Winter Songs

Life's Lessons

Up ‘til now you’ve heard about the world kicking my butt. However, my life isn’t always about obstacles that I have to endure. I also do my share of tripping, all on my own. So before I continue, I thought I’d let you in on some of the things that keep my family laughing (at me).

Long ago, on a Long Island far far away…..

There used to be a huge flea market every Sunday in Huntington. It wasn’t your typical flea market made up of either people’s trash or store overstock, this was vintage flea market. With people who emptied out their attics and basements. There were real finds to be purchased and people actually haggled over prices. I was young, and wasn’t looking for the Tiffany lamp for $1 or some other goodie, I wanted two things…baseball cards, and hats.

The first misadventure took place one day because my dad and I decided to walk slowly down the aisles. We examined the tables of ‘bric a brac’ and eventually found two men bargaining over the price of something. There at the table was a box of baseball cards. These weren’t last years cards that someone had outgrown, these were cards of people like Lou Gehrig. From the prices being offered, it was clear that the customer wanted the entire box and was going to pay a few dollars a card. Even then I knew this was a treasure. Had I simply walked a little faster that Sunday, I would have been able to buy cards and would probably have sold them at a time when they were worth $50-$100 a piece. But No. I took my time that day, and will forever live with the memory.

Now, that’s not a funny story. I can tell because even through the internet, I know you’re not laughing. However, here’s part two.

I loved hats. I had a ‘coon skin cap from Disneyworld, a top hat (go read my hospital story to hear about that) and even a fire-chief’s dress hat. So I was always on the look out for something cool. One Sunday at that flea market I came upon a table with piles of what I thought were berets. The man only wanted a dollar, and so I grabbed one of these white berets and put it on my head. It was great, I proudly walked around the rest of the market with my new hat on my head. I wore it on a slight angle, like I’d seen berets worn, and I felt very cool.

My family got back together (we did the ‘synchronize watches’ routine everytime we went there) and I got these strange looks from my folks. Finally my dad took the hat from my head and examined it. “You know this is a hat cover…right?” he asked me. “Not a beret?” I replied. Well it seems as I proudly displayed my new beret throughout the flea market, what I was wearing was a military hat cover. It’s the white cloth cover which stretches over a hat for formal occasions.

See, NOW you’re laughing, but wait, it gets better.

One Washington’s Birthday weekend my family went to the Catskill Mountains to one of the resort hotels. Among the many things to do there was ski. However, my father was the only one of us who had ever been on skis. So my sister, mother and I decided it was high time we learned, and signed up for first a group, then a private lesson.

The first thing however, was renting and wearing the equipment. That was an ordeal itself. Since we had no idea how the stuff worked, or how it was supposed to fit, we crammed our feet into boots and once outside, got them into skis. Fine… now we had to get from the Lodge to the area where they held lessons. If you’ve ever seen a child learning to walk, you’ll understand the dexterity and grace we all showed.

However, we were finally in line with a bunch of others and a teacher said, “lesson one, before you can learn to ski, you have to learn how to get up from a fall” and she told us all to fall back into the snow. Everyone plopped into the snow. Now she said…. Something about feet and arms and Stand Up. Suuuuuuure, stand up? Between crossed skis, and lack of body strength, that ‘get up’ thing was next to impossible. However, after pushing and gasping and clawing, we all made it. However, the next steps were based on mastering that first one, as no matter what we did, we fell. It was obvious that we needed that private lesson, and once the first torture session was over, we were joined by a teacher to take us through this nonsense.

The teacher showed us a few things, like setting your knees together in order to slow down when skiing. It seemed to me that learning to move on skis was insane, but she insisted we try. We were led to a rope tow. I only know it was called that because of the sign that said, “rope tow” in front of this machine. In turn we shimmied up to the tow, grabbed on and road up the side of this tiny hill. On one side of the tow was the machine, and the ditch in which it lay. “Don’t go there” we were told. On the other side was the hill and lots of skiiers. So we did our best to stay in line.

At the top of the hill she showed me the position for skiing. She went down with me for the first few feet and then my body decided it knew better, and suddenly I was racing down the hill. Somehow, I managed to stay on my feet. However, I had to go back up, this time on my own. “This is fun?” I wondered.

My sister went next, she at least had the intelligence to stay with the teacher and to remain in that tucked, knees together position. Next was my mother’s turn. I was up top watching when she suddenly fell. Since we’d all learned about falling, and getting up, I assumed that the ‘getting up’ phase was about to begin. However, the ski-instructor took my mom’s skis and crossed them behind her. This could not be good.

It turned out that my mom was hurt. Rather than face the ordeal of trying to ski to her. (We hadn’t learned how to STOP) So I unclicked myself from the skis, and let them take the next ride on their own. I marched myself down the hill making large holes behind me. My mom had broken her arm. As they prepared her for the trip to the local hospital, my dad brought my sister and I together, explained the problem and handed us each a little ‘keep yourself entertained’ money.

With my mom going to the ER, there was something I was aching to do. A dream I’d had for many years. I wanted to ride a snowmobile and it just so happened that the hotel had just the thing. So I took my loot and headed straight for the snow mobile area.

A large oval had been dug from the snow. It looked wonderfully inviting. A sign indicated the price to rent a snow mobile, for about ten dollars I could finally make a dream come true. I figured I’d ride all afternoon because for that money, I was entitled to about 97 laps. The man took my money and showed me the big machine. “This is the gas, this is the brake”, he started, “if you want to slow down, don’t use the brake, just take your hand off the gas, ok?” I nodded, and away I went.

What I hadn’t realized is that the oval wasn’t a flat, easy surface, but it was full of bumps and valleys which took a lot out of me. The first time around the course was great, I was having a blast. The next time around, still great, although I was having a harder time holding on, particularly at the mother-of-all-bumps around the far corner. The third time around, I was tired. I had been going full speed, hanging on to the handle bars and was feeling it in all parts of my body. So as I started lap number four, I eased my hand off the gas to let the snow mobile slow down. However, it didn’t slow.

I heard in my head the man gruffly saying, “If you want to slow down, don’t use the brake, just take your hand off the gas” and was scared to use the brake. However, I was around the first turn and mother-of-all-bumps was looming ahead. I hit the accelerator with my gloved hand trying to make it slow, and continued to hold on. The snow mobile would not slow down. One little thud, and now, there was the big one, right in front of me.

I hit the big bump hard, and found myself staring straight down into a pile of snow. I could hear the snow mobile as it continued, no hands on the gas or steering, into the woods until, “thud”, I heard it collide with a tree. A moment later the snow mobile man drove up on another snow mobile and put me on the back. We drove to the entrance where he yelled, “Why didn’t you hit the brake!?!?” I was startled, and replied, “bbbbbut you said……”

Fortunately a shuttle bus came by and I quickly got on. From the bus I saw 3 guys running into the woods after my snow mobile. I also noted that when it collided with the tree, the tree won.

When I got back to the hotel, I was hot, stinky and angry. I went to the manager and complained about the guy, my money, the machine which drove itself into a tree and the fact that HIS snow had injured my mom. He listened, smiled and assured me that something would be done. Yeah right.

Posted by bbrother at May 15, 2005 09:09 AM | TrackBack