Trick or Treat at The Boo’s 2014
Happy Halloween, Everybody!!
Archive for October, 2014
Autumnal Interference
I want to write. I should write.
Days like this get in the way …
Siren calls I can’t ignore. Swept away by sunshine’s grace.
It’s the Thought That Counts
My doorbell rang a week before my birthday, intruding on my comfy silence.
* cringe *
Isn’t that always an introvert’s involuntary reaction?
Fortunately it was the UPS guy in his behemoth brown truck already turning the corner at the end of the block, racing his way to the next doorbell on the next porch.
I picked up the package addressed to Hub; walked down the hall to where he was sitting on the couch; and playfully asked, “Is this my birthday present?”
“It is,” came from behind the newspaper.
“What is it?” I teased.
“It’s the replacement toilet seat for the one that got cracked.”
Two facts about our marriage:
1. We like humor.
2. We don’t buy each other ‘have to’ gifts.
What are ‘have to’ gifts?
The birthday, anniversary, Valentine’s Day conventions that dictate you show your love with gifts on these days. I’m not judging those who celebrate with flowers, candy, and jewelry because they are meaningful expressions of love for many couples.
Just not for us.
I much prefer spontaneous, unexpected gifts on non-event days, although traditional gift-giving days have created some gold nuggets in our family lore.
When I was four – back when we had thriving main streets with a movie theater, a soda shop, and hardware, clothing, pharmacy and ‘Five and Dime’ stores within a 3-block stretch – Mom gave each of us a quarter and let my older sister and me walk to the ‘Five and Dime’ to buy birthday presents for Dad.
I bought him this postcard:
And a receipt book:
2014 Version
The postcard has travelled back and forth between Dad and me as a ‘laugh’ for 60 years, sometimes appearing in family photos or other unlikely locations.
Although I didn’t understand his job at the time, Dad was an accountant and I became an accountant and finance professional myself. I still like to look at receipt books and ledger paper in the office supply store.
Like the toilet seat Hub gifted me, Mom received tokens of Dad’s love through the years including a rototiller, a riding lawn mower and a washing machine.
Yup. Hub and I are carrying on the family tradition of ‘It’s the Thought That Counts’ gifts.
My grandkids have gifted me rocks, dried seeds and countless crafts. The usual – but nevertheless cherished – stuff, all of which is crammed onto a three-shelf display stand in my kitchen to get pawed over each time they visit.
Solidifying family memories of who, when, where.
My favorite gift from Sparks was when he asked me to participate in his ‘Now & Then’ school project – interviewing an older family member to compare my youth to his. Of his six grandparents, he chose me; and the time we spent discussing the interview questions and compiling this book are a gift I treasure.
Raqi has shown her love for Hub and me through many spontaneous gestures. When she was three years old and we were saying our goodbyes at their front door, “Wait!” she suddenly cried and scurried into the kitchen.
She hustled back with two single-serving peach paks from her snack cupboard.
“Here, Mima, Papa. For YOU!”
Shortly after, Hub and I were moving to our current home. Raqi had decorated a blue (now-faded) frog at daycare and gave it to me one night at their house.
As we were leaving, she held out her hands, “Mima, give me the frog.”
“Why?”
“Wait till big truck. I bring it.”
Raqi had no experience with moving nor had any of us talked to her about the moving process. She brought the frog on her first visit to our new home and carefully placed it on the top shelf of the display rack.
Some people have an angel watching over them. I have Raqi’s frog.
Six More Degrees of Diane Keaton
Just prior to reading Diane Keaton’s memoir ‘Then Again’, I penned a self-deprecating post about our connection with hats.
I don’t recommend reading ‘Then Again’. While the content – especially her very close attachment to her strong-willed mother – was informative, Diane’s book was poorly written. Chapters did not flow in logical order and paragraphs rambled, making it difficult to follow her chronological life or grasp the fullness of her relationships with family and significant others.
Diane, in interviews, appears charmingly scattered while enthusiastically embracing many passions. In movies, she plays roles that maximize her eccentricity and her underpinning grit. In writing, she could have used a counterbalance to her free-wheeling.
Thus with some reluctance, I opened her recently published ‘Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty’. Fortunately this book is essays which, by definition, have more concise structure than a memoir.
Diane’s topic – beauty – and her broad application of that word held my interest, provoking musings on how the concept of beauty affects our sense of self.
I’m still learning how my ‘writing production’ works best. Right now, that’s filling copious notebooks with whatever is on my mind, and eventually a post writes itself. I have a few mind conversations ‘spinning’ from Diane’s book. Sooner or later they’ll coalesce for me right before they appear for you!
The Time I Was Mistaken for a Drug Runner – Part 3
Fortunately I drove across Illinois to Michigan without a repeat of those flashing police car lights in my rear view mirror. Dad was recovering well, and I remained in Michigan for a week. There were lots of family members present, lots of emotion, and lots of logistics to settle so I was immersed in helping Dad and Mom make decisions.
I kept re-playing my Iowa incident in my mind. Having been fleeced in a scam years ago, ironically by someone posing as a cop, I wasn’t convinced I hadn’t unwittingly provided my driver’s license and registration data to an identity thief.
I decided if I still had doubts after I returned to Colorado and checked all my bank and credit card activity, I’d contact the Iowa State Patrol.
Source: Google Images
Dad’s chemo/radiation plan established, and Plan B’s for local food, driving, cleaning and therapy support if needed, I left Michigan – not wanting to leave Dad but wanting to be in Colorado with Hub.
Lo and behold as I drove the 30 mile stretch outside of Des Moines, this time heading west, I saw two cars pulled over across the highway in the eastbound lanes. Each time the car was boxed in by a police car at its front and rear. The occupants were clearly cuffed, sitting by the side of the road. There were piles on the side of the road as police removed everything from each car – in one case even the back seats had been pulled from the car.
Source: Google Images
Once home, I got online and confirmed the Iowa information on ‘my paper’ matched the official Iowa State Patrol website and nothing fishy had shown up in my financial accounts. I stashed ‘my paper’ back in my car’s glove box and put that whole episode out of my mind until a year later when Hub and I packed the car for our September 2010 visit to Michigan.
We have our road trip ritual down. Hub drives the first shift when his caffeine is going full bore. Thus he’d be driving the dawn stretch on the second travel day heading east from Des Moines.
Hub has a lead foot.
Hub has a deaf ear to my “slow down” pleadings.
I reminded him how anxious I get about being stopped, and I pulled out the “if you REALLY love me, you’ll …” card. I could tell he didn’t think the whole ‘drug runner’ episode would be repeated, but he humored me by staying under the speed limit as we left Des Moines. We didn’t leave the Holiday Inn until 7am, so the sky was light.
About 25 miles east of Des Moines, we passed a police car idling in the crossover. The policeman pulled out as soon as we passed him. He drove slightly behind us, but he stayed in the left lane. For ten excruciating minutes nothing happened, except for my heart rate skyrocketing as I rummaged in the glove box for my by-now-badly-faded-therma-fax ‘paper’.
Suddenly he accelerated forward, lights flashing. Instead of motioning us over, he zoomed in behind the car ahead of us which bore California plates. Both cars quickly pulled to the side of the highway.
All I can surmise is he ran my plates through the system while following us, and my car was still documented as ‘little old lady; no longer runs with or without drugs’.
I was so giddy, I wanted to shout, “SUCKER!” to those hapless Californians, but knew the karma would surely kickback.
Fast forward to 2014; Hub and I are preparing for our annual visit to Michigan.
And I have a new car with new license plates.
Undocumented in Iowa.
I don’t know whether to place a ‘Bro’ Don’t Cuff Me’ or ‘Been There Done That’ sign in the back window.
Save your bail money just in case.
Postscript: I wrote this series last week AFTER we returned from our road trip to Michigan in my new car. We rarely saw a police car in any state. Curious about the lack of activity around Des Moines, I located an online report about two Poker players from California who – this month – filed suit against the Iowa State Patrol for a 2013 traffic stop in which police searched the car and confiscated $100,000 in winnings. The suit claims the officers had no probable cause to search the car resulting in unreasonable search and seizure targeting out-of-state cars. Police still have not returned all the money. (I’m not sure why the poker players would take their winnings in cash and drive around with it in the car!)
This series is an anecdotal story, not intended to imply judgment on profiling, drug wars or police tactics. I continue to place my trust in our public safety officers.
bemuzin 