We had our first snow last night. The kids loved it. When I got home, the front yard showed tell-tale signs of wild, snow-day fun, and a very cute snowman was still standing cheerily on the grass, smiling at me. Quaint, puffy flakes were still fluttering quietly from the sky, stilling the frantic noises of the city.
You could have taken our neighborhood and put it directly on a wall calendar.
Now, however, it's been 24 hours since those charming flakes began to fall and, well, the novelty is wearing thin. The snow is no longer fresh and inviting--it's like a white layer of rock. And I had to hack away at a quarter-inch of ice on my car's windshield this morning. And there is the little fact that said car (that's lawyerese for "the car I just mentioned") does not have a working heater--no warmth, no defrost. In fact, the only mechanism for defrosting the windshield is to keep the windows open so the air circulates.
My teeth are still chattering.
Yep. I think I'm ready for summer.
MOJ
WALL-E
You've seen the movie. WALL-E is old, boxy, a bit clunky, a little quirky, but ultimately endearing.
Enter EVE: she's sleek and streamlined; she's fast; she's powerful.
And together, the two of them save the planet.
Well, recently C got a laptop, and it instantly got nicknamed EVE, mostly because of its comparison to my laptop. They're actually two versions of the same machine: "twin" Compaq Presarios. But mine is old, boxy, a bit clunky, more than a little quirky; and hers is sleek and streamlined; it's fast; it's powerful. They don't look like the same machine; they don't even look related. And I'm fairly certain that they won't team up and save the planet.
See, unlike the Disney WALL-E, my WALL-E isn't much into saving things. His hobbies seem to be more along the lines of destruction: freezing up unexpectedly, losing data, refusing to connect to the Internet, dredging up an endless supply of error messages (each of them more terrifying than the last), displaying the Blue Screen of Death, and otherwise thwarting anything I try to do. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone had finally developed artificial intelligence: WALL-E comes up with new devilish tactics on a daily basis. You have to admire that kind of creativity...
...if you're a sicko.
I'm fairly certain that, earlier today, during one of WALL-E's attacks, I heard maniacal laughter echoing up from the general vicinity of the Underworld.
Unfortunately, I don't have one of those laser-things that Disney EVE used when she tried to vaporize Disney WALL-E (before they became friends, of course). If I did, my WALL-E would be in mortal peril.
MOJ
Enter EVE: she's sleek and streamlined; she's fast; she's powerful.
And together, the two of them save the planet.
Well, recently C got a laptop, and it instantly got nicknamed EVE, mostly because of its comparison to my laptop. They're actually two versions of the same machine: "twin" Compaq Presarios. But mine is old, boxy, a bit clunky, more than a little quirky; and hers is sleek and streamlined; it's fast; it's powerful. They don't look like the same machine; they don't even look related. And I'm fairly certain that they won't team up and save the planet.
See, unlike the Disney WALL-E, my WALL-E isn't much into saving things. His hobbies seem to be more along the lines of destruction: freezing up unexpectedly, losing data, refusing to connect to the Internet, dredging up an endless supply of error messages (each of them more terrifying than the last), displaying the Blue Screen of Death, and otherwise thwarting anything I try to do. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone had finally developed artificial intelligence: WALL-E comes up with new devilish tactics on a daily basis. You have to admire that kind of creativity...
...if you're a sicko.
I'm fairly certain that, earlier today, during one of WALL-E's attacks, I heard maniacal laughter echoing up from the general vicinity of the Underworld.
Unfortunately, I don't have one of those laser-things that Disney EVE used when she tried to vaporize Disney WALL-E (before they became friends, of course). If I did, my WALL-E would be in mortal peril.
MOJ
Grace
My grandmother is dying.
Okay, she's really my wife's grandmother, but I feel like she's my grandmother. My own grandparents were gone before I got a chance to know them, so Grammy Grace has, in many ways, been the only grandparent I've ever really known. She was the first member of my wife's extended family who made me feel really welcome. She has truly treated me like one of her own grandchildren, and I literally cannot imagine my own grandparents loving me any more than Grace does.
Just a few months ago, on Memorial Day, we all visited the family plot at the cemetery together. Grammy was with us and, since she cannot read the names on the headstones, C was telling her whose plot was whose. When C pointed out Grammy's own plot, Grace actually clapped her hands and said, "I can't wait!"
We've known she's been emotionally ready for a long time--she lost her husband almost 15 years ago, and, with failing eyesight, has become increasingly dependent upon her daughter (my mother-in-law). She never wanted to be a burden, and I'm sure she missed her husband and siblings. So her decline over the past two months has been bittersweet. She is anxious to go, and we want her to be where she's happiest--but we didn't want to say goodbye quite yet.
Now she's in her final days, and goodbye has come. What saddens me most is that my children won't get to know her, really--won't understand how much she's done for our family. C points out, though, that it's wonderful that we've been here in Utah this past year, so the children will have some memories of her. She's right, of course--it was one of the reasons we wanted to be back in Utah, and we have truly enjoyed that blessing since we got here. Plus, we're an eternal family--so the children will have the chance to really get to know Grammy again some day.
And I feel grateful not to have to wait for "some day." I feel such joy for having known and having loved this wonderful woman here. She is truly one of the best people I have ever known.
MOJ
Okay, she's really my wife's grandmother, but I feel like she's my grandmother. My own grandparents were gone before I got a chance to know them, so Grammy Grace has, in many ways, been the only grandparent I've ever really known. She was the first member of my wife's extended family who made me feel really welcome. She has truly treated me like one of her own grandchildren, and I literally cannot imagine my own grandparents loving me any more than Grace does.
Just a few months ago, on Memorial Day, we all visited the family plot at the cemetery together. Grammy was with us and, since she cannot read the names on the headstones, C was telling her whose plot was whose. When C pointed out Grammy's own plot, Grace actually clapped her hands and said, "I can't wait!"
We've known she's been emotionally ready for a long time--she lost her husband almost 15 years ago, and, with failing eyesight, has become increasingly dependent upon her daughter (my mother-in-law). She never wanted to be a burden, and I'm sure she missed her husband and siblings. So her decline over the past two months has been bittersweet. She is anxious to go, and we want her to be where she's happiest--but we didn't want to say goodbye quite yet.
Now she's in her final days, and goodbye has come. What saddens me most is that my children won't get to know her, really--won't understand how much she's done for our family. C points out, though, that it's wonderful that we've been here in Utah this past year, so the children will have some memories of her. She's right, of course--it was one of the reasons we wanted to be back in Utah, and we have truly enjoyed that blessing since we got here. Plus, we're an eternal family--so the children will have the chance to really get to know Grammy again some day.
And I feel grateful not to have to wait for "some day." I feel such joy for having known and having loved this wonderful woman here. She is truly one of the best people I have ever known.
MOJ
Aged
It just occurred to me that, when Day We Met (Observed) rolls around in a week or two, C and I will have known each other for EIGHTEEN YEARS!
Woah!
How did we get this old, again?
Other things have been showing me that change is afoot, this summer. It sounds silly, but I've been sobered by small changes: S getting his first pocket knife, J learning how to pronounce things correctly, the girls getting their ears pierced, L starting Young Women (Young Women!) and going to Girls' Camp where her inner adventurer was unleashed.
The surest sign of my age, though, happened just this morning. I'm embarrassed to admit it, and I still don't know exactly how it happened but...
...it took me nearly an hour to print something out from my computer.
I guess I'm just not a whippersnapper anymore.
Oh, look at the time. I'd better shuffle on out to the porch swing to watch the sunset.
MOJ
Woah!
How did we get this old, again?
Other things have been showing me that change is afoot, this summer. It sounds silly, but I've been sobered by small changes: S getting his first pocket knife, J learning how to pronounce things correctly, the girls getting their ears pierced, L starting Young Women (Young Women!) and going to Girls' Camp where her inner adventurer was unleashed.
The surest sign of my age, though, happened just this morning. I'm embarrassed to admit it, and I still don't know exactly how it happened but...
...it took me nearly an hour to print something out from my computer.
I guess I'm just not a whippersnapper anymore.
Oh, look at the time. I'd better shuffle on out to the porch swing to watch the sunset.
MOJ
I'm Finally NORMAL! (Really!)
First, a little background: not long ago, I came face to face with the fact that I'd basically been slowly gaining wait over the course of an entire decade and have always had a REALLY difficult time beating down the wild raging Sweet Tooth in myself. (Thanks Mom!) One glance at my family tree indicated that this was the norm among my gene pool, and it wouldn't be easy to reverse the trend. Eventually, I was 30 lbs. overweight--30 lbs. above the HIGHEST end of the "normal" range for someone of my height/age. So I decided to do something about it.
Trouble was: the only strategy I knew was "exercise more" and "eat less." And while that IS, of course, the real answer, I think it's so difficult for people because it is so vague--no concrete benchmarks to strive for, no sense of how long it will take to pay off, etc.
In my case, a year had gone by and, while I had made definite progress, I still wasn't quite down to the "normal" weight range. In addition, because my plan was so vague, I didn't have a good way to handle unexpected bumps in the road: during Spring semester this year, for example, I gained 20 lbs., mostly because of an illness I couldn't shake and a schedule that was "too busy" to allow me to get enough rest/exercise.
Then, this summer, I stumbled across LiveStrong.com and its "Daily Plate" feature, and it has made a world of difference for me. In 5 or 10 minutes, I had entered my age, weight, activity level, and weight loss goals into the website, and it provided me with VERY concrete goals, showing me exactly what to strive for each day, in terms of my eating/exercise habits. Suddenly, I had something specific to shoot for, and I began to see how each of my food/exercise choices influenced that daily goal.
It sounds simple, but it was profoundly sobering to me. It taught me a lot about myself: why I eat, the difference between wants/needs, how long it takes for new habits to pay off, etc. It would not be overstating the case to say that LiveStrong sparked a MAJOR paradigm shift for me.
I am now eating/living better than I have for a decade (literally), but I still get to enjoy the foods I love (in moderation, of course). I feel younger and healthier than I have for a long time, and I feel like I've found something sustainable--not some fad "diet," but a way of living that I can truly maintain.
And, I am finally within the normal weight range for my age/height.
It's nice to be normal.
MOJ
Trouble was: the only strategy I knew was "exercise more" and "eat less." And while that IS, of course, the real answer, I think it's so difficult for people because it is so vague--no concrete benchmarks to strive for, no sense of how long it will take to pay off, etc.
In my case, a year had gone by and, while I had made definite progress, I still wasn't quite down to the "normal" weight range. In addition, because my plan was so vague, I didn't have a good way to handle unexpected bumps in the road: during Spring semester this year, for example, I gained 20 lbs., mostly because of an illness I couldn't shake and a schedule that was "too busy" to allow me to get enough rest/exercise.
Then, this summer, I stumbled across LiveStrong.com and its "Daily Plate" feature, and it has made a world of difference for me. In 5 or 10 minutes, I had entered my age, weight, activity level, and weight loss goals into the website, and it provided me with VERY concrete goals, showing me exactly what to strive for each day, in terms of my eating/exercise habits. Suddenly, I had something specific to shoot for, and I began to see how each of my food/exercise choices influenced that daily goal.
It sounds simple, but it was profoundly sobering to me. It taught me a lot about myself: why I eat, the difference between wants/needs, how long it takes for new habits to pay off, etc. It would not be overstating the case to say that LiveStrong sparked a MAJOR paradigm shift for me.
I am now eating/living better than I have for a decade (literally), but I still get to enjoy the foods I love (in moderation, of course). I feel younger and healthier than I have for a long time, and I feel like I've found something sustainable--not some fad "diet," but a way of living that I can truly maintain.
And, I am finally within the normal weight range for my age/height.
It's nice to be normal.
MOJ
Crash!
Yes, we knew ahead of time that riding a Razor Scooter down the hilly streets of our neighborhood could lead to trouble. But we'd heard the promises--public safety ads, teachers, sundry sages--assuring us that the key to safety was no further away than the nearest bike helmet. No matter how dangerous the activity, the Helmet-Powers-That-Be watch over you and surround you with shell of loving safety that begins the moment you click the plastic helmet strap under your chin, don't they? Don't they???
Well, no, apparently. They don't.
Instead, they watch in sadistic glee as you embark on your journey with growing anticipation. They encourage the rush of adrenaline as you begin zipping down the hill, the world flying past you in a blinding blur. They let you bask in the exhilaration of the wind rushing past your skin.
Then they let a little rock (or whatever) catch your Razor Scooter's wheel, and they laugh as that wind-exhilarated skin is torn off of your body by the silky smooth caress of the asphalt beneath you.
So today, L is hobbling around with a twisted ankle and livid patches of road rash on elbows, wrists, and knees. And tomorrow, she gets to hobble around a new school, up and down flights of stairs, trying to find her classes. Sheesh!
I know we should count our blessings that it wasn't any worse. The helmet did work, after all, so her skull is still in one piece. And she didn't get any of her teeth knocked out. And she won't actually need corrective plastic surgery, even on her elbows. No broken bones. No broken nails. Heck, she didn't even lose an eye.
It's just that, sometimes, it's hard to count your blessings when you're oozing blood on the carpet.
MOJ
Well, no, apparently. They don't.
Instead, they watch in sadistic glee as you embark on your journey with growing anticipation. They encourage the rush of adrenaline as you begin zipping down the hill, the world flying past you in a blinding blur. They let you bask in the exhilaration of the wind rushing past your skin.
Then they let a little rock (or whatever) catch your Razor Scooter's wheel, and they laugh as that wind-exhilarated skin is torn off of your body by the silky smooth caress of the asphalt beneath you.
So today, L is hobbling around with a twisted ankle and livid patches of road rash on elbows, wrists, and knees. And tomorrow, she gets to hobble around a new school, up and down flights of stairs, trying to find her classes. Sheesh!
I know we should count our blessings that it wasn't any worse. The helmet did work, after all, so her skull is still in one piece. And she didn't get any of her teeth knocked out. And she won't actually need corrective plastic surgery, even on her elbows. No broken bones. No broken nails. Heck, she didn't even lose an eye.
It's just that, sometimes, it's hard to count your blessings when you're oozing blood on the carpet.
MOJ
The Donut Incident
In response to the Donut Incident (Item #16) on my 25 Random Things post, Michele says she once ate an entire package of 25 Peeps so she wouldn't have to share them when she got home. She then guessed that, contrary to her, I "probably didn't eat the donuts out of selfishness."
Well...
I was 15 years old at the time. Mom and I were at the grocery store without the rest of the family, which almost never happened.
We had just rounded the corner from the produce aisle, and there they were: mini-donuts!
Not the little packages of five pathetic minis--these were the Super-Ultra-Mega-Bags, the huge bags that you could only find in a "bulk" store (like Sam's Club or Costco) these days: forty or fifty miniature ovals of plastic-chocolate-goodness calling out to me!
I asked Mom if we could buy them. The request was pretty innocuous, probably something like "Mom, can I please have these?"
What she HEARD, however, was more along the lines of, "Mom, can I please have these, so I can take them home and share them with my seven siblings? I know how much everyone likes them, and nothing fills me with more delight than bringing a smile to someone's face. Even if I don't get a crumb myself, I won't mind. It would be enough to know that everyone else did. Please, Mom? Wouldn't you like to help me bring a bright ray of hope into our home today?"
She looked at me, eyes glistening with maternal pride, and said, "Of course, honey."
Unfortunately, what she heard was nothing like what I actually MEANT. There really is no way to put my intentions into words, except to say that my thoughts began with "Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha...." and, had the Villainous Dance of Villainy been invented at that time, I certainly would have been doing it right there at the end of Aisle 2.
Because, the truth is, my intentions had nothing whatsoever to do with sharing. The moment that "Of course" fell like grace from her lips, I was scheming. I was thinking only of ME. I probably could not have told you, at that moment, whether I had any siblings at all. I think I ate 3 or 4 donuts between the time we paid for them and when they were loaded into the back of the van. I then jumped into my seat and began plotting when/how I would consume the rest of them. That is when the awareness of siblings flooded back into my mind: the piranha that were waiting to get their grubby teeth on MY donuts! I spent the entire drive home devising a fool-proof way to get the donuts up to my room without anyone seeing them.
The brilliant plan: stuff the bag into my shirt and RUN.
It worked beautifully. Moments after our arrival, I had the entire bag (minus a few more tasty morsels) stashed under my bed. Every 20 minutes or so, I would return and furtively cram a few more donuts into my mouth, quickly chew them up in my closet, and sneak out of the room before anyone's suspicion was aroused.
It was heavenly!
One of the best evenings of my entire life!
But not one of the best NIGHTS. No, no, no. By bedtime, I had finished off three-quarters of the bag--probably three or four dozen of the little Discs of Despair.
I spent the next few hours learning what the human body does when its convinced it's been poisoned. I've only been THAT sick one other time: after brain surgery. Significantly, though, THAT shockingly-similar bout of nonstop vomiting was induced by a combination of (1) having been pumped full of general anesthesia and (2) having just had one of my balance nerves severed, so that even slight movement felt like riding ocean swells.
The fact that I duplicated that experience without medication or self-mutilation is rather sobering to me. Don't they test these things on animals before they sell them to humans???
So no, Michele, I'm afraid my motives were no more noble than yours were. And I'm glad to hear that you've consequently warned your children about the dangers of gluttony!
I just wish you had warned ME in time!
MOJ
Well...
I was 15 years old at the time. Mom and I were at the grocery store without the rest of the family, which almost never happened.
We had just rounded the corner from the produce aisle, and there they were: mini-donuts!
Not the little packages of five pathetic minis--these were the Super-Ultra-Mega-Bags, the huge bags that you could only find in a "bulk" store (like Sam's Club or Costco) these days: forty or fifty miniature ovals of plastic-chocolate-goodness calling out to me!
I asked Mom if we could buy them. The request was pretty innocuous, probably something like "Mom, can I please have these?"
What she HEARD, however, was more along the lines of, "Mom, can I please have these, so I can take them home and share them with my seven siblings? I know how much everyone likes them, and nothing fills me with more delight than bringing a smile to someone's face. Even if I don't get a crumb myself, I won't mind. It would be enough to know that everyone else did. Please, Mom? Wouldn't you like to help me bring a bright ray of hope into our home today?"
She looked at me, eyes glistening with maternal pride, and said, "Of course, honey."
Unfortunately, what she heard was nothing like what I actually MEANT. There really is no way to put my intentions into words, except to say that my thoughts began with "Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha...." and, had the Villainous Dance of Villainy been invented at that time, I certainly would have been doing it right there at the end of Aisle 2.
Because, the truth is, my intentions had nothing whatsoever to do with sharing. The moment that "Of course" fell like grace from her lips, I was scheming. I was thinking only of ME. I probably could not have told you, at that moment, whether I had any siblings at all. I think I ate 3 or 4 donuts between the time we paid for them and when they were loaded into the back of the van. I then jumped into my seat and began plotting when/how I would consume the rest of them. That is when the awareness of siblings flooded back into my mind: the piranha that were waiting to get their grubby teeth on MY donuts! I spent the entire drive home devising a fool-proof way to get the donuts up to my room without anyone seeing them.
The brilliant plan: stuff the bag into my shirt and RUN.
It worked beautifully. Moments after our arrival, I had the entire bag (minus a few more tasty morsels) stashed under my bed. Every 20 minutes or so, I would return and furtively cram a few more donuts into my mouth, quickly chew them up in my closet, and sneak out of the room before anyone's suspicion was aroused.
It was heavenly!
One of the best evenings of my entire life!
But not one of the best NIGHTS. No, no, no. By bedtime, I had finished off three-quarters of the bag--probably three or four dozen of the little Discs of Despair.
I spent the next few hours learning what the human body does when its convinced it's been poisoned. I've only been THAT sick one other time: after brain surgery. Significantly, though, THAT shockingly-similar bout of nonstop vomiting was induced by a combination of (1) having been pumped full of general anesthesia and (2) having just had one of my balance nerves severed, so that even slight movement felt like riding ocean swells.
The fact that I duplicated that experience without medication or self-mutilation is rather sobering to me. Don't they test these things on animals before they sell them to humans???
So no, Michele, I'm afraid my motives were no more noble than yours were. And I'm glad to hear that you've consequently warned your children about the dangers of gluttony!
I just wish you had warned ME in time!
MOJ
In the Face of Death
Brian asked about one of the items on my 25 Random Things list. It was item #5: "In a surreal moment of terror, I was once absolutely positive that I was about to be murdered..."
I was 16 or 17 at the time, and I was "cruising 6th Street" one night with Paul--one of the few weekend pastimes in a sleepy little town. When we got bored, we decided to follow 6th Street all the way out of town. In just a few blocks, we had left the crowds behind and, in another few blocks, were at the western edges of civilization. There, you pass a final cross street where the last street light stands, and the road curves out through pitch black fields of towering crops. (At least, that's how it is in my memory.)
That night, in the bend of the road, at the farthest reaches of the street light's glow, we saw a car sitting half in the irrigation ditch that flanked the road. It was facing toward us on OUR side of the road, with its left-hand wheels in the ditch and its nose resting against a sturdy farm-fence post. Its lights were off, there was no sign of anyone anywhere, and there was no indication of any damage to the car--it looked as if someone had simply eased the car down into the ditch and up against the post.
We drove past the car and snaked around the gentle bends in the road until we were out of sight. But then we turned around to go back and check out the situation--curious as to why someone would ease their car down into the ditch like that.
That's when everything turned into a horror movie.
Just as we pulled to a stop and I began opening my car door, the passenger door of the other car popped open and a dark figure emerged. Suddenly, I knew EXACTLY why someone would ease their car down into a ditch like that--to create a facade of distress that would lure a Good Samaritan close enough for unspeakable acts of violence. The creepy horror-movie violins began playing in my head, and I hesitated in my seat, allowing my door to swing shut.
I rolled down my window instead and called, "Are you okay?" to the stranger.
There was no response, but the figure began zombie-shuffling toward me, waving unsteadily back and forth (as all good zombies do).
After a nearly eternal pause, I tried again, my voice rising in pitch. "Are you OKAY???"
Again, there was no response, but the figure was drawing closer and closer. Its face was turned away from the distant street lamp, and my headlights were pointed in the wrong direction, so I couldn't see its features. But I could see dark patches smudged across its face--had it smeared mud across itself? Or blood???
The figure continued to stumble toward me, until it was only a few feet away--and, still, it hadn't made a sound.
Paul muttered nervously to my right, and I really began to panic. I rolled the window nearly up and started the car's engine, so we could escape when the thing attacked us and tried to add our corpses to the oozing carnage clearly dripping from its face.
I managed one final offer of help, this time in a tiny crack of a voice, through the tiny crack left open at the top of my window.
Again, no response.
My pulse was now racing. The figure was in reach of our car, towering above me in the darkness. It then slowly reached into a bag that was half-hidden in the shadows of its clothing. My blood felt suddenly cold, and I couldn't move--we could almost hear the cannibal's skeletal hands close around the but of a gun.
"LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" Paul shouted!
The sound yanked me from my terrified stupor and threw me headlong into an equally-terrified frenzy. Before the words were fully out of his mouth, I had punched my foot down on the gas pedal, and the car squeeled away, careening madly away from Death's clutching grip.
It was quite awhile before my pulse settled down. Even after it did, our minds were racing with the residual terror of the experience and the last-minute escape from certain dismemberment. Still shaking, we went to find a phone so we could call the police. They could go arrest the killer, and our sleepy little town could be free from the nightmare.
I still can't remember where we went to call the police--the attack had happened on the west side of town, 20-25 minutes from home (which was east of town), so I think we went to a nearby friend's house to borrow the phone. My mind wasn't yet functioning, so the details are hazy. I just remember that my friend Tracy was there (or showed up there later) and, as the night unfolded, it turned out that the "zombie" was...
...Tracy's mom.
Mrs. Mills (whom I had never before met) had legitimately been in an accident, and we must have arrived on the scene moments later. With her car tilted down in the ditch, she probably couldn't open her driver's side door, so she had to climb uphill to get the passenger's side door open and to clamber out of the car. She was probably too shell-shocked from the accident to say anything as she stumbled across the street toward us. We must have really seemed like punks--stopping and offering help to a person who was clearly in distress, and then yanking that help, almost literally, out of her grasp and abandoning her in the darkness.
I hope she's forgiven us.
I learned some important lessons from it all:
MOJ
I was 16 or 17 at the time, and I was "cruising 6th Street" one night with Paul--one of the few weekend pastimes in a sleepy little town. When we got bored, we decided to follow 6th Street all the way out of town. In just a few blocks, we had left the crowds behind and, in another few blocks, were at the western edges of civilization. There, you pass a final cross street where the last street light stands, and the road curves out through pitch black fields of towering crops. (At least, that's how it is in my memory.)
That night, in the bend of the road, at the farthest reaches of the street light's glow, we saw a car sitting half in the irrigation ditch that flanked the road. It was facing toward us on OUR side of the road, with its left-hand wheels in the ditch and its nose resting against a sturdy farm-fence post. Its lights were off, there was no sign of anyone anywhere, and there was no indication of any damage to the car--it looked as if someone had simply eased the car down into the ditch and up against the post.
We drove past the car and snaked around the gentle bends in the road until we were out of sight. But then we turned around to go back and check out the situation--curious as to why someone would ease their car down into the ditch like that.
That's when everything turned into a horror movie.
Just as we pulled to a stop and I began opening my car door, the passenger door of the other car popped open and a dark figure emerged. Suddenly, I knew EXACTLY why someone would ease their car down into a ditch like that--to create a facade of distress that would lure a Good Samaritan close enough for unspeakable acts of violence. The creepy horror-movie violins began playing in my head, and I hesitated in my seat, allowing my door to swing shut.
I rolled down my window instead and called, "Are you okay?" to the stranger.
There was no response, but the figure began zombie-shuffling toward me, waving unsteadily back and forth (as all good zombies do).
After a nearly eternal pause, I tried again, my voice rising in pitch. "Are you OKAY???"
Again, there was no response, but the figure was drawing closer and closer. Its face was turned away from the distant street lamp, and my headlights were pointed in the wrong direction, so I couldn't see its features. But I could see dark patches smudged across its face--had it smeared mud across itself? Or blood???
The figure continued to stumble toward me, until it was only a few feet away--and, still, it hadn't made a sound.
Paul muttered nervously to my right, and I really began to panic. I rolled the window nearly up and started the car's engine, so we could escape when the thing attacked us and tried to add our corpses to the oozing carnage clearly dripping from its face.
I managed one final offer of help, this time in a tiny crack of a voice, through the tiny crack left open at the top of my window.
Again, no response.
My pulse was now racing. The figure was in reach of our car, towering above me in the darkness. It then slowly reached into a bag that was half-hidden in the shadows of its clothing. My blood felt suddenly cold, and I couldn't move--we could almost hear the cannibal's skeletal hands close around the but of a gun.
"LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" Paul shouted!
The sound yanked me from my terrified stupor and threw me headlong into an equally-terrified frenzy. Before the words were fully out of his mouth, I had punched my foot down on the gas pedal, and the car squeeled away, careening madly away from Death's clutching grip.
It was quite awhile before my pulse settled down. Even after it did, our minds were racing with the residual terror of the experience and the last-minute escape from certain dismemberment. Still shaking, we went to find a phone so we could call the police. They could go arrest the killer, and our sleepy little town could be free from the nightmare.
I still can't remember where we went to call the police--the attack had happened on the west side of town, 20-25 minutes from home (which was east of town), so I think we went to a nearby friend's house to borrow the phone. My mind wasn't yet functioning, so the details are hazy. I just remember that my friend Tracy was there (or showed up there later) and, as the night unfolded, it turned out that the "zombie" was...
...Tracy's mom.
Mrs. Mills (whom I had never before met) had legitimately been in an accident, and we must have arrived on the scene moments later. With her car tilted down in the ditch, she probably couldn't open her driver's side door, so she had to climb uphill to get the passenger's side door open and to clamber out of the car. She was probably too shell-shocked from the accident to say anything as she stumbled across the street toward us. We must have really seemed like punks--stopping and offering help to a person who was clearly in distress, and then yanking that help, almost literally, out of her grasp and abandoning her in the darkness.
I hope she's forgiven us.
I learned some important lessons from it all:
- First, most people are not psychotic, cannibalistic murderers.
- Second, if you're going to crash your car, make sure you do it in a well lit area, so you don't terrify the passersby.
- Third, when Good Samaritans stop to help, let them know you're harmless. You can do this by (a) answering them when they ask if you're okay and/or (b) wearing your "I'M NOT A ZOMBIE" t-shirt. (You might want to keep it in your glove box, just so it's handy when you need it.)
MOJ
25 Random Things About Me
Inspired by Michele's "25 Random Things About Me," here are mine:
- I have very loud shoelaces.
- I've had entire conversations with people who think I'm my younger brother, Paul.
- I find alliteration charming.
- I am NOT a pet person.
- In a surreal moment of terror, I was once absolutely positive that I was about to be murdered (by a person who turned out to be my friend's mom).
- I sleep with a shaking alarm clock in my pillowcase (to wake me) and an audible alarm clock in the next room, set to go off 3 minutes after the Shake Awake (to make me actually get out of bed before it wakes up the whole house).
- Your phone number is stored in my wristwatch's incredible memory.
- My older brother (Brian) and I were born in the same calendar year.
- I once foiled a mugging using only my phenomenally commanding voice.
- When a stranger begins saying, "Has anyone ever told you...?" I can finish the sentence for him or her.
- Every single shirt in my closet faces to the left, but I promise I'm not obsessive.
- If there is such as thing as an addiction to chocolate, I'm fairly certain that I qualify.
- Twenty years ago, a friend told me to memorize the number 965752591651711989, and I've never forgotten it. Next time you see me, ask me, and I can rattle it off in an instant. (I have since forgotten the name of the friend that made me do this.)
- I once dumped a large can of Chocolate Quik powder on my mom. (It was an accident. Really.)
- I consider it a public service that I do NOT dance outside of my home.
- When I was fifteen, I ate several dozen chocolate-covered mini-donuts and got more violently-ill than I had ever been. It was a very long night. I haven't eaten a chocolate-covered donut since. I don't think I ever will.
- Though I hold linguistic conventions in high regard, the J in my signature is always printed, rather than signed.
- When eating out, I prefer going to the same restaurants and ordering the exact same thing every time.
- I am now appalled by almost every one of the movies that I loved as a teenager.
- I am ten years older than most of my law school classmates, though few of them know that.
- I am particularly fond of the em-dash--it's my favorite punctuation mark.
- I used to love winter. Now, I can hardly bear it.
- I was in my mid-twenties when I first ate a fresh peach.
- I sometimes break the subjective/objective pronoun rules, ironically, because I don't want to sound like I use poor grammar.
- I regularly have apocalyptic dreams. I sincerely hope they don't ever actually happen.
Busy Summer
This summer will--hopefully--be very busy for me. Back in January, I submitted an application for some openings at the Utah Attorney General's office, but when I didn't hear back from them, I began making other plans for summer. Last week, I applied for a Judicial Clinic, where I could clerk for a judge in the U.S. District Court in Salt Lake.
Then, the next day, I got got a call from the AG's office, inviting me to interview with their Children's Justice Division. And yesterday I got a call from another division within their office: Child Protection--I'll be interviewing with them next week as well.
It's very exciting. Either position at the AG's office sounds like exactly the kind of work I came to law school to do. In addition, any of the (6 or so) USDC positions would give me fantastic experience seeing the behind-the-scenes aspects of the court.
It would be great to be offered one of the AG jobs and one of the USDC positions. It will be a full plate, but it would give me a LOT of great experience and allow me to explore career paths that appeal to me. If neither plan works out, I'll be taking classes and will arrange a different Clinic experience--another place where I can get some practical experience. I can't wait to see how it all turns out.
MOJ
Then, the next day, I got got a call from the AG's office, inviting me to interview with their Children's Justice Division. And yesterday I got a call from another division within their office: Child Protection--I'll be interviewing with them next week as well.
It's very exciting. Either position at the AG's office sounds like exactly the kind of work I came to law school to do. In addition, any of the (6 or so) USDC positions would give me fantastic experience seeing the behind-the-scenes aspects of the court.
It would be great to be offered one of the AG jobs and one of the USDC positions. It will be a full plate, but it would give me a LOT of great experience and allow me to explore career paths that appeal to me. If neither plan works out, I'll be taking classes and will arrange a different Clinic experience--another place where I can get some practical experience. I can't wait to see how it all turns out.
MOJ
Not So Sicko Anymore
Just about better now. Just four shorts weeks of being sick.
Now it's time to get caught up with school. "Excuse me, Professor. Could you briefly sum up everything we've covered in the last four weeks?"
!!!
MOJ
Now it's time to get caught up with school. "Excuse me, Professor. Could you briefly sum up everything we've covered in the last four weeks?"
!!!
MOJ
Sicko
Okay, so it's been awhile since I've posted anything here. It's because I've been bombarded by two illnesses that have made life barely bearable for the past several weeks: (1) the Cold That Won't Go Away and (2) the Legal Methods Paper That Determines My Entire Grade in The Class. Only one of them shows the slightest signs of giving me a break--the rough draft of the Paper was due this morning, so I can pull back for a few days off before I get my TA's feedback and the revision process begins. The Cold, on the other hand, has been ravaging the family (with the exception of C, thankfully) without much hint of relenting.
The combo together was a bit of a problem: the Cold demands that I get some rest in order to get well; the Paper demanded that I get less sleep than normal.
Not my favorite combination.
MOJ
The combo together was a bit of a problem: the Cold demands that I get some rest in order to get well; the Paper demanded that I get less sleep than normal.
Not my favorite combination.
MOJ
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)