Thursday, May 27, 2010

Honor the Fallen



~~This Memorial Day~~
MAY GOD BLESS THIS AIRLINE CAPTAIN:

He writes: My lead flight attendant came to me and said, "We have an H.R. on this flight." (H.R. stands for human remains.) "Are they military?" I asked.

'Yes', she said.
'Is there an escort?' I asked.
'Yes, I already assigned him a seat'.
'Would you please tell him to come to the flight deck. You can board him early," I said..

A short while later, a young army sergeant entered the flight deck. He was the image of the perfectly dressed soldier. He introduced himself and I asked him about his soldier. The escorts of these fallen soldiers talk about them as if they are still alive and still with us.

'My soldier is on his way back to Virginia,' he said. He proceeded to answer my questions, but offered no words.

I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said no. I told him that he had the toughest job in the military and that I appreciated the work that he does for the families of our fallen soldiers. The first officer and I got up out of our seats to shake his hand. He left the flight deck to find his seat.

We completed our preflight checks, pushed back and performed an uneventful departure. About 30 minutes into our flight I received a call from the lead flight attendant in the cabin. 'I just found out the family of the soldier we are carrying, is on board', she said. She then proceeded to tell me that the father, mother, wife and 2-year old daughter were escorting their son, husband, and father home. The family was upset because they were unable to see the container that the soldier was in before we left. We were on our way to a major hub at which the family was going to wait four hours for the connecting flight home to Virginia .

The father of the soldier told the flight attendant that knowing his son was below him in the cargo compartment and being unable to see him was too much for him and the family to bear. He had asked the flight attendant if there was anything that could be done to allow them to see him upon our arrival. The family wanted to be outside by the cargo door to watch the soldier being taken off the airplane.. I could hear the desperation in the flight attendants voice when she asked me if there was anything I could do.. 'I'm on it', I said. I told her that I would get back to her.

Airborne communication with my company normally occurs in the form of e-mail like messages. I decided to bypass this system and contact my flight dispatcher directly on a secondary radio. There is a radio operator in the operations control center who connects you to the telephone of the dispatcher. I was in direct contact with the dispatcher.. I explained the situation I had on board with the family and what it was the family wanted. He said he understood and that he would get back to me.

Two hours went by and I had not heard from the dispatcher. We were going to get busy soon and I needed to know what to tell the family. I sent a text message asking for an update. I saved the return message from the dispatcher and the following is the text:

'Captain, sorry it has taken so long to get back to you. There is policy on this now and I had to check on a few things. Upon your arrival a dedicated escort team will meet the aircraft. The team will escort the family to the ramp and plane side. A van will be used to load the remains with a secondary van for the family. The family will be taken to their departure area and escorted into the terminal where the remains can be seen on the ramp. It is a private area for the family only. When the connecting aircraft arrives, the family will be escorted onto the ramp and plane side to watch the remains being loaded for the final leg home. Captain, most of us here in flight control are veterans. Please pass our condolences on to the family. Thanks.'

I sent a message back telling flight control thanks for a good job. I printed out the message and gave it to the lead flight attendant to pass on to the father. The lead flight attendant was very thankful and told me, 'You have no idea how much this will mean to them.'

Things started getting busy for the descent, approach and landing. After landing, we cleared the runway and taxied to the ramp area. The ramp is huge with 15 gates on either side of the alleyway. It is always a busy area with aircraft maneuvering every which way to enter and exit. When we entered the ramp and checked in with the ramp controller, we were told that all traffic was being held for us.

'There is a team in place to meet the aircraft', we were told. It looked like it was all coming together, then I realized that once we turned the seat belt sign off, everyone would stand up at once and delay the family from getting off the airplane. As we approached our gate, I asked the copilot to tell the ramp controller we were going to stop short of the gate to make an announcement to the passengers. He did that and the ramp controller said, 'Take your time.'

I stopped the aircraft and set the parking brake. I pushed the public address button and said, 'Ladies and gentleman, this is your Captain speaking I have stopped short of our gate to make a special announcement. We have a passenger on board who deserves our honor and respect. His Name is Private XXXXXX, a soldier who recently lost his life. Private XXXXXX is under your feet in the cargo hold. Escorting him today is Army Sergeant XXXXXXX. Also, on board are his father, mother, wife, and daughter. Your entire flight crew is asking for all passengers to remain in their seats to allow the family to exit the aircraft first. Thank you.'

We continued the turn to the gate, came to a stop and started our shutdown procedures. A couple of minutes later I opened the cockpit door. I found the two forward flight attendants crying, something you just do not see. I was told that after we came to a stop, every passenger on the aircraft stayed in their seats, waiting for the family to exit the aircraft.

When the family got up and gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands. Moments later more passengers joined in and soon the entire aircraft was clapping. Words of 'God Bless You', I'm sorry, thank you, be proud, and other kind words were uttered to the family as they made their way down the aisle and out of the airplane. They were escorted down to the ramp to finally be with their loved one.

Many of the passengers disembarking thanked me for the announcement I had made. They were just words, I told them, I could say them over and over again, but nothing I say will bring back that brave soldier.

I respectfully ask that all of you reflect on this event and the sacrifices that millions of our men and women have made to ensure our freedom and safety in these United States of AMERICA .

Foot note:
As a Viet Nam Veteran I can only think of all the veterans including the ones that rode below the deck on their way home and how they were treated. When I read things like this I am proud that our country has not turned their backs on our soldiers returning from the various war zones today and give them the respect they so deserve.

I know every one who has served their country who reads this will have tears in their eyes, including me.

Prayer chain for our Military... Don't break it!

Please send this on after a short prayer.. Prayer for our soldiers Don't break it!

Prayer:
'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen..'

Prayer Request: When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our troops around the world.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

'I got mine...go get your own...LOSER!'


I am tired of the attitude...the 'holier than thou' raised eyebrows...the nonexistent compassion for those who really need help with health care costs.
These people who are fortunate enough to HAVE affordable health insurance looking down their noses at those of us who don't...through no fault of our own.
We are all uninsured ticking time bombs walking around...having been laid off a good paying job that had benefits...praying to God we don't get something terminal, break a limb, or get hurt in an accident.

'everyone can get health care! Those people who want reform want a handout from the government...tsk. tsk....' the suburban housewife says on her way to play tennis with her gal pals, and eat chicken salad by the pool afterwards.
'those people just want socialized medicine---that ain't American...' says the redneck in his American flag shirt, chewin his Skoal, leanin against is uber truck---'ain't she purrty?'
'ohhhh...you don't have insurance?' says the perky receptionist with a pseudo caring look,'I'll be right back...' As she disappears behind door # 1...reappearing from door #2...hands me my medicaid card between two of her really nicely manicured fake nails...says 'we don't take Medicaid patients.'
(ok...that was all very stereotypical...and I know I will tick somebody off...however, I fall in to their stereotype of 'losers who want to mooch off the system'.)

My point: My child is SICK!
I just want help for her---right NOW!

(and for the record: No...I do NOT want a handout...and I believe in doing my part, paying my fair share...and helping others whenever I can.)

Yesterday I called the 'caregiver' listed on Mia's medicaid card...
Turns out they won't see her because 'her files were transferred to another practice, so, she would be considered a new patient'...
(she has been seeing them since she was born, and I had to transfer her when my H got laid off because they would not see her without insurance.)
I called the place her records were transferred to...got her an appointment today. (yay!)
We arrive on time...my baby is feverish, coughing and obviously not feeling well.
I go and check in...
'ummm....we can't take this Medicaid card because we are not listed as the primary practice...'
(HUH?)
I ask how long it takes to get the switch done---a phone call? Fax? 15 minutes?
'...Thirty days...'
Oh my GOD! I could start out on foot---WALK there, carrying my sick child--- and get it done faster than that!
They suggested I go to an Urgent Care place 'because their out of pocket expense will be less...'
OK.
I pack sick child back in to car...drive across town to Urgent Care place...
I presented the Medicaid card, checked in---again---and we go sit and wait...for an HOUR.
We finally get back to see the Doc...and wait another 30 minutes....
Doc spends 5 minutes with her...writes a script for antibiotics---(well, DUH! No surprise.)
We wait some MORE for the paperwork to process...and I get the bill...
'ok...you owe $317 for todays visit...'
(WHAAAATTTT?)
I rarely 'go off'...but I did...stealing myself not to pass out...while sick baby is whithering some more...
Long rant short: I paid $20 and told them to bill me the rest....and I got all the names and numbers of anyone and everyone I could call, email, etc...fighting back tears of total frustration.
At this point, we had been at this for 3 hours...and sick baby was getting worse.
I got her meds...carrying her the whole time through the pharmacy...finally arrive home where my little girl literally passed out on the sofa...I barely managed to get the meds in her before she was asleep like a log.
I go in to 'squeaky wheel mode'...
As I am preparing myself for an afternoon of phone calls and being put on hold...my phone rings.
It's the office manager at the Urgent Care...sheepishly apologizing...it was a 'clerical' error.
Turns out, since they knew I had Medicaid for my daughter, they could not charge me anymore than what Medicaid would be...
Seriously?
There went 3 hours of my life I will never get back...
However,the better news is my little girl is resting...and I may just go take a nap myself. I am pooped!

Friday, May 7, 2010

For All the MOMS...


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Before I was a Mom,
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind
and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night
watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held a sleeping baby just because
I didn't want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.


Before I was a Mom,
I didn't know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body..
I didn't know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond
between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment
or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much,
before I was a Mom...

May you always be overwhelmed by the Grace of God rather than by the
cares of life..."

Sunday, May 2, 2010

It's My Garden...


I have been through 2 husbands already....call it bad luck...or fate.
Whatever...
The one thing I have always felt the most sad about, when these marriages ended, were my gardens....and having to leave them.
When I was with 'X1' I built an awesome garden in our yard...it is what kept me sane.
When all else crumbled around me...my garden fed me and kept me alive.
I taught my small children (at the time) how to identify weeds....transplant good flowers...and learn the value of making things grow under your care.
I had to leave that garden.
I had spent 7 years building a perennial heaven. Built a pergola with wisteria vines...sweet blossoms making the air fragrant on warm spring nights. I used to sit under those vines with my now 15 yr. old in my lap...and we would look at the twinkle lights I had infused in the greenery....and make up stories about lovely fairies and happy things.
I remember trying to transplant vintage peonies and other amazing plants to my newest garden out of state...
Some of them lived...but some did not make the trip.
When I moved where I am now---some 8 years ago, I had great hopes...and thought this would be my 'last' garden to build.
I worked my fanny off turning over soil...conditioning the native clay in to something that would love and accept what I had to plant and grow....
Turns out...this is NOT my last garden...and now I have an 'X2'...
Life has a strange way of twisting and turning.
I always thought that at this stage of my life I would have a well established garden---and life.
I am now looking at putting my house on the market...just as my hydrangeas have established themselves. Just as the irises I took from the woods, have finally come in to their own....just as I thought everything was going to be OK.
I am sad to leave my garden. I am sad that yet another 'marriage' has failed.
However...I do know this.
I will grow where I am planted next...and so will my garden...eventually.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

The code! The CODE? Ummmm....


It was a gloriously dazzling morning Friday last...the birds were chirping, the sun was glistening...I had had that first cup of black tar (aka: my kinda coffee)...
I went skipping (not really) to the back door to let my lovely Roxy dog outside to tend to her morning 'duties' and her never ending squirrel patrol.
As I opened the door---all heck broke loose.
WHOOOOP! WHHOOOOP!
(Oh...SH*T! I had forgotten to turn off the security system!)
I scrambled as best I could, in my '(F)Uggs'----Fake Uggs---and luscious pink furry bathrobe, to the punch pad thingy for the alarm.
(It was lit up all green and flashing for me.)
The code? WHAT was the freakin' CODE to turn off the system???!!!
Automatically I dial in my ATM card pin number...the alarm was still going...and no money came out of the wall---DARNIT!
WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!
(holy cow I am going to wake the neighbors!)
I dial in what I THINK is the code---and tah-dah! Grace under pressure wins again!
(and none of my 3 kids woke up!...which then worried me because they could sleep through gunfire if they had slept through THAT alarm!)
I went in to the kitchen to reheat my tar/coffee...and the phone rings.
It was the security company calling to see if everything was ok, if I was who I said I was...and (get this!) 'yes,ma'am...could you please tell me the secret password for your system?...'
Ummm. Secret password? WHAT secret password...????
With some hints from the kind customer service guy...I got it...sort of.
(He said, 'well, what you said is a form of the word, so, that's OK...')
About 45 minutes later...as I am doing the 'get-your-shoes-on-you-have-to-go-to-school' dance with my 5 year old....there is a knock on the door.
TWO cop cars are parked in front of my home...TWO!
I went outside to speak with the kind officers with there crispy uniforms...and guns.
Doing my best June Cleaver, southern belle, eyelash batting...I explained what had happened while letting out the dog...
They still wanted to see my ID.
(Super! Now all the neighbors were wondering why TWO cops are at my door...)
So,apparently, I checked out alright for them...I was me...and then?
They liked my landscaping and perennials so much, we had a nice little chat about pesticide-free gardening!
(Who knew!)
At least THEY did not ask me for a code word...

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

What IS in a name?



My kids have as new stepsister with an 'unusual' name...so, I had to post this...(This was written, by me, in February of 2009.)
A friend of mine recently introduced me to his dog 'Lucky'...
( a potential 'friend' for my' babe of a foxy beagle mix',Roxy---although she has not approved him on her 'Dogbook')
Lucky's name got me to thinkin'---(yes, I do that a lot...but then, I can find the humor in just about everything...it's bad!)
Whenever you name a dog, cat or child---you need to first see how it will play out when you call them from across the yard....
Apparently, when I adopted Zeus...our beloved 125 pound SPCA special husky/Akita/border collie mix...I was, clearly, not thinking in such a manner. He was black and white, one blue eye, one soulful brown eye, big husky plume tail...and he had a white streak---which looked like lightening---right down the middle of his big dog forehead.
Lightening...powerful...hmmm. AH! Yes! 'ZEUS' King of the gods...PERFECT!
(and then down the road I could adopt another dog and call him 'APOLLO'...wait. Aren't those the names of Magnum PI's dogs? I miss Tom....)
Not that 'Zeus' was not a perfect name for the perfect dog---aka: 'Zeusy boy', 'Juice', 'Big Dog' and 'Trailer Dog'( when he licked the utensils in the dishwasher)...as well as the shared names of many dogs: 'Get down!' and 'No No Bad Dog!'
The problem came with the greeting: 'Hey ZEUS!'...which sounds just like 'Jesus' in Spanish...and living where I do, with a large Spanish speaking population...I was apparently calling on the Almighty One like an evangelical on a Sunday morning...
'Zeus' also sounds like 'YOU'...as in 'Zeus! COME!'...this leads to many sheepish explanations to neighbors walking by thinking perhaps you have Turrets (sp) syndrome...'hi...uh, sorry...I wasn't calling to you...I was..uh...calling our dog...Have a great day---your lawn is beautiful! Do you fertilize?"
Some dogs don't ever get an 'official' name.
My dad's fraternity in college had a house dog named 'Dammit'...Maybe his name was 'Earl'...and they just shortened it because 'Dammit' always preceded the 'Earl' part?
('Dammit Earl! Give me back that can!')
Anyway, the dog was actually in the Fraternity picture line up---had his own studio portrait next to all the Delts---so, he was very well thought of despite his unfortunate nickname.
People who name cats have to be careful as well...when 'Captain Sweet Cheeks' escapes the confines of the home, no one wants to be outside making kissy noises and saying--out loud---'Captain Sweeeeeetcheeeeks...come on boy!' followed by more kissy noises...the neighbors will be putting you on the 'freak list' because Jesus and 'Captain Sweet Cheeks' are living in your home!
This can also lead to much consternation, and confusion, in a marriage, as some men inevitably think THEY are 'Captain Sweet Cheeks'...
I believe there should be a rule for naming pets...they should have FULL names.
We have 'Roxy Von Bacheler' aka: 'Roxy the Foxy Beagle mix'...our cat 'Sylvia Wallace Bacheler'. (Wallace is my maiden name... but in catspeak it really means Sylvia...'slayer of all mice/ninja kitty/tail chasing bird whisperer'...Bacheler.) I have also had a lab named 'Sir Brewster of the Highlands'...beloved cats 'Jesse of the James'....aka: 'Juice Toes' and 'Prince Charles of Richelieu'. Then there was 'Signore Luca di Pavoratti' aka: 'Cow Kitty'. We have also had a hamster: 'Mr. Snuggles'...(poor Mr. Suggles...my mother in law held him so tight his eyes were popped out...he was never right after that.)
...it's all about respect really. Honor your pets and they will honor you---except the cats...they live by their own rules.
I love names that have a meaning...take into account anything French: Jolie, Joie,Vivian...Indian names a la 'Dances with Wolves'...Tutanka...etc. Maybe you have run across such names...
Children, like pets, cannot escape the name game either.
They are at the mercy of their parents/captors.
I have actually heard of a girl whose name is Candi (with an 'i'---probably w/ a smiley face or heart on top of the 'i') CANE! Candi Cane? Seriously? Why would a parent do this to a child? It inevitably set her up for crude prepubescent joking...
Same thing with people who are named 'Bob Roberts'. What? Couldn't think of anything else, mom and dad? Robert Roberts? Well, I guess there is a little less guessing in the 'first name last, last name first' scenerio. (and I mean no disrespect to any 'Bob Roberts', 'Tom Thomas', 'Pete Peters' people out there, or their parents!)
Of course this leads to my thoughts on people whose last names really ARE a first name: Thomas, Jackson, James...so, do they name them a LAST name for the FIRST name? (Ex: Smith Thomas, Jones Jackson, Clayton James...) This is confusing for everyone---especially the roll-takers. I'm just sayin'....
For offspring, in particular, the last name is a big deciding factor...no you don't want to name your son 'Richard Johnson'...or for a girl who comes from the well connected 'Butte' clan...'Fanny Butte'...no good. They will suffer the same fate as Candi Cane.
I am also amused by parents who name their kids after fruits, inanimate objects, seasons,or months of the year.'Apple'...'Stone'---which is actually pretty cool...'Summer' or 'May'---whose birthday is in December...(again, no disrespect to anyone with those names!)
Flower names have always been around---'Violet', 'Rose','Daisy'...however, I do think 'Viola' and 'Petunia' may be pushing it...although they should all remain in the running for pet names...
Human names and pet names do cross over well...as well as 'verb names'...'Chase', 'Skip', 'Jett'
(---which if I had had a boy this last time, was the name I had picked out...mainly because he would have been an athlete, for sure, and it sounds great on a loudspeaker: "Touchdown! Jett Bacheler!'...which, then, would have landed him a job in sportscasting..."This is Jett Bacheler reporting from the Yankees training camp. Back to you in the studio.")
AND, by the way, we can all thank the breeders who came up with the name 'Shiitzu'...gave us all an excuse to say a naughty word when we were little! C'mon, you know you did it too!You got the same thrill---just as my son did when he spelled 'association' in spelling review---
'A-S-S...(snicker snicker)..o...c-i-a-t-i-o-n.' hahaha!
OK. So back to 'Lucky'....
It's a great name! Perfect for this dog! Adopted. Loved. Healthy.= Lucky!
Here is what I was thinking about...
This is the set up:
My friend and his wife are at the grocery store, in the check out line...chatting while the cashier rings them up...(friend and wife are actually talking about picking the dog up at the vet.)
'Sweetie, are you going to go pick up the kids?'
'Yeah sure...after I go get Lucky...' (cashier looks up....thinking, 'that rat talkin' about gettin some strange with his wife standin' right here...')
'How long will that take...???'...(cashier looks down thinks,'Lord Jesus...she doesnt MIND?..buncha heathens.')
'I think about an hour---she said he'd be ready for me when I get there...shouldn't take too long.'
(cashier gives them both condescending, dirty look...Stares holes in their foreheads with her eyes.)
hahhah!
See! You have to be careful when naming pets and kids!...or have quick explainations handy!!!
...and yes, my married name used to be 'Mrs. Bacheler'...oh the irony...!!!

When life was 'easy'...


The Summer of 1978...I was 13.
Our house was in the North End of Virginia Beach...the 'real' beach...one block from the ocean.
The only other homes around us were huge old beach cottages---family owned for generations, little bungalow houses with screened in porches...nothing more than 2 stories high...
every driveway was either compacted sand and oyster shells or gravel.
We never wore shoes...the soles of our feet were like leather.
We had one window unit for air conditioning in the dining room/kitchen---no one had central air then...and your floor fan was your friend.
I used to sleep with my window open...late at night I could hear the ocean, after the traffic died down on Atlantic Avenue.
The birds and I usually woke up around 9am...watched a bit of happy Days and Leave It To Beaver re-runs...eating my bowl of Special K (with whole milk), drinking my OJ, and having a cake donut.
The back door was open, and the cat hung out on the screened porch.
Our loud next door neighbors began a chorus of yelling back and forth---you always knew what they were doing...like it or not.
Mom was a teacher and had the summers off...she always slept in.
My job was to get my summer math and reading comprehension workbook pages done, and checked, and then I could go to the beach.(I went to a private school...the homework was never 'done'.)
I called the surf report every morning. Then I'd call my friends...
Getting ready to go to the beach was as easy as putting on my bikini---we all wore them---a huge tshirt as a cover up, flip flops (the kind you got at the drugstore), grabbing my towel off the line outside, fetching my Morey Boogie Board 360 B.E.(leaning against the outdoor shower)...and I was off.
I'd get to the beach,throw down my board, towel, and put on sunscreen---there were only 2 kinds...Sundowner is the one I remember bc it was the first waterproof one. If you put it on after you got wet, it made these white 'snot balls' all over you....you got Desitin on your nose and cheeks if they started to burn.
None of us were allowed to go in to the ocean until a 'grown up' showed up---and I can tell you, on the days that the waves were killer, it was just the glimpse of the top of my mom's head coming over the dune that sent me sprinting in to the water.
My girlfriends usually showed up shortly after...my best friend rode a bright yellow mo-ped all the way from Bay Colony...we were all jealous that she had a 'ped'. My other galpals would show up eventually...we were a hot little crew!
We did not care about boys---at least I did not...especially if Pete Smith's surf shop had reported the waves as 'head high, glassy and definitely ride-able'...we all rode together...chicks and dudes.
The street next to ours always had a better break, so we would all inadvertently 'drift' over there....
Our moms would get up out of their low slung beach chairs and wave us back over like the guys at the airport tarmac.
Begrudgingly, we would ride a wave in and walk back down the beach.
If we were really lucky, at low tide, there'd be a sand bar= better waves...and the chance to paddle out farther than our mom's voices could yell for us to come in.
If there were jellies in the water, we'd put Vaseline on our legs and arms...which would make your board slippery...so, you'd have to dig down and get some sand to put on your board as to not slide off when you dropped in on a wave.
The coolest thing that ever happened to me:
One day my friend Margaret and I both took the same wave...as we both stood up on our boards, a dolphin(porpoise) surfaced between us!
This big black shiny sea creature was riding with us...I will never forget the look on M's face! I was (am) a 'goofy foot'=right foot forward, and she surfed 'normal', so we were facing each other on the wave---we both screamed in awe!
'WHOOOA! DUDE! DID YOU SEE THAT???!!!!'
It was very cool.
After about 4 hours of endless rides, we would all go up to my house for PBJ's, onion dip and Pringles, Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, Tea...and some Hot Tamales candy to carry on the walk back over the dune. Calories meant nothing---we ate whatever we felt like---nothing was safe!
(When you stay in the water 8+ hours a day, you burn it all off.)
Back then, we had to stay out of the water for 1/2 hour after we ate lunch---bc we 'would cramp up in the water and drown'...I think it was so the mom's could relax a little longer.
During that 'rest time' we'd put on some Hawaiian Tropic Deep Tanning oil---brown bottle...spf 0...I can still smell the coconuts!
When we were given the 'all clear'---after constant nagging---we'd be back in the water...
By the afternoon, most days, we'd all be wearing our Tshirts in the water bc of the rib/stomach rash our boards had given us---putting sand on the board, though practical, eventually rips you up! (Wish we'd had 'rash guards' then!)
By around 4pm, we'd all be wearing down.
When we breathed in really deep, our chests hurt from slamming over waves. Our lips were all shriveled from the salt water...not to mention the dried salt in our hair and eyebrows...stings. The inside of our mouths tasted like sushi---yuck!
We were 'done'.
The hardest part of the day was trudging back over the dune...boards and towels in tow. The one block walk home was an eternity. The sun would be starting to go down, so it beamed you one last time in the face.
Finally arriving home, I'd hose down my board, lean it against the wall, and take my own outdoor shower(in my swimsuit bc we did not have an enclosure)...with cold water. When friends were there, mom made me take my shower second so my guest would get the warmer water...
(We did not get hot water outside until I was like 16.)
Grabbing a towel off the line and wrapping myself up, I'd then do an act, only to be rivaled by Houdini himself. The bikini was off and slung on the line so the lawn mower guys would not run over it...
Dressed in my Pete Smith's Surf shop shirt, and my OP shorts...my day was done....
I miss those days.
Going to the beach now---with 3 kids and all their stuff---equates itself to strategic war planning.
(And now I wear a 'tankini', ginormous hat, and spf 1000.)
However, you will catch me out in the water...teaching my kids to ride...
...and waving them back in!