Day 59. Street Walking for Technology

 

Friday, January 2, 2009

Street Walking for Technology

This posting comes a little late - it really should have been setup yesterday - but I was too tired. So therefore, my friends you will be treated to a second posting later today.

Yesterday started out a normal teaching day. We met at breakfast and decided on the path we would take. Dr. Thorn, Ashley and Vince worked with half the group on video while Kellie, Miriam, Dr. Byers and I worked with the remaining groups on photo. This included pulling all of the equipment out of the bags and getting them in the hands of students. One thing to remember when in a different country with technology - bring plenty of back up batteries. I figured we were in good shape. I had brought a power strip, power converter (for the US to India difference in adapters), and rechargeable batteries.

The night before I had setup all of the equipment on my desk to make sure the batteries were at full strength. But as we all know - technology likes to mess with our heads. Even after 15 hours of charging the batteries would only remain active for a little more than an hour. This proved to be a downfall in a daylong class. The morning session was able to shoot their video assignment, but by afternoon the cameras were running out of power. Thus began our quest....

I checked Goggle and found a number of shops nearby with batteries. This is quite the discovery since most of the shops around the college are run out of what resembles a 1-car garage. It is truly amazing the amount of merchandise they can hold in that small space.

Steve and I both had wanted to explore a little more of the neighborhood so we put on our walking shoes, grabbed one of the still cameras and set out. We traveled streets packed with motorists and foot traffic. It is difficult to truly describe the traffic patterns here. Dr. Thorn did a pretty good job of comparing it to the flow of water in a stream. When the water encounters a rock it just moves around it and continues to flow. That would be pretty close. Consider Steve and I rocks in the stream. My rock is a little more nervous to be in the flow than Steve's - but we are definitely obstacles to be dealt with.

Our trek took us down roads packed with pushcarts, cows, feral dogs, families and shops. In one area the cow pies lay baking in the sun - I am sure to be used as fuel for fires. After only a short distance we came upon a market place that would resemble a small strip-mall in Wisconsin. We stopped in a couple. Steve purchased a can of diet coke - he is more adventurous than I am when it comes to consumables. What I thought was interesting was that the can had a pull-tab. I hadn't seen those since I was a pre-teen!

We checked out video game stores, toy stores and a pharmacy that wouldn't even fill a cashier area of a Wisconsin Walgreen's. Steve needed aspirin and we purchased 2 sheets - cost - 6 rupees. At 48US per rupee a true bargain.

Across the street we hit pay dirt - Kumar's Japan Style Collections. This shop had batteries for just about every electronic gadget that Japan developed. I not only found AA for the still camera's but a 10 hour camcorder battery that would have cost me over $130 in the US for only $32. They only had one in the store and we have 7 cameras with us. The clerk assured me that he would get 6 more - but we would have to return the next day. I bought the one they had so I could test it out. It sits in my room now charging up for its first use later today.

Back to the travels in the street. We left the shop with all of our needs met-but decided to take different routes back to the college so that we could discover more shops. We turned left and went three more blocks to an intersection. This was truly a rare find. Not only were there streetlights, but also a traffic officer. In my last trip to India I had learned that generally street signals were ignored. I think the addition of the traffic officer helped – but he was greatly outnumbered by the vehicles. In any event, it is a start.

We crossed safely and headed (hopefully) back in the direction of the college. As we walked we checked out more of the shops along the way, Steve took more photos and we talked. It was a very nice time, and just the movement I needed to spark my appetite. But before we made it back to the Jesuit Residence we made one last stop in a gold shop. The items were pretty and very reasonably priced. We each purchased a gold-platted statue, thanked the storeowner, and headed back out. To our surprise and amazement we actually found the college! My son’s would be so proud of me that I didn’t get lost. No GPS – just a small familiarity of the area – and Steve – my human compass.

It is a pretty good feeling when you don’t get lost in a foreign country. Especially since I have difficulty traveling in my own state, where I can read the road signs!

After getting back inside I sat and relaxed in my room and waited for the dinner I was sure would be the best I had ever tasted. Unfortunately for me I was confused as to the dinnertime. I don’t like to hover and appear that I am impatient so I try to get to the cafeteria a little before time. It would be the first supper I had actually had in the Jesuit Residence since arriving. The other days we were out or I had fallen asleep before it was ready. I headed down to the kitchen at about 8:45. But the door was closed and there was clearly some kind of meeting going on inside. No sign of any other team member. The students from our team are in a different building. Steve and Bill are in the upstairs of the Jesuit Residence. My room is on the first floor, no women allowed above. So I sat with my door open and watched a movie until 9:15. I was sure that the dinner had to begin soon – it would get way to late otherwise. I walked back down the hall. The door was now open and team members were sitting inside. To my dismay I found out I had missed another wonderful dinner. Everything was pretty much cleaned up and put away.

I was tired so I said my good nights and headed back to the room. I feasted on a power bar, water and smuggled Christmas candy. I plugged my headset into my laptop and continued to watch “Into the Woods” until I drifted off to sleep.

Good night Ahmedabad – I look forward to another wonderful breakfast in the morning.

Day 58. Pass the Tums, Please!

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Pass the Tums - PLEASE!

We had a slower start today. It is New Years and the students have the day off.

I was surprised by my friend, Purvey (Pinky) coming for a visit and to hit the shopping malls. Ashley, whose luggage never made it to India, needed some clothes. Since she is above average in height compared to the India women she has been having difficulty finding jeans that cover her ankles. Not a culture requirement - just a personal one. Being 5'4" myself I can honestly say I have never had that problem. So Pinky took us to a couple of shopping malls where Ashley was able to pick up her needed supplies. We returned from shopping in time to head out with a group of students from St. Xavier's College and Susan George, another faculty member. They took us by bike (not bicycles but motorbikes) to a local Gujarat restaurant. Kelly and I took a rickshaw since there weren't enough seats on the bike. I have seen up to 6 people on one scooter here - but since I am the equivalent in size to about 4 India residents I felt a bit more comfortable in the green and yellow rickshaw...Vince on the other hand rode with Susan. I just want to mention that Vince was wearing a bright fire-engine red T-shirt. I believe this is the real reason that Susan received had to pay a 100 rupee (about 2 US dollars) fine to a traffic cop and had nothing to do with her disobeying the signal. Yes - I blame Vince.

On the way Kellie and I saw an elephant traveling the roads. No one will believe me since the camera I brought along had dead batteries. OK - rule from now on - always check the batteries before heading out on excursions!

Once again I was tricked into believing the spices were mild and would not upset my stomach. However, an Irish/German stomach is much wimpier than an India one. The food did taste wonderful, but I am hoping my tongue recovers before I return home.

In the evening the team was honored to attend the Eucharistic Celebration of two Jesuit's making their final vows. This is the last step before becoming full Jesuit priests. The ceremony was beautiful and the music/singing well done. I was impressed by the number of community members that attended the celebration.

After the service there was a reception in the courtyard. Rice, chicken and fruit were served. I thought I had a safe tray with a a piece of flat bread, some rice, and a chicken dish that resembled Chicken Chow Mein. I steered clear of the chicken curry and was hoping that this would settle my stomach down. Well to quote Britanny, "Oops, I did it again!". So the package of tums that I picked up at the corner Walgreen's and packed in my suitcase are now being put to good use.

Tomorrow is a teaching day with classes starting at 9am. I am charging batteries for camera's in my room. It now resembles a poor imitation of radio-shack. Cables and equipment everywhere.

Oh - I forgot to tell you my favorite part of the day. I discovered a thick comforter in the closet of Father Joe's room (that is where I am staying). I aired it out today and it is now on my slab - er - bed. I also took the pillow case off the pillow in the bed and replaced it with my folded up the fleece blanket. Finally, I used my aroma therapy eucalyptis on the bed and pillow - the room now has a very nice home feeling to it. If I were staying longer I would place some pictures on the walls and the room would be officially "mine". If only I had packed my Lord of the Rings calendar! Oh well, maybe next year!

Day 57. I'll get to it

pro·cras·ti·na·tion

/prəˌkrastəˈnāSH(ə)n/

Learn to pronounce

noun

1. the action of delaying or postponing something.

   "your first tip is to avoid procrastination"

People use this word as if it's a bad thing. Nothing to be gained by procrastinating or waiting until the last minute. If that were true, then think of all the impulse purchase items that would not be necessary at the grocery story check out. 

Layouts of stores could be completely different. Did you ever notice that many grocery stores have started putting items like milk, eggs and fruit near the check outs? You think it's a service, but it's still a reminder to buy more, a hint that you may have forgotten something in your rush. They aren't fooling me! I see right through their attempts at guilt.

Procrastination has always been my biggest weakness and also my strength. There have been plenty of speeches that I have given that were written minutes before, or not even prepared. 

It all began in Junior High School, Mr. Halbeck's speech class. He would have us do our research and prepare speeches on index cards. I never understood the use of them since once I had them written I barely looked at them, preferring to instead just talk about the subject until the timer went off. Sometimes this worked, and others - well - it didn't. 

I remember being called on in class to discuss the book "Oliver Twist" by Charles Dickens. Since it was my favorite musical, I decided I could skip the reading assignment and just talk about the movie instead. (Spoiler alert - there are differences in the movie vs book)

When my name was called to discuss the book, I stood up and gave a 10 minute 'cliff notes' speech on the movie. I moved from the podium and barely looked at my notes - which didn't matter since they were blank. 

I received an 'A'

My course in life had been set. From that point forward, preparing for speeches has been difficult for me. I am better-off waiting until the last moment and putting together the information that is needed in a crunch. I know this sounds counter-productive, but it works for me. For some reason I can focus better when I know that a deadline is looming. 

Take today for example. I am supposed to be preparing for a presentation on Wednesday. The assignment was due last Friday, but I never received the link to the slide deck I need to use, so I have that as an excuse. So am I sitting here writing an outline for the presentation? Nope, I'm writing a blog about having to prepare a presentation.

But that is part of the process. I have to get everything else out of my mind so I can focus on the task at hand. Last week I had to make massive changes to two websites, so I worked on that instead of the speech.

If they would come up with a way to transfer information directly from your brain to the written page while you sleep I would be golden. You see, I go over my presentation in my head many times before committing it to paper. This includes my blog. If I don't have a beginning sentence or two, then I have a hard time beginning. 

OK - back to the story. Procrastination sounds like such an ugly word, but research has shown that there are many people that make it work. Those people are obviously not doctors, or lawyers, or even teachers. I believe they are creatives (not that doctors, lawyers or teachers aren't creative) people who have over-bearing imaginations and look at life from a different perspective.

So, I'm telling you, it is ok to procrastinate, as long as you know your limits and realize that it can cripple you when a small catastrophe gets in the way. Things like grid-lock traffic, sick children or lost keys (I'm always losing my keys). For this reason, I would tell you to set your deadline to be a day or two before it truly is needed. If you wait too long then karma may step in and give you a good lesson in humility to remind yourself that you need to heed the warnings in your head. You know, all those dreams you have about getting to class and having a test you didn't study for, or getting on stage and not knowing your lines. 

Well, I guess I should end for today and get back to preparing for Wednesdays presentation. But first I need to put away the dishes and laundry and....

Day 56. Culture shock

 

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

New Year Eve, Sleeping on slabs, and the green-eyed monster

Well, it's New Years Eve in India. The street outside my room is more active tonight than it was at this time last night. In the distance you can hear the sound of fireworks going off to celebrate the day. Most of the party have headed for bed, the end to another busy day. I took a late evening nap, sleeping through the 9pm dinner and waking a little after 11pm to an empty stomach. Good thing I stashed some peanut butter and crackers in my luggage or I would have to raid the refrigerator.

Since it was so close to New Years I figured I would blog until the hand struck midnight. Right now it is 11:47. If I type long enough I can count down here.

Since I mentioned sleeping let me tell you our general experience of the beds in the Jesuit Residence. Without any disrespect, this bunch of Americans - with the exception of Dr. Thorn - were really surprised at the firmness of the mattresses. The word from really doesn't even pay them justice. I guess I would compare mine to sleeping on my front door step. Very hard. Ashley's I am told has a number of uneven areas which makes her mattress feel more like a group of boulders instead of one full slab. I am not complaining - actually my back has never felt better. I only wish I had brought my pillow, as a little softer one would be more of what I am used to sleeping on. My son let me bring one of his stuffed animals with to remind me of him. I have been thinking of using it as a replacement pillow - but I am not sure how he would feel about me returning it to him a little flatter than how it was sent.

11:53pm - just a bit longer and we can all shout "Happy New Year" together.

So now the last part - the green-eyed monster. When my niece was little and got jealous my brother-in-law always accused her of turning into a green-eyed monster. Today I turned into a bit of one. The students from St. Xavier's invited the students from Marquette to go on a bike ride with them to a mall and arcade. I would have loved to go with them - it sounded like a lot of fun. Unfortunately it would have looked more like I was the mom chaperoning the group. Sometimes I have to remember I am almost 30 years older than most of these students. I was a little less green when I found out it wasn't bicycles but motor scooters that they were referring to. While I think driving a motor scooter in this traffic would be very interesting, I don't think it would be a pretty site to see me hanging on the back of one. Especially since I out-weigh most of the students here by at least 100 pounds! The idea and the picture in my minds eye of that just makes me laugh.

11:58pm - almost there

So as I count down the final minutes of 2008 I guess I am sad to see this year end. It has been a very good year to me, a chance to work in areas that I have always dreamed of, my children being healthy and doing well in school, and of course my return to India to see our trip from last year taking off with a program I helped to build.

So good-bye 2008. Thank you for all your wonderful memories. 2009 it is time for you to show your stuff.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Day 55. Flight to India

 

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Its always something...

Well today started out wonderfully. We stayed overnight in Chicago so we wouldn't miss anymore planes. The bed was fantastic, a great buffet breakfast and a shuttle ride that took us to the terminal. Kelly's bags finally materialized and we headed to the KLM counter. We received our boarding passes for the first 2 legs of the trip, but were told that we would need to pickup the Dehli-Ahmadebad pass in India. That should have been a red flag - but it wasn't and we happily headed to our first flight.

Pauline had done well. She had booked Kelly and I in business class for the Chicago-Amsterdam leg. These seats were like sitting in your favorite recliner - including a massage option. We dined and watched movies on demand. I chose "Baby Mama" and I noticed Kelly's screen had "Dark Knight". I managed to take a little snooze as well - but was planning on waiting for the second leg - which would be a 10 hour flight to get most of my sleep. Second big mistake.

We left the first plane with 50 minutes to make it to our next flight. The gate - of course - was on the other end of the concourse. A foot race ensued. We made it in plenty of time - I could tell because the boarding line was about a block long and the plane status already said 'boarding'. It took about 1/2 hour for us to make it through and find our seats. These weren't as nice as the last. They were in coach. Kellie lucked out with an aisle seat. I got the window. Most people like the window - but it traps you in. The woman in the middle seat reminded me of Jim's Aunt Nellie and neither her daughter or she wanted to move to allow me in. I explained to them that I would not be able to manage to climb over them without someone getting hurt. I waited while they moved to allow me in. The seat was cramped but if I didn't drink anything I should be able to make it 10 hours - especially since I planned on sleeping the most of the way.

Unfortunately for me the 3 year old in the seat behind me had different plans. He and his sister took turns crying or kicking the back of the seats in some sort of melody they were working out. I truly felt like Elaine from "Seinfeld". Needless to say I didn't get much sleep. Thank goodness for Jimmy loading up the iPod with lots of movies, music and books on tape. I listened to "Marley and Me" and silently wept at the sad parts.

We landed in New Dehli at 3am. The fog around the terminal was so thick that flights were being cancelled due to low visibility. We had to go through customs, grab our bags and take a bus to the domestic side. The fog just added to the scariness of the adventure. I told Kellie that we could be taken anywhere - truthfully - since neither of us speak the language or know what is proper procedure the 50 Rupees that I paid to take the 'free shuttle' to the domestic side may have just been a rip off - I did get a receipt though.

When we made it to the Domestic side we found out that we were at the wrong terminal. We were at 1B and needed to be at 1A. Two baggage handlers helped walk us back through the foggy streets to the other terminal. We passed 3 heavily armed guards and heard gunshots in the distance - at least I think it was distance - but it was definitely gunshots.

We waited for the Air India ticket counter to open and walked up with our passports expecting to receive boarding passes and head to Ahmadebad and our friends waiting for us at St. Xaviers College. However, the red flag that should have flown high before came back to haunt us. There were no reservations, we weren't in the system and the flight was full. We were stranded until the next day when another flight would head out - but we would have to pay the $8000 rupees per ticket to make it on board.

Thanks to "The Amazing Race" I knew there had to be other airlines heading to our destination. I checked and found seats on a 9pm flight. These would be $8000 Rupees for both tickets - a bargain! We purchased the tickets - but had to walk back to terminal 1B in order to board our flight. The luggage handler walked us back through the fog (it really was thick!) and we began the marathon waiting session - 15 hours in a terminal! Unbelievable.

Thankfully I had taken the opportunity to talk to the terminal manager. He allowed me to use his Internet connection to contact the head of the workshop. In exchange I fixed his printer which wouldn't connect and kept giving him error messages. Later in the day the members at St. Xaviers had found us an earlier flight with a different airline. This was good because shortly after I walked back to the Kingfisher airline to cancel our tickets the flight was cancelled due to low occupancy.

We waited 2 hours for a refund and almost missed the flight on Indigo Airlines - but all worked out and we arrived! We are both really tired and need showers.

Other than that it was a quiet day!

Day 54. From the past

Needed a couple of days off - this is a story from our first trip to India. Since no one has read it yet, I thought you'd enjoy it.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

The beauty of schedules

I like to think I live my life in a free wheeling way.  Just flying by with whatever comes my way.

However, this last couple of days has been more than even I was ready to attempt.  I had been scheduled to head to Ahmadabad, India with a group of faculty and students from Marquette University.  I arrived at the airport in plenty of time, checked in my bags and sat with the group.  We had begun to discuss the curriculum that we were going to deliver to the students at St. Xavier's College.  A school we had adopted a year earlier on a prior trip.  We were all extremely excited to head out - even though it was the day after Christmas.  

However, the weather had another idea.  One of the students was flying in from her break with her family and had yet to arrive.

Then it happened.  The text messaging.  Fingers were flying and keys were clicking away.  The plane that Kelly was arriving on had been delayed six times and was now headed back to the gate.  She wouldn't be able to make the flight the rest of us were booked on.

She would be heading out the next day.  Since the other two faculty members were more important to the opening of the program I offered to stay behind and fly on with Kelly on the 27th.  

I headed back home and spent another night with my family.  

So today we started off again.  This time a little less rushed.  I arrived at the airport at 3:30 and sent a text message to Kelly.  Once again the weather was playing havoc with her trip.  She had managed to have her flight switched to a different airline so that she would not miss her connection.  I waited patiently at the KLM ticket counter for her to arrive at 5pm, assuring Pauline that she would make it on time.

Just a quick note on Pauline.  This individual was the most competent person I have ever had the pleasure to deal with.  You will, no doubt agree with me by the time I finish today's post.

5:15 came and Kelly sent a text that she was at the airport - but still on the plane.  By 5:30 she had de-planed and headed to baggage claim.  Still plenty of time to make the 7:35 flight.

5:45 came another text - her luggage still hadn't arrived.  By 6:15 we were sure that this was just not going to happen.  2 hours and 3 ticket agents later we were finally headed to our destination for the night.

Unfortunately that wasn't Amsterdam as we had hoped.  Instead it was a local hotel.  Pauline had done her best to get us on the flight - but when 6:40 came it was apparent that we weren't going to make it to the gate.  Kelly's luggage never made it to Chicago.  We are hoping that it will show up in the morning. 

In the meantime Pauline had made us reservations at the Hilton Garden.  Made a search of the airport for Kelly's luggage, and managed to once again change over our reservations to head out on the 28th instead.

We will hopefully arrive in India by Tuesday. 

The team will need to adjust itself to our new arrival time.

So much for schedules....

Day 53. Friends of the friendless

You wouldn't think that writing a blog about childhood memories would ever result in writers block. But it did. I wanted to write about the group I had started, but I really couldn't think about how to get started or what I could talk about besides the group.

The problem is, that the other memories I have are waiting to come out and they are backing up like a clogged drain, pushing on the plug. I can't write anything until the one I had started is finished. 

Then, I heard this on a show I was watching:

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. ~EE Cummings

From the beginning I have been an individual. Partially because I had plenty of imagination to create a world that made me happy and mostly because I really didn't care what other people thought of me. I made my own way and marched to the beat of my own drummer. Social norms weren't for me. While I did like dolls, I also liked playing in the dirt with trucks.

I don't like dresses, never have, well except for long ones, because then I could wear shorts underneath. Maybe that's it, I don't like nylons - dresses may be ok.  I did like tights - nice thick ones. In the 80's they had winter-all's, I remember those were nice, but you couldn't wear them in the summer.

In every job that I've ever had I have always pushed the dress code. Not thinking that the way I dress had anything to do with my performance or my knowledge. I mean, how would a suit have anything to do my ability to do a job. I always felt that people in suits were stuffy and I'd really work better when I was relaxed and comfortable.

I've never been one for makeup and my hair style has always (and is still) wash and wear. I did have a curling iron in high school, but for the most part I only used it for choir performances.

Friends of the friendless was a group I started up at the end of sixth grade, it really wasn't as bad as it sounds, but it was something that I made up. I even made up laminated cards (I laminated them by putting tape over them, since I didn't have access to a laminator). I guess it was partially a joke and partially how I felt. No one wanted someone like me in there group. I was headed to Junior High, the world of cliques and meaningless groups. Feelings of security were low and anxiety was high. I needed something I could hang onto that would allow me to enjoy my individual style and knew that not everyone would understand me.

I made up the group as sort of a joke, I mean, I really could escape into my own world whenever I needed to. Arlys, Liz and Sheri soon joined in and I made them cards as well. If nothing else we would always have each other as friends.

Looking back I realize how many friends I really had in Oak Creek, probably just as many, if not more than I did in Cudahy. But that summer, something happened that would make me think I needed to turn my membership in.

A family moved in next door. Just two children. They looked young and I went over to see if their parents ever needed a babysitter. I figured living next door I could easily fill the bill. I went over and introduced myself to the young girl. Imagine my surprise when I found out she was my age! 

Her name was Lori and she had just moved from Cleveland, WI with her brother John and parents. She was the new kid! I knew how that was and decided right then and there I was going to be her best friend. I wasn't in any way concerned if she agreed with me, and you know what, we hit it off right from the start. She was Shirley to my Laverne.

We have been friends ever since.

Day 52. Hula Hoops and bouncy balls

On Mother's day we say thank you for the support, the good times and the bad times; the unwavering love that only a mother can give a child. Today has given me many glimpses and chances to remember a simpler time. I wanted to write about these days today. Today is the day that will make the most sense to remember and document my few but happiest memories of life with my mother, Elizabeth Joyce Nebel.

My first memory is foggy, but it is probably the earliest memory I have of time with my mom. I was sitting in the living room, in a cardboard box and pretending I was driving around town. Going shopping and to the zoo, to the park, to my friend’s house; anything that I could imagine, that box would transport me without even having to stop for gas. 

My mom was ironing shirts and sheets. I could smell the starch as the steam from the iron fell around me. She had the television on as she ironed; the newscaster was giving a report about the activities of the day. On the screen they were showing a convertible traveling down the street. A man and lady were in the car and people were waving at them as they went along the path. They were surrounded by a bunch of men walking. I had no idea what she was watching or why this would be of any significance in my life. All of a sudden the man fell over and the woman was crawling across the back of the car trying to reach one of the men that walked alongside. The car was speeding up and the screams from the crowd increased.

Normally I would think that this memory was something I formulated from all of the news reports over the years of President Kennedy’s assassination. However, there is a part of this memory that is stuck in my brain. The water bottle that was on the ironing board fell to the floor just inches from my feet. I heard my mom gasp and then fall to her knees; she reached over to my box, grabbed me out and hugged me so hard I thought I was going to burst. She was crying, rocking back and forth. We stayed like that for quite some time, until my dad came home. Then she ran to him and he held her until she stopped crying.

It wasn’t until years later that I knew the significance of that day, but it still remains one of my first memories of my mom.

Skip forward a few years and the next memory is much happier. It was a fresh spring day. My sister

Judy and I were outside playing hopscotch or some other outside game – for now I want to believe that we were playing hopscotch but I’m guessing Judy would say it was something else – her memory is much better than mine. Anyway, we were outside and my mom came out to join us. She had with her two large play balls. Wait, now I remember, we were playing hula-hoop.

My mom had picked up the rubber balls from the grocery store. She started bouncing them really high into the air and catching them. Then we tossed them back and forth, the newness of the rubber made them bounce exceptionally high. The fresh rubber smell was the best – to this day when I’m at the grocery store and I see those balls in the racks I feel compelled to walk over and smell them – it always takes me back to that spring day.

After a while my mom picked up one of the hula hoops and challenged Judy to see who could keep the hoop up longer. Judy accepted the challenge, I counted off – 1-2-3 go! The challenge was on! I remember giggling and laughing until we were all out of breath, watching my mom keep that hoop up around her waist – she was actually quite good! I don’t think I ever told my mom how much I loved her at that moment. It was the best day of my life, and aside from having my own children years later, was probably the happiest I can ever remember being in my entire life.

Happy times don’t last forever, happy memories do.

Day 51. Job security

When you are an adventure seeker you have to be prepared to have a few bumps in the road. I am going to start this section by relaying a memory that was given to me, by that I mean I have heard the story so many times that it is almost as if I can actually remember the event. We all have memories like that, the

ones that you probably never really new to begin with, but now you could tell what type of day it was, the color of the shirt you were wearing, or the smell of the flowers in the garden.

So this story starts like this, it was my dad's work picnic and we all headed to the local park to take part in the day. These were the days when companies had people assigned to work the event - and they went to great lengths to make sure everyone had a good time. There was always plenty of food, hot grills, and liquid refreshments in the form of beer and soda. The park was in full bloom so you could smell the clean crisp air sprinkled with bits and pieces of fragrant flowers that dotted the park.

Kids were playing games, badminton, penny scramble, wheelbarrow and three-legged races. Music played from someone's battery powered transistor radio. I was doing my best to run around the park and find all the hidden clues to the scavenger hunt that would take place later that day. In my journey around the area I found an empty beer bottle. I had remembered seeing people sing and dance when they were drinking so I thought it would be funny to imitate them. I climbed up on top of the closest picnic table and started to dance to the music. People were laughing and pointing, so I continued to be goofy. Twirling around, beer bottle in hand, the music was playing loudly in my ears. I stopped and used the beer as if it were a microphone. I was center stage and all eyes were on me. That is except for the man from the party that decided to sit on the bench portion of the picnic table.

Some picnic tables are sturdy, built to last a lifetime. Others not so much, the bolts rusting or coming loose to the point that the entire table can wiggle back and forth; I had picked this table mainly because it had that important element that would allow me to teeter-totter on it for more dance effect. The problem with that is when someone then sits on a side of the table it becomes more of a slingshot than a stage. With one final ‘thump’ of his but on the bench I found myself hurtling through the air, beer bottle in hand, until I came crashing down onto the ground.

Somehow in my flight I had moved my hand with the bottle in it near the top of my face, most likely bracing for impact. The bottle hit first, splitting into sharp shards of glass, then my head landed on the glass. A nice inch long gash opened on the top of my head and blood started to stream down my face. I am not sure if you are aware of this, but your head had many blood vessels lining it, making it seem like I was losing more blood than what was in reality a very small amount. That fact must have been lost on the women in the crowd, all of whom came running to my aid. 

The rest are more memories that were either told to me about the day or things I filled in on my own to figure out what happened next. 

I was raced in my mom’s arms to our car, we sped to the closest emergency room where a good looking doctor from one of my mom’s television shows (remember these memories are from my imagination, so of course he was a tall handsome doctor) cleaned me up and provided me with 4 brand new stitches and a sucker for bravery. It was a good afternoon and I vowed never to be so clumsy as to end up on the receiving end of such a talented seamstress ever again. 

If only someone would have told my body that it would have saved me many return trips. In fact, I think I was the main reason many of the emergency rooms in the area remained in business during those early years in Cudahy. 

There was the time my brother, Gary, decided to help me learn to ride a two-wheeler. He had been running behind my bike all day, holding onto the seat. I was getting pretty good, and fairly confident. We went down the sidewalk in front of our house so many times I think I was wearing marks in the cement from my trail. The last time he let go of the seat and I soloed the remaining length of the block. I was beaming ear to ear. Two more solo trips followed. I was ready to show the world. Judy ran in the house to get my parents and Gary and I geared up for my premiere solo flight, complete with audience. We were at the end of the block, near a corner house so that I could travel the full length. I saw my sisters and dad come out of the house and stand on our front porch. “Ready?” came Gary’s voice. “Ready!” I replied. Gary gave me a shove to start me out, but in his excitement he pushed a little harder than I was ready for and I hit the brakes. Instead of remaining on the bike and starting over, the frame made a quick lunge forward; my tire fell into the gap between the sidewalk and the lawn and stopped dead. I, however, continued on the trajectory set in motion and went head first into the gravel pit near the road. 

You know that sound you hear in your head right before it hits the ground? Well this was even louder and included a strong stab of pain, followed by the all too familiar warm feeling of blood escaping from my head.

I didn’t even have a chance to cry before I heard Gary gasp and Ginny scream from the porch. The next thing I knew I was being picked up in my neighbor’s arms, then passed on to his wife, and finally handed off to my dad. He carried me back to the car. Ginny appeared from no-where with the keys. Gary, Judy and Ginny jumped in the back seat while I sat next to my dad in the front, a towel now covering my throbbing head. We arrived in just a few minutes at the doors of the hospital and headed to the admitting desk, where my mom – who had just started working at this job the day before, was working. I bet she never guessed that the first person she was going to admit that day would be her own daughter! I sat in the waiting room and when the time came to be stitched up, she held my hand as they covered my face with a blue towel to isolate the area. I squeezed her hand tightly as the needle went into my skin and then the burning sensation slowly started, then left as my forehead became numb. A few minutes later I was sitting up and holding yet another sucker in my hand for bravery. If this place was going to remain in business, they had better stock up on sewing thread and lollipops. By this point stitches no longer scared me and knowing my mom would be there to hold my hand when I needed her made the memory of the pain disappear.

I gave Gary a hug when I saw him in the waiting room. He looked so sad that he had caused me to get hurt, but it was just my destiny and he shouldn’t have to shoulder that guilt. He was, after all, my hero because he taught me something that would in later years prove to be my greatest asset. My ability to escape from the world and go for a ride on my bike! 

Day 50. Don't Pee in the Pool

Sheridan pool was the place to be during the summer. The large pool is always cold since it's heated by the sun and never seemed to get warm enough. But still we would go there as often as we could during the summer. Just ten cents got you into the changing room where you could either leave your clothes on the floor, put them in a bag to carry to the side of the pool, or rent a basket for an additional twenty five cents. 

We generally pitched in and rented a basket for our shoes (we wore our swim suits to the pool), then we carried our towels through the showers (you were supposed to shower before swimming, but lets face it, no one does) and down to the guard who would check your feet for fungus - you had to lift your foot and spread your toes for them.

Once past the foot checker we would lay out our towels to claim our spot. Then you had to do the test - swimming across the length of the pool so you could swim in the deep end. Sometimes we would wait and do that later in the day, and sometimes we would do it right away. The benefit of waiting was that you didn't have to worry about the guards changing place.

If you got too cold you had choices, you could either lay on the hot cement or go into the 'baby pool'. It was only about two feet deep so the sun warmed it up faster - or did it - rumor was that it was warmer because all the babies peed in it.

I didn't care - it was warmer.

Gary was a life guard at Sheridan for a while, it was nice to not have to test since he knew I could swim, but it wasn't any fun getting yelled at by your brother. 

It wouldn't be until many years later that I appreciated the job of a life guard. While in my Junior year of high school I took life guard training as part of my gym class requirements. It was the best thing I could have done for myself. Besides the fact that I had chlorine running through my veins after all of the years of competitive swimming, it gave me a chance to have a locked locker for two years - giving me a place to keep a change of clothes and bathroom items. We had limited shower time at home so I used the ones at the high school to shower daily. I loved long, hot showers and since I had a key to the locker room I could take one every morning before school. 

Secondly, there was a small bed in the guard room of the women's locker area. It was perfect for a nap or if the weather had become so bad outside that riding my bike home would be impossible. So there were, on many occasions, nights that I didn't go home, and instead spent the night sleeping in that room. It was safe, warm, and quite. The entire building would be locked at night and no one ever checked the locker room office. My bike would be right next to me and I could shower the next morning and no one would know any better.

But most importantly, it was for the most part an easy job - just sit in the chair and watch to make sure everyone followed the rules. No running, no swimming in the deep end without passing a test and most importantly, no peeing in the pool.

To keep from daydreaming we had to change position every 15 minutes. We would rotate from deep end, to shallow, and then to locker room. It made the night go fast.

I know there are rumors that they put a dye in the water to see if someone pees, but the truth is, from the height of the chairs - it is very obvious. The color is undeniable - and easy to spot. The twist here is that we rarely said anything to the offender. Mainly because it's too embarrassing for everyone. But we would keep a list of constant offenders and if it got to be too often we would pull them aside and let them know we had seen an offense in the past and would be keeping an eye on them, if they did it again they would be asked to stay away. They almost always denied doing anything so disgusting, and after being talked to we rarely ever saw a repeat offender.

Every now and then you'd get someone who needed first aid, I hated those days because it came with paperwork and reports.

I only had to call for the ambulance once. A young boy had chickened out mid dive and ended up slipping off the diving board. In doing so he hit his head on the way down and needed to be rescued from the deep end, backboard and all. It was scary after the fact, but while we were rescuing we just went into what I could best describe as auto pilot. Following all the steps we had trained to do. 

It was a thing of beauty, right out of the pages of "Baywatch" - Mitch would be so proud!

I saw the boy go in and waited for him to surface. When he didn't I blew the warning signal on my whistle, dove in for the boy while my partner got the back board and cleared the pool. 

I brought the boy to the surface and glided him to the side of the pool. We strapped him to the board before helping to guide him to the shallow end where it would be easier to carry him out. We lifted him to the side of the deck just as the ambulance crew arrived. We stepped aside and answered questions.

After the ambulance left we had more paperwork to fill out and a good story to tell our friends the next day, a better story than who we saw peeing in the pool!

Day 49. Old nine toes

While we are on the subject of fishing, I had caught the bug. Not so much for eating the fish, but for catch and release. This was something I could do on my own that didn't cost any money. I had found an old cane pole in the garage. I'm not sure if it had belonged to my dad or the people who lived at the house before us. It was really jammed in the rafters and I had to use my climbing skills to reach it. Up the piles of old tires, step on the even taller stack of old newspapers and finally balance on the top of a couple pieces of wood.

I could j...u...s...t about reach it. I made a bit of a leap onto the piece of wood that created a sort of floor across the beams and then I was able to get it. I pulled it from its spot and tossed it down to the garage floor.

Getting down is always easier than climbing up. I grabbed hold of the beam and dangled until I had steadied myself right over a pile of old clothes and landed safely into their waiting folds.

OK, I had a pole. I checked the rusty hook and removed the dried up piece of bait that was still attached. It looked good. There was a nice piece of line wound around the pole - I only needed a bobber and bait.

I went with the easy step first - the bait. I grabbed a shovel and ran outside to a muddy area that used to house our turtle.

Quick segway to the turtle story. We had found a snapping turtle on the way home from swim practice so we carried it to the yard and made a nice cage for it. We named is 'Snappy' and kept it until the day it escaped, at least I think it escaped, the kids up the street could have taken it - that happened all the time, but I'm not sure so I'll say Snappy escaped.

OK - back to bait. I didn't have to dig long  before I found a number of fat, juicy earthworms. I had an old plastic oleo container (kids, oleo was fake butter before 'margerine') that I filled with dirt and put the worms inside. I cut a few slits in the lid and covered the container before any escaped.

Finally, a bobber. I didn't have any ideas at the moment, so I figured I would check on my way to the park. I jumped on my purple schwin bike and headed to the pond. 

I dropped my bike near the drive that lead to the pond. It was there for the winter months when it was an ice skating rink, but during the summer it was a good place to park your bike. I laid down my pole and bait and began walking the banks of the pond, looking around for a bobber, I was in luck - there was one stuck in the weeds near the edge - not to far into the water. I could walk out and reach it. Since it was summer I wasn't wearing shoes or socks so I waded in to the bobber. The bottom was pretty mucky (yes, that's a word) and my feet made a sthwip sthwip sound as I walked out to the bobber. 

I grabbed the line and freed the bobber from the weeds. I sat on the bank and untied the knot. BONUS! It also had a hook! Now I would have a spare.

I ran back to my pole, attached the bobber, baited the hook and tossed the line into the water. "Plop" went the bobber, what a great sound! After not to much time I felt a tug on my line and successfully pulled out a small (really small) blue gill. Cudahy did a good job of stocking the pond with fish and I'm positive they are 90% small blue gill.

I removed it from the hook, tore another piece of the worm and added fresh bait. "Plop" went the bobber a little further this time. Again another small fish took the bait. This continued a few more times. On the next cast my bobber went a little further than I had sent it before. Just beyond the bobber there was something floating in the water. I squinted my eyes against the sun reflection but I couldn't quite see what it was, 'bloop' went the bobber and my attention went back to my line. I pulled in a good sized pan fish this time. It almost filled my hand! 

As I was tossing the fish back into the pond the clouds covered the sun and I was finally able to make out what was floating. It was a fish, a HUGE FISH! OK, it was dead, but I could grab it and take it home to show my family the big fish I caught. I mean, I was a good swimmer and if I swam out to grab it, it would still be like I 'caught' it, right?

I put my pole down next to my bike and started walking into the water. The bottom was firm at first since the blacktop drive went a few feet into it, then back to the sthwip, sthwip of the bottom.

You know that feeling you have right before you hit your head, as if your brain knows its going to happen so it is preparing you for pain? Well right before I stepped down the next time I felt that electricity go right through my body. I had stepped on something in the water and at first I was in a bit of momentary disbelief, and then 'OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

I backed up so fast that I fell backwards. I did the crab walk back up the side of the pond and looked down to see blood pouring from my left foot. My second toe was laying backwards in a weird way. I completely forgot about my pole and bait and grabbed my bike. I was going to need some help.

The week before my sister, Judy had stepped on a piece of glass and had cut her right foot. My dad had applied gauze and wrapped it up. She hobbled everywhere she went. I knew I was in trouble, but I didn't care. My foot really hurt and I could feel my toe wobbling left and right as I peddled. It was hanging on by just a piece of skin.

I got to Lake Drive and had to wait for cars to clear the way, I think I shocked a few of them since at this point I was crying loudly - my voice must have sounded like a siren!

I went as quickly as I could, the blood was making my foot slip off the pedal making it difficult to ride. I chose the alley since it was closer to the place that I crossed, I finally made it to my backyard screaming so loudly that the neighbor came out of his house. Mr. Case jumped the fence that separated out yards and made me sit on the ground. He grabbed my foot and yelled to the house for some rags. 

The next few minutes was fuzzy. Someone from my family brought out some rags and Mr. Case wrapped my foot tightly. An ambulance came and took me and Mr. Case to the hospital. I'm sure I was bawling the entire way - and thankfully you don't remember the pain. They took me into a room where a group of people were gathered, The nurses cleaned away the blood from my toe so they could see what they were up against. Then, and at the moment I didn't care, they jabbed a needle into my already throbbing foot and 'froze' it so it could be stitched back up. I had cut clear through the bone and I was lucky that the piece of skin had held or I would have been missing it for the rest of my life.

Shortly before they finished my dad showed up at the hospital. Mr. Case filled him in on my injury and he came back to the room.

My foot was professionally bandaged and he carried me out to the car and back home. 

I was set up on the couch with my foot elevated for the next week. Poor Judy was still hobbling around with her cut, unprofessionally mended toe. She said it was because I was the baby that I went to the hospital instead of being bandaged up by my dad. I think it was because I was lucky that my dad was at work and Mr. Case was at home.

In any event, I can show you the scar - it's one of many that I have, but it definitely has the best story. 

Oh, and I never did see that fishing pole again. 

Day 48. Gone fishing

I think the first people to take me fishing were the Genet's. They were another family that were friends

Gina's parents and ours. I think they may have all met bowling or something. Anyway - they lived a little further away than most of the people I knew in Cudahy. Their land included a bunch of green houses where they would grow flowers, bushes, trees and vegetable plants. It was the largest backyard I ever saw, at least at that point in my life. 

They had four girls, Pam, Beth, Debbie and Cindy. The youngest, Cindy, was very much ahead of her time. She had so many allergies that she had to wear a mask all the time! They drew a dog face on it to make her feel better and would actually call and talk to her like she was a dog. 

Now, don't get too concerned about Cindy, she really did like it since it made her feel better. Pam was my age - or close to it. All the girls had long hair that Mrs. Genet would braid each morning.

I slept over night at their house a number of times. I remember they had a two story home, but the top floor, where the bedrooms were, didn't have any heat and not much insulation. I think they were in the process of fixing it up - which felt like it was taking forever. Their home was as close as I had ever come to a farm house.

Anyway, they invited us to go up north with them to the land that they owned. Karen (who babysat for them all the time), Judy and I went along, I think Ginny and Gary escaped with Mr. C on a bike trip. The property was near a lake and we were going to go fishing and cook it up for supper. I had no idea what 'up north' was but it was exciting to think about sleeping in a tent and cooking over an open fire. That may have been the first time we did that too.

My dad didn't like camping - said he had done enough of that in the war, but was happy to allow us to go along. Now since I had never camped before I had no idea what to expect. I guess it was too much to think that they'd actually have tents. Nope, we were to sleep in the back of the van that we drove up to the lake. There weren't any seats in the back so we just sat on the floor with the blankets, supplies and food in the middle. There was a can that they brought up for a bathroom - it was the first sign we had that this wasn't going to be a normal trip. For the time sitting on the floor in the back of a van wasn't too rare - seatbelts and air bags were many years away - and car seats? Nope, not than anyone, except Cindy would have qualified for one.

We finally got 'up north' which I couldn't tell you were it was - just that it was in the middle of the woods somewhere, I think I remember seeing a scene like this on 'Criminal Minds'. It was indeed near a lake and we spent most of the day fishing. I found out how to put the worm on the hook myself, and set the bobber in the water until it went down. My fish kept eating the hook, but Mr. Genet said it was ok and would yank it out and throw the fish in a bucket. I felt bad for the fish - I mean that had to hurt to have a hook pulled out of your stomach. I was assured that fish didn't feel anything. Now that I'm older I know that isn't true.

We caught so many panfish, sunfish mostly, they were so pretty. I hadn't thought about it before we had them in the bucket, but eating what we caught meant we had to kill the pretty fish.

When we were done fishing we put on our swimming suits and enjoyed the water - it was a hot day and the water was welcoming. Mrs. Genet gave us shampoo and soap and we cleaned up right in the lake. Karen, Judy and I, being strong swimmers made it out to an island in the middle of the lake.

While we swam, Mr. Genet started a fire and Mrs. Genet cooked up the fish we caught by laying them across a rack and they began to cook. After they were charred enough they put the fish on trays and handed the to each of us. It was staring at me. I tried to cut it up to eat it but it smelled like m goldfish tank and every time I put a piece in my mouth I bit into bones. I threw it out hoping they didn't see. I was so hungry, but not enough to eat anymore fish.

We sat around the fire until the mosquito's got too over baring and then headed into the van to sleep. But that wasn't going to be easy. Four people maybe could fit in the back of the van, and we had eight. We were so tired that we fell asleep quickly.

Then it happened

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Came a the blood curtailing scream

GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF!

I woke up and realized there was something crawling on me - if felt really light like a spider, but I couldn't see it - it was too dark.

Mr. Genet pumped the fuel and lit the two net like things to start up the lantern. That's when we saw it, to our horror we discovered what the crawly feeling was - tics! 

I did not know what tics were until that moment and we spent most of the night pulling them off of each other. Mr. Genet would use his cigarette to burn and kill them since you couldn't squish them like a regular bug. These things were tough.

Sometimes they would embed, and then Mr. Genet would use his cigarette to burn them off of you. We kept an eye on each other all night long so we could catch them before they dug in.

I remember one crawling right across Karen's face it was right out of a horror movie! Poor Cindy was covered in them! They said it was because of her allergies, that her body temperature was higher than the rest of us so they were attracted to her. I did what I could to cool myself down - I didn't want any more of them on me, if I could help it. 

(note - I am getting itchy remembering this night - it was not a fun time)

The next morning we made another fire and Mrs. Genet cooked - nope not fish - bacon and eggs. If you've never smelled bacon and eggs cooking over an open fire, you have to do it at least once this summer. It is an amazing smell! I couldn't wait - I was so hungry and tired!

Bacon and eggs over an open fire will always be my favorite memory of that trip!

We swam for a while more, then packed up and headed back home. We were all on tic watch all the way home - pulling them off and burning them whenever we discovered one. We are so lucky deer tics weren't a thing then because I am certain one, if not all, of us would have ended up with Lyme's disease.

After they dropped us off, Karen, Judy and I stripped down and did a thorough check, finding a few more and burning them off (we used a match, not a cigarette).

It was many years before we went camping again, I mean, we did still make tents in our backyard, but the thought of going 'up north' again was not an appealing idea. 

At least when you camp in your backyard you know you can go in and use a real bathroom and find something besides fish to eat. And, if you are lucky, you won't have to battle tics!

We remained friends with the Genet's until my dad remarried. I often wonder what happened to the family. I remember going to check out the house a few years back. It no longer stands and the land that had held the greenhouses is now a subdivision.

To this day I do not eat fish - ok I have an allergy - but even if I didn't, I wouldn't eat them. The smell of cooking fish takes me right back to the sunfish looking back at me from my dinner plate and my appetite is immediately gone.

Day 47. Shape Shifter

When we were kids you very rarely would find us in the house. Unless you were sick or grounded.  During the summer months there were camp activities that I never realized that it was actually a baby sitting service. How dare they!

There was always a baseball, dodge ball or kick ball game that you could join in on. Jump rope could consume entire weeks. Hopscotch, knock hockey, tether ball, four square - these were the 'video' games of our time. Parents would go to work and the kids would head to camp. Every now and then a hobby artist would stop and draw pictures of Mickey Mouse, Snoopy, and Popeye on paper plates. I didn't realize until I moved to Oak Creek that this artist drove from camp to camp drawing his images for the children at the sites. It was a highlight of the summer.

I was never a skinny person, not at birth and never through my life have I had a body frame that anyone would consider 'thin'. But at the same time I have never been sedentary either. 

My early days I would have been considered a 'plump' baby, then a 'healthy' toddler. In my pre-teen years I went to the doctor with my mom, when he asked her about my appetite she told him that I 'eat like a horse'. She failed to tell him that I also swam ten miles a day and rode my bike where ever I wanted to go.

My early twenties I was consumed with my weight - trying every fad diet that promised a miracle waistline. Judy and I were living together by this point and we tried the 'egg' diet (you ate 9 eggs a day) the cabbage diet, a diet that had you eating lamb (found out I really don't like lamb). We would eat no more than 500 calories a day. When none of those worked I tried the popcorn and Tab diet (my own creation) - that lasted about a month. I generally lost weight on these diets, but then put it back on again.

The liquor store next to us had three candy bars for a dollar - I would keep them in the glove compartment of the car I had parked out back. Judy was always asking me why I was working so hard to clean a car I never drove (I didn't have my license yet) - I just told her that I was trying to make sure it was ready when I wanted to use it. Boy - was she mad when she found out I was sneaking out to eat a candy bar to stop my stomach from growling. I didn't realize that she was sticking to the God-awful diet because she thought I was. We both agreed that one was not for us. No one should eat that many eggs anyway. 

It wasn't always fad diets, I did try Weight Watchers (three times), Jenny Craig, vegetarian, Fen/Phen, you name it - I've probably tried it. My shape has changed many times up and down over the years, but one thing has not. My activity level. I do the best I can to make sure that I remain active. I very rarely sit all day long. I walk when I can, ride my bike all over the place. I love the high I get from exercise or just being outside. It can help my mood and gives me an opportunity to do something for me.

The best program I have every been on is the Keto diet. I felt great, I had energy, my blood pressure was good and I was close to getting off my diabetes medication. So why did I fall off the wagon if I was feeling so great? One word. Popcorn. I really enjoy a nice bowl of popcorn and a cold soda. I can give up just about anything, but popcorn is tough. 

Studies have shown that weight is hereditary. I do think that is true. I am not making excuses - I do enjoy food and sometimes I do eat more than I really need to. I am a late night snacker, which isn't good seeing as it is 11:30p and I'm still writing this story. I can't eat while I type - so there's that....

I guess this is an interesting story tonight - but I wanted to point out that body image is more than just what you see in the mirror. It's how you feel and how you present yourself. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that you should go out and eat to your hearts content. You need to make sure you follow the rules and remain active. 

But what I am saying is that if you worry too much about your weight you will end up sabotaging yourself. If you are overweight today - you don't have to stay that way. You don't have to be stick thin, model (I don't think they are actually healthy either) but don't beat yourself up if you are a little thicker than your friends. I wish I had, I look back at those photos of me in the earlier years and I wasn't as heavy as I thought I was, in fact, I spent so many years worried about what I put in my mouth and how much I exercised to get the weight off that I created an unhealthy attitude towards food. 

I am so fixated on food that I try hard to make issues of it each and every day. I need to adjust my attitude and I hope that by reading this you start thinking about yours. By paying a little less attention to food and the amount I do or don't eat each day I may finally win this war. 

Day 46.Telling stories.

A number of people that follow this blog have asked why I decided to start writing these stories. I thought about it and here is my answer - of course in the form of a story!

As I've mentioned many times, I lost my mom when I was young. This meant that any stories she may have wanted to share with us as we were growing up were lost too. Well - almost.

The Kelley's played a huge part in my life, most importantly, my Aunt Kay. Just for clarification, because someone from my family is bound to put this in the comments....Aunt Kay wasn't really my Aunt. When I was little I had a hard time understanding that she was my cousin. You see, she was so close in age to my mom - and everyone that was that old had been Aunts. So therefore, I always called her Aunt Kay and the title stuck. 

Well, Aunt Kay was our connection to our mom's stories. Judy was the one that could always get her talking about the escapades the two of them went on, she would tell Judy the stories and Judy would share them with me. We wanted to take Aunt Kay to the ballroom where my parents met and record her stories of her and our mom working there, but sadly never had the chance. When we lost her first to dementia, and then to the effects of the disease, we had lost our stories and our history.

The more I thought of that loss, the more I wanted to give my children a glimpse into my childhood. I mean, think about it, our children only know us as adults. To them we never made mistakes, we didn't get into trouble, we didn't deal with problems they may have. I needed my kids to know I did. That I wasn't perfect, I struggled with life just as much as they did. I wanted to make sure that they never put me on a pedestal. I didn't want to be someone that they felt they could never live up to becoming. And I hope they never do, I am proud of the men they have become and always enjoy watching them rise and fail (yes fail, if we don't fail, we don't learn).

I hope by reading these stories, they realize that not only am I capable of mistakes, but also that I may have different ideas than they have and that is OK. If you want to, take my example and let your children know about your stories. Follow my lead, write stories. You don't have to share them with anyone but your kids. But I will warn you, it can, at times, bring back memories that aren't always happy and you will need to make sure you are ready to share those stories as well.

I always point people to my 'disclaimer' of sorts - the fact that these are my memories. Sometimes memories get warped a little by time and memories others have 'given' you. I'm sure that some of the stories I have about Tommy and Patrick were really Ruthie and Patty - but the characters don't matter as much as the theme. Stick to your guns. Your memories are what make you, you! 

When I was in my late 40's I was introduced to Digital storytelling and the power that the story has to heal and evolve. I use this when I am thinking about how to tell a story. I don't have stories planned out day to day, just what pops in my head that day. But how to tell it, the voice or the path that it takes I do think about. The reason some of my stories don't appear until late in the day is generally because I am working it through my brain and onto the paper many times.

You also probably note that I don't always proof read my stories. Well, not at first. I need to be able to walk away from it and then come back to see the errors. But if it's late I post pre-proofed and then go back and edit. 

I didn't need an instruction course to learn how to tell stories though, I have used the written word over my entire life to deal with pain, fear and celebrations. I have stories in many places - you just see most of them as photos. When I am trying to think of a story I want to tell I will go through my photo albums to find ones that stick out. Sometimes I post the photos in the blog. If I have my cell phone close I will snap a photo of the photo so I can include it. And, if I find ones after the fact I go back to add them in. This blog is really a gift to my children so I want to make sure that the photos help to tell the story.

The photo that is featured on this page is Jimmy holding up a book the two of us wrote called "The Monster Under Jimmy's Bed". It was written to help him sleep at night since he was sad that he needed a night light. We wrote the book to help him get over his fear of being shamed by friends for needing one. Sometimes (well, most times) kids can be cruelly honest about other people's differences without realizing that they may be more similar than different. 

I gave a copy of this book to Mrs. Junas, Jimmy's preschool teacher, and she shared it with the class. I received many requests for copies, one from the child that was teasing Jimmy about needing a night light. I still have the book and maybe someday I'll submit it to be published. But for now, it is my memory of working through a hard time with Jimmy and the fact that it helped others in the long run.

We have used written stories to deal with much in our lives and I hope that, if nothing else, my stories have sparked you to share your stories with others as well.

Sharing stories has helped me to find that my life isn't much different from others, the characters in the stories change, but the themes remain the same.

But don't worry, I'm not going to stop writing, so many more stories to tell and share. Besides, I think it is helping some people I write about to remember life in simpler times, so if I can bring back some happy memories to help you make it through your day, well, then, my job here is done!

Day 45. Tar Wars

Not every day in the summer was exciting. We didn't always have escaped tigers or lions to hunt. Treasure hunting in garbage cans had come up empty. We didn't have any loose change to go to the Sheridan Park pool (it was ten cents each, plus an extra quarter for a basket), we had hula-hooped and played hopscotch until our legs were tired.

In the distance we could hear the ice cream truck which seemed to be doing circles around the neighborhood, tormenting us with it's melody. If we didn't have money for the pool, we most certainly did not have any for the ice cream truck. 

The Kool-aid popsicles my mom made would in her new Tupperware molds would have to do. They were OK, but for some reason nothing ever tasted as good as the freezer burned ice cream you could get from truck.

Earlier that day we had been having an alley war with the kids up the street. It wasn't what you thought - we used sticks, pointed it at each other and yelled 'BANG' when we would shoot our weapon. It was a fun game, but it was also hot outside so we had declared a cease fire.

So, of course, we turned our attention to the street. The city had just put a fresh layer of tar on the cracks. The sun was so hot that the thick black tar had begun to bubble. So, of course, Tommy, Patrick and I had been spending a great deal of time on the free entertainment of popping them, at first with sticks, and then with our hands.

It was a good thing the pool was out for the day since our swim suit bottoms had a good layer of gravel and dirt from sitting on the curb. My mom had filled the plastic wading pool on the side of the house and we used it to clean up in between bubble sessions.

I was deep in concentration, trying to guide ants into the tar pen I had created on the side of the street - my skill level was high in the herding of ants. I had once guided one from the back alley all the way to the back porch before it gave up and made a run for the grass. This time the tar pen I had made wasn't doing such a good job of keeping them in place, it could be that black tar and black ants aren't a good mix.

Anyway, I was getting close to meeting my all time record of 15 ants in one pen when *thwap* something hit me in the side of the head. I rubbed my head and looked around. Tommy and Patrick were both working on busting bubbles in the tar in front of them I checked behind me when *thwap* it happened again. 

"Hey!" yelled Patrick, "that hurt!". I turned just in time to see the opposing team running between the houses. It was the twins and their brother. I went over by my friends to see what was up. "They were throwing tar balls!" said Michael as he held his open hand up for me to inspect the marble sized piece of tar in his hand.

Although the tar ball could potentially leave a good sized red welt on your skin, it was much better than weapons that had been used in the past - holly hock grenades. These were made by sneaking up on a bee that had flown into a hollyhock, wrapping the petals of the flower around it, and then tossing the bee-bud at the enemy. Just so you know, bees don't like to participate in this practice and if you are any where near the bee when it escapes - you would get their full wrath.

Come on! I yelled. Grabbing some tar and running after them - even for as young as I was, I still had a fairly good arm. We found the target in their backyard and started returning fire. Of course, we did not have that much tar, so the stones on the ground became the next weapon of use.

Once a few yells of 'ow' were heard from both sides we decided that perhaps a second cease fire was needed. No one really wanted to hurt the others, it was just part of the game. We decided to return to the street and work at removing more tar from the filled in cracks.

We were joined by our adversaries and discovered a whole new activity. Creating tar sculptures sort of like chess pieces. We lined them up and took turns flicking stones and small tar balls at them. The team to knock down all of the opposing side's pieces won. We played the new game until Patrick's mom called him home for dinner.

By the next day cars had driven over our troops and we had to move along to other games. Besides, our mom's were not to thrilled with the stains on our clothes and hands. 

On the bright side, when I asked for thirty-five cents to go to the pool, it was handed over without hesitation.

Day 44. Leaving the country

On the Galleria level of the First Wisconsin center was a travel agency. I would walk past the windows daily and gaze in at the number of magazines and brochures they had available for browsing. Every now and then I would stop in and grab a couple. Hawaii, Bahamas, The Virgin Islands. Books with clear blue waters, white sandy, uncrowded beaches, and what looked like miles and miles of fun. 

As I typed my millionth letter to an applicant I would day dream about floating in the waves and enjoying the sunshine. I had been on my own since high school. Well, not actually alone, I lived with Judy for the first three years, but after she got married to Dan I lived on my own, and made my own decisions.

I decided it was time to go on a real vacation. I wanted to go to one of these warm sunny places. I carried the magazines with me to lunch with my friends Margaret and Sue. We would look through them, imagining a break from the Wisconsin winter weather and enjoying life on the beach.

We decided to start a "Vacation Challenge" where we would put $1 a day into a jar to save up for a trip. After about six months we decided we had enough saved and went to the agency to see what they would suggest.

This was my first time working with a travel agent, prior to this my vacations were always some place I could drive. We sat in the office and told the agent out wishes and budget. Pages were flipped, calculator buttons were pushed by a blur of fingers. The agent looked from one brochure to the next and then showed us a trip she thought we could afford. My first trip out of the United States would be.....wait for it.....Freeport, Bahamas.

I had no clue where it was, but it had white sandy beaches and blue skies. We would be able to pay in three installments to make it easier on our budget. None of us was really making high salaries so budget was a big issue. We sat at the table in the lunch room and made plans for tours and other activities. We each picked one. Margaret chose the west-end tour, Sue chose the booze cruise and I chose snorkling. We also agreed that it would be fun to go the the perfume factory, which was part of the west-end tours, but cost an extra fee. 

I saved up for the trip by skimming on groceries. I lived off of canned vegetables and rice for three months leading up to our departure. 

Finally the day came. I packed my suitcase, grabbed the $200 I had saved up for spending, made sure I had my birth certificate (even though Bahamas was a US territory, we still needed proof of citizenship) and climbed into Jim's van. We picked up Sue and Margaret and headed to the airport.

We were flying out of O'Hare, so Jim (my boyfriend at the time) drove us down and saw us off. I had never been so excited in my whole life. Even thought we worked with a travel agent Margaret and Sue didn't have the correct birth certificate copies, we had a slight moment of panic and then we were on our way to the gate. Now that I think of it, I really am not sure how we were able to board the plane but soon we were in the air and headed to a well deserved rest.

Freeport is a city on the Grand Bahama Islands and at the time was probably one of the cheaper areas to go. It was inland so we would have to take the city bus to the beach - but there was a bus stop just across the parking lot.

We didn't care, we were on vacation! 

Our room was actually quite big for the three of us, but it wasn't the nicest. It was right above the main dining room with an outside entrance. The resort was definitely in need of repair, our screens were ripped and the carpet had worn spots. We laughed over and over about some of the problems that we discovered. I don't think any of us were expecting accommodations like the Pfister or Hyatt, but we were hoping for something a little better than Motel 6. We went to the dinner that included 'entertainment and floor show'. It was presented by the waiters - they just stopped what they were doing and started break dancing. They were good - but it still made us laugh. All of our meals were at the hotel since it was 'all inclusive', but tips were still expected.

Our West End tour was on a rickety old bus and the bus driver was obviously a disgruntled employee. He kept talking about how rich all of the government members were "he owns this, he owns that, he is a very rich man" was heard over and over. At one point we stopped by the side of the road and were able to grab conch shells from a pile that had been cleaned out. Boy did it stink and there were flies everywhere!

The perfume factory was our next stop. We exited the bus and walked through a thin RV-style trailer. They showed where the water was distilled and the fragrance added. At the end of the tour was a gift shop, I used some of my funds on a small bottle named 'sand'. It had bits of the Bahama beach in it and I thought that was neat. Sue and Margaret picked out some for themselves and their moms.

We went to the beach and tried to lay out in the sun, but the weather wasn't the nicest - we had gone during the rainy season - so much of the sunbathing was done while we were completely covered in our beach towels.

At night we sat around the 'lit' pool and drank. The pool lights had all been pulled from their sockets and were laying around the outside of the pool. It didn't stop us from using it though. It was heated by the sun so the water wasn't necessarily the warmest.

Each morning we awoke to the sound of bag pipes, courtesy of one of the guests who needed to practice. Trust me, he really did need to practice! But no one complained. We talked to him a little and were pleasant about our strange wake-up call. 

When we didn't take the bus, we walked everywhere to keep costs down. We met lots of people, one pair were trapeze performers, the Wadenda's - they invited us to the show, but we never made it. One stop was the Princess Casino. It had slot machines but more importantly it had buy one, get one free "Bahama Mama's".  Rum drinks that came in the largest glass I had ever seen.

Margaret was underage in Wisconsin, but not in the Bahamas! Something we found out quite surprisingly, in order to get to the Casino we walked along the blacktop bike path. Sad to say there were many young (like 10 and younger) sitting around drinking out of brown paper bags. Something we had never considered seeing on our trip. 

At the casino we had maybe two drinks each (remember one was free), but that was all that was needed. We went back to the hotel and sat and talked around the pool. Then it happened. A guy - probably about 22 - was spouting off at the pool, showing off his dives and swimming style. I couldn't hold myself back. I started telling him that I was a pretty good swimmer myself. He and his friends laughed. They had no idea who they were talking about. He challenged me to a race. I can't tell you anymore what the winner got - maybe just bragging rights. Sure - I'll go with that. Anyway, I accepted the challenge, We stood at one end of the pool, Margaret, Sue and the guys friends at the other. They yelled 'GO' and we were off. I'm not sure why, maybe to show off just a bit more, but instead of swimming freestyle, I decided to do the butterfly. Did I mention yet that I was fully clothed? You see, I had been drinking and wanted to prove that I could beat my competitor - shoes and all.  I know you are waiting to hear that I lost, but you would be wrong. I beat the pants off of him - he was wearing a swim suit! He sulked away and I never saw him again the rest of the trip, at least I don't think I did, I'm not certain I would be able to tell who he was - I was that drunk. 

By the fourth day the sun came out and we celebrated. We splurged and took the bus to the beach. We laid out all day, before heading to the booze cruise that night. One thing we had forgotten, we were all light skinned and from WISCONSIN in the winter! Poor Margaret got too much sun, she had large blisters on her chest and back. She also had burned her corneas, it would be dark glasses for her the remainder of the trip. 

The next day was snorkeling - I was the only one that could go since Margaret was in pain and almost blind, and Sue was afraid of the water. It was beautiful and I'm so glad I did. The waters were clear and I was able to see all of the beautiful fish and reef. I didn't go too far since every time I dove below the surface I heard the theme from "Jaws" Da, Dum - Da Dum- Da Dum.....which caused me to panic and surface in a gasp of water.

The final day we just relaxed in the room and packed our bags - funds were running low so we just walked around the island one last time and had a final round of Bahama Mama's. By this point we all had pretty good sun burns so taking one day easy was a good choice.

The plane ride home we were extremely anxious. Not only were we out of money, but we knew that Margaret's mom, who was picking us up at the airport, was about to find out about her sunburn. We knew she would not be happy. Poor Margaret could barely sit on the plane ride home and take off was extremely painful since it forced her back in her seat.

We made it home in record time. Margaret's mom was at the gate waiting for us, and to my surprise, so was Jim. I was never so happy to see him. Now I wouldn't have to face a mom's disappointed silence all the way home.

All in all, I think my first trip outside of the United States was a success. I have great memories and some good pictures. Although Sue, Margaret and I have drifted apart - I think about them every  time I have a good coconut rum drink!