there are no passengers in the car. I used to presume that these drivers were using hands free phones. Then I had several conversations with male relatives who admitted to having quite dynamic soliloquies while driving alone. Apparently these aren’t the one off conversations that many of us have after a maddening encounter when we just didn’t get our point heard. No, this is a daily ritual for these drivers. I’m not exactly sure how to categorize this group—I tend to give them plenty of extra space.
Twist and Talk— While holding the cell in one hand, her other hand gesticulates wildly. As with the Everything Under Control driver I question her ability to quickly make a corner, but she would certainly do well as a mime.
Everyone Else—I’m not sure how many people drop through to this category—there just aren’t too many options for holding a cell phone while driving.
Now when I see a driver on a cell and am quickly considering my driving options, I try to recall my list and if I can’t remember all seven categories, I just use my acronym, CELMATE.
Guilty
“Guilty.” “Not guilty.” “Not guilty.” “Not guilty.” “Not guilty.” “Not guilty.” My eyes would have opened wide in surprise if they weren’t filling with tears. No, I wasn’t the defendant, or a relative of the defendant, I was one member of a six person jury. I suppose the tears were my reaction to feeling exposed as the lone dissenter or feeling concern over receiving the resentment of my fellow jurors who would now have to return to the courthouse the next day or possibly even feeling self doubt. Was there some reasonable doubt that I had missed?
How did I get myself in this position? Wouldn’t it just be easier to have said ‘OK, fine, not guilty’ and now be heading home without needing to worry about rescheduling Friday plans or who knows, even next week’s plans!
Just this morning as I had taken my jury seat as the final juror selected, I felt proud and pleased to be part of a jury hearing a case and doing my civic duty. As juror number 13 took his seat, I thought idly that I’d not be selected with only one more spot to fill on the jury. But then several prospective jurors were dismissed and in a moment I was seated in the jury box and the judge concluded that the jury selection process was complete. So there I was, feeling pleased to be selected to fulfill my civic duty. If I could have foreseen the events of the afternoon, I doubt I’d been pleased at all.
Waiting in seclusion before the start of testimony, was like being with five strangers in an elevator that unexpectedly, but not alarmingly comes to a stop. We were all quietly ignoring one another until an awkward pause arose. What would everyone talk about when we were forbidden to talk about our only common bond? Of course, our first topic was first the weather (rainy), then the traffic (“boy was the traffic heavy this morning”), then the unintelligible recorded messages we’d received from the courthouse reminding us to appear, then we touched briefly on previous jury experience before feeling we’d gone too far a field among strangers and returned to the comfort of meteorological chatter.
Fortunately they soon brought us in to hear testimony. We all sat quietly and listened to the same testimony. But apparently, the other jurors, after listening along with me and discussing that testimony as a jury, believed there was still reasonable doubt where I saw no reasonable doubt whatsoever. I talked to myself driving home and half the night to ensure I had thought through everything I’d heard in the courtroom and still felt there was no reasonable doubt. So when I returned to our jury room on Friday morning, I felt nervous yet confident. Taking a deep breath I began, “Well as the outlier, I suggest I present what I heard in the courtroom yesterday and then hear where each of your doubts lies to see if we can convince each other one way or the other.”
Not surprisingly, having no alternatives, everyone readily agreed. I began, “Most critically I heard one important instruction from the judge before we retired to begin deliberations. He instructed us that we may use our common sense and our experience to determine from the testimony we heard, what is fact.” Keeping this directive in mind, I told the story as I believed the events occurred. As I spoke, I looked carefully at each juror to see each individual’s reaction. I saw some nods, some interest, and no defiant body language. So rather than continuing my narrative, I asked the jurors to explain to me the doubts they saw that caused them to be vote not guilty. One by one, each juror began with a phrase such as, “you know as I was driving home yesterday I started thinking about…”, or “Thinking this through last night I tried …”, or “Well I know that he wasn't being honest…”. One by one each juror, but one, admitted that he or she did not have any reasonable doubt; each saw the defendant as guilty. Inside I was astonished. Outside I tried to remain neutral.
Clearly everyone else, except the foreman, had changed their minds overnight. But still the foreman seemed to differ arguing that the state, in his words, “just didn’t make its case.” So we all voted again. Again I went first. “Guilty” This time I heard, “Guilty” “Guilty”, “Not Guilty.” “Guilty.” “Guilty.” A near reversal—I was stunned. Yet, we needed a unanimous verdict which we didn’t have and so a juror suggested that we would need to tell the judge that we couldn’t come to a verdict. Well that didn’t sit well with the foreman who protested, “I was fine when you (pointing at me) were the odd person out, but I don’t want to be the one who causes us to be a hung jury.” Fortunately, another juror took him to task reminding him that he needed to truly believe the defendant is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt to give a guilty pronouncement. There was a quiet pause in the room. I don’t know what was going through the foreman’s mind at that point, but then he nodded his head and agreed; yes the defendant was guilty. While I may have convinced no one, I felt that I had given the jurors the time they needed to think to come to the right verdict.
I watched the defendant as the verdict was read, “Guilty”. He dropped his head and otherwise showed no emotion. We retired for a final time to the jury room, our conversation now past meteorological happenings. We shared respect not only for one another, but for the process. We felt we had carefully and thoughtfully fulfilled our responsibility both to the state and to one another. We may never meet again, but I will carry that respect I felt with me.
How did I get myself in this position? Wouldn’t it just be easier to have said ‘OK, fine, not guilty’ and now be heading home without needing to worry about rescheduling Friday plans or who knows, even next week’s plans!
Just this morning as I had taken my jury seat as the final juror selected, I felt proud and pleased to be part of a jury hearing a case and doing my civic duty. As juror number 13 took his seat, I thought idly that I’d not be selected with only one more spot to fill on the jury. But then several prospective jurors were dismissed and in a moment I was seated in the jury box and the judge concluded that the jury selection process was complete. So there I was, feeling pleased to be selected to fulfill my civic duty. If I could have foreseen the events of the afternoon, I doubt I’d been pleased at all.
Waiting in seclusion before the start of testimony, was like being with five strangers in an elevator that unexpectedly, but not alarmingly comes to a stop. We were all quietly ignoring one another until an awkward pause arose. What would everyone talk about when we were forbidden to talk about our only common bond? Of course, our first topic was first the weather (rainy), then the traffic (“boy was the traffic heavy this morning”), then the unintelligible recorded messages we’d received from the courthouse reminding us to appear, then we touched briefly on previous jury experience before feeling we’d gone too far a field among strangers and returned to the comfort of meteorological chatter.
Fortunately they soon brought us in to hear testimony. We all sat quietly and listened to the same testimony. But apparently, the other jurors, after listening along with me and discussing that testimony as a jury, believed there was still reasonable doubt where I saw no reasonable doubt whatsoever. I talked to myself driving home and half the night to ensure I had thought through everything I’d heard in the courtroom and still felt there was no reasonable doubt. So when I returned to our jury room on Friday morning, I felt nervous yet confident. Taking a deep breath I began, “Well as the outlier, I suggest I present what I heard in the courtroom yesterday and then hear where each of your doubts lies to see if we can convince each other one way or the other.”
Not surprisingly, having no alternatives, everyone readily agreed. I began, “Most critically I heard one important instruction from the judge before we retired to begin deliberations. He instructed us that we may use our common sense and our experience to determine from the testimony we heard, what is fact.” Keeping this directive in mind, I told the story as I believed the events occurred. As I spoke, I looked carefully at each juror to see each individual’s reaction. I saw some nods, some interest, and no defiant body language. So rather than continuing my narrative, I asked the jurors to explain to me the doubts they saw that caused them to be vote not guilty. One by one, each juror began with a phrase such as, “you know as I was driving home yesterday I started thinking about…”, or “Thinking this through last night I tried …”, or “Well I know that he wasn't being honest…”. One by one each juror, but one, admitted that he or she did not have any reasonable doubt; each saw the defendant as guilty. Inside I was astonished. Outside I tried to remain neutral.
Clearly everyone else, except the foreman, had changed their minds overnight. But still the foreman seemed to differ arguing that the state, in his words, “just didn’t make its case.” So we all voted again. Again I went first. “Guilty” This time I heard, “Guilty” “Guilty”, “Not Guilty.” “Guilty.” “Guilty.” A near reversal—I was stunned. Yet, we needed a unanimous verdict which we didn’t have and so a juror suggested that we would need to tell the judge that we couldn’t come to a verdict. Well that didn’t sit well with the foreman who protested, “I was fine when you (pointing at me) were the odd person out, but I don’t want to be the one who causes us to be a hung jury.” Fortunately, another juror took him to task reminding him that he needed to truly believe the defendant is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt to give a guilty pronouncement. There was a quiet pause in the room. I don’t know what was going through the foreman’s mind at that point, but then he nodded his head and agreed; yes the defendant was guilty. While I may have convinced no one, I felt that I had given the jurors the time they needed to think to come to the right verdict.
I watched the defendant as the verdict was read, “Guilty”. He dropped his head and otherwise showed no emotion. We retired for a final time to the jury room, our conversation now past meteorological happenings. We shared respect not only for one another, but for the process. We felt we had carefully and thoughtfully fulfilled our responsibility both to the state and to one another. We may never meet again, but I will carry that respect I felt with me.
Dinnertable Comment
"That wasn't a vacation, that was a learning experience."
What I actually heard was:
"That wasn't a vacation, that was a learning experiment."
Not sure which is more favorable, or rather less unfavorable.
What I actually heard was:
"That wasn't a vacation, that was a learning experiment."
Not sure which is more favorable, or rather less unfavorable.
Grocery Check Out
Idly scanning the magazine covers in the supermarket check-out line, I looked up as a screaming 2 year old pushed past me to get to a large bin of rubber balls for sale.
Grabbing a large blue ball, he returned to his mother who responded, “Brian likes orange better, we’re going to get the orange ball. We don’t need any more balls; let’s put this blue ball back.”
The mother put the blue ball back then returned to continue having her groceries scanned, including the orange ball. The child screamed, returned to the ball display and grabbed the blue ball again.
Sighing, the mother said “okay” and put the blue ball on the conveyor pretending that she was going to buy the ball while quietly whispering to the check out clerk that she’s not buying the ball and to just put it behind the counter. The child, who had immediately calmed upon hearing ‘okay’, was smart enough to follow what’s going on.
As soon as he saw that the blue ball wasn’t being purchased he tensed all of his facial muscles and prepared to emit another ear-splitting scream at which point the mother sarcastically retorted, “Fine! Do you know how many balls we have at home? We’ll add this to all of the other balls in the garage and have enough balls for all the kids in the neighborhood!” And with that, she purchased the blue ball (along with the orange ball, apparently a gift).
I stood stunned and rooted to the spot as she tensely pushed her cart out into the sunny afternoon.
I unloaded my cart for the cashier, all of the supportive comments I could have offered streaming through my mind. Why hadn’t I just said, “It’s ok if he screams, it won’t bother anyone here if he screams; we’ve all been there.” Or “Personally I think it’d be much better for him if you would let him scream and follow through on your initial decision to buy only the orange gift ball.” Or even, “Don’t worry about it; here, let me put the ball back for you.”
Sigh. I hope that next time I speak up.
Grabbing a large blue ball, he returned to his mother who responded, “Brian likes orange better, we’re going to get the orange ball. We don’t need any more balls; let’s put this blue ball back.”
The mother put the blue ball back then returned to continue having her groceries scanned, including the orange ball. The child screamed, returned to the ball display and grabbed the blue ball again.
Sighing, the mother said “okay” and put the blue ball on the conveyor pretending that she was going to buy the ball while quietly whispering to the check out clerk that she’s not buying the ball and to just put it behind the counter. The child, who had immediately calmed upon hearing ‘okay’, was smart enough to follow what’s going on.
As soon as he saw that the blue ball wasn’t being purchased he tensed all of his facial muscles and prepared to emit another ear-splitting scream at which point the mother sarcastically retorted, “Fine! Do you know how many balls we have at home? We’ll add this to all of the other balls in the garage and have enough balls for all the kids in the neighborhood!” And with that, she purchased the blue ball (along with the orange ball, apparently a gift).
I stood stunned and rooted to the spot as she tensely pushed her cart out into the sunny afternoon.
I unloaded my cart for the cashier, all of the supportive comments I could have offered streaming through my mind. Why hadn’t I just said, “It’s ok if he screams, it won’t bother anyone here if he screams; we’ve all been there.” Or “Personally I think it’d be much better for him if you would let him scream and follow through on your initial decision to buy only the orange gift ball.” Or even, “Don’t worry about it; here, let me put the ball back for you.”
Sigh. I hope that next time I speak up.
Irene the Oracle
Oh for the simpler days of a DeLorme Atlas and a highlighter. Instead there I was in a 29 foot RV traveling the country with my family and an interloper—Irene, our GPS navigation system.
Irene was a small box with a large database capable of both locating her own current position, which conveniently is your position too if she is with you, and directing you to numerous points of interest and addresses throughout the United States. She had an unnervingly calm demeanor when speaking; yes she talked. For instance, Irene’s insidiously calm utterance “take next left” after we had ignored her 3 previous “take next left” suggestions, got under my skin. How could she stay so calm when we were blatantly ignoring her directions?! She never got ruffled; she never raised her voice.
She may sound like the ideal driving buddy, but don’t be fooled. She often gave vague suggestions. She had no idea how large our vehicle was and would blithely offer “U-turn ahead” whenever she deemed that we had made an error in judgment in our choice of routes. Somehow making a U turn while slogging up the narrow coast road in the rain driving a 29 foot RV didn’t seem practical, at least not to me. My husband, on the other hand, relished Irene’s challenges; she bolstered his masculine ego. She took advantage of her allure and frequently, after I had clearly told the driver, my husband, to go straight ahead, Irene would calmly utter, ‘turn left in 500 feet.’
You see, I didn’t have a list of every Dunkin’ Donuts across the country. She had the capacity to entice my husband with a selection of countless coffee shop options literally at his fingertips. I think she actually savored having my husband’s undivided attention while ushering him through construction in rush hour traffic.
Yes I suppose there were some moments when I appreciated her guidance; even enjoyed her companionship. When I was too tired to find the directions to the campground I would just close my eyes and let Irene pipe up, “take next exit right in 2 miles.”
So we had an ambivalent relationship—or rather I had ambivalent feelings toward her; she didn’t even know I existed. I sat quietly while she got us back on the highway from a maze of city streets, but later, when she was lulled into a false sense of pride, I piped up, “take next exit and don’t merge in .2 miles. We’re taking the scenic route,” and muted Irene. And of course, when we returned home after nearly 10,000 miles, she was the one put back in the box.
Trading Debt for Cookies
I don’t have a degree in economics, but I understand the basics around debt and trade. As a matter of fact, if I were to talk about the effect of U.S. debt on the economy I would probably be better understood by most Americans than Alan Greenspan, but I would make a lot less sense. See what I mean? However, I think I have enough of a handle on monetary issues to have an intelligent discussion with a 10 year old. At least that was what I thought before last week.
While driving, my 10 year old pipes up from the back seat, “Why don’t they print more money to pay off the debt?” She frequently uses prepositions as if we’ve been having a discussion for some time. We hadn’t been, we’d been actually driving in silence—somewhat unusual when we’re together.
When I explain the basics of inflation and why we can’t just print more money she suggests that maybe we should just forget about it and start over.
So I follow-up on the basics of our global interconnectedness and how countries like China have actually purchased many treasury notes from the federal government and that we need to honor them. Undeterred, she then suggests that we give them something else instead, like furniture.
Well there’s an interesting option, but who, I ask, would make all that furniture without getting paid for it?
“Oh,” she quickly responds, “then how about cookies—everyone could bake cookies, everyone likes to bake cookies and everyone likes to get them!”
While driving, my 10 year old pipes up from the back seat, “Why don’t they print more money to pay off the debt?” She frequently uses prepositions as if we’ve been having a discussion for some time. We hadn’t been, we’d been actually driving in silence—somewhat unusual when we’re together.
When I explain the basics of inflation and why we can’t just print more money she suggests that maybe we should just forget about it and start over.
So I follow-up on the basics of our global interconnectedness and how countries like China have actually purchased many treasury notes from the federal government and that we need to honor them. Undeterred, she then suggests that we give them something else instead, like furniture.
Well there’s an interesting option, but who, I ask, would make all that furniture without getting paid for it?
“Oh,” she quickly responds, “then how about cookies—everyone could bake cookies, everyone likes to bake cookies and everyone likes to get them!”
A Year Already?
Was it really a year ago already that I was insisting we get a pull-through campsite and my husband was waiting for the internet fairy to appear in our Kentucky campground?
I vividly recall picking up the RV. At the rental agency Wendy, our rental specialist, gave us the full tour of our new home for the next 2 months making sure to emphasis that cruise control is not the equivalent of auto pilot. She showed us the RV systems which my husband noted carefully, while I, on the other hand, entered her 800 number into my cell phone and made a mental note that we wanted to stay at a campground with staff for our first camping experience. We realized we needed to factor in additional time to ‘camp’: time to change the oil, buy septic deodorizers, make campsite reservations and of course, time to de-winterize the RV.
With the tour of systems over I was beyond excited and equally nervous! Now it seemed to me it was time for the driving lesson. What? No lesson?! We just hop in and go? You’re kidding, right? Wrong, that’s it; we were set (yeah right). My husband would drive the RV home while I would follow in our car. He got in the cab and was there awhile, I presumed adjusting the seat and mirrors, double checking driving controls etc. Then he got out of cab and went into rental office. When he returned with the serviceman. I stepped out of the car with a quizzical look. “Just learning how to operate the radio,” he called to me. “The radio! I hardly think you should be listening to the radio for your first RV driving experience!” Don’t worry, no problem, … and we were off!
When It Rains It Pours
Before my children started elementary school, my husband, our two daughters and I set off to New Hampshire for our first family camping experience. We imagined roasting marshmallows over a crackling campfire, sighting a greater variety of wildlife than the Robins, Blue Jays and Grey Squirrels inhabiting our backyard, and exploring new trails. We hadn’t truly considered rainy weather options. We certainly hadn’t expected severe thunderstorms. But then the best part of camping is frequently the unexpected.
Upon locating our campsite, we selected a nice flat spot and despite the darkening skies we set up our tent without mishap. When we crawled into our sleeping bags that night we weren’t bothered by rocks, or roots and my husband and I marveled at what a perfect site we had selected for our tent.
Along came Saturday—“severe thunderstorm warning!” was broadcast, not that we were listening to the radio. Soon a nice soft pitter-patter fell gently through the pine boughs. Before long a true deluge began, so we decide to enjoy the storm by reading and drawing in our tent. As the wind howled and lightning cracked, our daughters’ interest in books and art projects diminished and their attention turned to the ferocity with which the storm was pummeling our tent. “Wow! Look how the tent bows in with the wind”, “Isn’t the thunder and lightning exciting?” And when our 5 year old asked, “Mommy, is it going to flood?” with more than a little trepidation in her voice, I calmly responded, “of course not.” My younger daughter meanwhile gleefully patted the tent floor, “it’s a waterbed mommy!”
My husband, being practical, looked outside the tent to verify my response and said, “Throw me my bathing suit.” A quick change into his suit and he stepped outside our tent, put his head back in and said, “Toss me my car keys and pack up.” Come to find out he had stepped into 5 inches of water! So much for our ideal tent site. Had it not been for the stakes we so securely pounded in we would be down river. Pressing against the bottom of the tent our youngest said, “Neat mommy, look how squishy this is, can we jump on it like a trampoline?” Unsure how well the floor of our tent would hold up with four little feet jumping on it from above, and a torrent of water beneath it, I decided that would not be prudent. No matter, it was plenty entertaining watching mom throw everything in sight into the duffels.
Not wanting to find out how well our duffels would repel water when the river crested over the tent threshold, we backed the car up to the tent and tossed our belongings into our vehicle. All the time my husband and I made light of the situation not wanting to concern our daughters—as if they couldn’t read the concern from the velocity with which our duffels flew out the tent flap.
If we had been in an action movie, then the tent would have washed away immediately after we had emptied the tent of its contents. Well, we weren’t on a movie set. The tent, now empty, was immediately bathed in golden rays of sun as the rain instantly abated and the skies cleared to make a mockery of our sense of urgency.
Upon locating our campsite, we selected a nice flat spot and despite the darkening skies we set up our tent without mishap. When we crawled into our sleeping bags that night we weren’t bothered by rocks, or roots and my husband and I marveled at what a perfect site we had selected for our tent.
Along came Saturday—“severe thunderstorm warning!” was broadcast, not that we were listening to the radio. Soon a nice soft pitter-patter fell gently through the pine boughs. Before long a true deluge began, so we decide to enjoy the storm by reading and drawing in our tent. As the wind howled and lightning cracked, our daughters’ interest in books and art projects diminished and their attention turned to the ferocity with which the storm was pummeling our tent. “Wow! Look how the tent bows in with the wind”, “Isn’t the thunder and lightning exciting?” And when our 5 year old asked, “Mommy, is it going to flood?” with more than a little trepidation in her voice, I calmly responded, “of course not.” My younger daughter meanwhile gleefully patted the tent floor, “it’s a waterbed mommy!”
My husband, being practical, looked outside the tent to verify my response and said, “Throw me my bathing suit.” A quick change into his suit and he stepped outside our tent, put his head back in and said, “Toss me my car keys and pack up.” Come to find out he had stepped into 5 inches of water! So much for our ideal tent site. Had it not been for the stakes we so securely pounded in we would be down river. Pressing against the bottom of the tent our youngest said, “Neat mommy, look how squishy this is, can we jump on it like a trampoline?” Unsure how well the floor of our tent would hold up with four little feet jumping on it from above, and a torrent of water beneath it, I decided that would not be prudent. No matter, it was plenty entertaining watching mom throw everything in sight into the duffels.
Not wanting to find out how well our duffels would repel water when the river crested over the tent threshold, we backed the car up to the tent and tossed our belongings into our vehicle. All the time my husband and I made light of the situation not wanting to concern our daughters—as if they couldn’t read the concern from the velocity with which our duffels flew out the tent flap.
If we had been in an action movie, then the tent would have washed away immediately after we had emptied the tent of its contents. Well, we weren’t on a movie set. The tent, now empty, was immediately bathed in golden rays of sun as the rain instantly abated and the skies cleared to make a mockery of our sense of urgency.
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