An Experiment In Terror

At one point during my career as a bank teller, I worked in the drive-through of a bank in Downtown Denver. Our security staff were off-duty officers of the Denver Police Department. One was, in fact, the first female African-American in Denver to become a Sergeant, and was assigned to the Internal Affairs Division. I just now remembered that one day a coworker and I asked her to come to lunch with us on one of the days she wasn't working at the bank. She showed up wearing a gorgeous dress and heels, and had a clutch purse tucked under her arm. It was still tucked in there during lunch, and we suggested she put it with our purses. "No," she said, "it stays right here. My gun is in there." We were quite impressed. In fact, we were stunned that she was wearing a dress and heels during her work day as a cop, and told her so. She smiled and told us, "There isn't anybody in this city I can't run down and chase over a fence, even in my high heels." What a woman!

Most of the officers worked in the Crimes Against Persons Division, AKA Homicide. I found this quite fascinating, and in our slower times I would talk to them about their work. I asked the kinds of questions the other tellers didn't think of asking, like whether the DPD thought that they had any missing or deceased women that they thought might be the victims of the infamous serial killer Ted Bundy, who did come through Colorado. And yes, they did suspect that they had at least one case that may have involved him, but he refused to answer their questions before his execution in Florida.

One day, one of the officers got a really concerned look on his face. Why was I so interested in murder and serial killers? What was the reason? I am sure he might have been worried that I might be one of those murder groupies who have crushes on killers. Or that I was of a murderous bent myself. Both of those were very far from the truth. I told the officer that my father had killed my mother when I was barely seven years old, and I thought my interest in the subject revolved around wanting to know what made a killer who they were. Why did they kill? What made their brains tick? He looked relieved after I told him the details of my mother's death, and that I had no hero-worship of any kind for killers. Actually, I seem to remember him saying something to the effect that since that was where I was coming from, he would be glad to talk to me about anything that he was free to discuss.

Fast forward to my married life. Trent spent the first several years of our marriage being amazed at my enjoyment of horror movies, as well as thrillers and true crime stories. I think he was surprised that I didn't have a stereotypical "girly" reaction to books and movies of this nature. I'd go to see a scary film and not be all nervous afterward as some people are. And I could watch a lot of true crime programs on tv and then sleep like a baby. He likes to joke about me watching Discovery ID, which he refers to as the all-murder channel. I certainly do not immerse myself in gore and crime. I spend much more time watching everyday humdrum programming than crime. I love all kinds of books, but have read several by Stephen King and Dean Koontz. I actually think my tastes in entertainment/reading are fairly well balanced, and  I would spend money to see Les Miserables but not pay a nickel to see most horror flicks in the theater.

Over the years Trent became more and more aware of all that I had experienced in my life. After my siblings and I found our mother clinging to life as a result of my father's beating, we were taken to orphanages and foster care. Liz and I were in an orphanage, and our life there was truly depressed and miserable. Then we were taken in briefly by distant relatives, and Liz was quickly dumped on Gram. I spent more time in the home of a woman who hated me because I was not what she would have chosen. After all, the child of a murderer seems less artistic and enchanting than a Native American child. I was reminded constantly, especially during frequent beatings and abuse, that I was crazy like my father, and that nobody wanted me. I was then shipped off to her mother, my Gram. But during the entire time I lived with her, I was reminded by various people that if I didn't live up to their expectations, I could and would be sent away.

Trent would say that he didn't know how I had survived it all. I did because I had to, I suppose. One night he was talking about how he just hadn't been able to understand how I could watch scary stuff without getting very affected by it. He said he had given it a lot of thought, and figured out why I was able to handle it. I was curious to hear his theory, and noticed that he was trying to stifle a smile. "It's simple," he said, "your whole life has been an experiment in terror." We both got a huge laugh out of that since it is a variation of one of my favorite lines from Steel Magnolias. But we also both agreed that it was probably true. How could I get terrified by some made-up hauntings or monsters, when I had experienced plenty of real horrors? I am more likely to be frightened by Psycho than Alien, because I know all too well that the person next door is more real and scary.

I'll never really know if Trent's theory explains it all away, because I will never know what my alternate reality would be if I hadn't had those experiences. I may not have ended up in Colorado. I'd probably still be able to speak German and Hungarian. I most likely would never have had a pet dog. And I probably would never have met my husband. And I'd probably scream like a girl during horror movies!

The Funniest Woman In The World?

This is another tale from our trip to Disney World. It was my maiden voyage there, and my traveling companions enjoyed seeing the parks and Downtown Disney through fresh eyes. I also got immense pleasure from seeing various creatures that don't exist here in Colorado. You may know from reading some of my other posts that I am an animal lover. To a person like me, Florida was a bit of a paradise because I got to see so many different creatures in their natural habitats. I had seen some of them on the telly before, and some were entirely new to me. 

When we arrived at our lodging, a large condominium complex, I was pleased to see that there were surrounding areas of woods, as well as many ponds. On our first day, we went for a brief drive through the complex just to enjoy the view. I was stunned to see a pair of swans in the main pond. Not because I hadn't seen swans before, because I had. But these swans were immense! They had to be at least three times the size of any swans I'd seen before. Even my "we've already been here and seen that" traveling companions were amazed at their size. My friend Marie kept wanting to see armadillos, and one day I said, "We're going to see an armadillo on the way home tonight." And wouldn't you know it, we saw one just a few buildings away from where we were staying.

We also saw several opossums, a critter I have never seen in Colorado. We have some here, but not as far west as the Front Range area. What really amazed me the most, though, were the birds. There were multiple varieties of cranes and herons, and large birds of every color. One morning when we were headed to the parks, we were delayed by a group of large birds casually strolling down the street. Naturally I made my friend Thayne stop the car so that I could walk behind them and take some photos. And one day we even saw a gator in a large pond off the highway, his eyes and nose barely above the water, waiting for something delicious to swim by and become dinner.

And there was no shortage of fun at Disney. Not only were there fun rides and great food, but lots of wonderful people. We met people from all over the world. There were Canadians who were glad to get away from the sub-zero temperatures back home. And forgive me for perpetuating a stereotype, but the Canadians we met were all very polite! We sat at the same table with a delightful couple from Perth, Australia one night at dinner. They had been from coast to coast; their travels had taken them to California, Arizona and the Grand Canyon, and then to Florida. While the Canadians were enjoying the warmth, the Aussies were enjoying a climate a little cooler than the hot summer weather they were having at home.

I also enjoyed talking with various employees (they are referred to as "Cast Members") at the Disney parks. They come from across the US to work there, as well as from around the world. They come in all ages, shapes, and sizes. There was one evening I decided that some of the younger Cast Members had limited experience with life. Trent went into one of the gift shops looking for a cover for his cell phone. I was wandering around and got back to his location just as he was finishing his purchase. We started to walk out when he realized he had forgotten something. There was a purchase-with-purchase and he wanted to ask if he could take advantage of it if it was something I'd like to have. We turned around and went back to the counter, where he asked if it was too late to make that purchase. He was told it was okay, and he replied, "Well, I have to ask my wife if she wants it. Where's my wife?" The funny thing is that I was beside him the whole time, but slightly out of his range of sight. And naturally when he turned to look for me, he turned his back on me. So the whole time he was asking, "Where's my wife?" she (I) was right there. In my usual smartypants manner, I said, "MyWife is right here."

The young staff members thought that this was hysterical. They were laughing and saying, "Oh, my gosh, she is so funny! Did you hear her? She said MyWife is right here! That's so cool!" Trent and I got a chuckle out of their enjoyment of the moment, and I decided I didn't  want the sequined reversible tote bag, so we went on our way. I loved it when when we had only gone a few steps and I heard one of them say, "She is the funniest person I have ever seen! Did you hear her? He said where's my wife, and she said MyWife is right here! That is so funny! They're awesome!" I allowed myself to bask for just a few moments in the knowledge that some sweet, naive kids thought in that moment that I was the funniest woman in the world. It isn't often that you have the chance to be the center of the good gossip in the employee break room! It's also good to know that you have managed to brighten someone's day. Maybe if I am lucky I can make a habit of it!

Hate?

Some years ago, when I was being interviewed for a retail position, I was asked the most unusual interview question of my life. The shop I was hoping to work for, and eventually did, was a franchise of a company started in England. They sell naturally-based cosmetics (that includes soaps, lotions, makeup, etc.) and didn't do any animal testing. They also tried to create products using fair-trade principles. This was a company that that believed in inclusion rather than exclusion. Everyone was important, no matter what category they might fit into. After a round of the usual types of questions, Bridget asked me, "Whom do you hate?" It didn't take me very long to come up with an answer, which was that the only people I might hate were the ones that made a habit of hating others, for whatever reason. She was pleased with my answer, and told me that it was a question she had been asked during the process that determined whether the company wanted her as a franchisee. Her answer was pretty much the same as mine.

Over the years, every time I have thought about this interview, this is the only part of it that has really stuck in my memory. I believe that the question is one of the most brilliant ways to get a glimpse of what makes a person tick. When I think about it, it occurs to me that who you hate says just as much about you as who you love. We aren't born hating. It is in our nature to love and accept people as they are. But the things we learn from our families and our circumstances can impact our opinions of others. There is a profound song in the musical South Pacific that includes these lyrics: "You've got to be taught before it's too late, before you are six or seven or eight, to hate all the people your relatives hate, you've got to be carefully taught!" Often we become a product of these teachings, whether by following them, or by going against them.

Hate is such a strong word, and a strong emotion. I was fortunate to realize at the age of fifteen that any hate I might have toward another person (in this case it was my father) does not hurt them or affect them in any way. It only hurts and affects me. I can't say that there aren't things about people that don't rub me the wrong way. One thing that really irritates me is people making assumptions based on who they perceive me to be. An example is two customers who co-owned a business that had their accounts in the bank where I was working as a teller in the drive-through. They assumed that since my skin was pale like theirs, that I was going to appreciate the terrible jokes they made about other ethnic groups. I started to get stressed out knowing that they might be driving up to make a deposit and force me to listen to their mindless drivel. 

One day I decided to talk it over with one of my managers, who just happened to be latina. I really hated their jokes and didn't want to hear them. What should I do? She said, "Katrina, if you don't like hearing their stupid jokes, then tell them!" I was pleased but also a bit scared. "But what if they get mad at me and close their accounts? I don't want to get fired." She looked at me and said, "You will not get fired for telling them not to talk to you that way. Besides, if they leave the bank, so what? We don't want jerks like that as customers anyway!" I felt so relieved. She had given me the power to do what I felt was right. The next time they drove up to my window, I greeted them with my usual courtesy. One of them started telling a joke that included the infamous "n-word." I very calmly and quietly told them that I really didn't care for ethnic jokes, and would they please not tell them any more. They sat in stony silence while I finished off their deposits, and although they didn't close their accounts, they never came to my window again. The funniest thing about all of this is that in shunning me, they had to go to one of the other two commercial tellers - both of whom were latino!

So in a nutshell, I try not to hate other people, although I sometimes hate their behaviors or beliefs or assumptions. Don't assume that as a practitioner of a Christian faith, I hate people who are LGBT and/or think that they should not have rights equal to mine. Don't assume that as a caucasian, I think my ethnicity is better than anyone else's. Don't assume that because I don't have a degree, I am stupid or uneducated. Don't assume that because I don't have any kids I am too stupid to give you advice about yours. And don't assume that because my hair is mostly gray and my body is showing some wear and tear that I am cranky and set in my ways and intolerant and unimportant. My point is this: we are all sort of like the facade of a building. The exterior may be fancy or plain. It may look well maintained, or very worn. But you can never tell from the exterior what you will find inside. You may dislike the impersonal looking brushed stainless steel exterior and find the inside is warm and cozy. But only if you have the courage and intelligence to learn what is inside rather than letting your hate hold you back. If you think about it that way, hate just stems from our lack of understanding about what is on the inside. Kind of puts a whole new twist on things, doesn't it?

Shrimp Wars And Burgers

It was September of 1999, and Trent and I were in Las Vegas to get married. We were staying at the Paris Hotel, which had opened only eight days before we checked in. It was a lovely place, and since it was so new, we kept getting really good prices on dinners at their buffet. The food was delicious, so we ate there several times. On one of our first visits to this buffet, after we were seated I said to Trent, "Hey, I'm an adult now, so I can do whatever I want. I want to eat dessert first!" Trent chuckled and agreed, and I did indeed have dessert first. I could not resist the temptation of the chocolate and whipped cream and delicate pastry and fruit. Yum! Apparently my husband thought it was charming - he still mentions it from time to time, and sometimes teasingly asks if I want to have dessert first when we go out to eat.

What he doesn't mention very often, though, is The Shrimp Wars of '99. We were having our first dinner in the buffet, and Trent was excited to dive into a large serving of shrimp cocktail, which is one of his favorite foods. For some reason, he decided to put the sauce on the shrimp rather than on the side of his plate. As I was sitting at the table eating something (what it was, I cannot remember) I was vaguely aware of seeing something come flying through the air. THUD! A flying shrimp had just bounced off of my eyeglasses. Trent was horrified. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry! I was peeling it and it shot right out of my fingers!" I had a good chuckle over it and reassured him that I was not mad. We went back to eating and THWACK! Another flying shrimp. This one bounced off my shoulder. Luckily I was wearing something dark and the sauce came right out, leaving no evidence. "What is this, the Shrimp Cocktail Wars?" I chuckled. "Nobody tells me nothing!" Trent switched to sauce on the side after that, and I have not been hit by any more flying shrimp. But I am always on the lookout for another Shrimp War.

Our body clocks seemed to get sort of whacked out while we were in Las Vegas. After all, you can find someplace to go or something to do at any time of the day or night. One night we realized that neither one of us was asleep during the wee hours of the morning, so we started talking. "I'm hungry," Trent said, "are you hungry too?" I had to admit that yes, I was pretty hungry. "Well, let's go down to the lobby and get a burger." So at three-thirty in the morning, we got dressed and went down to the cafe in the lobby for a burger. To this day, if we find that we are both unable to sleep, one of us will say, "Let's go down to the lobby and get a burger!" It makes us smile, and reminds us of our love for one another. And every so often, just to make sure that the other one is really listening, one of us says, "Hey, it's three-thirty...let's go to WalMart!"

I guess it is in any couple's favor if they can relax enough right at the beginning of their relationship and approach life with a sense of humor. Little things that happen can either make you crazy or just make you laugh. We have enough challenges that can make us crazy, so we try to laugh whenever possible. I hope that whatever your relationship status is, your life is full of heartfelt laughter. And I hope that you will not be dive-bombed during a Shrimp War!

Tooth Fairy

Some friendships can be very unique and special. There are friends that you can go months without seeing, and then when you get together, it's as though you last saw them just yesterday. We have a couple whose friendship with us is like that. They have wonderful children and are just great people and parents. When we get together, we do it at their house because of their kids. It's just a lot more convenient because the kids can go to bed when it's time, and we adults can spend some more time having fun and catching up. I usually volunteer (or am asked) to cook on these occasions, which pleases me greatly. The first time I cooked dinner for their family, I was warned that their kids (two of them at the time, under six years of age) might be a bit picky. Yeah, right. I made a casserole, and these two children finished their servings and then helped themselves to seconds and then thirds! 

Since then, I have introduced the family to Hungarian food, and shown the dad, who says he doesn't really care for cookies, that I could bake cookies that even he could love. I have breezed into their kitchen and appointed the kids as my sous chefs. One of my favorite moments has to do with the kids helping me to make a dessert. Two of the three that were helping needed to use step-stools to reach the counter. They paid close attention to my instructions, and tried very hard to follow them to the letter. At one point I said, "Okay, now put in the chocolate chips like this...swoosh!" The kids grabbed handfuls of chips and sprinkled them in the pan with the same hand gestures I had used, all while saying, "Swoosh!" Talk about a Kodak moment! It is one my favorite memories regarding their children.

Another fun memory that happened at their home had to do with the Tooth Fairy. After the kids had gone to bed, the daddy told us about what had happened first thing that morning. They had been quite busy and forgot that their oldest child had lost a tooth. He woke up and looked excitedly for his money from the Tooth Fairy. And found his tooth. They tried hard not to laugh when they heard him say, "D--- it! The Tooth Fairy didn't leave me anything!" So dad asked us to remind him to make sure that the Tooth Fairy got the job done properly that night. Since I really love their kids, I asked for a piece of paper so that I could write a note on behalf of the Tooth Fairy. I explained, as the Tooth Fairy, that I had been really busy. It was baseball season, after all, and a lot of players had lost teeth during games lately. I sure was sorry to have missed him, but I finally made it to his house. I hope he enjoyed his personal note.

Some people might have thought that it was silly to even care about that situation, but I really do love this kid. When we first started to get to know their family, he looked at me during dinner and exclaimed, "Oh! I just figured out who you remind me of!" His dad was concerned and asked his son to whisper in his ear so that he could make sure it was someone okay. He told his son to go ahead and tell me. I was eager to find out. When his son asked me if I had seen Finding Nemo, I said yes, I loved that movie. "I hope you're going to say that I remind you of Dory! She's my favorite!" He had a huge smile on his face and told me that yes, I did remind him of Dory. That was one of the best compliments I have ever gotten from a kid. All in all, life is great if you can be both Dory and the Tooth Fairy!

Riding A Runaway Train

I am the conductor of a runaway train. And I use the word conductor loosely. The runaway train I am referring to is my itty-bitty brain. I have written in the past about how I have an ongoing problem with the connection between my brain and my mouth. It has caused me embarrassment on numerous occasions, as well as the potential to get me into trouble. The connection problem I refer to is sort of a lag. I guess a good way to describe it is to compare it to a movie that was filmed in, say, Japanese, and then given a voiceover treatment in English. So you're stuck watching a film while your ears hear something and your eyes get a completely different message. This is a variation of the situation with my brain and mouth. While my mouth is still trying to talk about tasty cupcakes, my brain has moved on to the movie I watched on tv last week. So I end up saying something really bizarre, like the cupcakes were chocolate with buttercream frosting and sprinkled with Ben Hur.  Actually, that is not a real example, but a dramatization for entertainment purposes. You get the picture.

I have had this runaway brain-train problem for as long as I can remember, and it has more symptoms than just the mouth flying without a pilot. There's the related symptom of thinking ahead about what you are going to say during a conversation, and then getting totally derailed. You are having a chat with a friend, maybe telling her about something that you did during your favorite vacation. As you are telling her about accidentally ending up in the red-light district in New York City, you're thinking that you just can't forget to tell her about having dinner in a beautiful restaurant in Central Park. Suddenly the engine goes on overload. You forget what you were going to say about the restaurant. You forget the sentence that you were right in the middle of saying. Heck, you can't even remember the subject of the conversation. Talking comes to an abrupt and uncomfortable halt. You hope that your friend doesn't judge you when you say, "Okay, I just drew a total blank. What was I talking about?" Chug along, train.

For me, one of the most irritating parts of being the conductor of this erratic train has to do with being unable to shut down the motor. Even as a kid, I was a natural-born worrier. Well, that's probably not true. My life gave me plenty of reasons to worry, and lots of opportunities to practice. I have made a great deal of progress in this regard. Sometimes I am actually able to say, and believe, that what will happen will happen. But if worrying was an art form and I let myself go unchecked, I could be the Monet or Van Gogh or Picasso or Michelangelo of worrying. Not that those are bragging rights. 

The other part of not being able to shut down has to do with sleep problems. I find myself tired and sleepy and lay down, ready for a restful night's sleep. And my brain the train goes into high gear. At the same time that I'm thinking about how exhausted I am, my train is speeding away from Sleepytime Station. I start to wonder if my library has an e-book version of some book that I want to read. Should I get up and look it up, or wait until morning? Will I remember it in the morning? Maybe I should get up and just write myself a note so that I don't forget. But if I want to write it down, I'll have to go into the living room to get the notepad out of my purse. If I do that, I might as well just look it up online right now. Oh, to heck with it, I'll remember it again sometime. Oh! Did I remember to pay the cable and the phone bill? I guess I can just check it tomorrow. I'll remember. But what if tomorrow it's one day late? I really can't afford to pay a late fee. No way am I going to pay something for nothing. Okay, you get the idea. 

Several years ago, Trent and I got mp3 players that came with a one-month free trial of an online audiobook service. I wasn't terribly eager to try it, but what the heck. I fell in love with it. It had been so long since anyone read me a story! But that wasn't the best part. Listening to books was like switching my train to a slower track. While I was hearing the story I was distracted from all of the thoughts that could have been racing through my brain. I could set the timer on my player and manage to fall blissfully asleep. It was heavenly. 

My doctor found out a few months ago during a casual conversation that I have been doing this, and told me I had to stop. It isn't good for me. It is not conducive to sleep. So I didn't take my player to Florida when we went there in January. All of that recreation we were enjoying left me pretty tired, so I did get some good nights of sleep. When we came home, I told Trent I wasn't going to listen at bedtime any more. And I found myself still awake at two a.m. and three a.m. and on one horrendously restless night, at half past five. But I just couldn't give up until Trent said, "Honey, just listen to a book so we can both get some sleep, please." So, like an addict who has fallen off the wagon, I'm back on the audiobooks. But it's so much nicer than trying to ride a runaway train.  

S.O.P.

There are a lot of words and phrases that have negative connotations. For example, traffic jam. Personally, I'd prefer some strawberry jam, or maybe a not-too-tart, not-too-sweet orange marmalade. I think one of the most evil, insidious words used regularly in the American home is leftovers. This word conjures all kinds of negative images. It might be the food you brought home from a restaurant to eat for lunch the next day. It sits in the refrigerator for an insanely long time. You find it when you are looking for something else, like ketchup. You wonder aloud what is in the container. When it is opened, the smell assaults your nose. You see colors you never expected to see in nature, much less your refrigerator. You can't even tell whether it was originally chicken or beef or some sort of mutant fish. It ends up in the trash, and you end up washing your hands for five minutes, with an antibacterial gel chaser.

Leftovers sounds like something that wasn't eaten at the original meal because it, well, sucked. After all, if it had been super tasty, it would have been eaten with gusto, right? Another thing that seems to happen with the lefties (not you left-handed readers, but a shorter way of saying leftovers) is the not-enough syndrome. You put a little portion of an absolutely mouthwatering dish into a container in the fridge for eating within the next couple of days. Lunchtime rolls around the next day and you scan the fridge for tasty, viable foods to fill your tummy. You see the super-delicious right there in front. It fairly calls out your name, asking to be reheated and eaten. But it's so...small. In fact, it's so tiny it could be used on Top Chef as an amuse bouche, a one-bite appetizer-type dish. Poor super-delicious gets passed over for something more substantial. This continues until it becomes yet another science project. More amazing colors and a container that ends up being tossed in the trash because you're afraid you will die if you ever eat anything out of it again. 

Enter SOPs. There are times when I like to make a big batch of something. Maybe ground beef was on sale, or needs to be used before it's too late. Or maybe I have a whole chicken begging to be turned into a delicious soup. Or sometimes I just want to make extra for those days when I just don't feel like cooking, but of course we will still want to be eating. So I might whip up enough spaghetti sauce to make three or four meals, or a vat of soup. Before we even begin eating, I package some in sturdy freezer containers. I have my methods almost down to an art form, so there is little opportunity for icky stuff like freezer burn to set in before they are defrosted, heated and eaten. Since they never hit the table in the first place, they are not classified as leftovers. No, we have christened them SOPs, because that is what they are. Cooked foods that we have Saved On Purpose to be eaten on another occasion. Sometimes they are so good that they get eaten within the next few days. And sometimes they may be in the freezer for a few weeks. But the SOPs generally do not get wasted unless they get sucked into the black hole located in the left rear of the freezer.

I can tell you that my SOP chicken noodle soup has delighted my body and soul when I have not felt well enough to cook. And on days when I just don't feel like making anything complicated, I have thawed out and heated my spaghetti sauce while the pasta was cooking. Heck, I even used to make SOPs for our sweet little Paris the poodle. She sure did love Mommy's chicken stew, a dog-friendly recipe which I made just for her. I certainly wouldn't serve anything less than freshly-prepared food for any guests in my home. But if I have some SOPs for lunch or dinner, I won't be complaining to the chef. After all, it's not like they are tired old leftovers!