Twilight in Forks

Last summer Love of My Life and I celebrated our 11th anniversary with a much needed vacation without our three year old, Little Man (formerly Baby Man). It is a sweet and sometimes funny story with a bunch of middle age boring in between. I'll stick to the funny part since you are looking for a good laugh and add in the sweet to brag on Love of My Life.

After a really stressful year at as a public school I was looking forward to the summer. Love of My Life found great airfare to Seattle from our warm south central US home and I was looking forward to an outdoor adventure of cool forest days and hot urban city nights. The botanist in me was excited about going to Olympic National Park and cool forest days. The still young, married to Love of My Life self was looking forward to hot urban nights. We decided not to book any hotels and just figure it out as we went. I was nervous and Love of My Life conceded that I could book two rooms in advance, the day we landed and the night before we departed at 6:00 am. The planner in me was nervous but he assured me that he had a great new app that would allow us to save a ton of money if we booked rooms at noon the day of the stay. I was dubious but went along because as much as I hate to admit it, he is almost always right about that stuff.

After scouring the internet I found there was really only one or two places to stay near Olympic National Park that were not very very cheap or very expensive. (Yes! I trusted Love of My Life, but maybe not the app so much.) The Bed and Breakfast scene was filling up pretty quick so I also talked him into a three night stay and promptly booked a room in a pretty two story, white house with a wrap around porch.

We dropped off Little Man with his grandparents and didn't look back as we flew to Seattle. The first few days of our trip were absolutely lovely, due mostly to the Love of My Life and how he can find the best food in any city. We walked, talked and slept in late. Any parent will concede that most days, walking, talking and sleeping in late are nearly impossible with a three-year-old. The peace and quiet that surrounded us as we drove from Seattle to Vancouver was priceless (with the exception of whatever new techno Love of My Life had found.)

Love of My Life is a genius and his app did find us great deals on some amazing and some ok places to sleep. We went from staying in China Town to a questionable "historic" hotel at the city center to a luxury hotel with a garden tub and amazing view. The historic hotel was complete with windows that needed to be opened to give respite from the "historic" smell. I thought how nice it must be to not need screens in Vancouver and lightly fingered the ivy growing up the side of the building. Laying in bed I thought it was kind of romantic to see the sheer curtains flowing in the breeze and drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Sometime during the night Love of My Life nudged me awake and pointed to the romantic sheer curtains. Outside our two story window was a large roundish furry shape silhouetted against the city lights. It took me awhile to process the very large shape, larger than any fat cat I'd seen... "What is that!" I hissed at him. I'll admit I was scared and a bit mad that he'd woken me up when I could have slept peacefully through the large animal attack; he was sleeping closer to the window anyway. "I think it's a raccoon," he whispered back. "Do something!" I hissed again. He chuckled and rolled over again saying, "I'm not getting up." I relaxed as the raccoon scampered away but I lay there wondering if it would come back to the sound of Love of My Life snoring. Believe me when I say my soak in the luxury tub and bed the next night were not wasted.

Despite my short six hour stent as a zombie (on Dramamine) when taking the ferry to Victoria and then down to Port Angeles I enjoyed the views of the bay and Pacific Ocean which I'd never seen. I'd also never been on a ferry and vow to avoid it at all costs in the future due to the continual rocking I felt for half a day afterward. Finally we arrived in Olympic National Park from Port Angeles and my heart soared with the views and short hikes we did before traveling west to our B&B.

The drive to the B&B seemed to take forever despite the breathtaking views. Once the pretty views gave way to typical boring forest I contented myself with reading mile markers and street signs of which there were few. One in particular caught my eye and caused me to mentally pause and we sped past. "La Push Beach - 12 miles." Before I'd completely directed my attention back to the road I swore we breezed by a sign that said "Treaty Line - No Vampires" What? I couldn't have read that right. I'll admit I like Vampire Diaries and read all kinds of vampire and werewolf trash. Surely I was so tired and recovering from Dramamine that I'd imagined it.

As the sun set we drove into a small town with only several strip malls, two shabby hotels, several hometown restaurants and a small grocery store. We pulled into the B&B and piled out after a long day in the Park and even longer drive. The wide porch was welcoming and there was a small hand-written sign that said "Cullen House." I was a bit confused as I was certain the owner's name was Miller. Shrugging it off we checked in and moved our bags to the room. Next to the TV was a stack of DVDs which I thought was nice but who'd want to sit in a room when you were next to Olympic National Park? Love of My Life started looking through the videos and commented on what a great place I picked out. My response was to look more closely at the videos. It was the complete set of Twilight movies - all five or six of them. Having read them years ago (I did mention I like vampire books) I was interested and secretly planned to pop one in later, I'd only wasted my money on the first movie despite having wasted money on all the books.

Something was swimming around in my brain that I was sure I should have caught onto by now. The nagging feeling followed me out the door and past the "Cullen House" plaque. I just knew there was something I was missing. I was deep in thought as Love of My Life drove us through town heading to the only bar in town which supposedly had great burgers. As we drove through the town I couldn't help but notice how many of the shops looked recently abandoned. Love of My Life commented on how empty the town felt too. We slowed to a stop and I looked in the window of a hopping corner drug store. There hung a black shirt that said "Team Edward" next to a dark brown shirt that said "Team Jacob." The shop next door became visible as we turned the corner. It's abandoned window sported one dusty hand written sign that said "Twilight Tours." Whatever was swimming around on on the edge of my brain pool but refused to be caught. My eyebrows furrowed as we continued down the street. As we reached the edge of town a cheery wooden sign said "Now Leaving Forks, Come back soon!" It was the lure that pulled the idea from my brain pool and everything clicked!

I'd booked a room in the small town of Forks Washington, completely forgetting that the Twilight series books made it famous! Sometimes I can be really dense.... 

We had great burgers and fries and did indeed watch the Twilight movies cozied up with Love of My Life in Forks Washington. To be fair to him, he slept through most of them and I've left out his favorite parts of our trip... they were lovely and special but would be quite boring for you. 

From: thelosttwin.blogspot.com

From: www.philly.com

The photos above are not mine... I didn't take any in Forks but I pilfered these from other blogs, click on the link below each one to go there.

Yankee Pot Roast in France

My freshman year in high school I succumbed to peer pressure and signed up for French as my required two years of foreign language. I figured French was as good as any other foreign language and I didn't know it at the time but it would lead me to eating Yankee Pot Roast with six loud enthusiastic French people.

Half of my sophomore year was over and although New Years was only days behind me I was looking forward to summer. My best friend Susan had a pool and I'd be turning 16 and getting a car. Just when I thought the summer couldn't get any better my French teacher announced the school district had an opportunity for French students to go to France and take their "ESL" or technically "FSL" classes. How cool would it be to go to France for the summer? Susan's pool would be there next summer and I had the rest of my life to cruse around in a car.

I quickly began plotting how best to present this opportunity to my mom in a way that she would agree to let her 16-year-old go to another continent with a teacher from another school. Much to my surprise it was not as difficult as I'd imagined and after countless forms, an application for my passport and a few meetings at Central High with the supervising teacher I was all set to get on a plane with one teacher and 19 other students and head to France for two months.

The rest of the year passed in a blur as I planned my trip and asked my aunts for travel tips and packing strategies. Finally the moment arrived when my mom and I hugged good bye and I boarded a plane with 19 kids and one teacher that I didn't know very well to head off to a country I didn't know at all to sleep in a bed in the home of people I'd never met. The sense of adventure and adrenaline of heading out on my own (sort of) into the unknown was a high that quickly bottomed out.

As the plane took off in Atlanta headed for London I began to dawn on me that I didn't speak French very well and struggled to pass the simplest of vocabulary tests for two years. I quickly pulled out my travel dictionary and flipped to the back where it had "Helpful Phrases" and set about memorizing as many of them as I was able.

There are two main things that I'm terrible at and will most likely be terrible at for the rest of my life - music and foreign languages. I can read music and I could read French somewhat and could comprehend some of what I heard but that was all. I can only conclude that I don't hear sounds properly - at least not well enough to reproduce them with any accuracy.... a needed skill when attempting to speak another language or play music/ sing. I must admit I felt a bit of panic as I realized this with the Atlantic Ocean below me and no turning back.

Having mastered "Hi my name is...", "What time is it?", "Where is the bathroom?", "I have a stomach ache" and "I'm allergic..." I was feeling way in over my head. I'm not allergic to anything in particular but I was schooled in French customs before I left and I knew they are offended by picky eaters and there was a laundry list of things I wouldn't eat. So I figured I could pass on things like tomatoes by saying I was allergic to them without causing offense.

The misery of a trans-Atlantic flight began to set it about about hour four. I didn't know any of the other high school students that were going as we were all from different high schools in the district. Some I clicked with and some were difficult to be around but all of them spoke French much better than I did and like most high school students took the opportunity of the flight to show off. I felt so lost. I was mad at the public school system that had let me get by completing and passing two years of French with B's and C's yet not know anything.

By the time we arrived in London my anger and fear had given way to exhaustion and dehydration I was no longer worried about speaking French as long as there was water and a bed at the end this trip. It felt like I'd been awake for days. Our teacher shuffled us along, speaking English (thank God!) Just when I thought the trip couldn't get any longer or terrible the teacher herded us to a small plane that I was certain couldn't hold all of us and our luggage. It was the smallest plane I'd ever seen and as the twenty of us settled, somewhat cramped, into our seats the pilot announced that Toulouse was another four hours away. I wanted to cry with exhaustion and nerves; at this point I was certain this was the worst idea of my life.

The small plane pitched and bounced for four hours as we flew south from London, over Paris and finally landed in Toulouse. After all the turbulence I had to add motion sickness to my list of reasons I couldn't possibly function long enough to exit the plane. I wondered if this was remotely like the ski lift and if I stayed on the plane would it take me back to Atlanta and my own bed? I was lost in my self pity and misery when the teacher announce that the families were waiting to pick us up and it was about 11:00 in the morning. My ears and fears perked up as she instructed us to get our luggage an line up against the fence once we got off the plane.

Riou". To my horror six people surged forward and began babbling in a language I was apparently suppose to know. I wanted to faint, I wanted to cry for my mom and most of all I wanted them to slow down and speak English.

My discomfort turned into feeling like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. The family was pushing and pulling me and my bags toward the smallest hatch-back car I'd ever seen, all six of them talking at me rapidly. Surely they had two cars or lived close enough that we could walk. An older gentleman managed to squeeze my luggage into the tiny space behind the back seat as the two adult women began grabbing and shoving around the three teenagers and myself in an attempt to find a way for us all to pile into the car. From the gestures and excited gibberish I gathered they decided against putting the younger looking boy in the hatch with my luggage - there wasn't room.

In the end I ended up with two kids and one of the ladies scrunched in the back seat. To this day I'll never know how four of us packed in back there or how the other three packed into the front seats of a tiny 5-speed hatch back. Then things got worse.... I'm allergic to cigarettes and evidently everyone in France smokes like a chimney. Before the car was even out of the parking lot three of them lit up and one was furiously shaking the pack at me... offering me one. I shook my head and said thought I said "no thank you." She reacted more like I'd said, "I'm going to refuse your offer of hospitality because I'm being polite but in fact I'm dying for a smoke." She said  no, no and pulled one out of the pack and put it in my hand, which I wouldn't have been able to get to my mouth anyway since we were so packed in. The to my chagrin the boy next to whips out a lighter and sparks it to life as the car whips through traffic as only Europeans can do.

At a loss for how to explain that I didn't smoke and didn't want to begin, I blurted out "I'm allergic" in was turned out to clear and perfect French. The lady in the front seat began shouting and snatching cigarettes out of the mouths of the other passengers and flinging them out the window. I felt terrible - I hadn't intended for them throw out their own cigarettes, I just didn't want one of my own.

We finally arrived at a small townhouse and everyone piled out of the car. My luggage was shuffled into the house and up the stairs and I was shuffled into a small tightly packed, dim dinning room. I was tired, and not feeling great from motion sickness and the last thing I wanted was to sit down to dinner. I wasn't sure I'd be able to eat anything anyway; I was suffering from lack of sleep and a severe case of culture shock. My one wish was that some spoke at least some English. I couldn't even figure out who my host family was out of the three adults and three kids.

My wish was granted when the boy about my age started speaking English very well. He pointed out his mom and explained that I'd be staying with the two of them and that the other couple and kids were his aunt and uncle and their kids. I felt relieved and a bit more connected to the world around me. All too soon we were seated around the table amid the noisy chatter of six French people speaking as loud and fast as possible. My head began to hurt and although my stomach growled, all I could think about was sleep and ending the noise and chatter around me. My host mother placed a huge piece of meat on the table surrounded by potatoes, carrots and tomatoes and kept repeating "Yankee Pot Roast" loudly. She began serving the meat and veggies.

A few minutes into dinner my fatigue began to slow as I couldn't find my appetite despite the fact that the dinner was good.  I felt even more terrible because obviously they'd invited family over to welcome me and she'd spent a good deal of time and money to cook a dinner that would be familiar to me and I wasn't playing my part very well at all but my eyes were itchy from lack of sleep, lack of water and too much cigarette smoke. Finally the host mom asked what was wrong through the translation of her son. I told him that I was very tired and I didn't feel well. With him as a translator his mom asked what was wrong, was there anything she could do? The son had trouble understanding "jet lag" and "motion sickness" (from the plane and car ride). Everyone was getting very concerned and I was clearly ruining dinner. Desperate to come up with something that would allow me to leave the table and go sleep I remembered a phrase from my book and blurred out that "I have a stomach ache."

What the "helpful phrases" book didn't tell was that this phrase carries more weight in France. Everyone at the table erupted in chatter and the older man dug the keys from his pocket and raced for the front door. The mother's face went white and I heard her shout Quick Quick and everyone jumped up. The son said they'd get me to the doctor quickly. I found myself in a panic to explain that I didn't need a doctor, just alot of sleep.

After much concern and fear on their part and much pleading and reassurance on mine - they finally showed me to my room where I promptly crashed and slept from 1:00 in the afternoon until 8:00 the next morning.

We had left-over pot roast for lunch the next day and I never saw the other family the rest of my stay - I guess they didn't want to catch my crazy American stomach troubles.

Good Friends, Electricians, and Bats

Love Of My Life and I decided to remodel our kitchen last August. If you've read my bat stories in the "Why can't I sleep" collection you'll understand we were not surprised to find a couple of desiccated bats trapped in our insulation-less walls. When the original bat problem struck the prior spring we'd gotten all the entry points covered to avoid any future bat problems. I must admit, it felt good to put up insulation, new walls and new electric boxes and remove the small dried out bats that never found their way out of the walls.

So the kitchen destruction and construction continued until February when the cabinets were in and we were ready for the finish electrical work, the boxes would be filled and the lighting installed. The day before the electrical contractor, a good friend of ours, is to arrive my bat detector goes off with a bang.

Love Of My Life had just walked out the door to leave on a week-long work trip and I'm standing in my bathrobe in front of the morning weather report trying to decide what to wear when Daisy comes tearing out of the kitchen, her doggy claws slipping and sliding on the hardwood dining room floor. She comes to a halt right between me and the TV with the excited "I found a ball" look on her face.

"What?" I ask her and direct my attention back to the horribly cold temps flashing on the screen... I'm in no mood play ball. She cocks her head and stomps her front paws which makes it appear she is dancing. I look down at her again and she waits expectantly for me say or do something. "No," I say. "I'm not playing with you right now." She turns in a circle and dances with her front paws again. "Ok, Ok." I gruff out, "What is it?" Evidently she believes I'm sincere and tears off into the kitchen and I reluctantly follow, checking off all the reasons in my head I don't have time for this.

The kitchen is mostly done but the counter tops and our under-mount sink are not in yet so there is an empty space where the sink should be. I flip on the light and see Daisy furiously sniffing and blowing between the tiny crack in the cabinet doors below where the sink will go. Standing at the door with one hand on the switch and one hand on my hip I demand, "What? What is it?" I couldn't see any food or toy around. She looks back and me then hops around a bit and re-focuses on the space under the future sink. I know there is something in there - the garbage. It is a nice place to put the can when you can just drop things in from the top - when the sink and counters are finally installed I'll have to open the cabinet door to throw things away, but it is convenient for now. My curiosity is piqued because she knows the garbage is off limits. She has broke out into another round of dancing and spinning. I now know there is SOMETHING in the cabinet besides garbage.

I hesitate a few more minutes wondering why these things always happen right AFTER my husband leaves. I contemplate just leaving what ever it is there and ignoring it. That seems to work for my husband, ignoring the dirty clothes on the floor makes them magically appear clean in his drawer. But there is no fairy godmother living here for me so I creep across the kitchen and peer down through the sink hole.

And there sits a fuzzy brown bat, snuggly packed into the empty electrical box from which my garbage disposal will soon pull power. I know they can't "see" but it must have sensed my approach or been aggravated by the heavy sniffing of my bat detector because it began to move toward the front of the box and the open space of the kitchen. The last thing I wanted was a bat flying around the house with a dog jumping up after it so I quickly grabbed a tool case and gently placed it in front of the box. I'd boxed in the bat.

Daisy was so excited that she'd lead me to the bat that she was hopping around the kitchen as I relaxed and said, "Good Girl Daisy." Suddenly we both froze. I could hear little bat claws scratching at the plastic tool case. I shivered and Daisy assumed the "point" position, her eyes fixed on the cabinet doors that separated her from the bat in the electrical box. It was a gross and pitiful sound but I wasn't about to do anything with it. I comforted myself with the thought that if I wasn't six months pregnant I would put on a pair of heavy leather work gloves and relocate the bat outside, but as things were I was not about to touch a wild animal.

The scratching continued, I remained frozen in thought, Daisy was frozen in anticipation. I decided I'd call the humane society when I got to work and hope they could come pick it up before my friend Best Electrician Ever and his crew arrived the next morning to work on the box that now housed a bat. I rewarded Daisy with a milk bone and gave her extra pets and snuggles, telling her what a good dog she was. As I dressed and flew out the door to work I made a mental note to ask Daisy to look for bats in the basement just under the kitchen in case this wasn't the only one. I got to work a little late and in the mayhem of middle school I forgot to call the humane society. I fact, I forgot all about the bat.

Tired and run down I return home and let Daisy in from her chilly day outside in the snow. I head straight for the bathroom with her jumping all around saying hello and how much she missed me with grunts and wet kisses. I shut her out of the bathroom (a girl's got to have SOME private time) and took my time putting on my PJs and washing my face. When I open the door Daisy comes flying through the house from the kitchen and then I remember what I'd forgotten. It was too late to call the humane society and I was wondering what to do as I followed Daisy back to the kitchen. Just then Best Electrician Ever called to make arrangements for the morning.

Best Electrician Ever is one of the most helpful guys I know. His wife (One Who Makes Me Laugh) would say he is too helpful because he sees something that needs to be fixed and does it... while on the clock. I'm grateful for this most of the time - it keeps me from having to think and he isn't bothering me with calls every few minutes. He just takes care of things.... and charges for them. I can see how it might bother some people but once I figured this out about him, I'm grateful he takes the time to want things done right and knowing him the way I do, I know it really is about doing a good job, not about tacking on time. So I answer the phone and we set up a time and key placement for him and his crew to get in the house the following morning.

I decide to stretch our working relationship a bit into the "friend" area for what feels like the hundredth time. "MMMM Best Electrician Ever?" I say quickly.

"Yeah whats up?" He replies in his perpetually good-natured way.

"I have a bit of a surprise for you." I'm now in the kitchen staring at the tool box, knowing what is behind it while Daisy assumes the "point" stance again.

He chuckles, "Whats that?"

"A bat." There it was out. "In one of your electrical boxes." I add quickly... hoping that "your electrical box" would some how make it his problem.

Surprised he responds, "A bat?"

"Yep." I respond quickly and then rush into telling the irony of how these things always happen right when Love of My Life leaves and how I'd take care of it on my own but I'm pregnant and... and I realize that I'm speaking too high and too fast so I just close my mouth. After a moment of silence he asks, "Now where exactly is it?" I explain it to him and quickly dive into how easy it would be to get it out. You see, if you moved the tool case, they don't just fly out right away, so you'd have to just grab it with a pair of heavy gloves on. "Just grab it?" he asks sounding a bit shocked. Now I felt bad that I was shoving this off on him. But not bad enough to back down if there was any possibility he might get rid of it for me. "It might be dead by tomorrow morning." I said lamely but hoping it might be true. It wasn't making any more scratching noises. Best Electrician Ever laughed and said he'd take care of it. I felt about two inches tall and felt I had to help arm him for this in any way I could so I told him to be ready that if he (or one of his guys) tried to pick it up that they make the most terrible screeching noise and to be ready for it and that their little bodies were really squishy. (Love of My Life had removed one from a wall in the basement before.) He was quiet for a moment, I thought he might be reconsidering, then he laughed and said, "OK, One Who Makes Me Laugh wants to talk before you go."

Best Electrician Ever passed the phone off to his wife and I told her about the bat. She laughed and laughed, I could tell she wanted to be there to witness the event. We talked a bit longer and I got off the phone... relieved that Best Electrician Ever was for the moment still my friend and he was going to help me out. I didn't like playing the pregnant woman in distress card but I also didn't want to move the bat and I did want my electrical work finished.

Even after it was done and Best Electrician Ever sent the bill I was relieved, although I wouldn't have complained, there was no "bat removal" charge.

Midnight Radio Phantom

My first car was an 8-year old 1989 4-door, red, Honda Accord. I LOVED this car... espeically the pop up headlights. This car was top of the line... in the 80's; which means it had a tape deck. I didn't have much money to buy CD's not to mention a CD player for my car, so I was happy as a lark blaring the radio or my dated Debbie Gibson and Paul Abdoul tapes.

In the mid ninties blaring 80's music is so uncool that my boyfriend felt he had to intervine. In the spirit of looking out for my reputation he saved up and purchased an expensive, rocking sterio system complete with new speakers, subs, and woofers (did I even spell that right?!). One day after school we went back to his house and he showed me the amazing array of boxes, wires and speakers. He announced that he was going to spend the weekend putting all of this in HIS car. I stared at him for a moment then felt like a heel. Wasn't I the princess? Didn't he save and sweat to buy the incredible sterio for me? Of course not! We were only 16 and I obviously didn't give one wit about sterios. I was a bit ashamed that my first thought had been so selfish, but I selfishly, quickly got over it and planned a weekend with my girl friends and left him to his guy toys.

Sunday afternoon rolls around and I get a phone call from him saying I need to come over and hear his new sound system. Of course, as any good girlfriend would, I gushed my excitement and headed over as soon as I could respectfully get out of the house. Before the house was even in sight I could hear the rumbling and thumping of the system. My boyfriend and his older brother where standing in the driveway with blisful expressions on their faces. I pulled up and he immediately cracked up the volume for me and I listened to the terrible rattling of car parts and even worse music. I smiled broadly and yelled "This is AWESOME!!!" he grinned back and I was certain he couldn't hear a word I said. After showing me a few more bells and whistles he lead me into the house and a pile of wires and speakers and "junk" lay in piles on the floor. "These are going in your car!" he annouced proudly. For the first time since arriving I was genuenly excited, but only because I could finally think clearly. He said he'd drive me home and get to work on it right away. I agreed and he said he'd pick me up for school in the morning.

It was a generous gift from a truely nice guy. I left for college at the end of the year with a respectable sterio that would play the new CDs I'd bought with my summer work money.

If you've read any of my other posts you know I can't function without sleep and I get a little on the crazy side when I don't get my solid eight hours. As a result this wonderful gift became an unitended drain on my mental stability and potentially on my wallet.

It started late one night as a grade-killer test loomed at 9:00 am. I woke to a furious banging on my metal dorm room door. In a barely coherant state it took the girl several minutes to tell me that the sterio in my car was blaring in the parking lot. I thanked her, assuming she was dreaming (or I was) and closed the door.

The next morning I wake up late and race out the door knowing I'm going to have to fly like a bat out of hell to make it to my exam on time. There, in the parking lot is my pretty red Honda blaring my Christian rock CD. "No doubt it'll be alright" sings loudly from my car without reassuring me that anything would be alright. I unlock the door and slide into the seat hoping no one notices that all the racket is coming from my car. As I push the key into the ignition the music stops. Baffled, but with no brain power or time to think about my sterio, I race to class and amazingly pull a B+ on my exam over woody plant identification.

That night the same events replay. A loud knocking on my door with a not so polite request to turn off my stereo. Despite my sleepy brain I begin to worry about the battery going dead from so many late-night performances. So I get out of bed and run to the parking lot in flip flops and turn off the stereo. Ah ha! I have it beat now, if the stereo isn't on when I park the car - then it can't turn itself on - right?

The next morning proved me wrong, somehow the radio had turned itself back on in the middle of the night. As I drove to campus I figured I'd better turn the volume down while I went to class. How embarrassing to have it blaring in the parking lot of the student center. So I turn the volume all the way down and then turn off the radio before I turn off the car.

Much to my surprise I could hear some terrible rap music blaring as I entered the parking lot after class. At a small Christian college you don't get much of that so I thought it was curious and wondered who on campus listened to rap. My heart began to pound all the way to my toes as I realize that it is my car! Not only did the radio turn on and turn up the volume all my it's self - it was now blaring the local rap station. I began to dash for the car and fumbling with the keys finally got in and silenced the radio.

I decided this could not go on any longer but had no money to take it to a shop and like most high school to college dating relationships, mine hadn't lasted; so there was no way I was going to call the ex-boyfriend who installed it. As I drove back to my dorm I decided I'd try taking the face off the head unit. No way it could play without that - right?

Well, it worked. I never got the radio fixed and smiled to myself when I eventually traded in the car for a little money down on my new truck. I often wonder if they tried to sell it on a used car lot... radio blaring and all.

Pay Toilets

Who really knows how powerful the flow of water through a toilet can be? A friend of mine recently had a funny experience with a public toilet.

The University of Nebraska in Omaha has, like all colleges, ID cards. These ID cards are used to purchase things around campus from bookstore items to parking and food. Even the vending machines, copiers and printers in the library take these convenient ID cards. Because they are so handy and useful around campus many of us carry them in a pocket so we don't have to dig through our bags to whip it out every few minutes. My friend, like myself, carries hers in the back pocket of her jeans. Normally this is a safe, easy to access location. Normally.

After hours of studying and downing coffee in order to get that last assignment finished just before class it is inevitable that nature will call. My friend took a break from the latest Molecular Biology assignment to answer that call.

In the process of dropping her jeans while poised just right over the porcelain throne her ID card, unexpectedly wiggled halfway out of her pocket. It is not until she is standing and pulling up her jeans in one swift motion that she hears an unexpected "plop" and splash of water.

Like any woman in a strange toilet who's heard stories of "creatures" coming up through the plumbing she quickly turns, backing into the door of the stall. Her mind calms as she realizes she's three stories up in a large building. Convinced that it wasn't a creature she peers into the toilet. Her face is there, smiling up at her through the lemonade colored water. Her ID card has gone for a swim.

It would be quite a hassle to lose the ID card yet no one in their right mind would reach into the bowl and retrieve it now. Perhaps if the water were "clean". She decides to flush and await cleaner waters before retrieving the card and thoroughly washing with soap.

She takes a breath and flushes. Her jaw drops in astonishment as her smiling face is whisked away down the hole she would have sworn wasn't big enough. In a daze of amazement she returns to her papers sitting across from me and says, "Apparently the toilets are pay toilets now." After telling me the story I remarked that I hope she didn't get charged each time someone flushed.

So would it have been worth it to brave the "dirty" water to retrieve the card? I didn't ask because honestly I would have been reluctant to retrieve it from "clean" water at my home not to mention a public toilet. I didn't want to know her answer.

Men in Uniform

I met Jonathan for lunch at a cute and very good French restaurant today. We decided to have lunch because, like everyone else we are watching what we spend and since this is a pricey place we opted for the cheaper lunch menu.

The moment we walked in several ladies in their late 50s were eyeing me. I'm not so gorgeous or so ugly that people stare so I was a little uncomfortable under their gaze. There looks were just looks, no condemnation - no praise. What could they be thinking? Not that I really mind or care... just curious.

Then the host offered us a table right by the door. If you've been out with Jonathan and I a few times you'll realize we've no problem refusing a table in a "high traffic" area. We feel if we're going to spend our money we're not going to enjoy it in peace. Not surprisingly when the host offered another table in a more secluded spot we said we'd wait while he cleaned, cleared and set the table. Waiting... I tried to stand up straight, smile at Jonathan... so handsome with his fresh haircut and in uniform. They were still watching just not as openly now.

Finally I was in the safety of my seat and could devote my attention away from the two women. Food... ahh how we love good food. Jonathan had some wonderful-smelling lamb on faccaccia bread and I had my dinner out usual - mixed greens salad with steak and goat cheese. The lunch began uneventful in that we talked about what we always do... the house and it's state of disrepair.

The owner of the restaurant (also our host that cleaned and set our table) was having a gathering in the restaurant at the same time and our server informed us that the owner's mother was the chef of the day for the little party. We watched curiously as the appetizers came out and that curiosity got the best of us. We asked our server what was on the appetizer plate; she didn't know. A few minutes later she returned with a small appetizer plate for us and said, "There were extras in the kitchen; not everyone showed up so you are welcome to have this." She didn't offer an explination of what it was but it was obvious close up that there were two muscles, some pate and another baked unidentifiable treat. Have I mentioned that we love excellent food.... we would eat ourselves to death if the prospect wasn't so unattractive.

To end the meal we shared a little cup of chocolate moose. Our server cleared away the empty cup; my eyes watching its voyage away from the table (ahh I love food!) The server returned promptly and told us that someone had taken care of our check and wished to remain anonymous. As she was speaking I was immediately looking for some joke or sarcasm or something to indicate that I had not heard her correctly. Still shaking visions of chocolate moose from my mind, dumbly I said, "So we can just leave?" She smiled and nodded then left.

Jonathan and I looked at each other not knowing what to think. I was still attempting to work out the puzzle and he finally spoke, "I guess I should leave a tip." To which I quickly answered, "Absolutely." We left the tip and started toward the door. I was still waiting for someone or something to jump out and embarrass us. As we closed the door behind us Jonathan put his blue uniform hat on and it dawned on me that someone had bought our lunch as a show of support for the military and his service! Jonathan was speechless and then giddy. His faith in mankind renewed after so many years with so little show of support.

Was it the owner? Was it the ladies who may have been looking at Jonathan standing right behind me? Will it be me or you next time? Only God knows. I pray that God will bless the giver and continue to humble our hearts.

So thank you with all my heart to all of you out there who are brave enough to put your money where your heart is!