I Stand Corrected

My bad.
I should not have disparaged "Hands Across the Border".
When I saw all the kids (from more countries than just the U.S. and Canada) laughing, posing for photos, exchanging patches, parading and having fun, I came to my senses. I realized I was witnessing one of the few remaining worthwhile activities available to kids today - Scouting.
In addition to the Scouting activities, the event included a re-dedication ceremony to our open border with Canada at the Peace Arch. The re-dedication ceremony involved Canadian Mounties and Washington State Patrol officers and military veterans from both Countries. There weren't any long speeches, but there was a solemn wreath laying ceremony accompanied by a bagpipe solo and bugle solo. Then new Canadian and American flags were raised atop the Peace Arch as kids sang both national anthems.
The ONLY negative I found was the number of people who started leaving before the ceremony was over. I'm sure it wasn't the kids idea. But I can't be too quick to judge the adults either. They found the time and made the effort to involve their kids in Scouting AND trucked a van-full of them to the event. That's more than I ever did.
So, to all the naysayers out there who complained about the highway closure I say, "Take a deep breath. It was worth it."

Hands Across Make Me Throw Mine Up and Get Me Down

Next Sunday, 20,000 to 30,000 boy scouts and girl scouts from around the world (but mainly the U.S and Canada) will meet at Peace Arch State Park for their annual "Hands Across the Border" event. I think it's interesting that this event goes virtually unnoticed by the rest of the world - that is, except for all the motorists on I-5 who are delayed or rerouted when the highway is closed at the border for 4 hours during the event.
That's right folks, the major west coast border crossing will be closed for 4 hours so a bunch of grade-schoolers can exchange homemade trinkets and run amok without fear of being run over. Call me crazy. Call me an old fogey. Call me irresponsible.... er, this is no time for lyrics! But I don't agree that a major border crossing should be closed for 4 hours for ANY event other than a national emergency.
Fortunately, I have no plans to cross the border on Sunday and neither should you.

Luck o' the Checkoslovakians?

I was working at the park yesterday afternoon. The weather was cool, so I was wearing a light jacket. My jacket has zippered pockets so I usually keep my set of shop keys zipped up in one pocket and my car keys zipped in the other.
We needed to move a big pile of bamboo roots that had been excavated from the park manager's yard. Since I was the only one there who knew how to drive a stick shift (I know. It's hard to imagine, isn't it?) I was delegated to drive the big 1-ton dump truck.
I put on my gloves and went to get the truck. But when I started it up I discovered that the emergency brake was hung up and wouldn't release! I tried repeatedly setting and releasing the brake and rocking the truck back and forth but nothing worked. Well, that ended the root removal project - for the time being.
I took off my gloves, put them in my jacket pockets, and looked for something else to do.
Then I remembered that I still had about 30 minutes worth of mowing to finish in a remote area of the park we call "the outback".
I hopped on one of the riding mowers and off I went. My mowing pattern allowed me to mow in counter-clockwise circles which conveniently discharged the clippings away from the grass that needed mowing and threw them all over the grass I had finished mowing.
When I finished, I drove the mower back to the shop, hosed it off, and put it away. By then, it was 4:00 and time to lock up and go home. I reached in my left pocket, took out my ring of "shop keys", and locked the shop door. Then, I reached in my right pocket for my car keys...
NOT THERE!
I reached in my left pocket...
NOT THERE!
I reached in my jeans pockets, looked all around where I was standing, looked in the 1-ton, looked under the mower, looked where I had hosed off the mower, looked in the car...
NOT THERE!
Oh no... The keys must have fallen out of my jacket pocket while I was mowing. The ONLY reason that could happen was because my pocket wasn't zipped shut and the reason for that was because I put my glove in it and the ONLY reason my glove was in it was because the HUNK-OF-JUNK TRUCK WOULDN'T MOVE!!!
I wasn't happy.
I walked back to the "Outback" and looked at all the grass clippings blanketing the ground. The area was about half the size of a football field. If my keys were out there, they had to be covered with clippings. I didn't give myself much chance of finding them.
I decided to start walking along the same line where I had started mowing - sweeping my feet back and forth through the clippings as I went.
To my utter amazement, joy, and relief, I uncovered my keys about 3/4 way around the first lap.
What are the odds?!
I trotted back to the office where June, the head gardener, was just getting ready to leave. When told her that I'd found the keys, she said, "While you were on your way to the outback, I said a little prayer to Saint Anthony, the Saint of lost things." Then she recited for me her little prayer-rhyme. I thought that was nice of her to do that, even though it sounded like something a 7 year-old would say. But hey, something led me to the right spot!
I thought I'd found my keys through a combination of logic, patience, and effective scanning technique but maybe it was simply a matter of divine intervention.
One thing's for sure: I'm keeping my car keys in my jeans pocket from now on!
Later, after I got home, I looked up Saint Anthony on the net. Holy Moley Tony! You are the man! In addition to lost articles, Saint Anthony is the patron saint of starving people, poor people, animals, Indians, amputees, boatmen, old people, fishermen, expectant mothers, harvests, mail, and last but not least, travel hostesses.
Pardon me while I smirk. I can't help myself.

Control Issues

I must have a problem with giving up control. I can't think of another logical reason for the dreams I've been having since we decided we need to make a trip back to Nebraska next month.
You see, I've been delegated to make travel, car, and lodging arrangements for 5 of us travelling from two different locations so that we all arrive and depart Omaha, our destination city, reasonably close to each other. It ain't workin' out that way. So, I'm trying to find flights that arrive/depart TWO destination cities (Lincoln and Omaha) that are within an hour's drive of each other.
Anyway... let me describe my dreams:
Dream #1 - It is the last night of a business retreat at an island resort in Oklahoma. Our group is staying at a large, circular-shaped hotel. The final evening's banquet however is being held at another location. After the banquet, it is dark, and I am walking back to my hotel. I meet some classmates walking the opposite direction. I ask where they are going? They say that they are going to catch the last ferry of the night back to Oklahoma City because they want to be sure to be back in time to catch their early morning flights back home.
Suddenly, I can't remember when my flight leaves Oklahoma City! I panic. Maybe I should catch that ferry too but I don't have a place to stay in Oklahoma City when we get there and I'm not even packed!
I ask if anyone knows of a good place to stay near the airport. No one does. Then I see several teams of bellboys, nattily dressed in bright uniforms, helping people carry their luggage from the hotel to the ferry. I ask another person if they know of any place near the airport where I can get a room. This person says, "Yes, go talk to that bellboy over there. He can help you."
I walk up to the bellboy, who has his back to me, and say, Do you work at a good hotel that is close to the airport? When he turns around, I see that he is a gangsta and the rest of his bellboy team are all gangstas dressed in baggy pants, dirty t-shirts, tattoos, etc. I get a knot in my stomach. He says, "Yeah, it's okay. But don't stay on the third floor man. Third floor make you sick, man."
I decide I need to get to my room ASAP and check on my flight. Maybe I don't need to get back to Oklahoma City tonight after all. My room number is 127. I try to run down the hall, but it is becoming increasingly crowded with people, bellboys and baggage carts... all leaving for the ferry. I see lines of people at phone booths apparently trying to make reservations. I hear one guy say, "Coupons? No, I don't have any coupons."
I turn down another hall which I believe leads to my room but see that the first room number is 148 and the numbers go progressively higher. Uh oh. I don't know where my room is!
I run down the hall anyway but end up in the gift shop/restaurant area which is divided into many different levels connected by short staircases. I am in a real panic now, so I try leaping over railings, tables and counters but every time I leap in the air, I FLOAT! I hang suspended in the air while people are walking by beneath me! Eventually, after much effort and frustration, I discover another hallway. I head for it. The first room number I see is 202! What?!! Somehow I'm on the second floor!
I reverse course and race through the hotel which by this time is nearly empty. Everyone has left for the ferry - EXCEPT ME!
After a few more floats above the furniture and runs down empty hallways, I am confident that I found my way back to the first floor. I see a long curving hallway that looks familiar. I head for it. The first room number I see is number 5 followed by 7, 9, 11...
I wake up.
Dream #2 - In the course of remembering dream #1, I forgot dream #2. I know that the theme was similar, so maybe it's just as well that I forgot the details. If it comes back to me however, I'll share it with you.
"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change..."
"Whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should..."
"Use the Force, Luke..."
"Twas the schooner Hesperus..."
"Quoth the raven..."


...blah blah blah."