The Memories..., Uncategorized

I don’t know…something about being a weird, awkward kid.

I was a weird kid.  (I was going to write “I think I was a weird kid,” but I’ll just own it.  That is one of those things that if you have to ask, the answer is always yes.)

Anyway, as I was saying, I was weird.  During recess, I would run around pretending to be an alien.  In class, I would do weird things to get attention…which usually resulted in some sort of attention from the principal (i.e. “What is wrong with you?”).  I’m still not quite sure what was wrong with me.  Way too creative for the box into which they were trying to cram me, maybe?  Well, generally speaking, my weirdness didn’t seem to help me much, other than to be occasionally humiliated in front of my entire class; by “occasionally,” I mean “all the time.”

Once in Mrs. Kirby’s third-grade class (that’s Grade Three for any Canucks reading this), I had a rather embarrassing and weird episode(s) involving the preparation for, and execution of, an in-class Christmas play.  I thought I’d be receiving some assistance in designing the reindeer costume I was expected to don (gaily, I suppose), but they only helped the blind kid.  The nerve.  So, the reindeer I tried to throw together in 15 minutes looked as if it had been run over by Santa’s sleigh…repeatedly.  To top it all off, when it came time for me to deliver my (single) line, I yelled something incoherent (i.e. Hurrrkkkkkaalllaaaaaaaabeeeeeee), and bolted for the door.  Uh…I don’t know.  That still makes me blush, to this day.  I will fill in the other details in a future post.

In fourth-grade (Canadians: that’s Grade—oh forget it) one wintry day, our teacher Mr. Bowns asked us if we knew what “coping” was.  I raised my hand enthusiastically and told everyone about a gray powder that was, apparently, highly addictive and a really bad idea.  The slack jaws and the stares should have clued me into the fact that the teacher had not asked about “cocaine” after all.  Chalk up another point for my shame.  Later, my friend Jason was kind enough to inform me that cocaine was white, not gray, and only made me feel like a more complete idiot.  Oh, the hot tears etching arroyos into my reddened cheeks…  Probably more on that in a later post, too.

The point is: Just between you and me…I think I have always felt awkward in many social situations involving crowds or classrooms or meetings or jobs or other people, or alone with my thoughts.  Did all my adolescent weirdness cause me to tend toward being an introvert, or vice versa?  Again…I don’t know.  Maybe telling the world will be some cathartic exercise, resulting in my hard candy shell breaking off for all humanity to see the real me.

Huh.  On second thought, that seems weird.

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Shots, The Memories..., Uncategorized

Flotsam and Fotos (April, 2011)

In celebration of making it to year 4 of our marriage, the enchanting Mrs. Anthonderek and I spent a few days on the Long Beach peninsula, as is our custom.  One day, we visited tiny Waikiki Beach in Cape Disappointment State Park.  I found some random items stuffed into/onto the rocks, and the iPhone was handy.

pallet

Pallet

sea't

Sea't

not going anywhere

Tired

shoe

Only a shoe--no foot--I checked

tetherball?

Tetherball?

No, I didn’t only take pictures of junk washed ashore.  As proof, I submit more random photos from our little holiday.

Lagoon

On the hike up to a lighthouse

south end of Long Beach

South end of Long Beach

walked from the rock

Footprints followed me

waikiki beach

Waikiki Beach (HDR)

Old dock in Astoria, OR

sunset

Sunset on Long Beach, Wa (HDR)

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The Memories...

The Waterfight

The girls were going down.  The gauntlet had been thrown at the feet of the guys, and as mid- to post-pubescent, hormone-driven youngsters, we knew what had to be done.  

The call went out: “Waterfight at 3 AM!” –wait, what?  Cut!  3 AM?  In the middle of the night??

It's like a touch-and-go.

It's like a touch-and-go.

 

Summers in Alaska are kind of crazy in that in the middle of July it stays light very light, and even the darkest part of the night isn’t that dark.  Makes for an interesting time at summer camp.  So, yeah.  Waterfight…at night.

The battle lines were drawn.  The field of battle: the lakeshore, in front of the snackshack.  And, yes, three 0’clock in the morning.  The guys had some prep-work to do.  Since not many of us had the foresight to pack supersoakers and water-balloons, we were going to have to improvise.  After a raid of the kitchen and an inventory of odds andends around the guys dorm, we were able to secure several 5-gallon buckets, a small arsenal of Log Cabin syrup bottles, several regular balloons, a pack or two of bona fide water-balloons, and a couple squirt guns.  Next, the battlefield, also known as, “the beach,” had to be prepped.  

Aroundmidnight, several of us found a hose and filled the buckets, the syrup bottles, all the balloons, and the guns.  We carted most everything down to the lakeshore.  An old ladder helped us utilize the roof of the snackshack–good to claim the high ground early.  On the roof we stashed several of the buckets, and a few syrup bottles.  The non-water-balloons were each about 10 inches in diameter.  We quickly ran down our strategy for the battle, checking items off our list.  Then, we waited.

When preparing for battle, a million thoughts run through a warrior’s mind:  do I have what it takes to perform valiantly?  Did I tell my loved ones how much they mean to me?  Am I prepared to meet my Maker?  Do I have enough dry clothes stashed to last the rest of the week?  I hope Julie realizes how much I like her when I throw her in the lake.  The hour drew nigh as we settled our thoughts and quavering nerves.

Armed with our wits...

Armed with our wits...

2:55 AM.  Like paratroopers pouring out of a C-47 over Normandy we streamed out of the Boys’ Dorm, our senses and eyes opening wide from the static line of the cool, dusky night.  We cautiously approached the lakefront and got into position.  The scouts/bait were sent out to draw the girls into the ambush.

3:00 AM (give or take).  The thunder of tens of Keds-shod feminine feet announced the arrival of the girls racing headlong into our trap.  We remembered our leader’s admonishment, “On my signal…unleash Heck!”  He neglected to tell us what the signal actually was, so we went with, “Hey!  Girls!  Get ’em!”  You know…whatever works.

And, “get ’em” we did.  From the first sorry gal to run by the snackshack(dumped one of the 5 gallon buckets on her head), to the 2nd and 3rd ones (more buckets and syrup bottles), we soaked and re-soaked their unfortunate frontlines.  However, we soon realized that maybe utilizing the massive throw-everything-at-them-at-once-shock-n-awe campaign we waged initially wasn’t the best strategy.  Especially when we remembered that there were a lot more girls at camp than boys.

Wave after wave, they crashed upon the beachhead of our quickly dwindling defenses.  Actually, it probably was just the two waves.  It wasn’t that big of a camp.  Plus, the whole scene soon devolved from calculated battlelines and strategery to mayhem upon mayhem–as if mayhem fell in love with absolute chaos and they were having babies right on the beach.  Countless brothers-in-arms were cut down by friendly fire.  Foes and allies morphed into a sopping-wet cacophony of baser instincts and reaction, blurred color and muffled sound.  It’s true what they say: War is Hell.

Shell-shocked.

Shell-shocked.

A few of us made it out alive and put up a spirited resistance over the next few days.  Minor skirmishes broke out here and there, one involving one of the 10″ balloon water-bombs being hurled into a crowded girls’ restroom one morning.  No one knew who was ultimately responsible, but I still have scars from the scratches and fingernail-pinches.  Geez, girls are so volatile when they are blowdrying their hair.

Relative calm and peace returned to Camp, but there remained a tension below the surface.  Perhaps it was the seeds of revolution germinating in the soils of young warriors souls.  Or, it may just have been the knowledge that at any moment, in the heat (or night) of the Alaskan summer, boys and girls just might declare their affections for each other…by soaking each other to the bone.

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