Experience #26 Anybody for Some Football?

This past Friday I did something I never thought I’d do. I attended an LSU football game. I know. Doesn’t really seem like a big deal. But frankly even though this particular item had made it onto my original list of experiences, it was one I thought I’d never complete. I added backup items on my list just for this purpose

It’s not that I didn’t want to check this one off my list. Obviously I had willingly added it to my list. But the fact that I understand nothing about football did have plenty to do with my reluctance. I mean I know that the players make touchdowns and the team has a quarterback. I haven’t completely lived under a rock living in this area of big football fans. The simple truth is my attention span tends to wander when I don’t understand something... quite frequently I might add.

What I learned at the game though was sometimes people watching makes attending a football game worthwhile. (I’m sorry to all you football fans.)  I came away from the game believing that people are passionate about football in ways that I just may never understand.

While my friend extolled the complexities of the game to me, I occasionally (so maybe more than occasionally) stole glances around at nearby fans. Most watched the game quietly at the anxiety-filled moments or cheered at the exciting ones. The interesting fans yelled and cursed as if they had a direct connection to the coach’s earphones. One particular old man nearing 90, if not having already arrived, cursed in a manner that made me openly stare before I realized that my occasional glance had gone on too long.

Of course besides from people watching, I also noticed that nearly an entire stadium of over 93,000 people were wearing purple and gold. One lady’s sweater was mistaken for crimson and a nearby fan jumped all over that. I was glad I’d gone buy a purple shirt. For once, I didn’t mind dressing like everyone else. Don’t worry it won’t happen again.

The most surprising part of the day was that I actually enjoyed watching the game. I even found myself standing when not being told to do so to see. Typically when I’m put in a large group of people my attention span is like a child on a sugar high. I actually managed to pay attention to about 80 percent of the game and even more surprisingly with a little help from a friend to understand what was happening.

Who knew?

Up a Wall

Julius Caesar said, I came, I saw, I conquered. I returned to the rock walls at Slidell Rocks, I studied them closely, and the conquering part? Well that is where things get interesting.

I enlisted my sister as my spotter this time around. She promised she wouldn’t let me fall, though she also wouldn’t make promises to not laugh at me. So after we let the children run around a bit, it was time to take on the wall. The wall is a thirty-five foot straight climb. It doesn’t sound like a great distance, but when you’re staring up at it – or down – the distance feels much too far.

My sister and I clipped into the harness gear, and I was feeling a bit uneasy. (Okay, that is an understatement. Have I mentioned yet that I’m terrified of heights?)

My son rushed over and asked, “Mom, give me twenty bucks.”

“Why?” I asked, thinking this was a good stall tactic (on my part that is).

“So I can buy snacks in case you don’t make it.”

My sister chimed in with a smile. “Where are the car keys in case you don’t make it.”

At this point I’d already placed my hands on the rocks in starting position. This was not easing my tension.

My godchild Hayden chimed in. “Oohh, she’s not going to make it.”

At this point I made a comment about bringing the wrong cheerleaders with me today. Everyone laughed as I attempted to climb, teasing that I was going to fall or that I wasn’t going to make it.

I didn’t make it. I didn’t even reach my head above the yellow line on this first attempt. So I immediately tried again. This time my “cheerleaders” were distracted and were trying to tackle some rocks of their own. I made it higher, but I had trouble finding the rocks I could use to push myself further up that wall.

My sister’s job was to lower me so I could return to the floor. At this point she hadn’t quite got the hang of it, and she released me too fast. I slammed into the wall -  not even the one I was climbing.

I drew the attention of the owner, who walked over and said in a sarcastic, but the nicest way possible that it had been very graceful.

It had been plenty of things, but graceful was not one of them.

I took a break and watched others climb up the walls, amazed by how some made it look so easy. I hadn’t even made it high enough for my fear of heights to really kick in.

I decided to try again on a different wall. This wall still stood thirty-five feet tall, but it had larger rocks. (Large in rock climbing does not come anywhere near my definition of large however. It simply meant I could place my toe on the rock versus the tip of my shoe.)

This time my “cheerleaders” stood quietly around. My son had designated himself as photographer, and he stood by waiting.

This time as I climbed I had to think about what rocks I could use to push myself further to the top since the rocks were spread further apart. When I reached the half way mark, my sister started helping with the path, and Andrew began snapping pictures. Cara also shouted out “Go Mommy” during this. About three  quarters up, with my heart pounding and blood pumping, my son called up for a picture. I looked down and the distance between myself and the ground hit me. (Insert a few choice words that I hope Andrew wasn’t able to read on my lips.) The fear of heights had kicked in AND I realized that I’d also have to go down.

After returning my eyes back to the wall ahead of me instead of below where the people looked much too small, I took several deep breaths. I decided that I was going to make it to the top just because I’d said I was going to do it, and I did not want to have to repeat this again.

With hands shaking, I pulled myself up to the top, my sister calling for me to touch the bar at the top.

I looked down again, my heart pounding harder. My sister called and asked if I was ready to come down. Hmmm…. No. She laughed and asked if I was going to stay up there. Hmmm… maybe. She had after all let me slam into a wall at only ten feet up. Thirty-five feet was a long way down.

Maybe I’d climb down a bit first. Of course, that’s not how it’s done. You have to let yourself go, hold onto the rope, and trust that they will lower you down slowly as you kick yourself away from the wall.

My daughter took off running, yelling that she couldn’t watch this. Truthfully, I didn’t want to watch this either. After struggling down the wall a bit, I finally let go of the wall and kicked myself off. (I’m not saying this was graceful either.) She did bring me down without incident though.

Though I probably took three times as long as everyone else to climb to the top, I did it. And though my entire body was shaking as I reached the ground, I still made it to the top. I also have the video to prove it. Andrew figured out how to use the video feature on my camera and thought it would be funny to record me coming down. I suppose he thought I’d slam into the wall, too.

Experience #25 Be Careful What You Wish For

This weekend I wanted adventure. I wanted a distraction from all the work I’ve been doing. I just wanted an escape before I had to get back to the school schedule and final that’s due in a week. Next time I will be more specific with my request for adventure.

On Friday I had to go to New Orleans for my appointment at the American Laser Center. It was the last appointment of the day so it was dark and everything had closed when I exited the building.

The first sign of trouble was when I couldn’t get my key to open my door. I thought the battery might be weak inside of the key, but it turned out to be the other battery, the one in my car.

So there I was in the middle of an empty parking lot, doors locked, waiting on my sister and her husband to come rescue me.

For an hour and a half I was paranoid for every cat that crept across the parking lot or piece of paper that flipped across in the wind.

When someone pulled up and switched out their vehicle for an empty car across the parking lot, my imagination streamed scenarios of CSI quality with a story spinning in my head of a body dump and facing danger as a witness. (Did I mention that my imagination is crazier than most?)

It all turned out okay in the end, but I was determined that Saturday I would have an adventure of a different variety.

I actually went out the first time as a single woman… in my entire life. Every other time I’ve gone out it has been with the ex-husband or a boyfriend. My friend Paula and I had a nice girl’s day/night out, with others joining in of course.

I also answered the question that Donna and I discussed a few weeks ago when we’d gone watch her son’s band play. How many drinks does it take to be the first one on the dance floor? Apparently for me the number is six, which of course leads to the fact that I can’t recall the last time I’ve been on a dance floor. Add another one to that list for the year. Paula was quite helpful this weekend. She’s even agreed to future experiences.

Saturday definitely made up for Friday’s unexpected nerve-wracking experience. Saturday night’s ending was ten times better and much more promising.

I did learn something this weekend that caught me by surprise. Apparently everyone is learning that if they do something with me, I will write about it later. That’s probably true. Might be why I’m having trouble finding people to join in anymore. It is true in most cases, but I only ever make fun of myself, I promise. So no need to worry (So Paula all those things that you told me not to write about, you’re safe… for now).

The Cats and Experience #24

I learned the hard way that I’m not an inside animal person. At the same time I moved into my new house, I gave in to my children’s repeated requests for a pet and agreed that they could bring two kittens into a house that I’d painstakingly painted and decorated.

I believe that I’ve exhibited more patience than I ever have in my entire life during the past few months of sharing my living area with these cats, affectionately called Scooter and Milkshake. They remained inside even as they ripped holes in Cara’s new comforter and scratched the paint off the freshly painted door frames. I tolerated the rearranging of doll furniture in the dollhouse I’d spent months building and carefully gluing each shingle on its Victorian frame. I did lose my cool when they shattered an expensive vase by pulling everything off my dining room table. In the middle of the night while picking shards of glass from the floor, Andrew begged with chocked up voice, providing ideas to prevent it from ever happening again.

I watched as they began to destroy my house as my children became more creative in their excuses and their solutions to the problems. Looking at their longing faces, I couldn’t bring myself to remove the cats from my house though they ripped through every material surface I’d redecorated with.

That is until this past weekend when I finally put them out. So what finally made me decide that our inside pets would become outside pets? That would be the decision of our pets that they were too delicate for the litter box and the bath tub would be much nicer.

This was the final straw. After several days of this, I gave fair warning to my children that I was moving the cats to our patio. The days leading up to that move was filled with more begging and guilt trips than I care to mention.

The day of the move was tear filled, and I may have given in to stop the water show if the cats had not reminded me that morning with the bath tub. I moved them outside. They didn’t appreciate it however. The cats continually tried to sneak back in every time the door opened, and several times Saturday, Andrew chased one or the other through the house. His concern means that every twenty or thirty minutes he checks to make sure they are still there (side effect being that he gets out from in front the television more).

Cara broke down into sobs when Andrew told her that her cat had run away. (It had not.) So though I did not change my mind with the waterworks, I was feeling pretty guilty.

I decided to take them to the skating rink for the first time. My daughter had recently gone for a birthday party, and she’d been asking daily to go back. My son had never been on skates and had slipped and said he wouldn’t mind trying (This is my code to move ahead at full speed and get him to do it since he never tries anything).

I had not worn skates for over ten years, but I found myself promising Andrew that I would do it with him. The whole time I was convincing him it would be okay, I was also thinking that the floor would be much further down than it was the last time I’d skated.

I did it though just to get Andrew to put the skates on.

I didn’t fall, but I also didn’t remember how to skate so it made for a very anxiety- filled and unnerving experience. I also learned that though I’m looking for adventure this year, my son is not. It seems that though my daughter leaps into adventure, my son needs to be given more time to decide on his own to try something… or not. There is no leading him into adventure.

So I’m not sure how many of my experiences he will be participating in the future. It’s best that I stop pushing so he doesn’t drive me mad. I did get him to put on the skates, but he quit as soon as he fell, which was before he even made it to the rink.

I did succeed in getting their minds off of the cats for a few hours though. Of course, when we returned after dark they were crawling around outside searching for their hiding and sleeping cats.

The cats remain outside. The only one thanking me is the house though.