Going out on a limb to hang out with my friends

 I am so blessed to be part of a grade level team that genuinely enjoys one another's company in AND outside of school. We were excited to meet at a whimsical little place that was part blueberry farm, part tree-house bar and restaurant, sprinkled with magical fairy lights, sculptures, yard games, and music. 

My friend Rachel rode with me as we followed our friends Allison and Katriel to meet Marissa at the venue. Rachel and I rarely have one-on-one time so we were busy catching up and enjoying the scenery during the back-country road drive. 

Suddenly, Rachel's phone rang. It was Katriel. I could hear her asking Rachel where we were. Confused, Rachel and I waved enthusiastically at our friends, positioned in the vehicle right in front of us...the same car I had relentlessly been tailing through the twists and turns of countless narrow, shoulder-less, passages through hamlets, hay fields, and hillsides. Rachel turned to me, mouthing, "That's not them." 

Huh.

Must be time to turn on the map.

"Mom," my daughter Savannah lectured later, "Why didn't you have Maps on to begin with?"

"I was following someone, Savannah," I replied, the "duh" implied. "That's the beauty of a caravan."

"Even if I am following someone," my daughter shared, "I have Maps going, too."

Well, goody for you, Savannah Evangeline.

Rachel and I found our destination easily enough..."Whoops, we missed it," Rachel exclaimed as we shot by the entryway. No worries.

Feeling victorious as we navigated New Titan into an abbreviated parking spot ("Rachel, leap out [on your sprained foot] so you can ground-guide me in." She fearlessly catapulted herself out of my truck, easily managing the three-foot-drop on one leg, landing, flamingo-style, to help me.), we could not understand why our three twenty-something companions were standing nearby, as unhelpful bystanders, laughing hysterically. What on earth was so funny? We got here, didn't we?

The Blueberry Treehouse Farm & Cafe reminded me of the forests of Endor from Star Wars. I would not have been surprised to see an Ewok about as we climbed up the levels that led to the seating area. I  mistakenly ordered a blueberry moscato...confusing it for prosecco. They are NOT the same. My bad. 

My group graciously gave me the honor of choosing the seating. I immediately selected an isolated spot with cozy Adirondack chairs surrounding a low table. Second mistake. Oh. I guess, if you count my little re-routing incident...third mistake. Turns out that it's not easy to eat, reclining back, in Adirondack chairs while balancing your weighty pioneer log plate in your lap. So we ate, hunched awkwardly forward, literally on the edge of our seats. Allison, who had, out of consideration, claimed an uncomfortable-looking metal chair, had the perfect posture of a princess and nibbled her flatbread with grace and dignity while the rest of us, Quasimoto's quadruplets, snarfed down our food like gargoyles.

I had ordered the peach flatbread pizza, sprinkled artistically with basil. I noticed a bit of the herb had landed next to my tree trencher so I plucked it off the table and popped it in my mouth. Fourth mistake. Marissa watched with concern as I grimaced and spat it out...unfolding it to discover the remnants of a maple leaf. 

In spite of me and all of my mistakes, we had a delightful time. We caught up, laughed a lot, and just enjoyed each other's company. It was somewhat different than our usual narrative story...the characters were the same, of course. But the setting had switched abruptly from school classrooms to the tops of trees. The problem was no longer how to effectively instill knowledge into young minds but instead was how to keep Amy alive, on the right track, and having somewhat the appearance of someone who knows how to act while out in public. I was with the best educators in the WORLD so I was confident that we would meet these objectives with no problem. Simple. Easy. It was elemen-tree. 

We're not "lion"...we didn't cheat!

Game night. Otherwise known as a way for Geri to showcase how stupidly inept the rest of us are compared to her...ugh! Any game that takes over 15 minutes of direction-explaining (allotting, of course, for another 15 minutes of questions and clarification) is certain to be in Geri's wheelhouse. But the food was good, the drinks were generous, the house was charming, and the company was kind...no, scratch that...not ALL of the company was kind...one team was immediately deemed "The Mean Girls" for their unsportsman-like behavior, unfounded accusations, and unnecessarily loud and intentionally obnoxious  "time's up" noises. 

By God's good grace (and a late entrance), I ended up on the perfect team, comprised of three laid-back
ladies with a complementary blend of talent, enthusiasm, and convivial wit with a confounding side of "We could care less" which would suddenly surprise the one who insistently ordered it up (in spite of the warning asterisk listed on the menu) with a sharply bitter, lingering aftertaste*.

No one (not even Geri) knew what the hell was going on. My team...cruelly (and for no discernible reason except to discredit our good names and reputations) was called The Cheaters (The game had barely even started yet!) but Bev, Tracey, and I recognized that one must not fight the current of a riptide...we instead decided to go with the flow...like our courageous, underdog forefathers, who were cruelly mocked during the glorious Revolution with a Weird Al parody of a pub shanty (Yeah, ya Lobster Backs...Yankee Doodle THIS! And stick your feather THERE!), we embraced the name and made it our own...The Cheetahs (complete with choreographed celebratory high-fives with sound effects).

Generational differences soon made a painful appearance:  Some in the crowd easily recognized the introductory music for The Smurfs while others thought it was a polite word for flatulence. One of our youngest (and loudest and meanest and most obnoxious) members didn't know who Carol Burnett was and was almost immediately expelled from all future Game Nights. 

Even though no one actually had a full handle on the rules, everyone (except the laid-back ladies of The Cheetahs) loudly voiced their objections to any perceived infractions. "She used TWO words," one player yelled. Geri who self-appointed herself judge-and-jury of all things (No one opposed her since she controlled the flow of liqueur) yelled back, "Opposed...stinky was a brainstorming word leading to the word dirty which determined the correct phrase of "Dirty Harry." It goes without saying that a lot of pouting and sulking accompanied ALL of Geri's decisions. Geri, herself, had to be brought into line when, in a fit of frustration, she leaped up behind the clue-giver who was pointing frantically to the sky at pretend "stars" to flash Spock's classic Vulcan salute. "How hard is it to give a clue for Star Trek?" she shrieked. "Wow!" whispered fellow Cheetah, Tracey, to me, "I could hear her even with the malfunctioning hearing aide in my back ear." "Which ear?" I asked, worried that maybe she wasn't hearing my clues clearly enough. "Don't worry," she said, winking, "I can hear with my final-front-ear." Naturally, as we howled with laughter, The Cheetahs were again accused of guilefulness and subterfuge.

The limits of mimicry and hand motions were sorely tested. We delighted at Geri racing at Bev to be
swept magnificently into the air a la  Baby and Johnny in "Dirty Dancing." That was pure, undisputed art. She (Geri) threw (another) fit, disgusted by a player who, for "Psycho," slashed horizontally rather than vertically but as it was a question of execution rather than rules, the point was not disputed...only mocked. However, another player holding up her hand three times to flash 4-5-1 for "Fahrenheit 451" seemed completely unfair. "Over-ruled," our judge declared while I seethed and stormed that, by that decision, I might as well finger-spell all the clues using ASL.  Geri eyed my near-empty glass so I elected to die on another hill. 

We roared as Rachel rocked her clues...ribbeting her way across the floor for "Frogger" and then repeatedly racing out of the room to peek back in for "Terminator." Everyone was stunned when Bev hummed the Addams Family tune and I bellowed, "The Munsters!" (Yes...we were, again, immediately accused of cheating.) When given the opportunity to pass, Virginia littered the floor with clue cards like they were confetti. And as fast as our flower girl tossed down her petals, Rachel raced to pick them up so "The Cheetahs" couldn't see them. "Boy, she has a LOT of faith in our vision," Bev whispered. 

"The Cheetahs" missed a first place finish by ONE point but we celebrated our second place victory with our signature high-five with sound effects. By tomorrow, NO ONE will remember who placed first, second, or third. But they will remember our choreography AND how a small group of under-estimated, misjudged, and maligned women overcame incredible obstacles, rising above the malicious jealousy and mean-spirited bitterness around them to compete competitively while modeling gracious, dignified behavior; cheering on their opponents and congratulating all for their efforts. Cheetahs-of-the-World...UNITE!

("Don't listen to her," Geri interrupted, finally managing to infiltrate Amy's blog, "she's trying to pull a fast one.")

*Refer back to Paragraph 1:  Sub-section Two: Mean Girls

 

The Road to Stardom, Part I

What a strange world. One day, you're eating under-cooked onion rings at a Bob's Big Boy and the next, you're being "discovered" at a moderately-priced hotel conference room in a suburb of Detroit. But this story actually begins far from our luxurious penthouse quarters of the Red Roof Inn...back almost a week ago when Brad saw a news program about open casting calls for the new "Star Wars" movie. It was (almost like) an act of God. Our family's conversations are peppered with "Star Wars" quotes, Sydney owns an impressive collection of "Star Wars" themed t-shirts, Savannah once talked us into purchasing a $50 Darth Vader mask for Halloween, and Brad and Sydney spent several hours constructing me an R2D2 costume just this year! If there was a movie custom-made...fated, if you will...for the Mosiman family, "Star Wars" was it.

Sydney immediately began doing research and almost as immediately, was devastated as she learned that the cities hosting casting calls (Nashville, Chicago, Detroit) were well out-of-geographical-range...seemingly light years away. Add to that, this week-end coincided with the opening day of deer season, a sacred holiday religiously observed by Brad Mosiman consecutively for well over two decades. One hundred percent behind my secret plans to drive Sydney to Detroit, Brad listened with some concern and trepidation as I mapped out my route. "You will be driving through Canada, won't you?" he inquired. "Why," I asked, "Oh! Is it because a Great Lake lies between NY and Michigan?" "No," he sighed, realizing that he would be missing his favorite day of the entire year to drive me successfully to my destination, "It's because Canada lies between NY and Michigan."

And so began our impromptu road-trip. Sydney, somewhat shell-shocked when she learned this morning that we were heading to Detroit, immediately immersed herself into her character of "Rachel," a beautiful, rough-and-tumble, street-smart girl by singing Disney's "Bare Necessities" for the first hour of the ride. Brad, forgetting how easy we are to please, was disgusted by our excited appreciation for his generous side-trip at a McDonald's along the way. I was caught up in simultaneous feelings of worry and wonder when I discovered that a little ladybug had hitched a ride with us and I worried about this startling transition. This was a big move for her.

Anticipating long lines, Sydney and I packed lawn furniture and sleeping bags good to 40 below. ("40 degrees," Brad sighed, "Don't you EVER listen?"). We arrived at the location a full day early to scout it out, prepared to join the throngs of thousands and spend the night in the bitter cold to defend our place in line. We pulled into the nearly vacant parking lot while Brad, who never for one moment planned to sleep in a parking lot, smirked and pointed out perfect places to set up our lounge chaises. Sydney and I surveyed the lay-out of the hotel and banquet facilities before heading out to fuel up on snack supplies and to settle into our fine accommodations, here, at the Red Roof Inn. It has been a long and arduous journey, fraught with frustration and terror. Alone in a dark parking lot, Sydney and I struggled to secure the van to no avail, faced with the futility that we were too stupid to manage an automated locking system, unaware that Brad, intent on revenge from his having to miss the opening day of deer season because his wife suffers from spacial-deficiency-syndrome, was poised on the 2nd floor balcony, remotely unlocking the van and unhinging his family.  When Syd and I approached Room 217, we paused uncertainly before its darkened window. Is this the wrong room, we wondered? Did we not listen carefully enough to Brad (again)? We knocked hesitantly, peering into the window when a face suddenly loomed out of the darkness, causing us to scream. Brad opened the door, laughing, his self-therapy somewhat relieving the stress of his having to sit in a Bob's Big Boy booth rather than a deer stand.

Tomorrow: the audition!