Most likely you followed the link from my first page or the seventh or fifteenth page of Random Thoughts stories. Here are some more, and I hope these are just as amusing and thought provoking. And, as always, your comments are appreciated.
Last night was the third time I played Sign Language Bingo. It's just bingo, only instead of numbers, you have words that the class has learned over the last week or so. I'm not in the class, yet I've gone each time they have played.
I knew Nancy was enrolled to take a sign language class, because she tried to get me to enroll too. At the time, we were both enrolled in a pre-paralegal course which we subsequently both dropped before the class started. The more we thought about it, the more work it sounded like, plus, it would have taken two years to complete. I kept thinking about the program I was enrolled in at Meredith College and how that was only one year and if I had stuck it out, I'd have been a paralegal now for 8 years. One of the benefits of being a full time employee of the college is you get to take 6 credits for free. I'm only part time, so I would have to pay for anything I took and since I'm not terribly interested in signing, I told Nancy no thank you. She was taking it with her daughter, Ivy, so it didn't matter I turned down her kind offer.
One day she tells me they are going to play bingo in class, and her teacher asked them to bring a friend. Nancy hesitated before she asked me, but I said, sure, I'll go. Bingo's fun. She then explained there's food and every one brings a small gift worth around $2.00 for the prizes. She offered to bring my prize for me. I told her I could find something, but she said she'd be happy to, so I let her. She even offered to pick me up that evening, but I had to stop and get a prescription, so I told her I could drive all by myself.
When I got into the parking lot of the Prescott Valley campus, I was prepared to go around the back way to avoid the speed bumps, something Lowell had showed me one time when I drove him to his class there. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Ivy, so I pulled in next to her. She is Nancy's eldest and I'd met her several times before so it made it easier for me to go into the class instead of running away.
The class was held in the same room my Career Skills class had been in, only my seat was already taken. The whole time I was in Career Skills, I sat in the back of the room next to the door, except for the one time the instructor made us change seats, which no one in that class was happy about. We sat on the far side by the windows. Ivy introduced me to her friend Mike, who is a very nice young man. I later learned he had been deaf until he was seven, when three operations restored his hearing.
Ivy told me to ask the instructor for a bingo sheet. On one side is the bingo board, and the other, the list of words. You get to pick the words and where to put them. Nancy arrived just after the instructor had everyone go around the room and sign their names and the names of their friends. Not too many people but a guest, but enough did, so I didn't feel like a complete idiot being there. The instructor brought her son and niece, who were very good at signing. The son was funny, because with each gift, he asked if it was a flyswatter, but it never was. He did that the second time, too.
It started by the instructor picking up one of the gifts and asking who brought it. That person and their group came up to the front to call the bingo game. Depending on how many gifts there were, that was how many games were played before the next group got their turn. In the instructor's gift, and those of her guests, her son and niece, were a bonus of five extra points. Some of the gifts were wrapped up in fancy bags and some were just plain. Most gifts were well above the $2, limit. Before the game started, the group had to pantomime their gift as best they could, so the winners would know what they were picking. With each successive win, the new winner could trade for whatever gift they wanted. And of course, all the students wanted the five points!
There were three groups so everyone got a turn. Since I couldn't sign, Nancy had to tell me what the words were. If you won, you made a sign like you had just reached the top of the baseball bat, like we did when we were choosing up sides as a kid. It was pretty funny with people trying to sign, trying to get everyone's attention and people not knowing all the signs. After the first round, we took a snack break and I was surprised how varied and good the selections were. If there would be a second time, I would skip dinner.
Nancy and Ivy weren't in the same group, so I had help each time. As usual, I didn't win a single game. Near the end, when some people had won two and three times and could only keep one prize, I was just given one. The prizes were either things people wanted to give away or just little knickknacks, but I won a Tide cleaning stick! Talk about lucky. I told Nancy how much fun I'd had, and she was glad that I had come. The date of the next bingo game was on the board, and I told Nancy I'd come to that too, if she wanted me to. I printed out a copy of the sign language alphabet and decided I'd try to learn a little. At least enough to sign my name.
Two weeks later, bringing my own gift of a puzzle I was done with and I wrapped it in the cover of the summer catalog for Yavapai College. I went back to see if I was any luckier at bingo than before. I wasn't but it was okay. I still didn't know a bit of sign language and that was okay too. Again, the treats were delicious and I even won a game that time. I picked the gift with the five points and traded with Nancy, even though we knew someone would take them from her. Nancy's daughter, Leah, had chemotherapy that day and Nancy called her about an hour into class to see how she was. Leah wasn't feeling well and Nancy left to be with her. I thought about leaving too, but I stayed. Ivy is a sweet girl and made me feel comfortable enough. This time I won a box of decorated magnets and push pins. Hey, the gifts are only supposed to be $2. The one woman I can't stand won the best gift of the night. Isn't that the way it always goes? There were some deaf kids who came to play and they really showed the class how to sign. One boy in particular was very dramatic when the instructor asked him to sign and the class enjoyed his antics. One of the girls was interested in Ivy's friend, Mike, and she got pretty wild with him. When the game was over, I said goodbye to Ivy and just left, feeling kind of strange, because Nancy had left early and I was out of place. I had still made no progress in that time in mastering the alphabet.
Another few weeks passed and it was time for bingo. I thought about regifting, but instead I picked up some candy at the store that morning. I really wanted to buy a can of Spam for the gift, and called my daughter, Evelyn, and asked her if she thought it was appropriate. If anyone would understand why I'd consider that as a gift, it would be her. She thought it was weird, but it was up to me. I put the can in my shopping cart, but decided this wasn't the place to be my weird self. Those people don't know me at all.
This time Ivy and Nancy were in the same group, so when they were up signing the bingo words, I was asking the girl next to me what each word was. The deaf kids came back too as well as a man who was deaf, but not the girl with the crush on Mike. One of the words was rainbow, and Nancy had shown me that one earlier in the week. You put your hand to your chin, with three fingers you rub it, then you make an arch with you hand. In all the game played, that word was only picked once. As usual, there was much fighting over the gifts and the points. It was mostly in good fun, though I think some of them were pretty serious. I didn't win a single game that evening, and eventually was given a prize. It was a soap dispenser for the bathroom, with the price tag still on. This one I will regift if there is one more game.
I still know virtually no sign language, can't sign my name or the alphabet. It doesn't matter. It was good to get out, be with other people, to laugh and have fun. Mostly it was good to support my friend and knowing I am helping her.
©Started 7 July, 2006Next week I get to raft the Colorado River. This is something I've wanted to do ever since I moved to Arizona. It looks like so much fun and excitement even though there are no big rapids we will be crossing. I always thought I should try it first before I decided to take a several day and more serious rafting trip. It should be refreshing to be on the water and get splashed, especially at the end of July. It will probably be over 100 degrees or more down there. I can't wait.
Ever since I started working for Elderhostel and was assigned creating the schedules for the programs, I envied those people who got to raft the Colorado. The people are driven down the Diamond Creek road to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and Native American's guide the rafts. For the entire time on the water, you are enveloped in the splendor of the walls of the Grand Canyon. At the end, they are helicoptered out. Of course, being an Elderhostel program, we will get lectured on the geology of the area. Even before that, when the Learning Institute offered the day program, I wanted to go. The only thing stopping me was the cost. I couldn't justify the almost $400 expense.
Tuesday, July 18, I asked Nancy where Jeff was going, because on the calendar for July 26 it said, Jeff and Field. That meant he was going on a program and I was just curious. She said he was taking the rafting trip. I said, lucky him. It was a Wednesday, which is a day I work, so I didn't think I would be able to do it. Then Nancy said, why don't you see if Gloria will switch with you? Gloria is the other part time person, who works on the days I don't. I said, OK. We had to call Gloria anyway, to tell her we were planning on taking Dave out to lunch the following day, and not to bring lunch.
I kind of forgot about calling her during the course of my morning, and then I heard Deni mention that name. I asked her if she was talking to our Gloria on the phone, and she nodded. I tried to signal her that I needed to talk to Gloria. She either didn't understand or ignored me. When she hung up, I said, I needed to talk to her, and Deni said she was coming into the office in a little bit. I forgave her for not immediately responding to my gestures.
It was a slow day except for the phones, so I wasn't surprised when Dave came over to talk to me. I thought he'd tell me something about a program, but instead, he sat down and asked me when I was going to go fly-fishing. I told him soon, that I'd kind of planned a trip to New Mexico up to the San Juan River. Dave offered all kinds of suggestions on what to do in New Mexico. He also told me I should go to Utah, especially the Boulder Mountain area. I asked where that was. He went back to his desk and brought me a map of Utah. I sat there and finished my lunch as he pointed out places I needed to go.
Nancy came back from her swimming class and sat down to eat her lunch while Dave kept suggesting places for me to. How about the White Mountains, like Heber? Or a pay for fishing place near Springerville? He was determined he was going to find a place I would jump up and exclaim, Eureka, that's where I'm going. Nancy and I exchanged confused glances, but we listened carefully and I did write down the places he suggested. Dave did a lot of traveling around the area and he usually had good ideas. Nancy finished up and went back to her desk to do some work. Dave told me I should tell Chris to let me drive a houseboat one week and while the hostelers were out on a hike, I could fish Lake Powell. I thought that was a brilliant idea, but I'd never mention it to Chris.
Around this time Dave and I were talking, Gloria came in. She suggested Cedar City, Utah and that started Dave off on more ideas of where I should go. He even suggested some areas in southwestern Colorado, and I said I'd be more than happy to drive on our October Colorado Railroading trip. I asked him after a while, who was paying for it? He gets paid to take scouting trips, so was he suggesting I do this on Elderhostel's credit card? I didn't hear anyone offering that.
Dave went back to his desk and brought me a magazine called Outdoors Utah. He said this particular issue had some good fly-fishing suggestions, and I should read it. I thanked him and said I would. I did, too, and Xeroxed an article on places to fish. He told me the magazine had folded a few years ago, but I could look through the ones he had near his desk.
Meanwhile, Gloria was showing the women what she was going to in making curtains for Deni's travel trailer. I don't know Gloria that well, since we're never in the office working at the same time. I only see her at staff meetings or birthday lunches. I do know she is alone like me and that last summer she was gone the entire time up at Cedar City at the Shakespeare Festival there. She makes costumes for plays, including the ones put on here in town. She asked me if I was interested in ever traveling with her, and I said, sure.
Then I finally got to ask her about switching days next week. She said not a problem and I told her I was going to go with Jeff on the raft trip. I think she was a little jealous. I told her I'd leave her a note on Friday, so she'd see it on Monday and remember to switch with me. All of a sudden, the thought occurred to me, that maybe I would have to pay for the raft trip. I asked Nancy, and she said no, it was part of the job.
The following day I got to tell Jeff I was tagging along with him. We've driven together a few times, either in the same van or in separate ones. We get along just fine, even though I tease him mercilessly. He takes it with good grace, being the youngest in the office and the only male besides Dave. I knew if we took a rental car who would be driving - me. He thought it would be fun to have me along, and showed me the list of things I need that day: sunscreen, a hat, something to hold my glasses on, and waterproof shoes. I even took a rafting consent form out of the files and told him to put it in his car, so we'd have one. It turns out we can't have a rental car, so I said we'd take his, since his is newer and he didn't disagree. I might still have to drive.
We have to leave around 5,to get up to the Grand Canyon Caverns Inn for breakfast and the scheduled 7:30 departure. Mike is the coordinator, and he's always late. Sometime during the day, we'd stop along the river's edge and have a sack lunch. We'd arrive back at Hualapai Lodge dirty and disheveled, which is what the schedule says and have dinner there before our drive back to Prescott.
This morning, Jeff emailed me to tell me we were going to combine Barbara and Dave's birthday lunches next Tuesday. I emailed him back thanking him for letting me know, and again asked if he'd told Mike I'd be there. If they don't know I'm coming, there wouldn't be a lunch for me and I know Jeff won't share his. He called Mike yesterday and left a message with his friend. Mike's up there this week and will come back over the weekend. He emailed me back and said, yes he'd left Mike the message and if it's not ok, I could spend the day at the Caverns Inn. I replied dream on! I am more than ready to face the Colorado River head on.
©20 July 2006I no longer get a daily or the Sunday paper for several reasons. One, the newspaper here is too biased and doesn't have good coverage of what's going on locally. Plus, it's not worth the money. Also, I can get almost instant news from the internet or cable television. There is no point in getting a Sunday Repulsive, er, Republic either. I miss having a good Sunday paper, because if read properly, it could take up a good part of the day. Of course, the ideal would be to have breakfast in bed with someone special and read the paper in each other's arms.
When I was a child growing up in Chicago we always got the Sun-Times. Most southsiders did; the Tribune was for the rich folks on the north side. Back then, there were news stands on most of the main intersections of Chicago. When I'd visit my grandparents in their apartment on Clyde Avenue, we'd walk over to 79th and Jeffrey and see Adelaide. She was an old lady who had polio like my brother, so she took a special liking to us and would always give us comic books to read. Businessmen would stop by and she'd hustle out to give them their paper no matter what the weather. I used to read the comics and that was about it. My mom or grandparents would read the news and recipes and sports, things that interested them. The name columnist back then was Irv Kupcinet, and they all read him. Maybe they read the want ads if they were looking for something special and I suppose the obituaries, because most adults read those. Boys riding bicycles would deliver the paper except in winter; then they'd walk their routes or have their parents drive them. They'd come to the door and collect the money cost of the papers from my grandparents.
In Van Nuys as a young teenager, we got the green sheet. It was a free local paper for people living in the San Fernando Valley and the front page was printed on green paper, hence the creative name. It would be delivered in quantity to our building twice a week and we'd take one. I still wasn't interested in more than the comics back then. Except for the Jumble, which was on the page with the comics and I would do that each time. The Jumble is four words that need to be anagrammed, then you take the circled letters from the words to answer the picture puzzle, which was and still is, a play on words. Now I do it every morning, on line.
By the time I was in high school, the green sheet was no longer free and it was a daily. I didn't know anyone who actually got the L.A. Times. I was also reading the news and sports because of school classes and boys. I'd figured out boys liked sports, and if I could talk about them, they would like me. At one point, I could name all the L.A. Rams and tell you their stats, as could all my girlfriends. Of course, we had crushes on the high school football players, even though they didn't know we existed.
I didn't read newspapers much in college. The news was being made all around me. The protests against the Vietnam war were happening in Berkeley, as well as other places. I no longer cared about sports or impressing boys with my knowledge of sports. I was in the riots on campus, in the streets. I knew from talking to people in my classes or on the streets the horrors that were going on in Vietnam and didn't need to see it in the paper. I would glance at the San Francisco Chronicle or Oakland Tribune if one happened to be at hand. After all, it was the Oakland paper that messed up our marriage license announcement. I wonder if Cleotis and Glodine are still married.Then I was married and we didn't have enough money for a paper. Plus we lived all over California in small, boring towns. Maybe we would pick one up looking for garage sales, or something, but getting the local news wasn't important anymore. Besides, by then I had gotten the idea we would have to move to Minneapolis in the future. I subscribed to the Minneapolis Star and would get it by mail several days late. I would read everything, from the news to the ads. I became a Vikings fan and wanted to live across from Lake Harriet. I would check out the sales at Dayton's and Lund's grocery stores. I learned to love Guindon's cartoons and Sid Hartman, though I never became a close personal friend of his.
When we were in Chicago and my ex was in grad school, we made it a tradition to get a paper from the paper stand at the corner of Western Avenue and Lunt he was around. There weren't as many stands as when I was a kid, but that one looked like it had been around for a long time. We'd walk past the Chinese restaurant we ate at occasionally, or the bakery where I first tasted Black Forest Cake and before we'd buy the Tribune, we'd stop in 31 Flavors and get ice cream. Yeah, we were northsiders now and thought the Sun Times beneath us. By now, I was doing crossword puzzles as well as the Jumble, and more interested in the recipes than the sports section. I wish I could say my ex would spend the morning in bed, reading the papers and doing other things, but it would be a lie.
Minneapolis still had a morning and an afternoon paper when we first moved there. Being that I was a devotee of the Star, we got that delivered. It was in the Star Evelyn's birth was announced and two years later, Greg's. I used to save all the Taste section front pages and put my favorites up in the kitchen. Now I could actually take advantage of sales I read about before. I also started reading the society page, to see if anyone I knew was mentioned there. I used to scan the Sunday classifieds for open houses, something we did most every weekend. Since I had become a hockey fanatic in Minneapolis, I had to read the sports section and follow my North Stars.
I honestly can't remember if we got the paper in Memphis, but I think we must have. My ex would have wanted to know what was going on in the world and in business. It was in Memphis we first got cable television, so a Sunday paper was essential to plan my tv watching for the week. I wasn't a news junkie back then, though I would watch headlines news often. It was in the Commericial-Appeal Lowell's birth was announced. It was now quite often I would see my friend's names in the society columns, though I never made it. There was no local sports teams or hockey news to read about.
When we moved back to Minnesota but lived in Edina this time, there was only one Minneapolis paper, the Star Tribune, so we got that. Once I got all the kids off to school or day care, I'd sit down and scan the news and obituaries and do the puzzle. I was now more interested in school stuff and weather reports. I still followed hockey and cut out recipes and clipped coupons for the grocery store. I became a lot more interested in the Strib when Fred began working there. Then all the ads were important and I'd pretend to be excited about the smallest detail. We also started reading the Edina Sun Current, because that would have better sports coverage of local youth teams, and since my kids played them all, I'd cut out their pictures of them playing hockey or football. The kids started reading the paper too, starting with the comics and sports. So each Sunday, as I'd fix waffles, we'd pass the various sections of the paper around. At least newspapers no longer published most court proceedings so my divorce was never mentioned in the Strib. They did do a nice write up of Greg when he died, with his picture, as well as his obituary. Now none of us lives in Edina or reads the Strib.
I never subscribed to the paper anywhere I have lived since. I wasn't in Portland or Raleigh long enough to feel any ties to the area, and there was news and sports on tv all the time. When my picture was in the Daily Courier here in Prescott, and it was many times in the first few years I lived here, friends would cut it out and give it to me. One time it was even in color, which should have been exciting but it wasn't. I wasn't the one being featured, just the current club president.
The newspaper is no longer the main form we get information by and it wouldn't surprise me if one day they became completely obsolete. The last time I will be mentioned in the paper will probably be my obituary, and it will be brief, because I have not accomplished anything of note and not more than a handful of people will care. I suppose it will have to be in a Sunday paper because that's the biggest day for obituaries. Maybe some lovers will scan it and for a brief second, vicariously, I can pretend I am them.
©22 July 2006A lot of anglers sign emails with that phrase as a kind of good luck thing. If you cast well, your line will land on the water in a nice straight line. Then, when a fish takes your fly, the line will become tight as you pull it in. I suppose the actual casting of your line isn't that important and it's just hooking a fish.
Last night, I went fly fishing for the first time in maybe eight years. It was just to a local lake not 10 miles from where I live, and to be perfectly honest, I wondered why on earth I hadn't gone there before. I had made excuses for why I hadn't gone fly fishing, just like I make excuses for a lot of things I do or don't do. It took a little prodding and pushing to get me out there and I'm grateful to Marge for doing that.
The last time I went fly-fishing was when I lived in North Carolina, but I fished in Tennessee. It wasn't the best time I had, but that's not why I basically stopped doing it. I like to blame it on my fishing partner living in another state, but that's just another excuse. I had forgotten why I liked fly-fishing in the first place. And today it was all brought back to me.
I went to a Prescott Flycasters meeting back in May and joined the group shortly thereafter. The group often gets together to fish, but they were going up to Hurricane Lake in June, and there wouldn't be another meeting till July. I thought about fishing, but that's as far as it got. At the July meeting, they planned a local outing two days after the meeting and I had thought about going. A lady I'd met through OLLI was at that meeting and I told her I'd probably go. That Thursday, it was hot, and I thought it too hot to go, so I had no problem talking myself out of it. On Friday, I had to face Marge and make excuses for not having shown up. When I thought about it, I realized the main reason had nothing to do with the weather, I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of strangers, mostly men, because I hadn't even looked at my equipment for years.
I had gotten out my reels a few weeks back, to check to see if the lines had disintegrated over time, and they hadn't. Most of the lines still had flies attached, as if telling me to get out there and use them! On Monday morning, I took my rods out of the closet. I have three with different weights and lengths by three different manufactures. My favorite is my Mary Marbury Orvis rod, which they claim was designed for a woman. It's a six weight, eight feet long so it's good for larger fish. My Thomas and Thomas is a three weight and seven and a half feet and my Winston is a seven weight and also eight feet. I decided to take the Orvis rod because I felt most comfortable with it, almost like having a good friend with me.
Then I had to call Marge to pick the time we'd meet. I talked to her the previous Friday and we'd agreed on Monday, but we couldn't agree on a time. She didn't know how sometimes I hate making phone calls, so I really had wished we'd picked the time when we were together. Luckily, she was more determined than I was and she called me. It was raining when we talked, but it looked like it was going to clear up and she said she'd come get in about 40 minutes. I already had my vest out, so all I needed was boots or shoes and a water bottle. And some courage.
I was ready to go but I don't think you'd say I was roaring to go. I was more or less resigned to making a fool of myself and try something again that I had not done in years. We made small talk as she drove the short distance to the lake and said the south edge would be better than the north. Because of the weather, the temperature had dropped significantly so it was rather pleasant outdoors. And because of the weather, the sky still dark and cloudy, there weren't too many people at the lake.
We got our equipment out and I threaded my line through the eyes along the edge of my raft and walked to the shore. The water was muddy and there was a lot of weeds or plants at the shore, so we both stayed on the ground instead of getting into the water. We were probably thirty feet apart and it was time for me to make my first cast. I raised my arm and back went the rod, then forward and my line landed in the water about 25 feet from the shoreline. I felt a small twinge of success that one, I hadn't made a fool of myself and two, that I could still cast, even though it was as poorly as before.
For ninety minutes, we stood and watched ducks of varying colors fly by chasing each other and the dark clouds move around in the sky. I practiced roll casting as well as overhead casting. More than a few times, I hooked the weeds behind us and walked back to untangle my line. I watched Marge's casting and wished I was as good as she is, but then again, she's fished a lot longer than me and didn't take an eight year hiatus. I managed to lose three flies to the lake, including the last one which I tied on, doubling the knot so I would avoid doing that. Probably for the last fifteen minutes or so, I cast my line with nothing on the end. Since nothing was biting all night, it didn't matter. What was important that I had finally forced myself to take a step forward and from here on, it's a matter of keeping moving and keeping my lines tight.
©25 July 2006On Wednesday, July 26th, I went rafting on the Colorado River, and I had a blast! I can't wait to go again and am lobbying to take the trip again soon. Now that I've announced that, let me tell you how the day went. I will try not to put too much extraneous information in, but you can't separate the facts and history and geology completely from my experience and observation.
Tuesday was a day of anticipation about the trip. Jeff and I discussed who was bringing what, where and what time we would meet to drive up together and what we thought we might experience on the big day. He had gotten a list of essentials from the coordinator and between the two of us, we had most of them. He was going to bring sunscreen for both of us and we'd meet up at 5 a.m. in the parking lot outside the office. We both debated if we truly needed a poncho because neither of us could imagine being cold in 100 temperatures. Two different coordinators told us we would need them, and they are experienced, but we were stubborn and decided we'd take our chances versus the elements.
I didn't sleep well Tuesday night, and I'm sure it was nerves or the weather or what. It rained most of that night and I'm no longer used to the sound of rain on the rooftops. Or maybe I was more than a bit apprehensive. I was up long before my alarm clock was scheduled to go off. I dressed, ate a banana with my meds, kissed my son while he was sleeping and drove off in the darkness to the college. Jeff pulled in right behind me, and I put my gear in his back seat and we were off for one of the most fun days either of us have ever had.
We stopped for gas because it is much cheaper in Prescott than up in Peach Springs or Seligman. Then we headed up Highway 89, and it started to rain. Jeff's windshield wipers were less than adequate, but there was hardly any traffic at that time of day. We talked about all sorts of things, from work related and personal to what we thought the day would be like. We arrived at the Grand Canyon Caverns Inn around 7 a.m. We drove around to the back where their restaurant is, and met up with Mike and Kaolin, the coordinators of the program and sat down with them to eat a hardy breakfast. Mike was grumpy before breakfast but over the course of the day he became his usual cheerful self.
After breakfast, we had some time to kill before driving over to Hualapai Lodge and getting on the buses. I visited with K.T., who has driven with me on other occasions and was there to drive people from the Caverns over to the Lodge. We gave our authorization slips for the river trip to Mike and drove to the Lodge. There was a group of people milling around and I hadn't realized there would be other people rafting with us. I assumed it would just be the Elderhostlers and us. We all got on one old school bus and before long we were driving down Diamond Creek Road. You have to pay a fee to the tribe to go on that road but that was included in the fees already paid. It's about an hour-long ride down an unpaved road to the Colorado, driving through a gradually narrowing rocky countryside filled with ocotillo, barrel and prickly pear cacti and other vegetation. Jeff showed off his knowledge from his two hikes out there a few months back and told us barrel cactus was also called compass cactus, because they point north. When we passed a squirrel, Mike told us it was a very rare saber toothed squirrel. He also explained why there were plants so high up in the mountains. The birds ate the seeds and dropped them wherever, and they often took hold. Mike explained that we needed to practice various finger exercises for later on in the trip. These were loosening up our fingers, flexing our fingers and pushing our hands forward, and the people behind us thought it was something they needed to know and followed Mike's lead.
I never did see the actual creek but maybe that was because it has dried up or maybe I missed it. It was fairly quiet on the bus, no singing or anything, which was surprising since there were kids on the trip with their grandparents. Maybe everyone was still asleep or too frightened by the way our driver, Sheila, handled the bus on the small bumpy road. Jeff and I were the first on the bus, so we sat in the second row, behind Kaolin and Mike. We were also the first off and to get our life jackets. We had already decided we were taking the same boat at Mike, so we were the last to get assigned to a boat.
These boats are 23 feet long, and have big inflatable pontoons and are propelled by an outboard motor. Average capacity is 8, but we had 9 to start with, not counting Heather and Randy, the drivers. Our belongings were strapped down so as not to fall off on the rapids, sunscreen was liberally applied by almost everyone, and soon, we were pulling away from the shore. Diamond Creek is mile 226 on the river. Before everyone was assigned to boats, Mike clarified the bathroom situation. There are none, so if we had to go, we had to use the river. As he explained with a smile, it all goes up river and ends up in Las Vegas, so there was no problem. Mike has an unusual sense of humor. It was better to bring this up at the beginning and to be open about it, before it became an issue.
We edged out into the river, which was a chocolately brown from the rain. Within about fifteen minutes, we hit our first rapids. We were told to hang on and just enjoy the ride. The boat rose and dropped in the water, but it wasn't dangerous. Before long, we were being hit with a shower of water. I was sitting in the middle of the boat, so I didn't get as wet as the people in the front. It was refreshing and definitely woke us all up, but within a few minutes the chill was gone and we were starting to get warm. We were looking forward to more rapids and bigger ones.
The day was already warm and the sky a brilliant blue with barely a wisp of clouds visible. For most of the day, what time of day it might be was not considered, but it had to be around 9 when we left. The trip covers 35 miles along the Colorado River, with the rocks along the river towering up at some points some 3400 feet. Mike told us somewhere along the trip that at one time, that the walls were a mountain range and a major earthquake split them apart and that's what originally formed the Grand Canyon and Colorado River and that we were actually on top of a fault line.
Our first stop was at Travertine Falls. I slid out of the boat near the back and Mike said to me, Miss, you don't know how deep the water is right there. It was true, but I figured it couldn't be that deep if we just landed there, I was still near enough to the boat to hold on if it was too deep, but quite frankly, I didn't care how deep it was. I had to use the river as fish did. The water was cold, very cold at about 55 degrees. I climbed out on to the sandy beach and joined our group and listened to Mike tell us about Travertine Falls.
We learned that this rock formation eventually turns into the same marble that people prize from Italy. He showed us some rocks that looked like they were covered in green slime and it was the same stuff that one would fine in a coffee pot from lime deposits. Then it was up the sand and rocks, past a tree along side some steep rocks, and up a big rock holding on to a rope to help get us up the rock. Next we walked up a wooden ladder held together by ropes. The next stop was the top of Travertine Falls, where you needed a boost up and could walk in this cave-like space. I couldn't believe I had come this far, because of my fear of heights and my bigger fear of climbing down from the heights. I'm going to say the reason I didn't go any further was my shoes. I wore an ancient pair of topsiders, and while we were sitting in the lodge waiting to leave, I tried to retie them, so they'd be tighter. Well, the leather was so old, it snapped, and then again, till I didn't have enough to tie a simple knot. I was afraid on the watery ascent and descent from the top of the falls they would slip off, and I would fall. I asked one woman standing next to me if she'd gone up there, and she said yes, and that it was amazing. I will have to take her word for it, as well as others, because I didn't make that last climb. I started regretting my decision as soon as I started to climb down, back down the rope ladder and the rock holding tightly to the rope. Perhaps I'll get another chance to get up there and conquer my fears. That's the part of the trip I would have used my finger exercises. Helping people up but I didn't get to. I'm the one who would have needed help.
I went back to the boat and waited for everyone else to climb down. I think most of the people would say the next part was the most fun. On the south side was where Travertine Falls enters the river, but there was no water there. We went through three more rapids, one pretty tame and the other two a bit more exciting. The boat drivers try to make it more exciting by following in the wake of other boats. After the second rapid, which does not have a name but is referred to as Mile 232 rapid, Jeff changed seats to sit up front so he'd get the most water. It was amazing watching the water rush towards us, in a huge wave followed by large and small drops of water, as if in slow motion as the boat rises and drops down into the water. Everyone was soaked and laughing and having a great time. The last two rapids were the Bridge Canyon and Gneiss Canyon rapids. We begged to go back and try them again, but maybe it a time constraint or the boat couldn't ford its way against the current, but we didn't. We also didn't know those were the last rapids of the day or we might have insisted that we cross them again.
Before long, we stopped at a beach and it was lunchtime. Each boat held a large cooler filled with the lunches and lots of water and soft drinks. I didn't realize how hungry I was, so even though the sandwich wasn't what I'd have fixed, it was darn good. Jeff and I sat on the boat, talking and eating, and when we were done, went down to the shore and sat with Mike and Kaolin while they finished eating. Then we all went into the water and cooled off and did whatever other business we had to do. Mike said something about all men being equal in the cold water. I guess the head driver was the one with the whistle, because he used it to get everyone's attention and get us back on the boats and to continue our adventure.
For the next few hours, we cruised the river in silence. It was probably due to the noise from the outboard motor, but also to people wanting to be alone in their thoughts amidst all this natural beauty. Except for a few questions that were posed to Mike, there was no conversation. I felt sorry for the other people who didn't have him on their boats, but we couldn't all be on one. I had moved to the back side of the boat, leaning against the water cooler and hung my feet over the edge, but not in the water. Jeff stayed up in front. I forget exactly when he took his shirt off, but I finally got to see his infamous scar. Whatever direction you looked, there were sheer cliffs of rocks or they had been shaped by wind, rain, erosion and time. Mike pointed out one area of mixed magma rocks and metamorphic ones. The sky stayed a bright blue with still just wisps of clouds. It was a glorious day to be out in such spectacular surroundings.
The boat slowed again to show us where a proposed dam from the 1950's would have been built. Engineers lived on a ledge about 25 to 30 feet wide and maybe half a mile above the river on the south side in tents. They had done blasting to try and build tunnels like for the Hoover Dam. Thank goodness the project wasn't completed, because there would have been no more river, just a very large lake. You could see a door leading somewhere on the north side, and the covered up tunnels. The possibility of having a dam there was investigated for several years, and that is all that remains of what would have been a huge mistake.
When we reached Separation Canyon, mile 240, the boat stopped and Mike told us the story about John Wesley Powell, who was the first white man to travel the entire Colorado River in 1869. His party started in Wyoming, and when they got to Separation Canyon, three of the men decided they'd had enough adventure. They left the party and headed out the narrow canyon to an unknown fate. Some say they were killed by Indians, others say it was the Mormons who at that time did not trust the United States government. Another boat stopped to midstory to listen to Mike. The man can spin a tale to engage everyone.
I asked him a lot of questions, because I am naturally curious and he was a great source of information. I wanted to what the greenery on the beaches were, but that he didn't know. Randy, the driver, told me they were tamarisk trees. I found out later from Dave in our office that they were brought in from Africa and took over much of the west and are nearly impossible to get rid of. I later saw cottonwoods, which is the natural tree to be growing along the river. I mostly asked questions about rock formations and the various layers of rocks. Mike told me the oldest layer at the very bottom, the Vishnu group, is around 1.7 billion years old. He couldn't tell me how many years each layer was, because they're all different. The top layer of rocks is redwall limestone. All the layers in between have names and I could tell you them from looking in a geology book but I won't. If you are interested enough, it's easy enough to research if there is any interest.
We made two more stops, one along a beach and the other on a sandbar. At the beach stop, Mike said they were going to swim in the river and the current would carry us back to shore. He asked me if I wanted to go, too, and I said, sure. Nothing like swimming in 55 degree water in your clothes just for the heck of it. The only thing I had brought with me was lip salve, and it floated out of my pocket twice till I ended up swimming with it in my hand. It was invigorating and almost risky, but I managed to get to shallow enough water before I went past the edge of the shore and continued down the river. We did wear our life jackets, so even if that had happened, I wouldn't have drowned. At least, not right away. At the sandbar, the current was strong and knocked me down but we needed those breaks to keep us cool and take care of other needs. The whistle blew to let us know play time was over.
A blue heron flew past us at one point with a fish in his mouth. Except for two other birds we'd seen earlier and were too high to identify, there was no other wildlife on the river. Mike pointed out Spencer Towers to me, three distinct formations on the top of a mountain. He asked me if I thought they were pretty, and I told him everything I saw was pretty. He teased and asked, even me, and I said, of course you're pretty. Then I amended it to handsome.
The rest of the trip would have been peaceful if not for one other boat. One time we passed them, I saw the driver fall over the gas tank with a cigarette in his hand, which was fortunately not lit. Later we saw him driving the boat erratically. While Mike wasn't in charge of the entire twelve boats, he had elderhostlers on several, so when we pulled up next to them because the passengers were waving us over, he decided that they should be split up between our boat and another. The people were relieved to get out of that boat and to relative safety. It's believed the driver was drunk, but he definitely was not being responsible. We now had 14 people on our boat so the ride went slower with the added weight, which was fine with me. I was in no hurry to end our trip. If the weather had gotten bad, we would have floated to South Cove, another two hours on the river.
We stopped at Quartermaster Point at mile 280 and got off the boats, taking all our belongings. Next was a short climb up to the helicopter landing strip. Mike decided Jeff and I would go first, with Kaolin, to help the others as they flew up. A grandmother and her grandson went with us, and they sat up in the front seat. I'd been in a helicopter before, but it's still scary. It doesn't seem to be going fast enough to fly, but we were up in the air and flying next to the rocks and over a deep canyon. It took no more than five minutes to fly out of the canyon and the views you could were amazing in every direction. The river below, the canyon all around us and the beautiful sky. I was glad however when we landed.
Inside the little airport's terminal, I changed out of my wet and dirty pants and into shorts. Since I had no money or credit card, I just briefly looked inside the souvenir shop. We were at Grand Canyon West, the fourth area of the canyon I'd seen. Then Kaolin, Jeff and I sat outside watching the rest of our group fly up five at a time. When we saw Mike, we knew it was almost time to go, so I made one last bathroom stop, which was an excellent idea on my part.
The school bus was waiting in the parking lot and we all boarded it reluctantly. Jeff and I sat in the same seats behind our leaders. Sheila was again our driver, or I might say, speed racer maniac bus driver. The first mile was paved, but then there were ten miles of twisty unpaved roads that she took at lightning speed. She must drive this road every day, but it was a little nerve-wracking. When we were behind a car she felt was traveling too slowly, you could sense her frustration until she passed them. The entire scenery was different and I saw my first Joshua tree. They were everywhere, and I found out they are a yucca plant and are being forced into eventual extinction by heat and lack of rain. Then can only grow at certain elevations, and can't take extreme heat or cold. Mike reminded the group that we were on the other side of the Colorado Plateau, and therefore in the Mojave Desert, not the Sonoran, which is why the Joshua Trees were there.
We then got on Antares Road just south of Meadville, a place Jeff and I decided we should move to, in the middle of nowhere. Eventually, one of the grandmothers had to go to the bathroom, and Mike assured her other people would have to, too. We pulled off the road and she was the only one who used the tree. I felt admiration for her, that she admitted she needed the stop. There were cows not more than 200 feet from her, but she didn't mind. One the unpaved road, the group acted like we were on a roller coaster, lifting their hands in the air every time we went up or down, which was quite often. To the west of us were the Cerbat Mountains and on the other side of them, the town of Chloride, where Elderhostel has kayaking programs. That's about the last place we have programs that I haven't been to. Yet. There were long strips carved into the mountain and Mike told us they were alien landing strips. Jeff questioned him on that, so he confessed he made that up and it was the remains of a failed subdivision. Definitely not as interesting but more probable. Also along that road were these green flowering plants whose entire name I forget, just moon something, that Mike told us were entirely hallucinogenic and poisonous if you took too much. He sounded like he spoke from experience.
Eventually we reached old US Route 66 and a paved road back to Peach Springs. There were a few abandoned or nearly so towns from the heyday of that highway. There were run down motels and restaurants at each town. We passed Crozier, and Mike told us that used to be a celebrity hideaway. There was a main house and many smaller cabins. He said Clark Gable among others used to escape to there. Truxton is the town before Peach Springs, and then we passed the junior and senior high school and the Music Mountains. We pulled into the Hualapai Lodge just as described in the schedule, dirty and disheveled. As we gladly got off the bus, I got my souvenir. Sheila gave everyone a River Runners plastic mug. It was just a little past 6:30 p.m.
Jeff went to the car and I got my purse and he went for a smoke. The restaurant wasn't quite ready for us, but I got seats at the farthest table from the buffet and put my purse down. I was surprised to see Mike and Kaolin had sat down there. I commented to Mike that I was really amazed all the kids didn't cling to Kaolin, because to me, that would have been the natural thing to do. She was more their age than anyone else, but he said that didn't happen. Dinner was taco fixings, but most people just made a taco salad. Jeff made a comment about how thick the glass in the sneeze guard was, and said that's why his tray was a mess. A comment was made about why it was that thick, and I suggested maybe the Hualapai sneeze harder than the rest of us. Mike said that he'd never considered that but that he was glad I pointed it out to him.
Jeff finished up quickly, but I ate slowly, not wanting to leave. Even though the river trip was over, going back to Prescott wasn't appealing. Finally I gave in to Jeff's nonverbal signals and we left. Now the sky was clouding up and it looked like rain to the south of us. A quick stop in Seligman for one last bathroom break and an energy drink for Jeff, my chance to take my stuff out of his bag. He hadn't found my other rocks, and I managed to bring home three. I explained to Jeff that whenever I can, I bring home a rock as a reminder of where I'd been. Jeff fixed his windshield wiper again, and we went by the Snow Cone, but it was closed. I was so crushed.
Once we turned off the interstate and back onto Highway 89, the rain started in earnest. We saw one huge lightning strike that lit up the whole sky. By the time we got to Chino Valley, the rain stopped and it was a short drive into Prescott. We were both tired from the long day but elated from the wonderful experience. We both wanted to do go again, as soon as possible. I said bye to him at my car, and told him I wasn't setting my alarm clock and I'd be in when I got there. He agreed and we drove off in opposite directions. The time was about 9:10 p.m. We'd been gone sixteen hours. We weren't getting paid for the time on the trip, but we'd agreed it was worth a whole lot more than we would have earned in a day.
As soon as I got inside my house, I grabbed a piece of paper and started jotting down as much of the day as I could remember. I had no intention of starting this that night, but I knew I would forget more than I could recall. I had no trouble falling asleep, except for the slight sensation I was still on the water.
In the morning, I awoke at my normal time much to my dismay. I jotted down a few more things, showered the grit off of me and went into work at my normal time. A bit later, Jeff dragged himself in and we went over our adventure again. When our coworkers came in, we had to recount it for them too. We tried to keep our enthusiasm down, but we raved about the fun we had on the river. Now I want to try the other end of the Colorado River, with more exciting and dangerous rapids. However, I certainly won't turn down a chance to do the Diamond Creek to Quartermaster river trip again.
©28 July 2006I'm a creature of habit. It's getting worse as I am getting older, and despite my wishes to change, I don't think it's something I can change easily. I am a Taurus after all, not that I am using that as an excuse. It's viewing things from a more mature view, a look at the twists and turns life has challenged me with and it's realizing I am not the same person I was a month ago, a year ago, a decade ago. It's traveling through time that changes ones perspective.
As a young girl or even young woman, I couldn't watch the movie Carrousel without crying at the overture being played during the opening credits. Even now, just thinking about it, I can feel tears well up in my eyes. That poor girl without a father, no friends really, till she got older. Was that me? Is it still me now? I feel sometimes I still am that girl, but I'm also the mother of her in a way. Time has altered my perspective. Yes, my children still have a father and a mother, but I wanted to protect them for horrible things happening in their lives and I wasn't able to, now matter what I did. I loved the idea of the father coming back to earth to comfort the girl when she needed it. I have felt my father's presence many times, and I believe he is my guardian angel. I wanted so much for my father to walk me down the aisle at my wedding. I think that's why I had a very small one, with only immediate family and friends. My grandfather, who had lived with us for much of my childhood, gave me away, but I wanted my father.
When my high school had its 30th reunion a few years ago, I didn't go. I've never been to one, for many reasons. One is the people I'm most curious about don't go or respond to the questionnaire that is sent out before the event. Second, my class was over 800 people, and they added in the winter graduates, so that makes a possible 1200 people in attendance. I did get the booklet with pictures and addresses after the 10 year one, and I knew less than a third of the people who responded. I keep saying, maybe I'll go to my 50th, but I sure hope I'm not around for that. After the 30th, my friend Ellen gave some other people who I was friends with back then my email address. I got emails from a few, and I couldn't help but wonder why. Why now, were they wanting to correspond with me? I was no longer a teenaged girl, who had crushes on football players and joined everything trying to make friends. In late 1999, I was a shell of myself, trying to figure out why I was alone and had lost my son, had really lost everything. These people all seemed happy, successful and knew where they were going. I was standing still, or falling backwards, barely able to face each new day. I answered them, because I was taught it's the polite thing to do, but the time between each reply got further each time, until they gave up, which is what I wanted. With my friend Ellen especially, who I'd kept in touch with all those years, I couldn't deal with the fact she was whole and I was in pieces. After months of not answering her phone calls, she too gave up on me.. I thought about what Ellen had become and I realized if I had met her now, we would have absolutely nothing in common. I can't ever be that high school girl again and she can't change what she has become over the years.
I often reread books I love and I see them with different eyes as the years go by. The first time I read one of my all time favorite books, A Woman of Independent Means, I was newly married, with small children. In the book, Bess loses her husband and then her son. At the initial reading, I imagined my mother was Bess, since she had similar losses. I wanted to be Bess, but I never became the competent and purposeful woman she was, despite her losses. It didn't seem like she was paralyzed in her life like I was when I lost my son. She just pushed forward, reaching for goals that I no longer cared about. I don't think I've read it since Greg died, but I probably should, to see how I react to her and her tenacity to keep going forward. In the book, she found the love of her life when she was married as was he, and they never were together except in passing. Her loving second husband, Sam, in his old age, thought another woman was Bess, in the old folk's home, would sit and hold this other woman's hand. Bess died as she lived, making every moment count. It is just a book.
One of my other favorite books, Life Estates, I've read several times since first reading it. I've shared it with other people because it touched me so deeply. It too once gave me hope, but each time I read it, I get different things from it. These women in books are all strong and purposeful and it's what I strive for and never seem to attain. It's all in the way I view my life, what my perspective is. In books and movies, they never change once the last page is turned or the credits roll when the movie is done. In real life, the camera keeps rolling until one takes their last breath.
Recently I watched the movie, Something's Gotta Give, with Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson. I saw it in the movies with Rita and Chris when it first was in theaters and laughed at it and it gave me hope. I had even planned on buying the DVD when it came out. Not tonight. I felt absolutely no hope, thought the plot contrived and ridiculous. Sure, Diane Keaton is a gorgeous woman, and in the movie she was rich and famous. I'm far from any of those. It's unlikely I'm going to find any man to love me, much less two of them and one a 20 something year younger handsome doctor, like Keanu Reeves. It made me realize I never became what I might have, had I pushed myself instead of my ex husband. What if I had gone to law school, or gotten some other higher degree? I'll never know, because that time has come and gone.
I am halfway to sixty, and the current thought is sixty is the new forty, whatever that means. Things that used to be important to me are no longer and other things have taken their place. We belonged to a country club in Minnesota and it wasn't all I had imagined it would be. I was a woman who lunched, a volunteer in each community I lived in and now it's all I can do to help anyone outside my immediate circle. I lived in the right neighborhood, drove an expensive car I had beautiful and expensive things that other people envied. I was on all the right Boards, knew the right people and so what? I am not that person anymore, haven't been for several years now. I don't even remember being that person, because I as so far removed for her.
As I continue to age and change, and have experiences both good and bad, my perspective will hopefully change too. Right now, I see things not as they are or even as I wish they would be. I only see the dark side of life, which is the way I've looked at things for much of my time on earth. I don't welcome too many people into my life because experience has told me they will hurt me or leave me. I want to turn my perspective around and see the good, the beauty and the hope that each new day can bring, but I often wonder if that can happen. I can't read a beloved book, or see a favorite movie and be the person I was when I first encountered it because too much has happened in the world and in my life that has changed my point of view. It would much better to realize that my perspective is mine alone, and I can see things any way I desire. I have to focus on that, not on the past.
©30 July 2006All my adult life, and for many of my teenage years, I was a volunteer. I'd do the kind of things that needed to be done, I just never got paid for it. I find it rewarding to give to others and get personal satisfaction in return. Today, I don't do as much as I used to, but I still give without expecting anything in return.
As a teenager, I was a candy striper at a hospital near my home. And I was active in a few election campaigns back then, when I felt my participation could actually make a difference. How nice it was to be naïve. Not to mention all the school clubs I belonged to in high school. I guess I am a natural born joiner. I sold tickets at high school games, tutored elementary school kids, was on the Girl's Athletic Association board, and was in the elite senior service group. Ladies. In my senior year, 1968-69, things changed in the world and I changed too. While I still did all sorts of activities, I no longer wanted recognition, so if you looked in my high school yearbook, under my name are no activities nor am I in any group pictures.
As a young married woman with a future executive husband, it was expected that I would join certain groups to meet the same kind of people as I was supposed to become. So I joined the Minneapolis Junior League and WAMSO (The Women's Association of the Minnesota Symphony Orchestra). The League is the best place to get training for volunteering, and I learned a lot from them. The first year you are a provisional member and have to complete the provisional class to become a full-fledged member. At one of the first meetings, all committee chairs came and spoke to us about what their committees did. I remember when the lady from Programs and Arrangements spoke, that I wrote a big NO next to her name, with several dozen exclamation points. One advantage of League membership is that there are over 200 other Junior Leagues, so when we moved to Memphis, I just transferred my membership there.
Memphis in the 1980's was still old South. I used to describe it as living in the 1950's. As a transfer, the League had to take me, Yankee or not. The women I met there were mostly native Memphians and still associated with the same people they did in playgroup. It was not the most welcoming community, but I played the game and was tolerated, if not accepted. I gave a lot of my time to my volunteer activities because I didn't work and in the South, all the churches had Mother's Day Out programs, where you could leave your kids for the day for I believe it was only $7. I had my youngest enrolled in two different churches before he was even born so I could have enough days free to do what I wanted, which was volunteering.
When we moved back to Minneapolis in the late 1980's, I swore I wouldn't rejoin all the groups I had belonged to earlier, but I did. Before long I was on the Junior League, WAMSO, Friends of the Art Museum and Boy's and Girl's Club Woman's boards. I had meetings everyday and I used my connections to get my ex on several important boards. Some days I had two or three meetings scheduled at the same time, and I stopped, took a breath and decided what was most important to me. I didn't accept any more positions on the Symphony or the Friends boards. There were plenty of wealthy people who when asked, could write out the big checks and never blink. We were never going to be on of those.
I switched my focus to things that really made a difference. I was active in Children's Cancer Research Fund and the Boy's and Girl's Clubs, but working with people, not on committees. I still sat on the occasional board and raised funds, but I was more focused. I did what I enjoyed most doing and that was not sitting on committees. I stayed within my comfort zone as much as possible.
Even when I moved here, I immediately joined several groups. Prescott being a small town comparatively, I was pretty well known in a short while. Several times a year my picture would be in the paper for being on this board or donating to some other group. For various reasons, I lost interest in joining things and quit almost all the organizations I belonged to over time. The only one I still belong to is the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute, but I am not on the board anymore. I still am a member of the Junior League, the one down in Phoenix, though I have never gone to any of their functions.
All the years I did volunteering, I stuck to what I liked best, what I felt safest doing. I was secretary and not treasurer. Or I would write an article instead of going out and asking for money. I would work in the thrift store, make plans for committees that did fund raising instead of getting items donated for an auction or selling tables for a gala. I would help set up or clean up or organize and I still contributed, but in a quiet way.
Now I have been forced out of my comfort zone. One of my coworker's daughters has Hodgkin's Lymphoma and has no health insurance. An event is planned for later this month, and there are only a handful of people needed to do the work of about fifty or more people. I wrote the letter that we sent out to companies and television stations and sports teams. I created a web site for Leah, promoting our cause. I suggested who we go after for donations. That's all easy stuff for me, it's what I've done for years. And the day of the event, August 19, I will be there all day, doing whatever is needed.
One of the women is exceptionally good with people, and she got many items to be raffled. She can talk to anyone about anything. I am not like that. The other day I went out to lunch with two of my friends from when I volunteered at the hospital here. We do this about once a month. I told myself I was going to ask them for a gift certificate. I was going to step out of my comfort zone and do something I hate. Shaking inside, I walked into the restaurant before it was open, asked for the manager and sputtered out Leah's story. The lady gave me a gift certificate for tow and I thanked her again and again. I don't know if it was my sincerity or the fact that a waitress at the Iron Springs Café had gone to high school with Leah that convinced her, but it didn't matter. I had the gift certificate in my hot little hands and I had accomplished something major to me.
After our delicious lunch, I stopped by the office to give Barbara the gift certificate and the two items I was personally donating, and she congratulated me on my success. On the way home, I had to stop somewhere to get a lottery ticket, so I decided on Basha's grocery store. Right behind it is one of our two movie theaters, and flush with success, I walked right up there with the flyers and asked for the manager. He read the letter and came back with 10 free tickets. I was on a roll! I drove down to park outside the grocery store, and said to myself, go to Zeke's and ask them to put up a poster or give me a donation. The lady was nice, but she said she can't make those decisions, it was up to the owner who was at the Prescott Valley store. I thanked her, and left. I went into Basha's and as I was buying my ticket, I showed the customer service guy the flyer and he said the corporate office down in Phoenix makes those decisions. He then said he'd send the letter down there, and I was welcome to put a poster up on the community bulletin board. I thanked him and left, still shaking.
Today I really stepped out of my comfort zone. Our biggest task is selling raffle tickets, so I volunteered to go to the Farmer's Market for a few hours and sell them. I drove over to the college where it's held and took a deep breath or two. I found the college booth and introduced myself. I recognized the man in charge because he'd come into our office asking for OLLI or Edventure flyers. He made a corner on the table for the picture of Leah and my little stand up card about the raffle. I gathered my papers, the envelope with the flyer pasted on the outside, and began to talk to people. I explained why I was selling the tickets, and hoped they would buy one. Some people walked right past me, some listened but didn't buy but I'd say the majority did buy a ticket. Personally, if someone had come up to me and shown me Leah's picture and told me her story, I'd have given, but I do understand people not being able to. I don't understand them out and out refusing. They'll get theirs.
In the end, I sold 26 tickets in two hours and made $150. I was relieved when I was done and could go home. I was proud I could help but what I really did was help myself. I grew a little these last few days by making myself do what I know I don't like. I never did serve on the Programs and Arrangements committees in my twenty years in the Junior League, even though I considered it each year. I always asked myself, why should I do what I don't like doing, and would do something else. It's not easy to change, to do what you know is uncomfortable, but I feel good about it. This isn't to say I'm going to jump at the chance to do it for anything else, but now I know I can and have conquered one of my fears.
©5 August 2006For a town as small as Prescott, we have several museums dedicated to the western way of life. The biggest or most well known is Phippen Museum, features all cowboy and western art. The third is the Smoki Museum and until the other day, I thought it was dedicated to an Native American Tribe. Over the years I've been to all three and learned many things about Prescott and this area, but I obviously didn't learn enough.
Tuesday night, the Prescott Flycasters met for their regular monthly meeting. I've only been a member for a few months but I enjoy the group and it's helping me to get back into the water. I invited Nancy to go with me, and she decided to come with me and miss the dance that night. I think she's glad she went. Instead of tips on how to fish or places to go, or casting lessons, that night we were going to be treated to a presentation about the Smoki Museum, where the meetings are held.
As you drive into downtown Prescott from the Easton Highway 69, you pass the old Armory on Gurley Street. Turn right on Arizona street and hidden behind it is the museum. There are two buildings, one the original meeting house which was built in 1931 to look like a pueblo as a WPA project. The interior is rustic with Native American symbols on the walls. Once I went to the Smoki pueblo for a fund raiser dinner put on by the Yavapai Blind Society, and that was the first time I was ever in that building. The second building, built in 1935 also as a WPA project is stone covered on the front and logs on the interior. It now houses the museum part and contains many unique items from the area. I think the buildings are unique and add a lot to Prescott in general, even without air conditioning.
After a very brief meeting of our group, the floor was turned over to JT Tannous, the curator of the museum. He explained to us that the Smoki People were not an Indian tribe, but rather an elite social club started by prominent citizens in 1921 as a fund raiser for the rodeo. The name was a take off on the name given to the Hopi around that time, the Moqui. It was much like the Krewes in New Orleans for Mardi Gras or the Mummers in Philadelphia, and I'm sure there are other such groups, but I had no clue until that night about the Smoki People.
Prescott claims to have the oldest rodeo in the world, so I can understand how wanting to keep it going after some thirty years back then was important to the fine citizens of Prescott. They thought a good way to raise money was to put on a show where they dressed up as Indians and danced. They became a recognized charitable organization, named the Smoki People, Incorporated. Indians were probably all around town and all over Arizona, so it must have made sense at the time to copy their dances and songs and raise money at the same time. At their first show, they had over 4000 attendees in a town of 5000. They were an instant success. Prescott would not lose the rodeo.
Over the years, their shows got more elaborate as more people participated. We learned that they did a snake dance similar to the Hopi one, but instead of using rattlesnakes, they used non poisonous ones. Over the years, their costumes got more elaborate. They even went so far as to order special make up from Max Factor in Hollywood to look more authentic. There are pictures of some of the events at the museum, and they showed how different two men looked before, as regular people and then, all made up to be Indians. I found out the a good friend of mine who used to live here, knew a lady who used to be in the Smoki People and participated in these events. My friend told me she thought she was a barrel roller, whatever that is. I now wonder how many older people I know who had lived here for much longer than me, had either seen or participated in the group.
By the late 1980's, people had changed as had Prescott. The Smoki People were getting elderly, I can only assume young people thought it was corny or false, and it became too much work for too few people. At the same time, several tribes got together to protest what they thought was a mockery of their people and way of life. So a "battle" began to end the dances, and they did end, but neither side can declare a "victory", though I'm sure they both did. One of the Native Americans who was very active in this protest, Donald Nelson, I know from work. The following day, I mentioned it to him when he stopped by. I normally give him a hard time because sometimes he can be difficult, but I hope he knows I respect him and his people. I told him how it bothered me that the Smoki used the word people, instead of members and he said that was a big part of the problem. It was long before politically correctness was a way of life.
Yet, the Smoki had a large collection of Indian artifacts in its possession. A transition was made to become a learning institution and museum, and I think they have done a wonderful job. I'd only been inside the museum once or twice, and I always wondered why they had Hopi Kachinas and Navajo baskets and other tribeal artifacts, yet nothing from the Smoki people. Now I know why. They were just a bunch of people playing cowboys and Indians on a much greater scale than we did when we were kids. There's a part of me that is sad that the group died, because I like tradition and I would have loved to see them dance. The better part of me would be ashamed and offended, because it is demeaning to a whole race of people and their traditions. At least the history behind it has been preserved, and can even be taught to a group of fly fishermen and their guests on a summer evening.
©10 August 2006There are more stories I have written to read. Please remember these are my original stories and thoughts, and to copy or otherwise use them without my permission is a copyright violation. I would love to hear your random thoughts on any of these stories.