Color outside the lines

When I was 3 years old, my brother and sister decided to give me my first swimming lesson while camping at Sebago Lake in Maine. I was being a sweet, well behaved and charming little girl...just ‘lightly’ pushing my brother and sister off of the wharf into the water. After a few unplanned ‘falls’ into the water...they conspired against me...and threw me in the water! I had no idea that I was a born swimmer...I came up under the wharf...and very quietly floated under there...allowing mass hysteria to set in with a smirk on my face. When I finally surfaced from the depths...I am pretty sure I got the beating of a lifetime for the scare. BUT, it was well worth it! Of course, my brother and sister got in major trouble for ‘picking on the baby!’

Back in those days, we had one of those trailers built onto the back of a pick up truck...where us kids were ‘allowed’ to stay in the back during the drive and lay on the bunk over the cab of the truck,looking out the window.(It truly is remarkable that we survived those days...no seat belts, no helmets, no alcohol wipes!). As we crossed the US- Canada border...the border guard insisted on searching the trailer. The border guards basically tore everything apart...bunks, pots and pans, suit cases...but got quite a surprise when they ‘inspected’ the tea pot. My brother and sister tell me I had some ‘bowel issues’ back then. I guess I sometimes waited a week or more before ‘going’. Well,unfortunately for the border guards the ‘week of waiting’ was up and I had taken a great big dump in the tea pot! I not only filled it...I had replaced the top on the pot when I was done to let it ‘steep’ to perfection!

I digress. My sister Lori and I went to swimming lessons a couple times a week for many years. I really did not need lessons of any sort...it was more of a badge gathering affair. We were separated from the main group often and one day the instructor took our picture holding a badge. Now, don’t ask me why...but I thought this meant that I was ‘special’...in a short bus kind of way. Since nobody really explained why we were separated from the main group, I thought it was because we were inadequate...or too slow...failures...when in fact...we were super-duper advanced for our ages. Our pictures were taken for being extraordinary swimmers. Thank goodness this contorted idea of mine did not alter my love for swimming. I LOVE swimming…anywhere…anytime. My mother and I actually swam across Bellisle Bay years ago…I would swim the ocean if I knew for sure something wouldn’t bite my bum or sting me!

I was also a Loch Lomond majorette...baton twirler girl. I LOVED baton twirling! Especially the high rubber boots with the pom-poms on them, the sparkly body suit and that funky ‘majorette’ hat to match! Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better...they asked me to carry the banner for the Santa Clause parade! I near shit my pants! Put me right in the front where I belong people...good choice...excuse me...could you step back while I step right in front of you...where I belong...in front of you! I was the baton twirler girl of the universe! Can you imagine my surprise when weeks later I bombed in a competition? I was shocked...and horrible at baton twirling...I ended up at rock bottom last! It was devastating...I quit altogether in fact. Many years later...it hit me like a ton of bricks...out of nowhere...I had to pull over the car...I realized that I was asked to hold the banner in the Santa parade because I was a danger to myself and others with a baton in my hands! OMG! How odd is it that I thought I was a super star when I wasn’t...and thought I wasn’t a super star when I was?

Thank God I did not have a clue back then...as this could have changed the entire course of my life! For whatever reason...maybe a child-like abandon and sense of adventure...I continued to sign on and enlist myself for every opportunity possible. I played trombone and bass guitar in a jazz band for many years, tried out for(and NEVER made)a single sports team year after year (damn you Mr. Porter!.Every year I went back...tried again...never made the list. I figured there was something wrong with the coach...never ever once considered that I was the shits at sports! I did manage to become the high school curling skip though(it may have been lack of turn out at the try outs but I refuse to believe that!)Drama, student council, sang crazy songs each morning for the high school announcements (everybody thought I was CRAZY!), I got hammered at Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris...you name it...I tried it...at least once.

Years ago, I got on some exhibition rides with my step daughter. We both laughed like fools! For those few crazy minutes during each ride...for a brief moment in time...I jumped right back to 1982...when I was on the rides with my best friend Barbara...I felt like I was 14 all over again! A couple years ago, Barbara and I reunited after 18 years and we participated in the Bell City Chase in Ottawa to commemorate it. It’s like the Amazing Race and we came in 120 out of 300...it was exhilarating and we felt like kids again! We didn’t care about winning...we simply signed on to have a fun day! Last year, I signed on to do TreeGo (an obstacle course made of ropes and logs high up the trees). I was scared shitless...but at the same time I felt like a kid again! I get the same thrill when I go a million miles an hour down a ski hill every winter...and this year I discovered the ‘high’ of golf! I am not very good at it...I am simply having a blast...and that is all that matters!

My message here is simple...DON’T DRINK TEA AT MY HOUSE!!! No seriously...embrace your child-like abandon and do something absolutely crazy and fun...something you have always wanted to do. Sign on for an adventure...stop being so serious all the time...and most importantly do not fear failure...embrace adventure! When you cross something off of your list...put something new right back on it. Step outside ‘your box’ and color outside the lines! It is absolutely exhilarating! Now I have to go and find a roller derby rink, belly dancing class, and a Burlesque dancing troop!

Man does not cease to play because he grows old, he grows old because he ceases to play.-- Drew Lachey

Lynn
;)

Freedom is Never Free...

I joined the SYEP (Student Youth Employment Program) for the naval reserve shortly after high school graduation. I originally joined for the good money...but quickly learned that I was in for the time of my life! Where else can you learn some valuable life skills such as shooting a rifles, sub machine guns and 9mm pistols (they called me RAMBETTE at the shooting range), run through military obstacle courses and what to do in the tear gas hut, sailing and man-over-board exercises, fire fighting and disaster training, chef level cooking courses and best of all...how to party with an amazing gang of your peers from all across the country? After the initial summer of training, we continued to meet once weekly down at ‘Brunswicker’ for weekly GMT (general military training). This involved learning the ‘ropes’ of being a good little sailor….tying knots, seamanship, marching, saluting, and so on. Before being deployed the following summer, we had to choose a trade. I chose to be a cook because cooks do not have to do ‘watch’ or quarter deck duty due to irregular and early shifts.

The ‘real’ military training began during my first work assignment the following summer. I was stationed in Halifax Nova Scotia, and I spent the summer living on a decommissioned ship named The St.Croix...we called her (ships are referred to as she’s)‘The CROTCH’ for short. Imagine 200+ co-ed peers living on a close-quartered ship with tax free liquor and smokes! Liquor shots were 25 cents a piece and cigarettes were a buck a pack! There was some more brutal GMT training before our cooking course started...so the gang of cooks to be...from all across the country bonded for life during the psychotic and strenuous training schedule that took place. For the next 6 weeks, our lives basically consisted of running a mile before breakfast, military training classes, marching and doing gun drills on a 106-degree-in-the-shade parade square, fire fighting and disaster training, home work, ironing our uniforms, spit shining our boots until we could see our own reflection, hit the rack (bed) and then up and at it all over again. On the week ends we partied as hard as we worked all week...and became life long friends throughout the entire ordeal. That summer, I had a really bad perm...so I was originally dubbed “fire hazard hair” and then that nickname quickly turned into “wild woman” as the summer progressed and people got to know me a little better.

Back in those good old days, the girls dressed to the nines to go out. I frequently wore my skin tight A-line denim skirt, high heels, a sassy top and neon 1980’s eye shadow with big-ass jewelry and highly teased hair to boot! Let me just tell you now…those ships were not designed for high heels and tight skirts! One night, I was so hammered all I could do was crawl up the gang plank to get home to ‘The CROTCH’. There were two extremely French sailors from Chicoutimi Quebec working quarter deck duty that night. Quarter deck duty involves guarding the entryway to the ship and checking everyone’s ID to get on the ship. As I started to go down the hatch (the opening to go into the ship which is a 10 foot ladder down or up depending on which way you are going)...my high heel caught on the entryway lip and I proceeded to go ass-over-tea-kettle out of control down the ladder. Over the course of my ‘fall from grace’, my skin tight denim skirt ripped from the hem to the waist line. I landed in a heap at the bottom of the ladder with my legs spread wide open up in the air (picture a turkey waiting to be stuffed!). The two French fellows on quarter deck duty ran to my aide...stopped at the top of the hatch, pointed and laughed their guts out! In very broken English one of them said …“Guarde ca Jacque (look Jack)…there is a snatch in the hatch!” I some how managed to contort my way out of my ‘predicament’ and get to my ‘rack’ (bunk). Needless to say...I did not have to pay for my drinks for the rest of the summer...the French boys always took care of that to ensure that I was always good and drunk! That same night, we had a fire drill on The Crotch. I almost slept right through it. For those of you who have never been on a navy frigate…it is impossible to sleep through the wailing noise! The gals in my quarters decided to paint up my face before shaking me awake to get the hell out of there and get into formation. There I stood...dock side...straight as an arrow with my comrades...with all kinds of obscene images on my poor drunken face! We all had a great laugh from that one...especially when I was scrubbing the toilets with my tooth brush for the next week because I would not (could not) give up who did the offensive and phallic artwork.

Each year, our big group would reunite and start exactly where we left off...care free...and have more fun than humans should be allowed. I would go to work in the Galley (kitchen) all day...and then nap...go out all night...get about 3 hours sleep and start the day all over again. I took great joy in traumatizing the little sea cadets on the food line...especially on chicken day! I would place one hand on my chest and another on my thigh in a suggestive manner and then I would ask those poor prepubescent boys in a 1-900-number-esque sex kitten voice...would you prefer a BREAST or a THIGH while holding up a piece of chicken in the tongs! They would immediately avert their eyes to the ground...turn beat red...gulp...and whisper “just fries lady...only fries”!!!! Every Saturday the gang met down at Peddler’s Pub around noon and sang at the top of our lungs with the “Swell Guys” band until we were hoarse...and then we would continue to party until the clubs closed down...or we got kicked out...whichever came first! One night I almost got arrested for peeing in a public place. I hoisted my dress and squatted at the base of a tree in the park at the base of the liquor dome. Somebody tapped my shoulder…and I slurred “HOLD ON A MINUTE…CAN'T A WOMAN TAKE A PEE IN PEACE FOR GOODNESS SAKES?” It turned out to be a police officer...who took pity on my soul and let me off with a warning. Of course it is documented on film somewhere...my ship mates took great joy in collecting “Lynn peeing in public places” footage...thank goodness “You Tube” did not exist back then! I had a ridiculously amazing time during my service in the reserves. I learned so much...and made some amazing life long friends. We used to joke with the REG’s (full time regular force) that their job was our hobby!

It was all fun and games until my first Remembrance Day parade when the Navy got their regular blues back. Before then, we were all decked out in general army green colored gear. The first Remembrance Day parade in the old Navy blues, really set off a crying spell amongst the veterans. They were beside themselves with pride that we were marching by in the old Navy blues. As we marched by, many of the veterans were crying and saluted us! I was so embarrassed...here I was having the time of my life...never to see serious action of any kind...drinking and partying until I could not walk...saluting the tax free liquor and smokes...only to be saluted by veterans who had seen the real deal...who had lived through the nightmares of conflict and war. On this particular Remembrance Day, the troops lined up in every direction of the King Square Union Jack pathways. We had to stand straight at attention throughout the Remembrance Day service. In my direct sight…there stood four mentally retarded brothers and sisters from a well-known local family. During the moment of silence...they were smiling with glee as the leaves let loose from the trees and slowly fluttered to the ground...their faces towards the sun...happy to be alive...unaware of the sad tribute that surrounded them. I could not help but cry...to be reminded of the simple pleasures of life in the smiles of the four siblings with Down’s syndrome...to be reminded of how much we take our lives for granted...and freedom. From that day on...I thought about those veterans in everything I did for the remainder of my military career. Before that fateful day, I never once considered that I was training in the event that reserve troops may be needed or called upon to fight for our country. Mind you I still had wild and crazy bouts of fun from time to time...but their sacrifices remained in my heart in every task that I took on from that Remembrance Day forward. Now, years later, I often think of the sacrifices of our current troops fighting for the safety of our nation on a regular basis. “It is easy to take liberty for granted, when you have never had it taken from you” (Dick Cheney). I think about the hell of what our troops live and see ... of being away from their families for our freedom to be with ours...they are the real deal...and I am forever grateful...our freedom is never free...every day should be Remembrance Day

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it. ~William Arthur Ward


Lynn
;)