We Just Want to Dry Our Hands!

I must drink a lot of tea, because I have visited a ton of public restrooms in my day.  I do what needs to be done, wash my hands, and then hopefully dry my hands on something other than my shirt or pants.  There’s a plethora of options these days for hand drying.  My favorite is the old, grab-as-many-paper-towels-as-you-want method.  I know this is wasteful, but it also gets my hands the driest in the shortest amount of time.  Now they have these electronic, motion-detector paper towel dispensers.  The other day I walked into a Meijer restroom, and the motion detectors must not have been set properly.  I walked past 4 or 5 of these machines and set them all off – whirl, whoosh, whirl, whoosh, whirl.  It felt like the time I had a hole in my muffler in sunny California where almost everyone has a car alarm.  I drove through one neighborhood and left a horn-honking storm in my wake!  This particular time I had paper shooting out of every towel dispenser.

Recently I was in one bathroom that had one of those motion-detector paper towel dispensers.  As I approached it, the machine let out about 4 inches of paper towel.  Uh, right!!  Maybe that could dry a baby’s hand … but not mine!  So I proceeded to wave my hand under the dryer to get some more drying substance.  Nothing happened.  I read the directions on the machine (yes, they were right there).  “Place hand under here.” I did.  Nothing happened.  By now my daughter was beside me with her dripping hands.  She tried it.  Nothing.  We kept looking for the proper way to get more paper towel. At one point we were both bent at the waist, leaning way over looking at the underside of the paper towel dispenser.  We couldn’t find anything that would detect motion.  I started thinking we were probably looking quite silly.  I whipped up suddenly and looked around – this was a perfect time for the Candid Camera people to pop out.  Alas, no one came forward.  We ended up leaving with wet hand marks on our jeans.

To save on paper costs (and probably janitorial costs), many establishments have gone to the hand blowers.  Long time ago, it took more than one press of the button to dry my hands.  (Was that common for everyone or do I just have big hands?)  Most of the button-push hand blowers have gone out of style.  Now we find them in the motion-detector section too.  The ones that intrigue me the most (and are my favorite) are the ones that sound like airplane engines and can actually blow the skin on your hand from one place to another.  I met a friend recently at one of those hand dryers.  She said, “Look, if we can put our faces under here, we could get face lifts!”  I laughed and said that we would have to carry the dryer around where ever we went to keep the face lift.

Earlier this summer, I was in a gas station restroom.  I was drying my hands under one of those airplane engines that was attached to the wall right next to the exit.  The door opened and a woman with her granddaughter stood there and just looked at me.  I motioned them to come in – I wasn’t THAT much in the way of the door.  She shook her head, and I stopped drying my hands.  This is when she started her lecture from her position outside the bathroom with the door still in her hand.  I can’t remember everything she said, but she went on and on about the evils of these hand blowers.  She exclaimed (with unbelief that I didn’t know this) that these hand blowers are horrible.  She told me about all the diseases in the bathroom that these monsters blew around in the area surrounding us.  I was stunned – more that she would come at me with this than what she was actually saying.  She might be right.  I don’t know.  To be honest, there are too many things to worry about in my life than whether a germ from the floor gets blown up my nose. 

What caught me as funny, though, was when she started to list the diseases that I could catch by using this hand dryer.  The list went on (forever it seemed) and finally ended with “Typhoid and AIDS.”  Really??  Yep, that’s what I said.  That isn’t what I wanted to say.  (I was being good.)  Here’s what I really wanted to do and say:  I wanted to look at her, look around the room, and take a deep breath to take in all of the germs that were obviously flying around the room!  I wanted to look at her and say, “Girlfriend, if AIDS is airborne, we are ALL in trouble!”  I wanted to peer around the room and duck for any invisible dirty needles that might be flying around in the airplane engine’s after effects.  (I’m so bad.)  But all I said was “Really?” and I backed away from the door.  The lady walked in, but her granddaughter was too scared to follow (poor girl).  The grandmother turned around and told the little girl, “It’s okay, you can come in now.”  Meanwhile, I am thinking, “Uh, the germs are still flying around.”  I guess if the machine stops blowing, all of the germs she talked about suddenly drop to the floor.  OH, so THAT’S why we don’t go barefoot in bathrooms!! 

I walked out of the restroom and chuckled to myself.  What I truly wanted to do was to turn around, whip into the bathroom, and put my hands under that dryer while the two of them were locked up in their stall with no place to run!  Thank you, Lord, for giving me some restraint!  When I hopped into the car, I shared the incident with my children.  Since then, anytime we come out of a bathroom with one of those hand blowers, we warn each other that we have now been infected with typhoid and AIDS!  I do not mean to make light of these serious diseases at all.  But, if you have a phobia of hand blowers and germs, please do not accost the customer using one.  We just want to dry our hands! 

Accident-Prone People and Trends that should NEVER come back.

How old are you? As old as I am? Well, let’s see -- do you remember these things: Big combs in our back pockets, platform shoes, and bell-bottom pants??? Recently I have seen all three of these things and just want to scream, “NO!” Oh my goodness -- I’m almost running for the Band-Aids just thinking about those things. (HA) Yes, there are some trends that should not come back for those of us more accident-prone people.

No, that is NOT my back side.

Big combs in our back pockets -- I definitely had to have one of those when I was in junior high!! I can’t remember what color, but it was big and had a curved handle. I thought I was such hot stuff with that comb in my back pocket! Okay, that is until it was time to get out of the student desk at the end of the class period. Think about this large handle sticking out of the back pocket of a pair of jeans. Now think about those old student desks (which are still in use today). As I rose out of my chair, the comb got stuck on the other side of the chair’s back rest. Ugh! I tried to get it up, but the comb stuck on my chair pulled me back down. I was lucky not to have ripped my pants! Unfortunately, my “cool” status was knocked down a bit! Alright, I was never cool in junior high, but I didn’t need anything more to prove my un-coolness. After that, I learned to either take my comb out of my pocket while sitting or checking its location with the student desk before standing.

This IS me -- I loved these pants when I was a kid.

I had the greatest pair of bell-bottom pants when I was a kid!!! They had big flowers all over them and each pant leg measured 20 inches in diameter. I loved them. But seriously -- what was I thinking?? I would run, catch my foot on the bottom edge of my pants, and go flying to the ground! I believe that’s how my pants finally died -- I took a flying leap across the cement driveway. Ouch!! I never stopped having troubles with wide edges on my clothing. Right now I have a pair of tall, cowboy-cut jeans. They are my favorites, but every once in awhile I will trip over my own pants. It’s silly.  I had an oops like this on my wedding day. I walked down the aisle with ease, but my troubles began when I started up the steps to the altar. As I reached the first step, I realized I had just stepped on the inside of my dress.

No problem -- I would fix that on my next step. Right? Nope. As I took the next step, my other foot stepped on my dress.  Now I was standing on my wedding dress with both feet and couldn’t move without the fear of toppling over. I had to stop my husband-to-be (and the ceremony) for a minute in order to use his arm as leverage as I pulled the gown out from under my feet. Oh dear!! Ha. To be honest, I don’t think many people realized what happened. It was still embarrassing.

Platform shoes -- do I need to say anything more?? Why would anyone want to be that high up and teetering forward towards the ground?? Thankfully, someone wiser than me (my parents) made sure this was one trend I did not follow. Could you imagine me in a pair of these shoes?? Add some bell-bottom pants and a comb in my pocket, and I would be an insurance provider’s nightmare! I should try a pair on just once for fun -- and have lots of pillows and maybe someone with some strong arms surrounding me just in case.

I wonder what other trends should not come back for accident-prone people. I would love it if you shared your ideas (and possible stories) in the comments after this blog. I know they would be fun to read!!

I'm a Bit Nuts -- I teach Middle School!

I am a middle school teacher, and every day during the passing periods I stand in the hall making sure no one kills anyone else. Okay, it’s not that bad. In fact, I teach at a very nice school. (No killings, stabbings, kidnappings, etc. at my school….or any that I have ever worked at for that matter.) With that said, we still have the sixth grade boys who want to play tag as they weave in and out of the other students. We also have the girls who want to hug almost everyone before they make their way to their next class. My classroom is at the corner of two hallways where huggers, tag players, and drinking fountain participants all gather. Quite the bottleneck can happen at times until either I or my teacher friend next door yells out, “30 more seconds to get to class!” You know how many times we have done that (on purpose) with two minutes still left to go?? We then grin at each other as we watch the students scatter in panic in all different directions! We can’t do that often because they wouldn’t listen to us after awhile (they are pretty smart that way), but every once in awhile we like to mess with them!

You do realize that middle school teachers have special “messing with their heads” training? (Just like most parents of teens and preteens.) Seriously, do you know how certifiable we have to be to agree to teach middle schoolers? These are the kids who as sixth graders get their hormones for Christmas! They don’t have a clue how to deal with them, and it comes out in a mixture of silliness, frustration, first loves, a few tears, and a bit of rebellion. It takes until somewhere in the middle of their eighth grade year to figure it all out. By then, they have developed a bit of middle school senioritis. Just when you think they are becoming human again, they decide they are completely done with middle school (even if it is still April). To survive all of this as teachers, we have to be a bit crazy ourselves. You question this? Just go to a street corner and ask random strangers if they would like to teach middle school for a week. I bet you would get several “Are you crazy?“ responses. I like this saying: “I’m not suffering from insanity … I’m enjoying it!”   By the way, I do love my job.

So, how do we have some fun with our students? It’s nothing major and nothing that is going to scar anyone for life! I’ll give you a few examples, and don’t worry -- most of my students still like me (and math) at the end of the school year.  I sure hope writing this doesn’t come back to haunt me someday, though.

“Did you get a haircut?” -- This is always repeated a million times the day after I get my hair trimmed. I usually reply, “Yep. In fact, I got them ALL cut.” (Ok, think about it…) My favorite reply, though, is to tell the students that I did not get a hair cut; I changed wigs! Immediately after saying that I put my hand on top of my head and move my hair -- it actually looks like I am moving a wig back and forth. Every time at least ONE student falls for that! (Especially the 6th graders.)

Day after Super Bowl news -- I love football, and I love seeing the competitiveness in some of my students. A few weeks ago, the Packers beat my son’s favorite team, the Steelers in Super Bowl XLV. The next morning, several of my students wore their Packers jerseys to school. Each class period I found a quiet time where I very thoughtfully and seriously asked my students if they had heard the news yet. “What news?” they asked. (It’s very easy to get them interested immediately.) I proceeded to tell them that over night the Super Bowl officials had discovered major rule violations by the Packers. This meant that the Packers had to give up the trophy and their title -- officially the Steelers were the Super Bowl winners after all! The response was immediate! The Packer fans were horrified and my Steelers fans were cheering! Of course at that moment a sly grin would appear on my face. “Oh, Mrs., you are just joking, aren’t you??”  Yep!! Sighs of relief from my Packers students were quite loud to be honest! One gal said, “Oh my gosh, I thought I was going to have to pay back the money I won from my friend!”  Hmmmm.

“Who Farted?” -- Okay, I really don’t like that word (which is why I use the word “Fluff”), but that is the word my students would use when I taught sixth grade in California. The poor flatulent children -- they could be teased mercilessly! Therefore, whenever I heard that phrase, I would pipe up, “I did it!” The students knew I had not been the smelly one, but they laughed at my statement and let the matter drop. (Hopefully there is a child or two out there who is still eternally grateful to me for taking the heat!) With that said, I do have a confession. One particular year, I had troubles during my first period class with my own fluffing. I don’t know why -- maybe it was something I was eating for breakfast. I taught reading first period and did a lot of walking around my room while the students took turns reading the story out loud. Thankfully (for me) my episodes were silent. Unfortunately the following statement could be true -- silent, but deadly. As I walked around the room, the urge would suddenly overtake me and I would fluff (silently). Because I was constantly moving, I was usually on the total opposite side of the room before a student or two would smell my after-fluff. “Eww, who farted?” would be the next thing we would hear. “I did it!” I would say! The kids would laugh and we would go on --- they never knew that this time I actually was telling the truth!! (By the way, if any of my present or future students are reading this, I do NOT have first period fluffing issues anymore! In fact, that was 20 years ago. Now, just don‘t talk to my friends about a recent Best Buy adventure…. Ha!)

“There’s a Mouse!” -- Four years ago, my first teaching job in my current city had me teaching math in an old Home Ec room. That was an interesting adventure. Surrounding us were sinks, countertops, and stoves. I was smart enough to turn off all of the water and gas before inviting students into my new room. Along one side of the room were a couple washers and dryers. One afternoon while I was going over some sort of math concept, a girl in my class started to panic and almost ended up on top of her table. When I asked what was wrong, she said that she thought she saw a mouse run behind the washer and dryer. To be honest, I didn’t think she really saw what she thought she saw, but I went to check. As I peered behind the machines, I saw nothing. That isn’t how I reacted though. Instead (messing with their minds), I grabbed both machines and shook them loudly as I screamed! “Ahhhhhhh!!” A few of them screamed back and more than just a few were now standing on top of their chairs. I turned around and just laughed. I told them that I didn’t see anything and that there probably was no mouse. They groaned (a few laughed) and they settled back into their seats. The original girl was not done, though. As I started walking back to the front of the room, she yelled out, “There he is!!” I must have jumped at least three feet into the air!! (Quite a feat for someone my size.) Oh the belly laughs that came from that girl -- “Just kidding!” she said. She got me back good! …. and I deserved it!

Swimsuit Shopping

Saturday I spent several hours going to 2 malls and 14 stores in attempts to find a swimsuit. I must have tried on at least 2-3 dozen suits. Oh my! If you want a big hit to your ego, go try on a ton of swimsuits! Ok, if you are a size 2, you probably enjoy this venture. In fact, you are the one who has to go into the main area and look at the “big” mirror where everyone else can marvel at your ability to make every swimsuit look wonderful! (grin) What was a bit funny was the fact that I was wearing my winter jacket as I was perusing the swimsuit displays. In fact, in one store the swimsuits were amongst the winter coats!

I understand the obvious question now is WHY would I be swimsuit shopping in the middle of January?? It is basically because I am afraid I might get kicked out of the YMCA if I don’t. My choice for exercise is swimming. I love to swim, and I can swim a mile or so in about an hour. I’ve decided that if I like something and it takes off pounds, then it is a very good thing! (Too bad chocolate doesn’t take off pounds!! There’d be a ton more skinny women walking around!) With my swimming, I have used my suit so much that it is getting pretty thin and loose. The loose part isn’t too bad yet. I push off the wall to swim a lap, and the top of my suit wants to start traveling down towards my belly button. So far I have kept it up to a modest level. It is the back end of my suit that has me worried. The color has almost completely faded right in the seat! I asked my daughter if she could see my bottom through my seat. She said maybe and then offered to take a picture of my back end so that I could see. I passed on that one! Ha. The last time I had the suit on, though, I felt a breeze back there. Hmmm. It would be pretty embarrassing if a Y staff member had to ask me to leave the pool because I was mooning the other guests!

Two totally different swimsuits are available for women -- the “don’t I look so pretty sitting on the edge of the pool” suit and the “I can swim laps without accidentally flashing anyone” suit. I was looking for the second choice while most of the stores if they did carry suits only had the “looking pretty” styles. Well, I needed one of those too, so I tried on every style that came in my size. My first stop was a sporting goods store. The biggest size they carried was a good 3 sizes smaller than me. Come on folks! Big girls need to exercise just as much (if not more) than the petite gal! I had the bright idea to call one of the fitness centers in Fort Wayne to see if they knew who sold Speedo-type swimsuits. “We do.” was the reply. I asked her if she had my size, and when I found out that she did, I drove straight there with a ton of excitement that maybe my search would be a short one. That excitement was short-lived. The size that I should be in was in a style that maybe wasn’t so good for swimming. The true swimming suits were a size lower than my size. That didn’t keep me from trying them on, though. (It should have, but it didn’t!) I grabbed a couple styles and made my way to the locker room to try them on. Who knows -- maybe I was a size lower!! Now women, I have to give you a little advice at this point. Are you familiar with those Speedo suits that have a keyhole in back? I used to wear those all the time when I was young and skinny.  Well, if you are even the least bit well-endowed in your middle section, do NOT put one of these suits on -- especially if the suit is a size lower than you should be shoving your body into! I’m not saying that this happened to me….. but…. the keyhole type of swimsuit does a wonderful job showcasing any bulges that might be found back there. When you take a look at yourself in the mirror and then sneak a peek at what you look like from the back, be careful -- you might cry in horror as you see a sideways butt crack staring back at you from the keyhole! Oh girls, if you have those “why do I still have them” love handles, I’m sure you can totally picture this!! Not that it happened to me…. but that suit came off of me very quickly!! The second suit I tried on was a much better style, but it was still too tight. In fact, when it came time to take it off, I couldn’t figure out how to do it! Because this was a fitness center locker room, I was in the middle of one large area where more than one person was changing. I started to panic a bit as I couldn’t get my arms out of the suit! Who was I going to ask to help me if I couldn’t do it?? Imagine if you were the one asked to de-clothe another woman in the locker room?? Panic!! Thankfully I did get it off, and I chose to ignore that maybe (just maybe) I heard a tiny ripping sound!

The rest of the stores were not that much better. Suit after suit went on and then came off. I was glad to see that the rest of the ones I tried on came off a ton easier than the one in the locker room. None of the suits were lap-worthy. In fact, some of the swimsuits had a neckline that dove past any cleavage I might have. Uh….not going to work at the Y unless I am fishing for dates in that pool!

A few days earlier my children suggested that I go to Goodwill to see if they had any swimsuits my size. “Ewww,” I said. I don’t know -- that’d almost be like sharing underwear. I got to tell you, though, that after 14 stores and no luck whatsoever, I did call Goodwill to see if they had any swimsuits. “Very few,” was the answer, and I decided not to go and face my fear of used swimsuits! When the evening was over, I did have in my possession one (brand new) “look nice” suit but no “let’s swim some laps” suit.

Late that night I was on the phone with my good friend, and she convinced me to check out eBay. In my mind, that is almost as scary as Goodwill. (Gosh, no offense to anyone who works for Goodwill, by the way.) She and I searched eBay together and I found a suit that was the style I wanted and in my size. I bought it! (And no, it is not used!) We’ll see. It should be here in the next couple days. It scares me to buy a swimsuit that I have never tried on since the thousand that I did try on last Saturday didn’t work. Guess it will be interesting to see how it fits. I do have a 7-day return option. Here’s hoping someone else hasn’t used that return option before me! It’ll be nice, though, to get back to the Y and not worry about being “family friendly” enough for the pool. Wish me good luck!

Jen and her Resolutions -- Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!!

2011 is going to be a great year of new beginnings, second chances, dreams realized, and definitely a lot of laughter! (Or at least I hope so!) I was at the store the other day and should have purchased the plaque I saw:

Live Well. Love Much. Laugh Often.

To be honest, I may go back and get it! I think it needs to hang somewhere in my home -- maybe near my plaque that says “Laundry today or Naked tomorrow.” Ha! I do need another plaque, too:  Fall less. Dance much. Keep my mouth shut more often. (grin) If you just laughed, you either believe that I need all of those or you are in line to get that same plaque for yourself!

It’s time for those New Year’s Resolutions!! Last year I said I wanted to exercise more -- “2010 is the year for Jen!” (grin) Cheesy slogan, but it made me laugh. So what is my slogan this year? Not sure. I said out loud before thinking, “2011 is the year for heaven!” OH! Ok, not that I plan to DIE this year! Another -- “2011 is the year for Kevin!” Nope, as far as I know, I don’t know anyone named Kevin other than my brother. He can use that slogan, but this is supposed to be all about me! HA! (You do know that my tongue is completely in my cheek, right?) I’m vacationing at my friends’ home, and I just asked them what rhymes with eleven. The resulting conversation was much more fun than anything we are actually going to come up with as one friend was echoing the other without realizing it! Here were a few from one of my friends: “2011 and I’ll sleep till 7.” (That can still be early!) OR “2011 and I’ll lose 7” (Gosh, I hope I lose more than that!) AND “2011 and I’ll date 7.” Cool…all at the same time??? HA! Well, maybe this year doesn’t need a slogan. (grin) Although I did like this one from our conversation, “2011, on earth Jen’ll have heaven.”

I did exercise more in 2010, lost some weight thanks to that exercise, and plan to keep it up. This year I am going to have to try to cook more at home! AAAHHHHHH, say it isn’t so!! Gosh, this means that maybe I should change the batteries in my smoke alarm, get fire insurance, and maybe not hide plastic containers in my oven! Ok, so I don’t store plastics in my oven….anymore! Years ago, I had some friends who were coming over, and instead of quickly washing the large plastic containers that didn’t fit in the dishwasher, I hid them for the time in my oven. Unfortunately, I forgot they were there! Oops! Later that night I preheated the oven for the pizza I was going to bake for the children and I. When I walked into the kitchen and saw the smoke coming out of the top burners, I realized my mistake. I turned off the oven and then foolishly opened the door. Smoke poured out, rose to the ceiling and rolled around up there while I quickly ran around opening every window I could find! Of course, the smoke alarm went off. When I finally got that to stop (I think by stealing its batteries), I found the kids dancing in the family room with arms extended stirring up the smoke that was hanging from the ceiling. Argh!! That’s when I put them in the car, and we took a trip to the local fast food establishment. You’d think I’d learn from that, but I did it ONE more time! This time was more painful as I had hid my crock pot in the oven. (One less crockpot in my home after that!) My mom sent me a news article soon after about some guys who had hid illegal fireworks in their oven when the police came calling. They, too, forgot about their stash when one of them decided to preheat the oven at 2:00 in the morning. Boom!! I guess I should be glad I only melted plastic!

Cooking is not exactly my favorite sport. I can cook … a bit. And despite popular belief, I CAN boil water! (Oh my gosh, I am such a good catch, aren’t I? HA!) I just don’t know all the fast techniques that help make food tasty without requiring hours pouring over the dreaded cookbook. If I cook, I want it to be easy and fairly quick to make. With that said, though, I am tired of the high-carbohydrate Hamburger Helpers and frozen pizzas. I want good chicken, seasoned steaks, tasty pastas, and anything that makes my tummy happy and my waistline less stretched out! I also like the smell of my home after a delicious meal has been cooked in it. My favorite type of cooking with no doubt is when I am helping a Master Chef (especially if that master chef is cute to watch. Ha!) Alright, dreaming is allowed but not very helpful right now in my resolution. I need good advice on easy-to-make items that isn’t going to punch hours of my time or rob my bank account. Well-meaning friends tell me about what they do. Do I remember these? Well, I mix them up! Let’s see, I am to use vinegar in my pan before pouring the eggs for the omelet, and then mince the cranberries with the mustard….. Uh, yum??? Yep, I think these friendly ideas need to be written down -- but they better not look like a cookbook at all. (For some odd reason, I have an irrational fear of cookbooks! Ha) Therefore, I am calling for all good cooking ideas (notice I don’t call them recipes). Won’t you feel better if you help me in my quest for a smaller bottom?? (See, laugh often…..ha)

I think my other resolution will be to Drink More! Oh, I know what you are thinking! Actually I want to drink more WATER! Last night, I tried sparkling water flavored with cran-raspberry mixed with a little bourbon (it was new year’s eve). Trust me -- that was NOT a good combination! (grin) Water without the bourbon treats my insides so much better. I’d love to also start my day with a good cup of coffee instead of a diet coke. Oh dear….anyone out there know how to make coffee? (This girl needs some major intervention!)

Happy New Year Everyone!! May 2011 be your Heaven! (Ok, still cheesy.) I guess this one is better even if it isn’t my own words: Live Well. Love Much. Laugh Often.

Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph?

Writing is very important at the school where I teach. In fact, even though I am a math teacher, I am still expected to ask my students to write at least once a week. I usually do this on Fridays during their “bell work” -- something the students work on during the first five minutes of class. At times I ask serious questions, and at other times I have some fun. Of course, most of my students like my second type of questions the best. I was inspired by a Creative Writing teacher I had in high school who would ask questions like, “What would you rather be and why: an apple or an orange?” I love those questions! This past week (the week before Christmas break), I had the students answer this: What would you rather be and why -- Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph? I just finished reading over 100 student responses, and some of them made me laugh out loud. I have some very creative students! Rudolph won hands down, and most of the answers rotated around being able to fly, meeting Santa, and having a red nose. Now, why anyone would be excited about having a red nose, I have no idea. (Of course, I have a cold right now and really hope my nose does not get red.) Below are some of my favorite responses that I got from my students (some clever…some bizarre). I hope they make you smile!

I want to be Rudolph because then I can fly. Also as Rudolph, I don’t have to die every Spring. Also I would not have to worry about squirrels because in my neighborhood squirrels eat the snowman’s nose.

I would rather be Frosty the Snowman because I would like to run all around the square having fun with friends. I would want stick arms once and I want to have a hat on my head. Then when the sun goes down SPLAT I want to get hit by a car but not die.

I would rather be Rudolph. I won’t melt in the summer, and I’d have a shiny nose. I would never die, and I’d be with SANTA. If I’d be Rudolph I could read at night! My name will fit on more things than Frosty the Snowman.

I would rather be Rudolph because the other day, on the news, Frosty got hit by a car. I want to live past Christmas if you know what I mean.

I’d rather be Rudolph. I chose this because I could command one of my evil elf minions to write a fake letter to Santa telling him all I want for Christmas. Then when we went to drop off the presents I would shut off my light. Santa would crash and I would pick up my presents. Then I would live safely under the name of Albert L. Georgenson in case of a lawsuit. I would have a fake mustache and beard.

I would be Frosty so I could melt myself down then scare the crud out of playing 2-year olds. I would do that because 2 year olds have it too good. They’re always playing and screaming. So that’s why I’d be Frosty.

I would rather be Rudolph. I would melt and dogs would pee on me if I was Frosty.

I would rather be Rudolph. I would rather be Rudolph because I could fly. Also, because I could have a built-in flashlight. Plus, since I would be magic I could create snowmen that did everything I told them to do and hurt people I don’t like. They would be my minions.

If I could choose to be Frosty or Rudolph, I would rather be Frosty because when somebody throws a snowball at me, It wouldn’t bug me as much. And I would be a talking and hopping snowman. 

I would rather be Frosty because Rudolph has to work. I admit I’ve worked a lot at my Mom’s, but I’m tired. I don’t want to do work anymore.

I would rather be Rudolph than Frosty because I could fly. I’d have a “shiny nose” that lights up. I’d be able to see in the dark and I’d go down in history. Plus a talking snowman is creepy.

Giggles, Menopause, and Tissue

Do you ever get into one of those moods where everything makes you giggle. And I’m not talking about the soft, polite heehee giggles. I’m talking about the uncontrollable snorts and the “if I had milk in my mouth it would come out my nose” type of giggles! By the way, I am the Queen of Snort! I can’t help it. Let me tell you - it can be totally embarrassing if done around someone I wanted to impress! If something tickles me just the right way, the loudest snore-like noise flies out of my nose in a quick, short burst! I try to hold it in, but it doesn't work!  Sometimes that makes it worse.  At some point in my laughter, I just lose control over the Snort!  Some people think it endearing; some believe it disgusting; I just know it is me…plain and simple Me on a giggle high. What can I say? Ha! (or Snort!)

The problem with these giggle moods that I get into is that they just don’t seem as funny later as they did when I was holding my tummy. Later, I just laugh at how much I laughed at something that maybe wasn’t so funny after all. Can anyone relate? (Can anyone follow that last statement? Ha) I remember one of those times during my freshman year at college. My roommate and I realized that we were “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue” -- we thought it was fun that our names rhymed. I really do believe this was the first week of school. We had a telephone and started coming up with ways to answer it. This is when the belly laughs started happening. “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue, we would like to talk to you.” OR “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue, we want to know who are you?” And the most bizarre one: “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue. Miss Piggy lives here too!” (My roommate liked Miss Piggy.) I know it is silly, and it is probably one of those “I guess you should have been there” moments, but 26 years later and I still remember how bad my stomach hurt as I curled on the floor (because I couldn’t stand anymore) laughing at all of our rhyming, phone-answering ideas. The best was when the phone actually rang and we used one of our new lines. Unfortunately for the person on the other end of the phone, we couldn’t talk after that because we were riddled with laughter again!

Today I had a couple giggle moments. These weren’t the “rolling on the floor” instances, but they just seemed silly to me (so I’m sharing them). This evening as I was driving through downtown Fort Wayne, I drove by the grand Embassy. On the marquee they were advertising a show that was coming to the Embassy in February -- Menopause the Musical. Really?? (This is when I started to giggle.) Why would anyone even think to write a musical on menopause much less actually write it? A play maybe…but a musical? Realize that I am still driving as I am trying to come up with what songs might have been written. Let‘s see, here‘s hot flashes and mood swings: “Oh, I’m hot…no, I’m cold…no, I’m hot!” and “I love you so much, and now I’m going to bite your head off !” Of course, now I’m trying to find tunes for these new songs. Ha! The Hot-Cold song could be sung to “Frere Jacques” -- hmmm, maybe I should sing some bars for you. (Snort!) Here‘s what I put as my facebook status tonight: “I passed the Embassy today and they were advertising a show that will take place in a couple months: Menopause the Musical. REALLY?? All the other musical ideas are taken?” I got a few fun replies. Apparently some people have seen this musical and really liked it…and there IS a song about Hot Flashes! I already have a couple friends who want to go see it with me in February. This could be a fun Girl’s Night Out where more giggles might erupt! Might.

Okay, I have to admit that the other moment of giggles today happened in the girl’s bathroom at school. (I know…very odd spot.) I usually use the “adult” restroom located in the main office, but sometimes when all of the students are in class and I have a break, I’ll run into the restroom that is across from my classroom. (“Run” being the key word. Grin) Today I was sitting there…you know…doing what needs to be done, and my shoulders dropped as I looked over at the toilet tissue. What is it with School Toilet paper? You pull and out comes one little square. Seriously? Pull pull pull pull pull….. How many squares will do the job? As I hold a wad in my hand, I start to make my plan. Do I make it a tight ball or try to fan them out to look like a line of toilet paper? One or two sheets could get lost back there! Gosh, I realized that maybe I should have brought my tape into the bathroom!! “Hey Jen, are you still in there? What am I hearing? Is that tape?” Ha! “Oh, I’m just making my own toilet paper by taping all these squares together. I should be out in about 30 minutes! Hmmm, I wonder if this is long enough…” See why I started to giggle?? All of these thoughts were going through my head, and I was still sitting there. Tissue should stay in gift bags, NOT the bathroom!!

Well, these may not have made you giggle like they did me, but I know you have had those belly-holding moments in the past. I hope my little blog here makes you remember one of your own moments. Everyone should laugh at least once a day!  It's good for the soul!

Sometimes Clumsiness Can Be a Good Thing

I had one of those moments today when everything seemed to fall apart. I was on my own, and after church I went through the Wendy’s drive-thru and got lunch – spicy chipotle boneless wings Yum! I brought them home and decided to eat at my computer desk (multi-tasking: eating and facebooking at the same time). As I put my hand into the bag to pull out my meal, I found that the top of the container had come off. These wings are spicy because they are covered and surrounded by a lot of chipotle sauce – a red sauce that was now starting to cover everything else in the bag (my fries, my napkins, my straw). Right beside my printer, I set the open container on the cleanest napkin I could find in the bag. Next, I pulled everything else out of the bag – only dripping sauce a few times on my desk. As soon as I thought everything was taken care of, the pile of miscellaneous papers that I had stacked on my printer decided to fall – right into my bowl of spicy chipotle boneless wings!! Arghhh. I grabbed the next cleanest napkin and started wiping off all of my papers. Now I was done, right? I grabbed one of my sweetner packets to mix in my tea. I shook it before opening it and wouldn’t you know it – apparently it also had some sauce on it. This time I got splattered! Really? Lunch was supposed to be so much simpler than that!

I had to laugh about that just like I laughed at myself last night when I was checking out at Meijer. I had purchased some Christmas lights and went through one of the self checkout lanes. Everything scanned in just fine, and I used my card to pay for my purchase. After I signed my name on the little electronic line, I tried to hang the pen back on the display. It fell out. I tried again. It fell out again. One more try – and yes, it fell out once again. (Big sigh.) I finally flipped it over and stuck it in. YES! It worked. NO! The string attached to the pen had somehow looped through the handle of my purse, and I was now connected to the machine. Are you kidding me? I laughed and tried one more time to get it all put together right. Rolling my eyes at myself, I wondered who was behind what video camera laughing themselves off a chair!

Not every clumsy moment is bad. As I read through the notes that my basketball teammates wrote in my high school memory book, a common theme runs through them – “Thanks for letting us laugh at (with) you.” I had a knack of alleviating the most tense moments without even trying. I do remember one of those times. We were at the Coliseum practicing for an upcoming tournament game. The coach was having us go through a drill where we were being double-teamed (more than one person was trying to get our ball when we were holding it). Our goal was to pass the ball to another teammate without losing it to the two defenders. We were not doing a great job, and Coach was getting mad (which meant some yelling). All of a sudden I got the ball where the guards usually stand, and I panicked! (I played near the basket and rarely ever dribbled the ball.) I got rid of the ball alright! In my alarm at being double-teamed, I threw the ball straight up and HIGH – it hit the marquee hanging from the ceiling of the coliseum (really high). If you have ever been in the Fort Wayne Memorial Coliseum, you should be able to picture what I am talking about. Coach just started laughing, and I think that ended our drill. It definitely ended the tension that had been mounting!

I can’t fake anything. That makes my clumsiness come in handy at times. More than once in my life, I have been on a date and accidently slipped or fallen. (Truly, those were definitely accidents.) That’s when my date would tuck my hand in the crook of his arm or even put his arm around my waist. Very nice. If I had tried to trip “on purpose” it would have come out so fake! I think I just have an ornery angel who hip chucks me to the ground sometimes to encourage the romance of the moment! Ha!

I got a call yesterday that made my day (maybe my month). What led up to the call happened a couple years ago when I had quite a fall. My children and I were in Toronto, Canada, with some friends of ours. We had been in a beautiful place called High Park where I was taking a lot of pictures with my Canon Powershot camera (a very nice and somewhat expensive camera). You have to understand – photography is one of my favorite hobbies and I love my camera! As I took a sidewalk that slightly ramped down to the street, my foot hit a patch of mud and I went flying. Bodily, my knee got the worst of it. As for my clothes – let’s just say we went through lots of baby wipes to get the mud off my pants. What really hurt was the other effect of my falling. When I slipped, my right arm flew up hard (probably as a balancing instinct), and everything in my hand went flying. I had a bag and it landed with a small thud (nothing major)…but what flew higher (because it weighed more) and caused us all to silently watch in horror as it bounced down the street not once but THREE times was my camera! Argh!!! My son quickly retrieved it, turned it on, and then slowly shook his head sadly at me. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to think about it. Of course, I had to move because I was sitting in a mud pile in the street. I didn’t touch the camera until after I and my pants were as clean as they could be. Then I said a little prayer and turned on the camera. It worked! It did have some problems – like it wouldn’t zoom in and the lens would not go in when I turn off the camera. It also would once in awhile turn off as I was trying to take a picture, and  it would tell me I had a lens error. Other than that, though, it was working fine and still taking great pictures. That was good because the next two days were going to be spent at Niagara Falls. When we got back home, I took my camera to the Geek Squad at Best Buy. I had accidental insurance (lovingly called accidental death insurance) on my camera thanks to my father who knew how I sometimes don’t land on my two feet. After a few weeks, I got my camera back. It worked, but I never thought it was as good as it was before it went bouncing down a parking lot. Fast forward to a month ago. We were with our same friends in a beautiful place in Kentucky (the Red River Gorge). My camera starting having lens error problems again. I was able to take pictures, but it definitely was not working the way it should. A week before Thanksgiving, I took it back into Best Buy, and I hoped that I would see my camera sometime before Christmas. That leads me to yesterday’s phone call. A geek from the squad at Best Buy left a message on my phone – I had been approved for a replacement camera. Replacement?? Very nice! I went in and was given the very latest Canon Powershot. For those of you camera enthusiasts – this camera has 35x optical zoom! My goodness, you can see the nosehairs on a fly with this thing! Without my muddy fall a couple years ago, I would not have this great Christmas present right now. Yep, sometimes clumsiness can be a good thing!

Snow and Ice

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, every where you go. La de da de da da de da la la la le la le la…” Yep, that was me singing! Earlier this week we had our first real snowfall. My classroom curtains were closed, but during the passing periods students and teachers alike saw the snow through the windows near the doors. It was beautiful! I did what came naturally – I started to sing. My students from the past can attest to the fact that sometimes I just break into song. I’m quirky that way! Ha. The problem with this song, though, was that I only knew the first few words. After that, I really did have to go to the la’s and da’s and de’s….which completely bewildered my poor sixth graders who had finally seen me for the first time in 11 weeks since my knee surgery. (“Uhhh, maybe the doctors tweaked something in our teacher’s brain, too.”)

I do love snow as long as my car isn’t spinning and I’m not driving behind someone who treats snow as if it will jump up and bite them. The best place to watch the snow is cuddled up in a warm blanket on the sofa! My first winter in sunny southern California was quite a change from frosty Indiana. I remember one afternoon it actually snowed for a couple minutes. I literally cried! I missed snow that much. (I know….I said it before – I’m quirky!) The question is why do I like snow so much? Maybe it's because I had some great times as a kid in the snow. I remember back then. It took us forever to get bundled up for a romp in the snow. Long underwear, tights, tube socks, snow pants, a couple pairs of mittens, coat, hat, scarf, and boots. I must have gained 20 pounds just in that stuff alone! I walked like the Stay Puft Marshmallow man! Heaven forbid if I waited too long to go to the bathroom! It took grand maneuvers just to remove all those items – especially when they were caked in snow.

My favorite snow was the Blizzard of 1978. The snow drifts reached the sky! Ok, maybe not, but they were definitely much taller than me. We didn’t have snow blowers back then – all of the snow had to be shoveled by the entire family to the side of the driveway. That created some huge snow piles. We got creative and made snow caves and tunnels in those piles. I have NO idea how I managed to hang out in the snow caves with my claustrophobia. I do remember I also tried an experiment that year. (You are going to wonder how I got A’s and B’s in school when I tell you this one!) A lot of the sidewalks were mostly cleared off and dry for a few feet away from the driveways. They would abruptly end in huge snow bank that no one wanted to shovel through. I decided to get my bike out, ride as fast as I could, and speed into one of those snow banks without braking! I learned a nice little science lesson that day (and yes, one that I brought up with my students the year I taught science). While the bike stopped suddenly, my body did not! You know when guys get hit down below and they suddenly curl up in a ball? Well, it can happen to girls too! I flew right into the handlebar column and curled up like a boy! Ha!

I think snow also reminds me of romance. I don't know why.  Maybe it has something to do with all of the old Christmas movies I watched as a child (ok, and as an adult). A couple times in my teens, I went walking by myself during almost white-out conditions. (I always knew where I was – it wasn’t a blizzard…yet.) It was so quiet and peaceful surrounded by all of that snow. I’m sure that sounds weird to most people, but it was nice. I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.

I like snow, but ice isn’t really my friend! I have had so many tumbles or almost tumbles on ice that it is amazing someone isn’t following me with a video camera everywhere I go just to see if they could win some money on America’s Funniest Videos! The best is when I almost fall – my arms and legs go in every direction as I try my hardest not to land on my back end! Ice is only my friend when I can photograph it. A couple years ago, we had a terrible ice storm that left my family without electricity for several days right around Christmas. My home was terribly cold, and I ended up losing a nice water heater because of a frozen pipe. On the flip side, I did get some very nice photos once the storm had passed.

Ice on lakes makes me panic. I remember as a youth, my father drove our car onto a lake near his boyhood home in Wisconsin. I hated that. Even though there were several other cars on the lake, I just knew OUR CAR was going to be the one to hit a thin spot and break through the ice. I was going to DIE that night! When Dad was ready to get off the ice, I was probably the most relieved in the car. That incident didn’t stop me later from getting onto the frozen lake where I went to college. A bit after dinner, I was walking with my boyfriend around the ice-covered lake. We would periodically throw chunks of frozen snow and ice at the lake and watch them punch through the thin layer of ice. On the far side of the lake, the water level was lower and the ice was thicker. In fact, it was thick enough that we could get on and “skate” around a bit. In one place, I saw that a small reed was poking through a tiny hole in the ice. As I skated by, a little water bounced out of the hole. “That was neat,” I thought. “What if I jump? Will the water shoot out higher?” Crazy crazy me! I jumped, and I didn’t land until I was standing on the bottom of that lake! Next thing I knew, I had a Jenny-sized hole of ice around my waist, my bottom half was in ice-cold water, and I was staring at the shaking knees of my boyfriend as he was laughing out loud! I couldn’t get out of the hole on my own.  Eventually my boyfriend pulled me out of my hole (after he stopped holding his side from laughing so hard...ok, I'm not sure if he did that or not, but I do remember he didn't get me out as fast as I wanted out).  The long walk back to my dorm was painful as my pants started to freeze. Just in case you’re concerned – I also laughed out loud…all the way back to my dorm! I guess it was invigorating to face death even when death really wasn’t one of the options with water that was only waist deep!

We now have our first snow advisory for the season. I have a couple hours of driving tomorrow, so I hope God holds off the snow until I get back home (or provides the many angels around my car that he usually needs to send my way). Once I get back home and am curled up warmly on the sofa, I hope it snows several inches. As for ice – well, I did just get a new camera AND there are no lakes nearby…grin! Sure, bring it on!

What Color is Your Turkey?

One of the great events to prove that you have finally made it to adulthood is to host a Thanksgiving meal at your home. Not long after I got married, I had such a chance. My husband’s sister was going to spend Thanksgiving with us. Normally, I am not a fan of cooking. I have problems with meals that take longer to make than to eat. Something just seems wrong there. Now, don’t make the mistake that some people do. Don’t equate my dislike of cooking with an inability to cook. I can cook…well, for the most part. I admit that I do have a lot to learn. Here is an example -- something that I am still teased about. Five years ago I worked at a small school. We decided that the teachers and students were going to cook a big Thanksgiving meal for our families. When it came down to what each class was going to do, I breathed a huge sigh a relief when my group was the beverages group. Woohoo! A few liters of soda and apple cider and we were good to go. That’s when the first grade teacher spoke up -- they were tasked with mashed potatoes. Did we really want these little children playing with knives? Darn, suddenly they got the beverages and my group got the mashed potatoes. Help! I had no idea how to make them. I suggested (strongly) that instant potatoes were just as good. I was denied! Oh, okay…how do I make mashed potatoes? One of the other teachers started telling me how in the middle of the school hallway. (Wait, I need to write this down!!) Basically she told me that we had to skin the potatoes, cut them up, and beat them with a mixer. Now in her mind she boiled them until them were soft before using the mixer. But she didn’t tell me that! My eyes got wide as I tried to imagine how to beat these raw chunks of potato with a mixer. I could completely see in my imagination pieces of hard potato flying across the room in all different directions. My teacher friend questioned the horror she saw in my eyes. “How do you keep the pieces of potato in the bowl as you mix them? Won’t they go flying?” I asked. At first she was confused. Suddenly she saw the extent of my lack of knowledge. “Oh no,” she laughed. At this point she gave me the FULL set of directions on how to make mashed potatoes. (I still think going Instant would have been just as good. Grin)

The first time I was in charge of the entire Thanksgiving meal (with my new husband and his sister), I was actually excited to cook. I planned out everything. I had a piece of paper with a timeline reminding me exactly when I was going to put what in the oven. I even asked the gals at work all of their ideas on how to make the best turkey possible. I don’t know what brand of turkey we had, but the one thing I remember is that it came with directions. That was such a wonderful thing. This also meant that I remembered to remove the bag of giblets -- something that my friends at work had mentioned more than once. In the last hour of cooking the turkey, I remembered one of the suggestions my friends made -- basting the turkey with honey. I quickly got out the honey and used it for the last 30-45 minutes. Oh, that turkey tasted good! In fact, the whole meal was great. By the way, I didn’t plan mashed potatoes for this Thanksgiving (probably because I had no idea how to make them….and I wasn’t a complete fan). They got made, though. My husband’s sister felt the meal would not be complete without them, so I let her take on that task.

Fast forward to the next Thanksgiving. This time my in-laws were coming! I had such a great success the year before that I thought I was completely prepared for this. I relaxed a bit and didn’t have a timeline printed out. The first clue that this was not going to be as easy as I thought was when I pulled the defrosted turkey out of the refrigerator and found that it lacked something very important to me. It had NO directions!! I totally laid into my husband on this one; he was the one who had purchased the turkey. How could he be so thoughtless as to buy a turkey with no directions when I had to make the perfect meal for his parents? Ha. Poor man. This was almost twenty years ago -- there was no internet to go running to when directions were missing. To be honest, I am not sure what I did. Maybe I referred to one of those food books that some people lovingly refer to as “cookbooks” or maybe I just tried to remember what I had done the year before. I do remember one thing I did. Since basting the turkey the year before with honey for 30-45 minutes made the turkey so tasty, I decided to baste this turkey with honey for the full four hours. Did some of you have eyes that just popped out? If so, you must have more cooking experience than me. Two things (other than a bit of cooking inexperience) were against me. First, our apartment kitchen was basically a hallway. It was very tiny. Second, the light in our oven didn’t work. Therefore when I would open the oven to baste the turkey every 30 minutes or so, I couldn’t see a problem building. Finally it was time for dinner. The table was filled with tons of Thanksgiving goodies, and all that was left was to bring the turkey from the oven to the table to be carved. My in-laws were seated at the table as my husband and I were in the kitchen removing the turkey from the oven. This is when I almost cried. As we removed the turkey, I noticed for the first time that it was completely and totally BLACK! It looked more like a burnt, melted appliance from a house fire than something we were all thankful we got to eat. My heart fell. I was less than excited to show my in-laws my failure in cooking. I had to though -- we brought the charred black turkey to the table and then held our breathe as we started to carve it. God is good. Even though the turkey looked terrible, the meat inside was incredible. The burnt exterior had held in the juices which made the meat so tender. By far, that was the best turkey meat I have ever cooked. Still -- it would be a “Jen” thing to have to serve a black turkey to her in-laws!

I have found that when I do something “Jen-like”, people like to tell me their horror stories. My favorite turkey story was one of those that was told to me after I served my charred turkey. I usually don’t share other people’s stories in my blog, but this is too fun not to share. The particular woman telling me the story had used the bag method to cook her turkey. I have never done this, but if I understand correctly, the turkey stays in a special bag the entire time it is cooked. My friend realized that due to other activities she had planned, she was not going to be home in time to put the turkey in the oven for its four hours. Therefore, she put it in the oven early. She decided to double the time (make it 8 hours) and split the heat in half. It sounded like a good idea to her, and by the end of the eight hours, the turkey smelled great. She put the bagged turkey on the Thanksgiving table and proceeded to open the bag. To her horror, 8 hours at a low heat made the meat so tender that it ALL had fallen off the bones. When she opened the bag, all that anyone at the table could see was the turkey skeleton! All of the meat was at the bottom of the bag. To make things worse, she had forgotten the giblets. The giblets bag did not fall to the bottom -- it was sticking proudly between a couple bones in the turkey skeleton! What a riot!

Painted Lines and A Cactus or Two

"Jenny, ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! That’s what you made me do all year. I’m going to miss you. I have never known anyone to trip over a line painted on the floor!"

The above note was written in my Senior Memory Book by a basketball teammate. I had a reputation for tripping over the painted lines on the basketball court. We never knew when it would happen, but I am pretty sure it happened more when I was running backwards than forward. I’d fall and then pop right back up. On the basketball court, nothing less than a sprained ankle was going to keep me down for long. Later, off the basketball court (and off the painted lines), I would still find myself tripping over invisible items. I would laugh (it is better to laugh with the people who just witnessed the fall than to look sad and be laughed at) and then I would announce that I just had my own personal earthquake. A few months ago I “liked” a saying on face book -- “No, I didn’t trip. The floor just looked like it needed a hug!” Funny thing is that I am not alone in liking this saying! Apparently there are a bunch of us lurching towards floors all over the world. (I can just imagine what we might look like to God -- I wonder if our many personal earthquakes make a wave around the world like people sometimes do at a football game. Ha!) I have to say - add crutches to the mix, and I can be fun to watch! When I did have crutches, I learned quickly that I should not wait until the last possible moment to “run” to the bathroom. Flying headlong into the wall because my body went a different speed than my crutches does NOTHING to help hold the bladder! I’m just saying….

The other day I was thinking about the phrase “That’s one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind.” For me it could be redone a little: “That’s one small step for man; one big trip for Jen!” I have a “tripping“ story for you. This one, though, might make you squirm just a bit. Years and years ago, I lived in sunny California. My husband and I would take off with friends to the desert to do some off-roading, hiking, and camping. I had a blast with this group! One particular afternoon, we found an abandoned railroad and decided to hike along it for awhile. After about a mile, we came to a tunnel. The tunnel was blocked off on our end, but we could see that it was open on the other side. We decided to climb the hill and enter the tunnel from the far side. Once on top of the hill, we saw that we were pretty high up. We had rented a video camera, and at this point I had a hold of it. I started videotaping the landscape -- including the tops of some palm trees that were very far down. (I had to use the full extent of the zoom to capture them.) As I was finishing, the guys were already down and inside the tunnel (which was still high compared to the rest of the scenery down the hill). I turned off the video camera (too bad I did that) and started my descent. I didn’t get more than 3 steps down the hill when I tripped and started to slide the wrong direction -- towards those palm trees WAY DOWN below.  I grasped for anything that would stop me from what in all honesty looked like my death. What I grabbed worked. I stopped. Oh, that is not the end of the story. What saved me was a cholla cactus! These nasty babies have needles shaped like fish hooks. The needles go in easily, but their barbed tips keep them from coming out without taking some skin with them. The needles are also filled with a poison. The poison was not going to kill me, but my hands started swelling and turning black and blue almost immediately…not to mention that there was lots of blood also in the mix!

At this point, the men were already in the tunnel. I called out, “Uh, can anyone help me?” I must have sounded pretty bad off because they ALL came running. I was sitting on the path with a battery-ejected video camera beside me. (Thankfully the camera only had a tiny bit of damage from my fall.) They guys ran up the hill and then suddenly stopped about 10 feet away. “Why aren’t you coming?” I called out. They couldn’t see the damage yet by the cactus and thought my dilemma involved a rattlesnake (something also common in that desert). I assured them that there was no snake but that I was injured from a fall.  In close inspection, we all found that I had needles in my hand, leg, and my bottom (how I managed to also sit on the cactus, I do not know). Later we were able to do some counting. I had over 150 needles in my hand alone! Amongst the men in our group, we had one National Guardsman and one guy who used to be an undercover detective in Los Angeles. They took over and began deciding how to work on me. Apparently I started to go into shock, so while I had needles being pulled from my hand, leg, and buttocks, I was also being asked to recite my name, address, telephone number -- anything to get my mind back to normal. The pulling of needles (four different guys were working on me) went on for 45 minutes until I was in a position where I could be moved and hike the mile back to the trucks. It was clear that my puffy, bruised hand was going to have to be looked at by the experts in the emergency room (which was 3 hours away). At this point, we were also concerned that I had fractured part of my hand during the fall.

We got to the hospital and they didn’t do much for me other than give me a very nice pain killer. They did x-ray my hand and verified that it was not broken. A few days later when we met up with the rest of the guys, they told me about that part of my hand. They reminded me about one particular moment out in the desert when one of the guys told me that at the count of three he was going to pull a needle that had bunched up my skin a lot in one place. When he pulled, the needle gave but it did not come out. With the pain that came, we all wondered if the needle had punched through a muscle or tendon or ligament (whatever is in that part of the hand). I still had a lot of needles in my hand and leg by the time we got to the hospital. They asked me to take off my wedding ring. I told them that I couldn’t, but when they threatened to cut it off, I figured out a way to get it off by myself. The problem was that my hand was still swelling. They did not want the wedding band to cut off my circulation -- another big reason I figured out how to get that ring off quickly. As for the rest of the needles, the hospital staff would not pull them out. The doctor explained that every time a needle got pulled, more poison would be released into my hand. He wanted the needles to come out on there own. You know how that happens? They fester and get puss like acne and come out that way. Yuck. My hand got wrapped in gauze so that I wouldn’t accidentally snag the remaining needles on anything. It remained that way for about a week. The longest needle to come out of my hand was a quarter of an inch long. The last one to eventually leave my body came out 2 ½ months after my accident. It was in my leg and was over a half an inch long! As painful as this all was, it sure beat the death that awaited me down the steep side of the hill! Just the same -- I bet you have not met too many people who have grabbed a cactus to save themselves!

Ever since that trip, my group noticed that I couldn’t enter a desert without getting poked by a cactus in some manner. I don’t do this on purpose!! I just think cacti like me! It became the running joke. “I wonder when Jen is going to get attacked by another cactus!” OR “Hey Jen, watch out -- this is what a cactus looks like.” At least I could laugh with them. One cactus poke, though, had no witnesses (thankfully) but still hurt a lot. Have you ever seen a Yucca cactus? It has long “leaves” with large, sharp needles at the end of each. I backed up into one of those with a bare rear end! How? Our group was known for going to remote places to off-road and camp. None of these places had any type of bathroom -- not even an outhouse. Girls went one direction and guys went another. Sometimes, though, you weren’t as hidden as you thought, or the guy-girl routes got confused and you’d suddenly hear footsteps (and a male voice) coming your way as you were still squatting. For these reasons, I tended to make sure my bare backside was towards a big tree or rock or something to hide it. In this particular moment, the rock that was shielding my backside also was the home to a Yucca plant. I backed up a little too far! Ouch! And then jumped forward probably a bit too far! Nothing like getting poked in the bottom to make sitting a little more difficult around the campfire.

I miss our trips to the desert. We moved from California in 1994, and I haven’t been back there since. I was recently reminded about my cactus adventures when we were in a desert in New Mexico this past summer with some friends. I was happy to see that the cactus curse has ended. I was able to enter and leave that desert without ever being poked by a cactus. The fifty or so tarantulas we saw, though, were a different story!

Claustrophobia and My Fear of Tourniquets

I am a claustrophobic! I have met so many people like me that I know I am not alone in this. I’ve been like this ever since I can remember being afraid of something. As far as I know, nothing specific has caused this. (No, my parents did not lock me in the dryer when I was young.) It’s just the way I am. I remember as a kid the scariest thing was the elevator at the mall. I would actually have dreams about wonderful, spacious elevators that had sofas and refrigerators! That way if I ever got stuck in one, I could relax on the sofa and have something to eat. Oh yes, and the lights were always on in my elevator dreams. I look back now and laugh – my dreams never had a bathroom in my elevator. Guess it wasn’t as important back then as it is now that I am an adult who likes to drink three glasses of tea with dinner!

I did face my elevator fear once and lived to tell about it. I was in a big hotel during a convention. I had already lugged my suitcases into my room and was downstairs for one of the meetings. I realized that I had left something important upstairs, and hopped on an elevator to quickly go retrieve it. That was when 50 million other people also got on the elevator. Alright, maybe not that many, but I was crammed in the back corner as several women with their hordes of luggage came for the ride. Sure enough, not too far along on our trip, the elevator stopped between floors. Breathe in … Breath out. We were stuck there for twenty minutes. You better believe that when I got out, the stairs were my next best friends!

Tied in, I believe, with my fear of small spaces is my fear of tourniquets and loss of blood circulation. I bet that’s a new one for most of you. I tried to see if there was a name for this phobia, but all I found on the Internet was someone else asking if there was an official name. (Which made me feel pretty good that I was not the only one in this world with this fear.) This first manifested itself in ninth grade health and drivers-ed class. (Same class with two objectives.) We had been “scared” by earlier students of this class that the drivers-ed movies were gory and might make some people faint. I fainted! But it wasn’t a drivers-ed movie that did it to me – it was a health movie. I remember some guy on the film was chopping wood. The view went to the scenery around as you heard the man cry out in pain. It was obvious that he had hit his leg with the axe. Oh yes, I think they even showed blood spurting out. The next thing to be done was to get a tourniquet on the man. THAT is when I lost it! Down I went onto top of my desk. Isn’t that crazy?? I just can’t handle the idea of stopping the flow of blood.

This carries over in several areas of my life. I cannot stand to see people put rubber bands around their fingers. They giddily watch as the top of their fingers turn white. I stare in horror and think they are idiots! Band-aids around my fingers are not allowed to get too tight. If I even think for a minute that it is too tight, I am frantically trying to tear it off….sometimes with my teeth!  Recently I had knee surgery and had to wear an ace bandage from my toes to above my knee. It wasn’t too bad while I was on the pain medicine. Life seemed oh so simple then! (grin) As the medicine wore off, though, I would imagine that the ace bandage was too tight around my knee. I ended up taking it off more often than I should. Finally the physical therapist gave me a compression sock instead. Believe it or not, that was better.

Giving blood is torture. Due to high cholesterol and a thing called PCOS, I have blood tests twice a year. I hate these. Seeing the blood is fine; that is not my problem. The needle – again, no problem. It is that awful rubber thing that the nurse ties around my upper arm! I know by now that as soon as the blood starts flowing to the tube, that rubber thing can come off. Some nurses apparently have not figured this out yet. I am sure my eyes are bulging as I am trying to somehow telepathically scream at the nurse to release my arm from this rubbery device of pain and suffering! Getting my blood pressure taken is the same sort of torture. Pump pump pump…listen (can’t hear what she wants to hear)…pump pump pump up some more….listen again. If she does this one more time, I usually will groan out loud. Somehow in my mind I am convinced suddenly that even though I came in for a routine checkup, I will be leaving with one less arm! It’s horrible. I know some of my blood pressure readings have been high in the past because I am freaking out about how to live the rest of my life as a left-hander. Can anyone relate??

One more area of my life is affected by this terrible fear of tourniquets and blood circulation being cut off. This is a little bit more PG-13, though. Imagine one article of clothing that women for some reason wear that ties a tourniquet around their chests. It squeezes tightly not allowing the lungs to have full functionality when it is time to breathe. It is something that I for one would have fun burning – the bra. I hate those things, and I wear them as little as possible! (I know -- you are shaking your head in bewilderment! ...but at least I can BREATHE!  HA!)  Thank goodness the Lord did not endow me too much. (I can’t believe that I just said that.) This is why I can get by with less time under the bra-niquet. I know what you are thinking, Ladies – what about those times when…well…you need the bra more for modesty than for support. I have one word for you – Band-aids! (Oh dear, will I totally lose all my readers after this blog??) I have two friends who do this, and one of them runs in much higher social circles that I do. (If it is good for her, then surely it is okay for me!) It is definitely not an everyday thing (maybe once a month); especially not for me because I am allergic to the adhesives in band-aids. I got to tell you, though, please remember your full schedule before using the band-aids. Standing in the changing room for your annual ob/gyn checkup is not the time to remember that you are wearing band-aid bras…especially if you rash from the adhesives! (Thank goodness for a doctor who said nothing during the exam.)  Enough said!

How do I overcome my claustrophobia and my fear of tourniquets? I have no idea. Instead, I avoid very small spaces (like tiny caves and the cabinets under my sink), try to give blood as little as possible, and wear shirts with a lot of decorations!   ...and by the way, I won't even get started on my fear of that spider that was crawling on the wall just a few minutes ago while I wrote this and now is missing from my sight....