My Other Half

The spring semester of college had just ended, and I was supposed to be a member of the graduating class of 1995 from SUNY Potsdam.  The universe had other plans for me.  I didn't actually graduate until my super-duper senior year, or 1997.  My mom always said I was a late bloomer.  My  dad said he was tired of paying for expensive sleep-away camp.  With their words lingering in my head, I decided to stay in Potsdam for the summer and I was going to find myself.  Who knew I would find my future husband as well? 

I moved into my first apartment off campus, where in the fall, I would remain for my super senior year.  It was a duplex on Bay Street with just a two minute walk to the Raquette River and a five minute walk to the bars.  Oh, and a ten minute walk to campus.  Priorities.  The landlord allowed me to store all my belongings in the garage while I waited for the previous tenants to move their stuff out.  When I got the green light to start moving in, I didn’t hesitate.  I started moving things back and forth from the garage into the house 15 minutes after I received the call. 

On my third trip in through the back door, there was a guy standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.  He was resting both of his arms above his head on the trim of the doorway, leaning with his hip cocked to one side.  What was this weirdo doing in my house?  “How ya doin'? I’m Dave.”  Uh-huh.  “Hey, Dave, what are you doing in here?” I asked, looking around to see if there are any more of them.  “I just moved out.  The landlord says I need to paint the kitchen to get my deposit back.”  Well, that would have been nice to know ahead of time.   I said, “Do whatcha gotta do then Dave,” and proceeded to move my things toward my new bedroom.  “Oh hey, is that your room?  That was my old room.”  Fantastic.  Note to self: Buy Lysol.

Since my roommates for fall semester weren’t coming until September, I needed to find squatters for a couple months.  Turns out there are all kinds of people who stay in town for the summer.  It’s a totally different place when school is not in session.  Within days I had roommates.  I had also taken in a stray cat, which turns out, was pregnant.  A few weeks later I had 2 roommates, a stray cat, and 5 kittens.   The other side of the duplex was only separated by a door, which was always open, so it was like living in one big house.  We all split the cable and phone bills 8 ways which meant less cash advances off of my credit card at a 19.9% APR.

I was having a blast, despite having no job and a daily morning wakeup call from the credit card company who was dumb enough to give me any credit.  There was always something to do.  Being in the foothills of the Adirondacks and having friends with cars was very convenient.   A friend of mine was planning on going on a bike ride with her boyfriend and asked if I wanted to tag along.  Of course!  We went outside to find her boyfriend standing with another guy.  Him again?  “Mery, do you know Dave?”  I explained how we met a week or so prior when he was trespassing in order to paint my kitchen.   Dave had moved across the street from me into his fraternity house with a few other guys who stuck around for the summer.

Turns out Dave and I had a lot of fun together.  We had a great friendship.  Our senses of humor were practically identical.  Mutual friends would joke that I was him in a girl body and he was me in a boy body.  Goofy, yes.  But oh so very true.  We would go on bike rides, hang out by the river at a nearby beach, or just sit around and listen to music.  We invented our own Olympic event, the lighter toss.   If we had gotten the Olympic committee to recognize our sport, we could have represented the USA in the 1996 Summer Games in Atlanta.  No one was as good at it as we were, and we would scoff at anyone who tried to reach our level of aptitude.  

Everyone else would be returning in 2 weeks for school and the Potsdam fantasy summer was drawing to a close.  That may have been what prodded me into my next move.  In my own not-so-stealth, awkward way, I confronted Dave in the party room of his fraternity during an after-hours party around 2:30am.  “So, there’s something I want to tell you.”   Dave turned to look at me with his smoldering bloodshot eyes.  “Oh yeah?  I have been meaning to tell you something too.”   I stumbled a little closer and screamed above White Zombie playing in the background, “I kind of have a crush on you!”  He gave me a wry smile.

It’s now 16 years later and we are still together, always trying to make each other laugh.  I am still Dave in a girl body, and Dave is still me in a boy body.

Everybody Poops

Spring in North Carolina is more like the Sahara Desert in the dead of summer.  Yes, we have air conditioning, but not on the practice fields.   It was just another spring evening when Ethan was finishing up his soccer practice.  The temperature at 6:30pm was still in the upper 90s, and I was still in my work attire.  The heat and blazing sun were turning my black Tahari Notched Collar pant suit into a full blown SCUBA suit.  Zachary was sitting in the car with the air conditioning on, playing Zelda on his Nintendo DS.  I was not only watching the soccer practice, in the hopes my little 4 year old Pele would pull off some bicycle kick, but I was also watching Zach in the running air conditioned car with equal focus.  I can only compare my head movements to a spectator of a highly competitive tennis match. Everyone else, 40. Me? Love.

Soccer practice ended and despite the 2 water bottles Ethan went through in an hour, he was still bright red and sweatier than any 4 year old should be. “Mom, can we go to Brewster’s?” Brewster’s is an ice cream place less than a mile from our house.  I say, “Absolutely!”  I have earned it.  We walk to the car and I help Ethan get buckled up in his booster seat.   Zach says, “Wow, you guys are sweaty.”  Well thanks, Dr. Obvious, for making that statement after you just spent the last 45 minutes in the 68 degrees car enjoying your hand held distraction while we were out in the direct sun, panting to keep cool like dogs.    I chose another retort for my 7 year old, “Yes, we are sweaty.”

We arrive at Brewster’s and each of us gets our usual.   Zach gets his small cake batter ice cream in a cone after the obligatory 2 minute argument between a small or a large.  He barely ever finishes the small, why on earth would I allow a large?  Ethan gets his “big boy” cone with cotton candy ice cream (ew!) with sugar eyes and sprinkles for hair.  I have to call it the big boy cone when ordering, while pointing out his height to the person taking his order.   If I call it by its real term, a baby cone, he won’t eat it, and I'll have to pay for his.  The girl hands me my small mint chocolate chip in a sugar cone.  I pay and the boys and I go to the back where there are benches for us, so the ice cream will melt and drip in our laps instead of falling to the concrete.  We pick a bench next to a nice looking couple in their late twenties, sitting with their bulldog.  All three are enjoying their frozen treats.

Ethan’s big boy cone is the smallest, so he finishes first.  Zach and I are still wrestling with ours when Ethan says, “Is there a bathroom here?”  Uh-oh.  I have been down this road before with Ethan. As a matter of fact, I once caught him relieving himself in the bushes at this very establishment.   “No, Ethan, there is not bathroom, why?”  In his little sing songy voice he says, “I have to go poo-oop.”  Both Zach and I jump off the bench, “OK, let’s go!”  As we start walking to the car, in order to avoid a potential disaster, Ethan then says, “Wait. No, it went back in.”

My eyes were as wide as soccer balls when I slowly turned my head to the left to look at the charming couple sitting next to us.  The man is laughing hysterically, and the woman is oblivious. “I am so sorry” I say to the man, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.  The man says, “No worries. The same thing happens to me.”  I laugh uncomfortably.  He turns to his companion, tells her the story, and then she cackles.   If the bulldog could understand human speak, he probably would have been laughing too.  

Rules are Posted for a Reason

I was 12 when I broke my first appendage. Most children would be grateful and behaved if their parents brought them on an annual vacations to paradise. Karma is a bitch. Growing up, our family went to Puerto Rico every Thanksgiving. We would forgo the turkey and fixin’s and replace them with Domino’s Pizza or mofungo. I have a lot of great memories of that island, and only a couple not-so-great ones.

It was just another day at the pool, 88 degrees and sunny. There was a light breeze and the water was more cold than refreshing for my taste. All the retired snow birds, with their thick NY/NJ accents, were basking in the sun, adding another layer of leather to their already tanned hides. My brother and I were the fairest of them all. Literally. Before 100SPF sun block, there was zinc oxide. My mother would apply it to our faces like we were some bizarre tribe of pale people. Not my sister though. She was blessed with my father’s skin. Every year she looked native within two days of being in P.R., and little Puerto Rican children would approach her and speak to her in Spanish.

Bingo would be starting up in an hour or so. Oh how I loved Bingo. One dollar got you a card and a chance to win money or bottles of rum (which my parents were hoping for). And the money pot was big, especially for a 12 year old. It would range from $20 to $150 or more! Every year either my sister or I would win at least 2 times in a week and really piss off the “residents” who lived there for months out of the year, playing every day, rain or shine.

As I was basking in the shade, listening to Midnight Oil on my Walkman, my brother came up and ripped my towel out from under me. Oh heck no. He started to fast-walk away from me and I was right on his tail. This is the point in the story where I must remind you of the #1 rule at any swimming pool. NO RUNNING! My brother burst into a full sprint and was still right behind him. He ran down the steps of the entrance covered in that green indoor-outdoor carpeting.  I was right behind him. Sort of.  I missed a step and fell down five, landing upside-down and backwards against the thick iron gate that keeps trespassers out after hours.

Ouch, my whole body hurt. I stood up and realized I could not lift up my left arm. My hand was just dangling down there with no hope of lifting it even to waist height. My brother was gone, off hiding somewhere, knowing he would either receive the wrath of me, or one of our parents for (1) Running at the pool, and (2) Breaking his sister’s wrist.  OK, he didn’t break my wrist, but that was the way I saw it at the time.  I panicked.  I ran to the elevator to go up to our room on the 8th floor, where my mom had gone to get more zinc oxide. When I say ran, it was more like a gorilla run, swinging both arms side to side below my knees, and moaning from the pain I was in. Yep, can’t say we didn’t evolve from the apes.

When I got up to our room, I rang the bell, and no Mom. A housekeeping woman saw me, ran over, and unlocked the door for me. I went inside, no Mom. We must have passed each other on the different elevators without me knowing.  “¿Esta bien?” the woman asked me, trying to calm me down as best as she could.  “¡NO! No estoy bien. Estoy mal, really really mal!”  I moan, as I gorilla run back to the elevator bank. I finally find my mom, back at the pool, sitting next to my brother, who is crying. She sees me from the other side and gets up and doesn't run to me.

My parents were hesitant to take me to a Puerto Rican hospital.  Please keep in mind, it was the 80’s and the ‘Rico was not as progressive as it is today.  Fortunately Angel and Puppy, the lifeguards at the pool, were trained in first aid.  Yes, that is what I needed, first aid.  Who needs a hospital and x-rays when you have 2 fully capable lifeguards?  They ace bandaged my wrist and gave me a handkerchief sling and send me on my way.  We were leaving for home the next day, and my parents thought it would be better to wait until we got back to the States before we went to the hospital.

Turned out, our flights were delayed, and it took us an extra day to get home. Do you have any idea how much turbulence on a plane can hurt a person?  I didn’t until SJU to JFK, then JFK to SYR.  By the time I got to an emergency room, it was 3 days post injury.  The Dr. said I was “lucky” that they didn’t have to reset the bone. Lucky? Hmph.

The Pirate and the Vampire

Until this year, it was Blank family tradition to have the whole family walking the streets on Halloween, snapping photos and stealing Snickers out of the kids' pumpkin buckets when they weren’t looking.  I remember going out as a kid and hitting up the houses with the full-sized candy bars first.  The same holds true for me today, only the full-sized candy bar has transformed into an ice cold Miller Lite.  The great thing about the neighborhoods we trick-or-treat in, the parents get treats as well.   This year, we make the decision (actually my husband, Dave makes the decision) to have Dave stay home and pass out candy to the measly 4 kids who actually come to our house while I go out with the boys.

We start on our street for the low hanging fruit then head over to one other cul-de-sac in our neighborhood (where I get my first “treat”) before crossing over into the Birkdale neighborhood.  Birkdale has sidewalks and street lights, which lowers our odds of a road pizza vampire or pirate.  We make it through about 8 houses when Ethan says, “My legs hurt.  I QUIT.  Humph.” Crosses his arms and turns his back to me.  My little pot-bellied pirate has had enough.  I cannot blame him, he has already racked up enough booty to last him weeks.  Zach and I walk Ethan home and drop him off so he can help Dave pass out candy.  He gets home and Dave says, “Wow Ethan, look at all that candy!  Let’s pick something out”.  Dave dumps the entire stash out on the kitchen table and spreads it all out so Ethan can have his pick.  Ethan takes a good long look at his options and says, “I no like any of that.  We got any chips?”

Meanwhile, somewhere in Birkdale…

Zachary and I are making a lot more headway now that we dropped the 3 year old grumpy pirate.  Zach says, “Mom, can I have a piece of my candy now?”  I tell him no.  This cycle goes on at least 5-7 times.  I tell him, no eating candy until we get home.  I need to inspect it and make sure there are no razor blades or poison in the candy.  Really, has anyone ever actually heard of an instance of poison or razor blades, or was that our parents' way of freaking us out as a children???  Zach is off to the next house.  I wait on the sidewalk, Zach walks up to a house rings the bell, says “trick or treat” and the man gives him a piece of candy.  Zach is holding the candy in his hands almost as if he is studying it.  He then looks up at the man and asks, “Is there poison in here? Did you poison your candy?”  The man, not sure if he is hurt or offended, says “I have 3 children of my own, I would never do that.”   Zach turns to me holds up the peanut butter cup above his head and yells, “MOM, HEAR THAT?  NO POISON!  CAN I EAT IT??”  I smile and give a queen’s wave to the man and say, “Happy Halloween!”

Next year "we" will make the decision for me to stay home while Dave takes the boys out.

The First Field Trip

The year Zachary started Kindergarten was also the year he started religious classes.  Dave and I agreed before we got married we would raise our children Jewish, since I was the lesser of the religiously apathetic in our interfaith marriage   This was also around the time we had to put our long time pet and family member, Sampson, to sleep.  Explaining death to a 5 year old is not easy.  I told Zach that Sampson went to be with God.  That one statement caused my little boy to ask more questions than he ever had up to this point.  Zach is very inquisitive anyways, but this catapulted him into investigative reporting mode.  "Who is God?  Where does he live?  How can he be everywhere?  Can he see me right now?  Does he watch me go potty?"  You get the idea.  I was stumped.  Since it was so difficult for Dave and I to explain theology to a 5 year old, we joined a congregation that offered religious classes for children from Pre-K up until Bar/Bat Mitzvah.   It was our hope that he would learn more about God, and Judaism and have the strong moral base needed to be successful as an adult.

It just so happened that Zach's first field trip ever would be with his new religious school.  All the classes were going to a local retirement home to visit with the residents and give the children a sense of what volunteerism can do.  The Pre-K and Kindergarten classes were combined and provided light entertainment for the audience.  They sang.  For the most part, the residents were enjoying their company and either tolerating or not hearing the music that was being sung by the 4, 5 and 6 year olds.

One woman in the front row was not as captivated as the others.  It seems she dozed off while listening to the melodic sounds of the sweet angels performing for her.  Zach noticed her, slightly slumped over with her eyes closed.  "OH MY GOD SHE'S DEAD!!"  The next sound anyone would hear was the screaming of 20 children running in all directions, knocking over end tables and running into each other.

I am not sure how they did it, but the teachers managed to corral the children and take them out into the hall to settle down.  They explained that the woman was indeed not dead, but resting.  It took a few minutes to convince the kids they were not performing for a corpse.  After a while they all paraded back into the room and began where they left off.  Needless to say, the woman in the front row was bright-eyed watching every last bit of the performance.

This story was told to me when I went to pick up Zach after they returned from their field trip.  It took the teacher two times as long as it should have to tell me the story because she could not keep herself composed long enough to get out a sentence.  I am going to venture a guess, and say that was the most excitement that place had seen in a while.

The Llamas Can Get Nasty

We begin our adventure at the front gate of Lazy 5 Ranch.  This place is great!  It's a reserve for animals that just roam around and eat all day.  All kinds of animals, from Emus to Zebras to Scottish Cows.  It is a veritable animal melting pot.  The only day it is closed is Christmas, and I have never seen it not crowded.  We pay our admission and in return we are handed two plastic buckets of feed.  This is not our first visit to Lazy 5, but it is our first time driving through in our own car.  We normally pay the extra money for the wagon ride, but we are looking for something new and different.  Mission accomplished. 

I am in the driver's seat.  My husband, Dave, is in the front with me.  The boys, Zach (7) and Ethan (3), are in the backseat with their own buckets of feed (for the animals, of course) consisting of pellets that smell like stale sawdust. They are unbuckled and ready for adventure.

As we proceed through the gate, we are greeted by a couple ostriches and a few little pigs.  The boys are ready with their buckets, and we remind them that they should watch how much they pass out to the animals, because we have a long way to go and we are not going back for more feed.  What we should have told them was to hold the buckets closer to the windows.  Within seconds these ostriches were in full munch mode, with their long necks all the way inside our car.  This was not what Ethan had expected.  As Ethan screamed in terror Zach, being the protective big brother, laughed.  We weren't even 100 feet into the ride!  I pulled away and the ostriches released their hold on the buckets.  It was at this point we decided Dave was going to brave the wild animals and jump into the backseat with the boys, despite the numerous warning signs to "stay inside the vehicle at all times."

Things calmed down, and we were enjoying our sunny tour of the windy dirt road where different furry beasts approached the car for food.  All was right with the world.  Not necessarily for the Nissan.  She got quite a few dings and scratches that day.  We fed the buffalo, the goats, the deer, the watusi and the elk.  Find a picture of a watusi and you'll understand where the dings and scratches came from.  Zach even stuck out of the sunroof to feed a girrafe.

We were nearing the end of the self guided tour going around yet another bend in the road, and there they were.  The llamas.  If ever a species of animal other than humans needed orthodontics, it would be the llamas.  They have the most gnarly teeth.  Overbites, underbites, and all-over-the-place bites.  Just gross.  And let's not forget what they are known for.  Spitting.  When a llama becomes aggitated, it spits.  It is in my experience, llamas seem to get aggitated easily.  The three particular llamas holding us hostage on the dirt road were no exception.  They were lined up in front of our car, as if to hold us in place so their buddies could get their share of our pellets.  No matter how much I inched up with the car, they were not budging.  I honked the horn.  Nothing.  They were just staring me down, waiting for my next attempt.  After about 5 minutes, cars started lining up behind us, and we could hear people in the other cars laughing at our demise, grateful it was not happening to them.  It was then I realized, my car is much bigger than the three of them.  I took my foot off the brake and started accelerating, quite a bit.  They knew they had been defeated and were off to the car behind me to bully the next victims.

In every stage of life, there will be llamas.  You just need to remember they are outside of the car, and you have a gas pedal.