Buddy Capers, One of Many

Summer Sometime in the 80’s

One of my best friends and I were lucky enough to work together. We used to choose our shifts based on the season. It was hard to believe we got paid to have so much fun.

She had scored a ‘two for one’ membership at a local gym, thus began my bodybuilding era. I actually got into it, and went three years without eating chocolate. If nothing else, the experience taught me how to be healthy. But that’s not what this story is all about.

It’s about having one of those ‘want to get away’ moments. Forget about shoving a bunch of Twix into our mouths – we were chocolate abstainers, remember?

We worked the Graveyard shift, which was great but for the creepy janitor that would leer at us and take way too long to perform his duties whenever he came into the area where we were working.

“How long does it take to sweep the floor?” She asked, irritated.

I had an idea. “He can’t sweep if he doesn’t have a broom!” I said, smiling. She was always on my wavelength. It’s great when two blonds don’t have to explain anything to each other.

We waited, knowing that he would conveniently leave his broom propped up against a nearby wall so that he would have to come back for it, he always did this.

We saw our break and went for the broom. But now what? We ran through the warehouse and to the loading doors.. It was fun and a little scary, we had no idea where he was.

Thinking we heard a sound we decided to ditch the broom immediately – I lifted up on the door and it went up just enough for it to squeeze through. Done. Broom heist executed.

It was harder than I can ever explain not to burst out laughing as we watched him look for his broom. The down side is that he spent even longer in our area, punishing us with his lingering body odor.

“We need to move that broom?” My friend insisted. “Pick it up and take it away with us?”

She was right. Taking it was one thing, but letting him take the blame for ‘leaving’ it on the loading dock was another.

“OK, we’ll grab it on our way out. I’ll drive over there and you can chuck it into the car.” We usually car pooled on our workout days. We were heading for the gym after work.

Payback number one – the loading dock was really high and she had to climb up on top to retrieve the broom. We didn’t count on that as we kept our eyes out for the security guards that patrolled the premises. She threw the broom into my backseat and brushed the dirt off onto her pants. By her scowl I could tell the fun was wearing off.

We took it with us to the gym and left it near the dumpster, laughing at our little caper. We were still laughing when we got to the front desk. We had gotten to know the woman working there and smiling, she asked what we were up to.

We were laughing to the point of tears as we gave her some background information on the creep and how we had fixed him real good.

Payback number two came when she informed us that the janitor was her brother.

Spring of 2008

It was an unusually warm, cloud free spring day here in the Seattle area. Being Saturday, Rich and I were undecided about what to do with our time. There was always golf, but on a day like this, it was unlikely that we would be able to get a good tee time. Or even worse, get teamed up with some fuddy duddies.

Plan B – the Woodland Park Zoo. We set off for our adventure. I was as excited as a child. Our first really sunny day, and I love looking the latest improvements that the zoo had been making to all of the environments.

As usual, our adventure didn’t disappoint. We had stepped into magic land. Our first crazy experience was in coming to within a couple of feet of a giraffe that was stopping to grab some leaves from the tree directly above our heads. It was like a scene out of Jurassic Park.

It was pure chance that this opportunity had come along. We were walking along a path and then noticed that a zookeeper was putting a rope a few feet ahead of us. “Get on the other side of the trail people!” It was a man from the other side of the rope.

Was he talking to us? Rich and I looked at each other, puzzled. Just at that time the zookeeper motioned for us to back up. She then put up a rope, creating about a ten foot gap between us and the mouthy man. Then we heard the clicking noise that came from the zookeeper as she made her way to the giraffe enclosure. It was a signal – dinner time.

We watched as one giraffe sauntered by, toward the trainer. There were ‘ooh’s and ahh’s’ from those lucky enough to be close. That’s when we heard the cracking and crunching noise from above.

Looking up at the same time toward the sound, we were awestruck. About six feet above our heads was a giraffe looking down at us. He was unconcerned with us but really interested in the leaves on the tree branch right above us. We were insignificant, but the leaves were delicious, or at least that’s how I felt. We watched as it decided to follow the clicking sounds into its enclosure where I’m sure it knew tasty treat awaited.

As if that wasn’t enough.

After leaving the giraffe world we visited a few more places, making our way to the Monkey exhibits. They were a wonderland compared to the first time I saw them – nothing more than huge cages.

As we approached the Siamang exhibit I noticed a monkey totally watching me. One of his eyes was glazed over so I figured that maybe he was just trying to focus. I walked up to one of the glass walls which enclosed his world. When I did he moved toward me.

“Oh, look, how cute! He’s coming right to us.” I told Rich as I moved closer to the glass.

I was able to walk right up to the glass, so I did. As I did, so did the monkey. To my amazement he put his hand up to the glass. Without a thought, I did the same. We connected through the glass. Hand to hand. He pressed his body up against the glass, and again I did the same. I couldn’t help myself.

“That’s insane!” Rich exclaimed. “Move to another spot and see if he follows you!”

I did. And he followed. Each time, trying to contact me. This went on and on. Even when others came to the exhibit he stayed with me.

As a test I moved away when a group came up. Immediately, the monkey went high into a tree so he could see me over the heads of the group.

I didn’t know what to make of it. I decided to push my way up through the group and see if the monkey could spot me. He did. Amongst the gasps and murmurs he came up to the glass where I was and repeated the routine - hand on the glass, then a body press against the glass. A young boy thought he would try it but the monkey ignored him. I was secretly pleased.

I felt like Rich was getting bored so we left to visit the rest of the zoo. It all seemed so blasé after the monkey encounter.

The monkey exhibit was on the way back to the car so I talked Rich into stopping by just one last time. And yes, the same strange phenomena occurred. Only this time there was a grey haired lady sitting there casually watching the monkeys.

As I stepped back, telling Rich how weird this whole thing was, the grey haired lady came forward.

“His name is Simon, You look like the hander he had for years.” She was looking at me.

“Wow, really? He’s been doing this every time I come up to the exhibit.” I answered.

“I don’t doubt it. You are a dead ringer for her. He’s blind in one eye – glaucoma. We had an eye surgeon donate his services, but it didn’t work.” She eyed Simon.

I went one last time to the glass to say my goodbyes. This time I got emotional about it.

I’m upset now that I didn’t ask more about Simon’s handler. But I did go online and read about his surgery. It’s true, his name is Simon. I plan on going back someday to see if he is still there, and more importantly, if we share that same bond.

Eyebrow Drama

I was going through a box of keepsakes when I came across a picture of my oldest, back in Jr. High school. It was a great photo if you could overlook the hacked up eyebrows. The worse thing about this particular picture is that it was his eighth grade yearbook photo. Yes, for all eyes to see.

I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about how the state of the eyebrows came to be. It was the era of Vanilla Ice, who had neat little shaved lines in his eyebrows. It was also pre-photo shop. At that time, Brandon had not come into his own and made a practice of following the latest craze as far as entertainers go. He was a guitar player, so he mostly followed the lead of musicians. From the hip hoppy Ice Ice Baby to Anthrax. And I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying it all. (To be honest, I loved every minute of it.)

I remembered coming home and Brandon was in his room. I called my greetings through his closed bedroom door and then went to the task of preparing dinner. He was at the age where privacy had to be honored.

Ryan, my youngest came skipping out of his room, carrying a couple of his little toy super heroes. He came to check out what I was making for dinner and to ask me what I thought of Brandon’s eyebrows.

“Eyebrows?” I asked. I’m sure my own were raised well above my head, like a cartoon character. What a random question. But then again was anything really random when it came to what came out of kid’s mouths?

I could tell by Ryan’s wide look that he was horrified at selling his big brother out. I knelt down and looked him in the face. His beautiful little face.

“What are you talking about?” I tried to sound calm, reassuring. I was dying to know. I knew if I sounded insistent he would close up like a clam.

“Um, um…” A shrug was all I got. OK, that’s ok. How bad could it be? It was probably a practical joke of some kind. I was blessed to have two very funny kids. Humor has always been embraced in our household.

“I guess I’ll find out what you are talking about at dinner.” I said as I stood up. Whatever was going on could certainly wait for a few minutes. I was about to ask Ryan to help me set the table, when he turned and ran full speed out of the kitchen and down the hall. I could hear him knocking on Brandon’s door. Ah, a confession and a warning no doubt. I guess one of the cool things about being a young mom was that you were on the same wavelength, more or less. I would let them have their moment.

After I set the table, I called the kids to dinner. I have to say, wavelength or not, I was not prepared for what I saw.

Brandon peeked around the kitchen wall. What was the deal with his eyebrows? Something was really out of place with his usually handsome face.

I walked up to him, not able to contain the scowl on my face. I stared at what was left of his eyebrows. The right one was missing about a third of it, near the outer eye. The left one had chunks missing throughout the entire brow.

“He’s Vanilla Ice!” Ryan piped in, breaking the dumbfounded silence.

“What?” Was I experiencing a generation gap moment?

“I wanted lines like Vanilla Ice Mom!” His face so earnest, with his Patrick Swayze hair and all.

I couldn’t control myself as I burst into laughter. It was laughter so intense that I had to run to the bathroom. If only he could have seen himself as I did at that moment. A moment I will surely never ever forget. Then I stopped. “Tomorrow is picture day!” Damn!!!

“Brandon!!” I cried as I ran back toward the kitchen. “Tomorrow is picture day!!” His expression matched mine. Bad timing to be sure.

“What am I going to do?” He was in a panic. Peer pressure was going to be bad enough, but can you imagine your face embedded in time looking like this?

I thought for a moment and then it came to me. He would have to use an eyebrow pencil. “You’ll have to use an eyebrow pencil Brandon.”

“What’s that?” His involuntary scowl looked ridiculous. There weren’t enough brows left to be taken seriously at all. I couldn’t keep from laughing at him.

“It’s makeup that women use on their eyebrows” I couldn’t show him because back then I didn’t to use one. “I will run down to the drugstore and grab one. Then I’ll show you how to use it.” I was winging it, but really, how hard could it be.

“Mom!! Makeup?” His face was full of anxiety.

“It’s better than what you’ve got going on now.” Did I really need to explain?

After purchasing the eyebrow pencil, I gave him a brief demonstration. I never dreamt that he wouldn’t use it.

“Brandon!!!” I was screeching when I opened the picture packet. I had multiple copies, large and small of a kid with hacked up eyebrows.

“Mom, I didn’t want to wear makeup.” He looked at me and then at the huge picture I held out for him to look at. “After everyone got done laughing at me I was done being embarrassed.” That was the only explanation I would get.

What was I going to do now? Not only were these pictures expensive, but this is what I sent out to all family and friends. I pondered, I pondered a lot.


My solution was brilliant, although it would require that I throw down more cash. I took the eyebrow pencil back from Brandon and got to work with my plan. I took each picture that was designated to someone and colored in the eyebrows by hand. Satisfied that this would work, I took inventory and then went shopping for picture frames, and the appropriate mailing envelopes. Yep, much more cash.

I admired my handy work. In the frames, you could barely tell I did any editing. Problem solved.

Later that year I went up to Oregon to visit my mom. It was summertime, which was an always triple digit on the thermometer. She had an air conditioner in the dining room, which took care of the kitchen and living room. But she closed off the rest of the house to conserve energy.

As I lay on the bed in the guest room, melting, I saw ‘Brandon Ice’s’ picture up on a bookshelf. Something looked wrong with it. I got up to investigate.

I looked more closely at the picture and noticed that the heat caused the eyebrow pencil to stick to the glass. And then to add to it, his picture had shifted slightly and he almost had two sets of eyebrows.

“What the….. No way!!” I said out loud as I snatched up the picture and ran to show Brandon.

Our laughter caused my mom to come investigate. Although she claimed not to have noticed, I didn’t believe it.

I could only wonder what all the other copies looked like by then.

Super Senior Moment

Rich and I decided to wait out the light rain at the Willows par three. As soon as it turned to a mere drizzle we would leave the warm truck and go play. The cool thing about golfing in such weather is almost no one else is on the course. You’re free to hit more than one ball, can hunt for buried balls, and just take your time. These luxuries cannot be had on a beautiful sunny day golfing in the Pacific Northwest.

However before the drizzle it got real interesting. A little grey hired man, driving a huge labamba of a car came driving through the parking lot ever so slowly. He stopped next to the putting green and just stared out onto the course. We weren’t sure what he was looking at, but it sure seemed to be important to him.

There was a little dip in the sidewalk which was intended for golf carts, but the man must have thought it was a driveway or something. He drove up onto the cart path and then as if he suddenly knew where he was going he sped up. He stayed on the cart path and disappeared around the bend between the first and second holes.

“What the hell?” Rich verbalized what I was thinking.

It was obvious that the old timer has mistaken the cart path for a road. A road that was supposed to take him to where is anybody’s guess. Was the little bridge he was probably just then approaching even big enough to hold up a heavy automobile? Hmm, it was ponderous.

“He thinks it a road!” I exclaimed.

About that time we saw him backing up along the path. He wasn’t doing too bad actually. Going in reverse on the narrow path full of curves must certainly be a challenge.

“I’ll bet he decided not to try the little bridge.” I said as we watched him negotiate the path.

“Wow. Oh no! What’s he doing?” Rich asked in a raised voice.

The car missed the sharp turn in front of the little club house and broke through a small area that was fenced off by a black and yellow chain. The bumper caught onto the chain and pulled up posts as the elderly driver began to turn the car around in an effort to get back to the parking lot.

We figured that the man must have realized that he wasn’t on a road. But that thought was put to rest when he made a super sharp right turn and drove down the sidewalk toward the main club house, dragging the black and yellow chain behind him, posts and all.

Why he didn’t just return to the parking lot is bewildering. And actually, except for the chain fiasco, he demonstrated some pretty good driving skills. He kept on driving on the sidewalk until we lost sight of him, behind some large weeping willow trees toward hole eighteen of the main course,.

By then the drizzle we were waiting for finally came so we got out and went out onto the course. As we hit off the first tee we heard sirens and wondered if they had anything to do with the old dazed and confused driver.

Birds In The Stovepipe

Spring of 2007

In preparation for the warm weather to come, my apartment manager’s decided to pressure wash. Ok – it meant moving everything off of the deck, but at least they were trying to clean things up a bit. I could hang.

I guess this shows that I don’t cook very often, but about a month after the pressure washing there was a bit of excitement in my kitchen. I heard scratching noises and chirping sounds coming from the fan in the hood of my stove. I had no idea what it could be. I was ready to get creative in the kitchen but had to put it all on hold. Something was in the pipe. I was freaked out! Oh please don’t be a rat……

I took off the screen covering the fan. Ok, there was the fan, looking perfectly normal – I guess. But whatever I was doing was upsetting the noisemaker up in the vent. More scratching!!

Damn, I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to need to get my toolbox out and remove the fan to see this thing. I covered my burners up with paper towels and got to work. When I took the fan out a couple of little tiny feathers dropped onto the paper towels. I thought that was weird, but I’m used to weird. I peeked up there but the vent looked to be closed by some sort of a flappy thing.

Arrgggh – another level to go! As I began taking the screws out that held the flap in place the scratching got crazy and I heard frantic chirping sounds. I realized it must be a bird that somehow got trapped in there – poor thing. That explains the feathers.

As I removed this next obstacle, a little tiny bird leg poked through and I stopped. I could tell this was a baby bird. I don’t know if it’s a fact or not, but I had heard that if you touch the chicks in a nest, the mother will abandon them. I reached for my rubber gloves.

About that time, my boyfriend Rich came in. Whew, great timing, I could sure use another set of hands. He finished removing the flap and I put my hands up ready to grab the little bird. And down he came, actually two of them. Yikes, I didn’t think about something to put them in. I looked around and saw the clothes hamper on top of the washer. That would have to do.

I was setting them gently in the hamper when Rich called out that another one had just dropped down from somewhere up inside the pipe. Poor baby had dropped all the way down and was sitting there, terrified on the paper towels. I grabbed him up and put him with his siblings. Three little orphans, now what was I going to do?

Rich and I stared at the chicks as they stared back in wide eyed terror. Just then we heard more noise coming from up inside the pipe. I grabbed a flashlight and handed it to Rich to investigate. He aimed the beam and peeked up.

“Oh crap!!” He exclaimed as he jerked his head back and out of the line of fire. His exclamation was in the literal sense. As the poop dropped down I was grateful to have had the foresight to lay down the paper towels.

“ Wow, nice miss!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“ I looked up and saw tail feathers and then I saw it’s butt pucker and I knew. Mother love bone!” His face was flushed.

Now what? There was at least one more up there and no way to reach it. I decided to put a bunch of paper towels in the screen, and hook it back up to catch it (them) as a safety net.

I called animal control to see if we could take the babies to them and to ask for advice about the remaining up in the pipe. It was spring and they were overflowing with abandoned chicks. I would have to fashion a makeshift nest and put it outside to see if the parents would return to them.

Ok, the only thing I had big enough to accommodate them and offer any kind of protection would be the box containing the 18 pack of beer I had just brought home from our adventure to the Redhook brewery. I put the beer in the fridge and stuffed a bunch of paper towels into the box and taped it all shut except for an opening big enough for mom and dad to get through – if they ever returned.

I just finished the ‘nest’ when we heard a scratching and a little thump as another baby bird came down the chute and landed in the screen. We were getting good at this and retrieved the chick like a pro. Five little orphans now. We listened for quite awhile and all was silent. I was pretty sure we had all of them now.

We took the box and put it outside up on an electrical box just below the vent where the parents chose to build their nest. Some of the louvers on the vent were missing – pressure washed right off the wall. No wonder momma and daddy thought they found the perfect place to make a nest.

The parents did find the babies and actually moved into the box nest with the babies. It was one of my happiest moments when I saw the last baby fly away.

"Behind Blue Eyes ": Limp Bizkit, featuring Halle Berry

Kellie's Lizard

My half sister Kellie is unique in many ways – bless her heart. Whether meaning to or not, you can count on her to be entertaining.

She came home one day after competing in the Santa Barbara County Special Olympics, all excited because my kids and I had come down from Oregon to visit. After she came into the dining room to pass out bear hugs, she ran to her room instructing me not to go anywhere. She had something she wanted to show me. I had no idea what to expect. Kellie was a collector of things. From three foot tall KISS dolls to countless vinyl records, living things, magazines, basically you name it – it was in her room.

She came out with something behind her back and told me to shut my eyes. ‘Crap!’ I thought. She did have a tarantula once. I don’t do bugs – AT ALL! Seeing the alarm on my face, my stepmother assured me it would be alright. She knew my fear so I trusted her and shut my eyes.

“OK Cynthia Louise Huston, open your eyes!” (She almost always called me by my whole legal name, part of her uniqueness.)

I peeped through squinted eyes. Whatever she had was inside of a mason jar. I opened my eyes to check it out. Inside, hanging on for dear life was an itty bitty blue bellied lizard, the smallest I had ever seen.

“It’s really cute Kellie, where did you get it?” I asked. It was a perfect little miniature.

She pointed out to the back patio. My dad loves to bar-be-que, only using oak wood. He always had a wood pile on the back patio just for his pit. It was on this wood pile that Kellie found this terrified little creature.

“You need to put some dirt in there and poke holes in the lid.” I was fearful for the little things future. “What are you feeding it?” I added.

“I don’t feed it nothing.” She answered, pulling the jar back protectively. She could tell I was going from curious to concern. She didn’t like it.

I explained that she needed to care for it or it would die. She didn’t want to hear it and stomped off back to her room. I made a mental note to sneak into her room later and rescue the little reptile.

This was normal Kellie activity, so I quickly went back to the business of catching up on family chit chat with my parents. My dad got busy doing one the things that he does best which is bar-be-que-ing Tri Tip. I helped my step mom in the kitchen with preparing the other food.

After dinner my youngest son, Ryan, about 12 at the time, and I sat at the dinning room table looking at family photos of things we had missed out on since moving to Oregon. My dad also built racing engines so we looked at pictures of before and after shots of race cars. His favorite was a big yellow mustang which was converted to a nitro burning mud bogger, known as ‘The Mudstang’.

Suddenly Kellie came running out of her room, all upset. She couldn’t find her lizard. I felt a little sad because I hadn’t had a chance to go on my rescue mission. The poor thing was on its own now. I had a visual of it being flattened somewhere in her clutter, or maybe even stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

I asked her what happened and she turned away, fighting tears, both hands covering her face. As she turned away, there hanging onto her upper back was the little lizard – a stow away. My son and I looked at each other, eyes wide in amazement and fighting like hell not to burst out laughing. Ryan sprung into action. He put an arm around Kellie as if to console her. As he did so, he grabbed up the little lizard. He nodded at me and I knew in an instant that it was my cue and I took it from his hand. I took it out to the wood pile and set it free while Ryan went into Kellie’s room and pretended to help her look for it.. The whole thing went together beautifully in a matter of seconds, as if we had planned it all out.

Of course the lizard would never be found, but it kept Kellie occupied to look for it for the next few days. Her sadness waned over this time and eventually all was well.

Remote Controlled Pets

From Lessons Learned Series

1996 – ish

My son Ryan and I ran to the grocery store leaving Trex, then a 3 month old spazzy puppy confined to the kitchen. It was going to be a short trip – she should be fine.

As for the two cats, they were always fine – sort of, but that’s another story.

We did our shopping and took bets as to whether or not Trex would still be confined to the kitchen when we returned. She was proving to be one of the greatest escape artist canines our family had ever encountered – and she was just at the beginning of it all.

We pulled into the parking lot of the huge apartment complex of which we lived in up on the plateau in Issaquah. As we got out of the car we could hear loud music. Not rock and roll type, but more like from a TV show or something. We each loaded up our arms as full as possible and then the familiar tune came to me. Carol Burnett! It was the theme song to the Carol Burnett Show.

“Man”, I exclaimed, “someone really likes the Carol Burnett Show, or they’re deaf!”

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.

“Because that music – it’s from the Carol Burnett Show. It’s really screaming!” I answered.

As we got closer to the front of our apartment building the music got louder. Gee, it was coming from someone in our building. It was kind of like the thumping in Tell Tale Heart. We lived on the third floor and as we climbed each flight of stairs the music got louder and louder. Thump thump.

We reached our door and my heart started racing as I was filled with a dreadful feeling. The sound was coming from behind our door. “What the …..?”

Ryan and I exchanged puzzled looks and both muttered “Trex!”

She had escaped indeed and as if that wasn’t bad enough, the TV was on and going full blast!! Yep, it was the Carol Burnett Show alright. All the pets were out of sight, hiding from the noise no doubt. And there in the middle of the living room floor was the remote, little teeth marks all over it.

Trex and the cats were both hiding under my bed. She came scampering out as soon as I turned the TV off. The cats however could not be coaxed out till a few hours had passed poor things.

The lesson didn’t end there for me. I figured that putting the remote control out of Trex’s reach was the answer. It wasn’t.

A few weeks later I was witness to a levitating cat. My female cat was the most inquisitive of the pair. I was always rescuing her. This time she jumped on the end table where I had safely stowed the remote control out of Trex’s reach. When she landed, she hit the ON/OFF button and the volume simultaneously.

In a nanosecond she blasted straight up in the air about three feet and lurched forward, a black streak heading for the safety of the under-bed. She was like a cartoon kitty. It was an amazing sight. I would have given anything to get that on film.

Lesson learned – always stow the remote control with the buttons facing downward. I still do this out of habit, even though I no longer have my kitties. They trained me well.

Secret Smoker

From the 'What Was That All About?' series.


At first I thought nothing of it. I lived in a rather large apartment complex, and people came and went continuously. It was a warm, sunny afternoon - good day to go out and clean up my back deck. I was sweeping and heard a car drive in just below me, so I glanced down absently from my second floor vantage point. It was nothing special, just a little white BMW. It circled the parking lot once and then parked near the fence.

I bent down to sweep up the little pile I had made and as I stood up to empty the contents of my dust pan, I noticed that a woman was standing at the rear of the BMW and that she had opened the trunk. I figured she was just getting out groceries or something. I went inside for a moment before returning to my deck cleaning.

As I came out onto the deck, I noticed that the woman had put on a hot pink jacket and baseball hat. Her head was surrounded by the smoke she had just exhaled from the cigarette she was smoking. She was looking around nervously. My thought was that perhaps she was one of those people who don’t smoke inside of their homes and was getting her fix before going inside – wherever that might be. I continued with my chore.

I was rolling my little Weber back into the corner when I saw the woman take off her jacket, put it into a plastic bag and then do the same with her hat. She put them back into the trunk, gave a quick toss of her head, fluffing out her platinum blond hair, got back into her car and drove away. I then realized that she was a secret smoker.

I didn’t really think that I would ever see her again, but she returned again, and again. She had the whole routine down. I began looking for her – quite amused.

It only got better as she graduated from just tucking her hair up under her hot pink hat and to pulling what looked to be a produce bag over her head to completely cover her hair. Hmm, she must have been questioned on the home front or something.

Then came the day that impulse took over, and my boyfriend Rich was game to go along with my crazy idea. We were just pulling in from work and saw her taking off her super secret smoker shields. I told Rich that I wanted to follow her. I was curious about many things, one of which was about just how close to my world she was located. I mean, why had she chosen my parking lot to do her deed?

I instructed Rich to keep an eye on her while I turned my car around. He agreed to the task so I went about the business of turning around. He pointed to a white car heading south on Bothell Everett Hwy so I began tailing it. I kept my distance and used over exaggerated hand gestures, to appear nonchalant in case she had noticed me.

We followed the car for a few miles and then it turned into a ritzy neighborhood. I turned also but slowed way down. The white car pulled into a driveway and we passed it just in time to see the driver exit the car. It wasn’t even her!!!! We followed the wrong car! I glared at Rich – all he had to do was keep his eye on the car. He explained that once we got to the highway that he saw two white BMW’s and panicked. So he just picked one of them and hoped it was the right one. Well it wasn’t. CSI isn’t his thing for sure.

I have only seen her a few more times since then, so hopefully she gave up that nasty habit. But still the question remains, ‘What was that all about?’

Honk - Zoom - Crash; From the 'What was that all about?' series.

Waiting at the red light, we heard a persistent honking of a presumably impatient commuter.

“Are they honking at us?” I asked while looking in the side mirror.

Rich was driving and looked around, equally puzzled for the source. “I think it’s someone behind that guy over there...” He pointed across the intersection to the right. They had the green light but no one was moving. “It looks like he’s sleeping!!” His eyes were wide, voice rising with excitement.

I glanced over in time to see a young man behind the wheel; head slumped down against the steering wheel.

“Is he alright?” I asked, knowing that Rich wouldn’t have any more of an idea than I did. I felt silly asking.

Another long honk of a horn sounded, causing the driver to react. He looked very intoxicated. He jerked his head up and suddenly he sped off across the intersection, right into the neighborhood directly across the street in front of him.

Rich and I just watched in momentary stunned silence as the guy ran full speed into a car parked in the driveway of one of the duplexes. “Holy crap!” was all Rich could say. We both sat there with our mouths wide open. The driver had hit the parked car so hard that he pushed it about three feet through the partially closed garage door.

“We need to go over there! We’re witnesses!” I exclaimed. Rich agreed so we turned around as fast as we could. We pulled in to find the parking lot full of people surrounding a crunched up car and a confused, wobbly young man who could barely keep his sagging pants up or his eyes open. He was being detained by a large muscular man, cell phone to his ear and looking rather irritated. Everything was under control. Our involvement wasn’t necessary so we just kept on driving but couldn’t help but wondering, “What was that all about?”

Snake Man; From the 'What was that all about' series:

It was my birthday. My boyfriend - Rich and I had just finished having sushi and decided to head to the nearest pub for a birthday toast. We stepped out into the early evening air. It was late September and a slight chill was setting in. Leaves were just starting to turn and the Lake City street had an appealing charm with the old fashioned street lights, numerous trees and warm lights shining out from the quaint shops and restaurants.

We saw a young woman sitting on top of a bicycle stand. She was very thin with short brown hair. Her clothes were worn out, kind of hippy style. She was wearing a tank top despite the temperature. Oddly enough, she appeared to be very comfortable perched there among the parked bicycles, smoking her cigarette just watching the cars drive by. We decided to ask her for directions to a pub.

When she drew in a breath to answer it sent her into a fit of coughing. “Well…” She couldn’t finish because spasms of coughing overcame her. I was a little shocked because her voice sounded like a much older person than she appeared to be. She pointed a bony finger to somewhere across the street. For a moment I felt bad for having inadvertently causing her distress. She spat the contents of her lung onto the sidewalk. I quickly got over my feelings of guilt.

I couldn’t keep myself from commenting about the hazards of smoking but she didn’t acknowledge me. We thanked her and headed to the crosswalk so we could cross the busy street, her hacking became fainter with each step.

We hadn’t even gone a half of a block when we began hearing a man yelling, “Hey do you want $20,000?” He was behind us, about where the coughing woman sat. At first we ignored him, but he kept saying the same thing over and over. Unable to ignore him any longer, we turned.

He was a Native American man with flowing black hair, two children in tow. He had a ghetto blaster in one arm and a twelve pack of beer in the other - Rolling Rock. One child had a gallon of chocolate milk and the other had a yardstick. All in all it was an interesting sight.

“Are you talking to us?” I asked.

He was excited and out of breath. “Yes, I just won Lotto and want to give some of it away. Do you want $20,000?” His children were equally as excited and held out their treasures for me to see. A yardstick, really? I thought that he must have made a stop by the ‘dollar store’ or something.

Rich and I exchanged glances, trying not to laugh at him. “No man, we don’t want your money.” Rich said putting his hands up for emphasis.

The man looked offended. “You don’t believe me, do you?” He looked from Rich to me. “Look, I just bought this jacket!” It was a rather expensive looking leather jacket. I shrugged, not knowing what to say.
The taller child tugged on the man’s sleeve. “Show them your snake dad!”

Rich and I looked at each other with wide eyes. “A snake?” I asked.

“Yeah, look. It’s in my pocket.” He put down the ghetto blaster and beer. I stepped back a bit, becoming a little creeped out by of this strange guy.

He opened his jacket and sure enough, there was a large moving bulge in his side pocket. “I just bought this snake!” Reaching into his pocket and producing a cream colored snake, about three feet long. He offered it to me to hold. I’ve never had a fear of snakes so I accepted. It was beautiful and cold to the touch. It began coiling itself around my arm. I asked Rich if he wanted to pet it. He shook his head, looking at me like I was crazy.

Just then one of the kids yelled out, “Dad, there’s our bus, we better go!” The kids ran towards the bus stop. “Come on dad, we’re going to miss the bus!”

To my surprise the man picked up his ghetto blaster and beer and ran after them. He called back over his shoulder to us, “We have to make this bus!” I looked from the snake wrapped around my arm, to Rich, to the running man and then back to the snake again. I began to run after the man. He totally forgot his snake.

“Wait! You forgot your snake!” I called after him. I stopped running when I saw that he had turned and was running back towards me. When he reached me, he tucked the beer under his arm and grabbed the snake. He started running again to the bus – but the snake was still around my arm. I had to run along with him so he wouldn’t harm the poor thing. It was stretched to capacity but holding firmly. Finally it lost its grip and the man ran into the dark to catch the bus. All I could see was his silhouette and that of the snake swinging around wildly.

Rich caught up with me and we watched the three, small now in the distance, get onto the bus. The bus went a few feet and then the flashers went on and we could see the three small figures getting off of the bus. We burst into hysterical laughter and then ran across the street when we realized that that crazy man and his circus might try to find us.

Once across the street and safely out of sight we couldn’t help but wonder ‘What was that all about?’

Fair Fish

Summer of 1988

I took my kids, as I always did to the county fair. I didn’t count on their ping pong tossing abilities improving with age, so alas we went home with a fair-fish. A hearty little gold fish that would become a part of the family for several years. Who would have guessed that? Gold fish usually become upside down floaters somewhere between night and the early dawn – don’t they?

I would have to say that Fair-fish was indeed a member of the catfish family. I say this because that little guy had many lives, like a cat.

Life 1;
I couldn’t find anyone to fish sit, so I had to take him on a road trip with me. I put him in a mason jar with a screw top lid, which I periodically unscrewed to let air in. When I reached my destination, I put Fair-fish on the floor board and opened the lid so he could breath. I decided to just leave the open jar on the floor while I went in to visit my friends.
Like a dummy I let one of my friends borrow my car to run to the store a couple of blocks away. (I was young and dumb – and had never seen Judge Judy before) When he returned, he was flushed and upset. At first I thought that it had something to do with my car, and then my eyes widened as I remembered Fair-fish hanging out on the floorboard.
My horror turned to hysterical laughter as he shared his experience. He wasn’t aware of the fish until he turned a corner, causing the jar to tip and the fish to flop out, gasping for breath. In a panic, he pulled over, and picked the fish up gently. With the fish flipping in the palm of his hand he tried to think about what to do. He saw a Burger King across the street and decided to run over to it for help. He looked down at the fish and spit on it to keep it from drying out.
Once inside the restaurant he began yelling and pushed his way to the front of the line, startling employees and customers alike. The consensus was that something terrible had happened out on the street. He held out his palm to a bewildered girl working behind the counter and asked for a glass of water.
Once the fish was safely in the glass of water, the restaurant irrupted in cheers and laughter.

Life 2;
Having Navy boys for friends certainly had it crazy times. My kids were spending the weekend with their dad and it was one of those times where I had had enough and just wanted everyone to go away. I had just worked a long shift at the Bicycle Club Casino in Bell Gardens, California. I came home to a bunch of drunken fools, which really didn’t help my already bad mood.
I heard a commotion in the kitchen and ran to see what was going on. Everyone was staring at Fair-fish’s bowl. I peeked over tall shoulders and noticed that his water was yellow and he was looking very distressed. I freaked out and elbowed my way to the kitchen counter to rescue my pet.
Once I had him safely into a glass of clean water I turned angrily to the group of fools, demanding to know what had happened. It seemed that one of the bleeping sailors thought that it would be funny to pour a Corona into the fish bowl. That was the last party at my place.

Life 3;
Fair-fish was on display in a beautiful new bowl on the mantel above the fireplace. The multi-shades of blue rocks matched the carpet and sofa perfectly. He was a happy healthy fish with long flowing fins. I was amazed that he had made it three years so far.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, my roommate, who worked in the Fire Safety business decided to pour gasoline on the dwindling flickers of flame in the fireplace. There was a loud whoosh and he jumped back quickly with a yell.
I ran past him to grab up Fair-fish’s bowl, which was now covered with a thick black film. I took my fish into the dining room and returned to give my roommate a piece of my mind. The dumb ass!! He could have burned down the house!! My anger turned to laughter as I saw that his eyebrows were gone. He so deserved it, even though he didn’t exactly see it that way.

Life 4;
Thanksgiving was going to be at my mom’s in Oregon. I decided that it would be too troublesome to take Fair-fish with us, and my little sister Kellie offered to take care of him. I had reservations about this but asked myself how bad could it be?
The holiday was wonderful and I returned home still full of the warm wonderful feelings that come with that time of year. I called my stepmother to let her know that I we were safely home and that I would drop by the following day after work.
I was greeted by Kellie when I pulled into the driveway. I knew without asking that something was wrong. She explained that she had just had a funeral for my fish. Flashes of horrific images flew through my mind. Kellie didn’t have a great track record with small pets left in her care.

Sadly, all I could hope for was that he really was dead before getting the big flush.