Peep Eyes
Happy Spring! To celebrate, I bought my first box of Peeps of the season. Orange is the new pink! I picked orange. I've never had orange peeps before. I hope they're just as good as the pink ones. I prefer the chicks over the bunnies because I think there's more surface area to deliver more of the sugary coating, and they are more fun to eat after they've hardened for a week or so in the open air (or the freezer if you're in a hurry, as I am). Never mind that these little babies may be the most toxic of all the food groups, surpassing even Pop Tarts. In my research a few years back to determine just how toxic they may be, I discovered
this website. My favorite part of all was the
solubility testing in which they concluded that, "Given enough time, the proper resources, and access to some really toxic stuff, one can probably dissolve just about anything except Peep eyes." Take the time to read the complete testing process and then dare yourself to sit down with a box of Peeps (like I'm about to do) and eat the whole thing. I dare you. :-)
Labels: Food and recipes, Near-Death Experiences, The Absurd
The Evacuation
The other night, we arrived home from dinner at a friend's home, to find a large fire burning in the pasture behind our home, not on our property, but maybe a few acres away. The winds were blowing hard and the grass was dry. If it was a contolled burn, it appeared to have burned out of control, so we immediately called 911. Then, we panicked a bit. What to do?! Should we evacuate? What should we take? The first thing I said to my husband was "get the dogs." Ouch, that hurt. Then I said, "you take the SUV and I'll take my Bug." To which he responded, "To Hell with your Bug, I'm taking my van with all my tools in it...that's my livlihood!" Oh, yeah, true that. We already had Julian in the SUV, so I'd have to leave my Bug behind. Ouch, that hurt too. Then, we started gathering things from the house, leaving Julian buckled in and ready to roll.
Here is the comprehensive list of what we loaded into the SUV by the time fire crews had arrived and figured out how to get
to the fire (which was landlocked, with no roads leading to it) with tanker trucks:
Smokey and
Cocoa's ashes,
Smokey and Cocoa's photo collages that we had spent hours making,
The framed newspaper photo of my husband and Smokey at work,
The watercolor painting by my uncle, of the newspaper photo of my husband and Smokey at work:
Another watercolor painting by my mom, of the place my husband and I were married,
My computer, with all of our recent family photos on it (and my livlihood),
A small fireproof box that contains our important documents (these should really be in a safe deposit box and this reminds me to put that on my To Do list),
Our jewelry boxes, and
A rock that I bought for my husband at the Jade Festival
Almost forgot...all of the client files I had at home, loaded into my briefcase, and of course,
My purse was already in the car (this contains everything needed to reconstruct our lives)
Ultimately, the fire was put out without incident. Our daughter, Julian's mother, was at work and missed all the excitement.
So, what would you take?
Labels: Family and friends, Near-Death Experiences
Disaster Averted
I had nightmares last night. And with good reason. I nearly killed the dog. In real life. After nearly killing the dog in real life, I had nightmares that the dog was dead. It was a rough night.
After a good evening with a couple of friends who wanted to see my jewelry (and ended up buying 7 pieces!), I drove home carefully on the still semi-icy/slushy/snowy roads. When I got home, our dogs were both outside, running around.
Smokey (I've added a link to a post containing Smokey's mug, but you have to scroll down the post to get to it) is getting more arthritic, blind and deaf by the day (he's about 14) and was limping as he ran. After he ran down the small hill and into the driveway, his normal routine is to get in front of my car and guide me in. He's a herding dog. I guess this is what he's supposed to do. But this time, instead of guiding me into the garage, he collapsed into the snow and lifted one leg up as if it was especially painful, or frozen or something. Feeling sorry for him and knowing that he had overexerted himself getting into position, I put on the parking brake and jumped out of the car to help him. Only I forgot to put the car in Park first! Gahhhhh!!!! I was already out of the car and walking toward him when I realized the car was MOVING!! And it was about to run over Smokey!!! I rushed to get back in the car, sliding around (in my dress shoes on the icy snowy driveway, no less), clawing with my hands for the brake pedal in fear that I couldn't get in the car fast enough to put my foot on it, and finally (FINALLY!) managing to jump in and stop the car, all just in the nick of time. At any rate, it was a close call and too scary to think about what might have happened. My husband would have killed
me shortly thereafter, I'm sure of it.
My profound sympathies go out to others who have lost their dogs recently, to disasters that were not averted. I'm so sorry to
Beth and to
Jim and to others who, on a regular basis, lose their most loyal friends to accidents such as these.
Labels: Near-Death Experiences, The Animals
I'm Just Here for the Dogs
When I first started up this blog, I made mention of
earlier life-saving episodes wherein others un-selfishly stuck their necks out for me, so I think it is only fair that I be called upon once in awhile to give back. Yesterday was one of those days. After taking care of a few "housekeeping" chores (sitting in the overly air conditioned Panera with my husband where we started out with breakfast and finished up with lunch, using the "free" wifi to check out sailboat slips in the Pacific Northwest), we decided a short trip to
the lake (10 minutes from our house) would be a fun way to spend the rest of the afternoon. It's not what I would call a "beautiful" lake, but it's fun for those with boats, jet-skis, and other
flotsam to keep one entertained or at least afloat in the cool water. We each took a chair, a towel and some reading material for a little warmth and relaxation (better than doing yard work in the 95 degree heat anyway).
So there we sat, minding our own business, randomly watching various groups of kids playing in the "surf" (small kids, small kids in diapers and underwear, kids that should probably not be swimming in murky, muddy bottom lakes without life jackets on, especially when mom and dad appear to be preoccupied with setting ablaze the world's largest pile of charcoal while squirting it with lighter fluid...an act that in itself qualifies one for a
Darwin Award...and let me just say that when you are sitting downwind from this particular ozone violation, the fumes are noxious...wood, people, wood...and kindling...cut it out with the lighter fluid already!). So there we sat, me reading a book on
grit, gore and God, my husband reading about
our next sailing destination, and each with one eye on the kids who needed watching.
And then it happened. The soccer ball rolled into the water and running right behind was the little dog that could, a little mix of what looked like dachsund and rat terrier...the kind of dog that is so ugly, it's cute. Squeaks of glee came from the little kids as they pointed at the doggie going after the ball. And Dad, up on the hill tending to his blaze, shouted to the only teenager in the group to grab the dog (I assume this is what he said...it was in Spanish and he seemed to get her attention for a minute but then she responded with something I could not understand and went back to playing with her hair). I watched for a minute or two as it seemed the dog was beginning to figure out that he needed to circle the ball if he wanted to get it back to shore, and I thought everything would be okay. But the waves kept pushing the ball further from shore. And of course, the dog was on it. He was not going to let the ball go! So I stood up and told my husband that if they weren't going to do something, I was going in. I called to the girl, asking her how far she planned to let the dog swim out into the lake. She responded that it was too deep for her to swim after him. I looked again at Dad, fully clothed, still up on the hill, ignoring the situation and decided to jump in. By this time, the dog was a good distance offshore and I worried he would get tired and cramp up, or look back at the shore and panic. So the long story short is I jumped in and swam what felt like a long distance across the lake, grabbed the dog and began swimming back to shore with one arm, the other arm holding a squiggling slippery dog (at least he didn't try to wrap all four legs around me, causing the rescue operation to turn into a bigger fiasco). For awhile, I tried keeping the ball in front of him, like a strange game of water polo, but I quickly ran out of energy for that and let the ball go...off to the lily pads at the far end of the lake. For those of you who wish to try this at home, just know that it's harder than it looks. ;-)
Oh, and by the time I got back to shore, Dad was in the water, still fully clothed and reaching out for his little dog, saying "gracias, Senorita." So I guess he did care afterall. Sheesh.
At least this time I was wearing a swimsuit. The last time I had to rescue a dog (my mom's dog tried walking across a creek that began swiftly carrying her out to sea), I was wearing overalls. Thems are hard for swimmin. Just sayin. ;-)
Labels: Near-Death Experiences, The Animals
Insanity - Revisited, or Near-Death (by Chihuahua)
Yesterday, I was bitten by
Paco, a black and white chihuahua (this will no doubt please
Jimmy to no end). I've never been bitten by a dog before. This just threw fuel on the already burning train wreck in my soul. Paco and I had never met before. I was trespassing on his territory while visiting a new client to pick up some tax information. I don't normally make house calls but I was in the neighborhood (having just visited another client where a "
numeric colonoscopy" was in progress...thanks,
Darko), and this guy complained about the long drive to my office so I thought I'd save him the trip, good citizen that I am. After an excruciating hour and a half of going through every bloody detail of the year's transactions, in a notebook containing all transactions since 1981, on a desk covered in a thousand post-it notes and pens and pencils lined up like military soldiers,
Quick side story about the pencils...
While this 70-something, recently widowed, obsessive-compulsive, gentleman was explaining the minutia of his financial transactions, he stopped for a minute to find just the right pencil, "where's my damn Eversharp?" were his exact words. When he found it, he carefully added a
decimal to a number on one of his ledger papers (a paper that honestly, I will not use or refer to
at all in the preparation of his tax returns, and the decimal was at the end of the number to show that there were no cents). I was literally wondering if it was possible to faint from boredom (we conducted our entire meeting standing up, by the way).
<*/end side story>
...I leaned over to pet Paco and he snarled and snapped my finger clean off. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, but my shriek surely made Mr. B believe that is what happened. Mostly, he just bruised my fragile state of being. Stupid chihuahua.
Oh, but I almost forgot the real reason for this post. Insanity. Revisited. One year ago today, I was in a similar foggy state when I decided to
start blogging. Because, you know, I didn't have enough to do and decided this would be a good way to kill time, or relieve stress, or something. Clearly a sign that I was deranged. But I shant let the day go unmarked. It's my ONE YEAR BLOGIVERSARY!! Whew. Sure glad I didn't miss that.
Speaking of anniversaries, and in answer to one of Darko's questions, this is my Silver Anniversary as far as "tax seasons" go. This will be my 25th year. And in answer to his other question, I think I've had my fill, thank you. I'm ready to do something else. Here are my options:
- Work in a factory assembling auto parts or stuffing envelopes
- Work as a greeter at Walmart
- Sell fresh flowers from a cart on a street corner
- Set up a woodturning/silversmithing studio with my Dad and become a jeweler
- Take painting lessons and become an artist
- Work in my husband's commercial painting business (although I might be more of a liability than an asset)
- Go to work for a private company in search of the elusive 40-hour work week
- Sell everything, buy a sailboat and an RV and live out the rest of my life as a gypsy
And finally, Darko also asks, do I know who is the Patron Saint of Accountants? Why yes. Yes, I do. But I do not have a signed picture of Saint Matthew in my office anywhere. Or a garden gnome for that matter. Which is probably at the root of my problems.
Oh, and Darko, bookkeeping is too accounting. It is the most fundamental part of accounting, and yet, it is one of the reasons I've been so frustrated lately, because so many of the problems I've had to help with internally were basic bookkeeping problems that should not have been so problematic for a bunch of accountants. Sheesh.
Labels: An Accountant's Life, Insanity, Near-Death Experiences
Near Death Experiences, Part 5 (By Moat)
Update: I've now changed the post title 3 or 4 times, trying to capture the essence of stupidity evidenced in this post, should anyone stumble upon it after I'm gone. ;-) This is part of a series of near-death related incidents in my life. Others may be found here, here, here and here.
In
The End, Brian suggested that he might like to hear another "Gwynne-Almost-Drowned" adventure story. I'm afraid I'm truly out of those, but I do have a "Gwynne-Almost-Drove-Into-A-Moat-And-Drowned-Us-All" adventure story. So maybe I'll share it. I don't usually share this with just anyone, so pull in close and I'll speak quietly so that nobody else can hear. ;-)
Let's preface this story with a prayer. Forgive me Father, for I knew exactly what I was doing and I did it anyway (Luke 23:34...sort of). I am not proud of this story, but it qualifies as a "blogworthy" response to
Brian's request. Maybe this also qualifies as the
corporate discipline of confession. In a sense, this is also a response to
Rach's request to share "ways I have been blessed." All I can say is, before you do something stupid like this, please think twice and ask yourself, "do I feel lucky today?"
At any rate, here we have more excerpts from the
Long and Boring Travelogue of the
Trip With Excessive Luggage (extra links to prior excerpts just in case you have run out of sleep-aid pills):
First, we have The Car (this is just back story to fully appreciate the rest of the story)...
We went to pick up our rental car, and they had our reservation waiting (amazing!), an “upgrade” even, which made me examine the meaning of the word. It was a small (“economy”) diesel stick shift just like I had reserved. I’m not sure where “upgrade” fits in. And as it turned out, we might have been able to carry the car to all of our travel destinations. In fact, I’m sure it weighed less than my luggage. And then, well, and then we had to actually figure out a way to fit my luggage (oh sure, and his) inside the car. I’m glad I did well enough in geometry and calculus and linear programming to figure this all out (well, okay, I flunked linear programming, because I did not understand its applications, which were now clear). But eventually, we worked out the formula that maximized the amount of stuff we could stuff into a Yugo (or whatever kind of car it was…it was small and it was left behind by the Cold War is all I really know). My beloved husband (MBH) insisted that I ask for “another” upgrade, to an automatic…HA! "Did you forget you are in Eastern Europe…your homeland?! We’ll be doing real good if we don’t have to pedal, honey…so please just get in, sit down, hold on and shut up!" (okay, before anyone chastises me for being a disrespectful wife, I did not really say those things...I just thought them ;-). I became the designated driver for the trip, even though I could not read the signs. We would later test the car’s capacity by adding more passengers and more luggage.
And now the story...
Preface: MBH had scheduled a reunion with his childhood friends in Croatia, many of whom he had not seen in 30-40 years. He and his best friend had been planning all of the details for months and finally, the big day arrived...
We enjoyed the reunion as planned, with about 12 of MBH's childhood friends, and his surviving relatives in Senj (5 of his closest relatives had died or been killed in the war since our last visit). The Big Party was at a small local pub that shut down for our private party. We enjoyed a barbequed pig and a lamb. MBH made me take pictures of both heads as evidence. They are very proud of their barbequed animals in Croatia. This party was very fun, even for me in a room full of smokers who all seemed to be yelling above one another the entire evening, in a language I do not understand. I enjoyed their traditional Croatian singing though (by the end of the evening, I even "knew" the words), and I "danced" polkas with MBH, his brother and his nephews. We sang and drank wine and danced until about 2:30 am and then went back to his nephew’s house for more drinking and singing. Somewhere along the way, I lost my senses.
Driving back to the nephew’s house required use of The Car...and making room for 5 passengers. Due to the drinking, I really should not have been driving, but justified doing so by the size of the car (almost like pedaling a bicycle), and the fact that it was 2:30 in the morning (no one else would be on the road). Besides, we really didn’t have far to drive, but it was too cold to walk. So I drove against my better judgment, and we came within millimeters of driving into the moat that surrounds the Old Town (his nephew lives inside the old medieval town and parking is just outside the thick city walls, across the moat; there is no curb to stop one from driving into the moat if one so chooses). It wasn’t until we left, after even more drinking, that we noticed our tires were perilously perched dead center on the edge of the concrete cliff! Another 1/4 inch (yes, I realize I've just gone from metric to...um, what is our system called?) and gravity would have taken over. We laughed about how close we came to the edge without even knowing the cliff was there. And then, for reasons I can’t possibly justify, we got back into the car and (with a stick shift, parked on a slight grade pointed downward into the moat) backed up and drove home. Only angel’s wings kept us from going into that moat, or getting hung up on the cliff, either way causing severe damage to the rental car! I can hear the rental agent now, in perfect English, “Insurance declined? Initial here please.” I figured if we were in an accident in this car, we’d be in no shape to worry about insurance; obviously, I hadn’t considered all of the possibilities. Plunging into a moat is now at the top of my list. I promise never to do this again!!
The next morning, we were up early to go visit MBH's friend, to say good-bye. What a hangover! That moat wasn’t sounding so bad after all. I haven’t felt that bad since we drank Tequila and smoked parsley (really, parsley…don’t ever try it; the headache is unbearable), and rode our bicycles down the stairs in our apartment back in college…ahh, but what a proud moment that was. His friend was happy to see us and offered us food and tea to overcome the hangover. And then he brought out his gallstones (no joke…he even took them out of the baggie for a closer view) to show us why he had been hospitalized recently. I nearly lost it on the nice white lace tablecloth. He said that if he died tomorrow, his wish to reunite with his best friend had made him a happy man…how sweet! But I felt as if I might die today…right here on his dining table.
Before anyone could die on the table, we said our good-byes to family and friends and off we went…to play tourists for a few days. But the wind was fierce for our drive along the Adriatic Coast (busses and trucks were banned from the road due to the high winds). The curvy road along the cliffs above the ocean was dangerous enough without wind (and did I mention the hangover?)! Several times, I thought for sure The Car would be hurled off the cliff to experience wingless flight! And the people drive like maniacs, as in most of Europe I suppose, passing on blind curves, tailgating and speeding double the posted speed limit…the kind of driving seen in movies where vegetable carts go flying! The aggressive driving makes up for the fact that they are driving embarrassingly small cars. My knuckles were white and my muscles tired by the time we stopped for the night. But somewhere along the way, the hangover finally dissipated…a silver lining in every cloud.
Thank God for His Mercy!
Labels: Near-Death Experiences
Accounting Triage
I hate to leave another "Near Death" post up for the duration of "tax season" although it does speak to my current state of being. For those who do not want to listen to my whining, leave the room now.
We are now in what I affectionately call "Triage" mode. If your issues are not life-threatening (really, when is this
ever true of accounting issues?), do not call me or stop by my office! Period. [slams door shut and proceeds to blog...what's wrong with this picture?!] I've had more phone calls today from clients whose matters have nothing,
nothing, to do with their tax return. They have all started with "I know you're really busy right now, but..." What is that supposed to mean? But what? But I'm not really
that busy?! You mean, you'd like to discuss that stuff about your deceased brother, Elmo, who never filed a U.S. tax return in all of his years abroad?
Now?! The stuff I tried talking to you about back in December? I'm not listening.
LaLaLaLaLa. I have work to do, really, I
am busy! Panic attack busy! And even if I were listening, I cannot process a cogent thought at this point unless it has to do with your tax return (and even that is sketchy...for anyone reading this, know that you're not getting the best quality time with your accountant the week before 4/15). I'm about to blow a gasket! I
really don't want to work this Easter, but it's iffy right now.
Ahhh, heavy sigh. I feel better now. In the meantime...random thought...
I need to figure out how to put a dog photo roll up, like Eric and Rachel (at
Life Being Beautiful) have on their blogs. For now, let me introduce you to Smokey...isn't he precious? :-)
Update (more ranting therapy): And another thing. Don't call to ask "how are you doing on my taxes?" They are not done yet. When they are done, I will call you. Until then, they are not done. For every call like that, I am interupted from doing your taxes (or someone else's) and it takes all the fun out of it for me. I know when the due date is. That's my job. If you're so worried, then bring them in earlier next year, like Lyndon does. Thank you!
Labels: An Accountant's Life, Insanity, Near-Death Experiences, The Animals
Near Death - The Quiz
This comes as no surprise:
"You scored as Disappear. Your death will be by disappearing, probably a camping trip gone wrong or an evening hike you never returned from. Always remember that one guy who was hiking alone and got in a rock slide. He could have died, but he cut his own hand off to save himself. Don't end up like him (or worse, dead)."
|
How Will You Die??created with QuizFarm.com[via
Jen, who prefers the more vanilla "natural causes"]
Labels: Near-Death Experiences
Near Death Experiences, Part 4 (By Firing Squad)
And Now! The moment you've all been waiting for! [drumroll] In my head, I sound like P.T. Barnum. Do I sound like that to you?
Near Death, By Firing Squad.
This is going to be so anti-climactic, it's not even funny, but I'll continue…
The place: Knoxville, Tennessee (place is important because the only anti-gun law worth noting in TN is the prohibition of gun
sales to kids; anything else goes)
The time: About 1969, approximately 7 years old.
The firing squad: One 5 year old gunman, named Eric (but we'll call him Peter to protect his privacy), in possession of an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!
Parental supervision: None.
The execution:Me: "What have you got?"
Peter: "An Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!"
Me: "I'll bet you can't hit anything with it."
Peter: "Bet I can!"
Me: "Prove it!"
Peter: "Okay. You stand on the other side of the yard and I'll shoot you."
Me: "You can't hit me."
Peter: "Oh, yeah?"
Me: "Just try it!" I stood perfectly still about 50 feet across the yard, fully expecting the bullet to ricochet off of his house and into the nearby ravine.
Peter: Ready. Aim.
FIRE!Me: "
OUCH! That hurt!" I looked down to see a small hole torn in the shoulder of my shirt and checked for blood (there was none). I ran home to Mom and told her that I'd just been shot! Mom asked a few questions and then said, "Just be glad he didn't shoot your eye out." Sheesh, no sympathy. :-{
In reality, I should just be glad the gun didn't look more like
this.
Postscript:I just looked up the Wiki definition of "Near-Death Experience."
"The phenomenology (which means, a current in philosophy that takes the intuitive experience of phenomena, what presents itself to us in conscious experience, as its starting point and tries to extract from it the essential features of experiences and the essence of what we experience) of a near-death experience usually includes physiological, psychological and transcendental factors such as subjective impressions of being outside the physical body (an out-of-body experience), transcendence of ego and spatiotemporal boundaries, and other transcendental experiences."Okay, that is
not what I've been talking about in this here blog. I hope no one was misled.
Labels: Near-Death Experiences
Near Death Experiences, Part 3 (By Lake)
This will be quick. This story is distinctly lacking in heroism and knights in shining armour and is not nearly as perilous as
By Ocean, but what it lacks in heroism, it makes up for in stupidity. There is no need to set the stage here except to explain why there are suddenly flesh-eating carp in this story where there once were none. The fish come at the suggestion of my readers who are crying for more excitement, more blood and guts. Okay, fine.
This had all the makings of a disaster, except for flesh-eating fish:
Sailboat? Check. Inexperienced sailors? Check. Excess poundage? Check. Excess wind? Check. Sailboat manual? Check. Dirty lake? Check. Containers of food? Check.
And off we went. My dad was the captain. My dad is notorious for teaching himself new skills by buying "the" book. On this day, he decided to break in his new 17 foot catamaran by taking me and my brother, and his best friend, a good sized man, along with him. None of us had a lick o' sense, or sailing knowledge for that matter. More than once, we all found ourselves on the same side of the boat, causing it to list severely. Dad suggested I put on the harness so I could hang off the (opposite) side of the boat and do my part to help stabilize it. "Yes, Father," I said. A smart person would have jumped ship right then and there. Fun while it lasted, it didn't last long.
A swift gust of wind came along and poof! Swish, boom, bam! We were history. The bow, port side, took a sharp left and then a nose dive in the general direction of the bottom of the lake. But going under takes time. So Dad grabbed his sailing manual, because now is a good time to search the index for that critical piece of information he must have missed in all the preparations. What exactly did he look up, I wonder? S - sunk? C - capsized? D - doomed? I was still in the harness and got dumped in the water, wiring and all, still attached to the boat. A quick panic set in. The boat was going down and I was
under it, experiencing the basic principles of entanglement. But just like Houdini, I wriggled free from all the lines and canvas just in time to pop out from under the boat, catch my breath, and help the others right the boat before the mast could fill with water, causing the whole kit and caboodle to disappear into the filthy lake forever.
We eventually righted the boat and paddled our way back to the dock, sails at half-mast, tails tucked between our legs.
The sailing manual sank to the bottom of the lake. Good riddance. Stupid manuals.
And the flesh-eating, bottom-dwelling, carnivorous, cantankerous carp devoured our lunch, and maybe Dad's wallet.
Next up, Part 4 (By Firing Squad)
Labels: Near-Death Experiences, Sailing
Near Death Experiences, Part 2 (By Ocean)
The promised "next story." This one is a bit more sobering than the
last (By Pool). In fact, so sobering that it was the subject of a term paper back in high school, the topic of which escapes me now. In all seriousness, I think this was a pivotal point in my life. One of many points, when I realized that
I was not in control.
This story, once again, involves my two old friends,
Lyn(
don) and
Beau. By way of brief introduction, if I might brag about them a bit, Lyndon went on to attend one of the top seminaries in the country and became a Baptist minister (he also went on to compete in the national swimming championships at the college level...not bad, but don't tell him I told you about that; it might go to his head ;-). Beau dropped out of high school after 10th grade (we all love telling that part, because he is so "wicked smaht" as his wife, Jen, will testify) in order to start college early and went on to earn 5 degrees, including several advanced degrees, in everything from physics to electrical engineering to political science. In addition to being two of the smartest, most Faithful people I know, they are also two of the nicest. And on this day, they also saved a couple lives, which makes them heroes in my book. They are good people. You'll see.
Again, with the swim team, about 10 -12 of us grabbed our kick boards and headed down to the beach for some body surfing. A little fun to give us a break from all that swimming back and forth. We quickly dispersed among the waves, trying out all sorts of body surfing techniques, including my favorite, riding a wave all the way to its natural conclusion on the beach, hitting the sand at full speed and experiencing sand burn on the chin, if not tooth loss. All was going just fine until…until it wasn't. Suddenly, without warning, I realized that I was drifting off to Mainland China. And worse, every crashing wave was knocking me down and pulling me under. I pretty quickly realized that we were in a "riptide," with undertow currents. I kept my cool and started swimming parallel to shore thinking that I would eventually find the edge of the riptide and then head into shore. This is what we'd been taught. I was still in control.
Along the way, one of the younger kids, a small 12-year-old, was waving his arms around and screaming for help. He was completely panicked by the same sensation I was experiencing. Only I thought I had it all figured out, so I swam over to help him, no big deal. Only thing is, I had forgotten all I learned in lifeguard classes. #1 - Always approach from behind, and #2 - Never underestimate the power of a panicked person, regardless of their size. Small though he was, he immediately put me in a death grip, using his arms
and legs to tie my own arms and legs to my body, much like a Sunday afternoon pot roast. This completely eliminated my ability to help him, or myself.
So with my arms and legs securely tied, we were both pulled under, waves crashing on top of us with no way out of the predicament unless he let go, which wasn't going to happen. We were tossed and tumbled in the waves like so much laundry in an old Maytag washing machine. The only respite was when it stopped to change spin cycles which didn't happen often. I couldn't see the others at that time, though I tried some screaming of my own in the brief moments that we came up for air. Absent any response, I resigned myself to drowning. I really did. I thought, this was it. I thought, "Gosh, what a way to go." I had so much more I wanted to do. All I could think about was how sad my parents were going to be. I figured I'd sink to the bottom of the ocean floor and never be found again. That part bothered me the most. Having passed out in the pool, I knew the actual drowning wouldn't be bad once I passed out. It would be painless. Yikes! I really did think all of those things. It's all in the term paper.
And then (you know how it ends, right?), Beau and Lyndon show up. I don't remember if they showed up together or if it was one and then the other, but the important thing was that they showed up and struggled to remove the young boy's death grip from me and then they had their own fight on their hands, both with the boy and the waves and currents. As soon as I broke free, I fought with every ounce of my being to a) get away and b) get help. When I got to shore, the coach was surprised there was trouble but he raced out to help. It took Lyndon and Beau and the coach a good 5-15 minutes (it seemed much longer) to wrestle him to shore. When they carried him in, he looked limp and lifeless. We were all petrified. They laid him on the beach and compressed some water out of his lungs. In a minute or so, he coughed out the remaining water and returned to life. Hallelujah!!
It wasn't our time to die that day afterall. More lessons learned. Thanks be to God!
And, you guessed it, that was the last time we got to swim in the ocean.
Coming up, Part 3 (By Lake) and Part 4 (By Firing Squad)
Labels: Near-Death Experiences
Near-Dearth Experiences
Just checking if anyone is reading the post titles. ;-)
I have been overwhelmed a bit by your enthusiastic response here in my new digs. For an introvert like me, it's a bit of a shock that
anyone would stop by, let alone however many of you have done so (I vowed not to count, so I won't).
I am left speechless...er, postless. But I shall overcome. It's been a long day and I need some sleep.
Thank you all for making me feel welcome in the 'sphere.
Coming up...Part 2 in the series, on Stupid Things I Have Done in My Life, or How Beau and Lyndon Saved Yet Another Life or Two.
Labels: Near-Death Experiences
Shark! Shark! And Other Near-Death Experiences
It's Day 3 of the blog and already I'm suffering from writer's block. Maybe I should have remained a blogger without a blog afterall.
But
Lyndon has um,
"encouraged" me to share a tale that has been on my mind ever since he and I and Beau (
Jen's husband) reconnected after so many years away from the swim team, of which we were all a part back in our teenage years (not soooo many years ago, really). I wasn't planning to jump into the deep end so soon, but here is the shortened, condensed version of Shark! Shark! Or "Sharks and Minnows," as Beau remembers it.
Let me start out by saying that there were no sharks harmed in the making of this story. Nor were there any live sharks involved, at all. Which is surprising really, because our little swim team lived on the beach (literally, the high school we attended was on the sand) and we did swim in the ocean on occasion, but that's the next story.
Shark! Shark! as I prefer to call it, was a game (past tense...it is no longer a game, it is an
adventure that requires parents to sign waivers and disclaimer forms if their child wants to participate) whereby all the swimmers lined up on one wall and one shark positioned himself on the opposite wall. The object was for the shark to capture as many minnows as possible before they reached the other side of the pool. The capture was only valid if the minnow's head was tapped
above water (this becomes important). As the shark captured minnows, the minnows were pulled from the game. The last minnow to remain "standing" (swimming) was the winner. Got it?
Being a swim team, there was a bit of competitive spirit involved. And being the oldest members of the team, the four of us (my brother makes 4, and neither did he come to the rescue, I might add...David, if you're reading this, I'll let you know when the amnesty program begins so you can come clean, like Lyndon just did ;-) were also the largest and thus, most likely to survive. And I did. Until the end.
In the end, Beau, who was the shark, grabbed hold of my ankle (because back before the rules were changed as a result of this particular episode, pushing and pulling was allowed) and kept pulling me backwards. I, bearing the nickname "Airtank" (because of my incredible
lung capacity), had a reputation to uphold. I was only about 2-3 feet from the other wall and wouldn't give in (giving in would have meant rising to the surface and allowing him to tap my head, and taking a much needed breath of fresh air...bah!). Instead, I continued to struggle, reaching for the wall, gulping for air that wasn't there, and eventually, eventually I relented, pushed off the bottom of the pool, and that's the last thing I remember. Apparently, I pushed off, passed out, and sank back down to the bottom of the pool. Beau, being the reasonably intelligent man that he is, recognized that something was wrong and went down to retrieve my body.
The next thing I remember was coming to, at the edge of the pool, being held up by my arms, by the coach, and my brother's eyes were staring down at me, big as saucers. I asked if I won. At least that's what I wanted to ask. I'm not sure what I really said, but I was (and still am) disappointed that I lost that game. I hopped out of the pool as if nothing had happened and was quickly ushered out. That was the last game of Shark! Shark! that we played. Oh, we may have played a modified version after that (no touching), but it was never the same.
And that, folks, is what being competitive is all about. Fighting to the death. Yup. But we've all grown up to become reasonably respectable citizens, I think. So it must have served some purpose. I'm sure it gave God a good laugh anyway, but it was a tough lesson in pride and humility.Labels: Near-Death Experiences
On Why I Choose to Stay in the Shallow End
Tap, tap, tap. Hello? Is there anybody out there? [peeking timidly from behind the door] This is a little scary.
I only recently discovered blogging. It started when a good friend met his (now)
bride who maintained a blog, and it became a compulsion not long after that. There is a lot of great writing talent out there. I have enjoyed reading a few blogs in particular and I encourage anyone who reads this to link over to their sites. My interaction with the blogging community has been full of laughs and encouragement and insight into
things that really matter (and a lot of things that don't, like
this, but that's not the point). :-)
So why blog? Because
these people said so, that's why. That, and I've always wanted to be a travel writer. So this is the shallow end. I'll start in the shallow end and see how it goes. I don't plan to do anything fancy here, like a double gainer with three and a half twists off the cliff in the picture (although
Eric did suggest this). ;-) I've had my share of near death experiences, both in the pool and the ocean, and I'm quite happy in the shallow end.
Oh, and I won't be spending a lot of time discussing politics or pop culture here, so if that's your thing, move along. It's not that I'm against those things. I'm simply not qualified. Another reason to stay in the shallow end. ;-)
I'll be drifting in and out for the next few weeks, due to some pressing tax deadlines, :-/ but please do stop in and see me once in awhile. I'll leave the light on for you.
Labels: Fellow Bloggers, Insanity, Near-Death Experiences
