It was ten years ago this summer when my high school had its 20 year reunion. I am a graduate of the class of 1982 and I attended the get together at Daverthumps Pub in Lynnwood. (Note: I don’t think it exists anymore and, at one point, it was the most cited pub for legal violations. Also note, it still exists, and even has a website. Go figure.)
This evening was going to be just a get-together of classmates, no spouses, just hanging out. But...there’s something weird about the 20th Reunion...and you only have to look back 10 years prior to the 10th Reunion. You see, ten years out of high school and most people are either recently married or popped out a kid or...both. At my 10 year reunion, my daughter was 3 and my wife had JUST given birth to my son (I still wore the hospital bracelet). Everyone is reserved, everyone is talking about their careers, their college degree, their future.
At the 20 year? Damn, all bets are off. What you’ve got is a combination of people whose careers have not come to fruition, coupled with recent divorces and ticking biological clocks (all the women are in the 37 to 39 range). If there’s long-ago relationships to be reignited, old flames to be stoked, memories of back-seat shenanigans, this was the place. No wonder I found myself chatting up a husband who was dragged there by a classmate. Surprisingly, I found more in common with him – then with my classmates.
The overall aspect of being out of school for 20 years is also a daunting number. It is one of those moments that gives you pause. Then there’s the inevitable: “Did you hear so-and-so died?” And mortality raises its ugly ugly head. The answer to all this? Jello-shots.
I would like to say that I was immune to all of the above, but seeing your classmates throw themselves at others (“Oh my God! I just kissed...!!”) and listening to stories of divorce, failed careers, etc. it brings one to look at one’s life.
A few years earlier, as I was working my way through the world of filmmaking (and failing pretty regularly) I noticed that an old classmate had worked on a friend’s film. I had researched him out and found out that he had gone to Hollywood and had directed a film (starring Martin Sheen’s brother). He was also working closely with other local filmmakers and I squired myself over to him to talk “shop.” If I’m not going to get drunk, and I’m bored with the majority of the people I’m with, I can, at the very least, do some networking. It was at the 10 year that I found out my good friend Kelley worked for Viacom and, eventually, Disney.
Carlos Esteves
(Martin Sheen's Brother)
So I, with business card in hand, sauntered over to him. I don’t think he remembered me (hell, I didn’t remember me back then), and I dropped a couple names and then he talked a bit about his going to Hollywood, writing a script and then it all poured out of him...the dissolution of his career. The fact that he never should have gone to Hollywood in the first place. That it was a waste of time and energy and now he was back in the Seattle area looking for work...or something. But...but...but...YOU MADE A MOVIE! With Martin Sheen’s BROTHER! He dismissed it all, took my business card, and faded into the Jello-Shots and drunken sex-starved classmates.
Jello-Shot with Standard Jello-Shot Holder
I drove home that night with overwhelming emotions and feelings. Was this classmate me...if I had followed my dream of going to Hollywood? Would I have come back with a film credit of directing Martin Sheen’s brother, but also with a career in the toilet? Would I be looking for Susie Whatsherbucket for maybe a bit of canoodling under the glow of a neon Budweiser sign, lamenting what was, what ifs and what couldabeens?
Heavy heavy sigh. Twenty years out of high school and here I was, on the eve of going camping, thinking about my life. A 10 year old son, a now teenage girl, a loving wife. Stuck in a soul-sucking legal job. This camping trip was going to be a nice break in the routine and give me time to think about this.
One problem: I’m never alone when I camp. Let me be clear. I love, LOVE, camping at Lake Wenatchee. Everyone has been clearly informed that when I kick the bucket, my ashes are to be buried on the island near our campsite. I need the time away from everything. I need the trees, the lake, the relaxation. I look forward to it every year and become abnormally obsessed when it gets near...but...I’m never alone. There’s usually someone there and taking a walk by myself usually results in a “can I go with you?” from the wife. Not wanting to be rude, I don’t want to say “no” but then there’s also the: “I want to be alone” statement which just opens up more questions: “why do you want to be alone? Did I do something wrong? Do you not want to go camping? Oh, so you want to be alone now, is that it?” Remind me sometime to tell you what happened when I simply stated that I didn’t want to go horseback riding...but I digress. So the actual reality of getting some time by myself this camping trip to think about everything that went down the night of the 20th Reunion – it was going to be slim.
Besides family being constantly around, we also have ground squirrels that flitter around camp like friendly rodents. Typically the day we arrive, we don’t see them. By two or three days in they’re eating peanuts out of our hand, by the fourth day they’re on our lap. For some reason, this camping trip, the squirrels were already in “fourth day” compatibility on day one. One squirrel in particular, who we call “Cooper,” (who knows why) was very friendly. Of course, he’s only friendly for the food we bring, and not out of some deep love for this two legged white creatures. They don’t give a whit about us, they care about the food. That’s it. Where ever it is, however they can get it. If they had access to weapons I’m sure they’d hold us a gun point: “Step away from the car, just hand over the sunflower seeds and peanuts...that’s right, no one move or the fat bald guy going through a mini mid-life crisis gets it!”
And by day two or three the squirrels have figured out that the food is in the van. Now...if only they could get into the van it would be nut heaven.
A few days into the 2002 camping trip, I was still trying to figure out all the thoughts going through my head. My attempts to take a good mile hike by myself had been thwarted and I had simply resolved to just know that I wasn’t going to find any really good introspective time this trip. I’d have to find it back at home...if I was to find it at all.
But then...well...then Nick had drunk a bit too much apple cider the night before and had wet his sleeping bag. Lots of fluid and the fear of wandering 100 yards in the dark to a bathroom was probably a bit too overwhelming for him. With wet sleeping bag in hand, Miriam turned to me and said: “You’ve got to go get this cleaned.” The nearest Laundromat was in Plain, WA which is six miles from camp. I was chosen to go and get the sleeping bag washed and dried...BY MYSELF. Finally, FINALLY, I was going to have my “alone time.”
E
xcited at this prospect, I got everything I needed, a note-pad, pen, sleeping bag, a few other items to wash, a couple bucks and I was good to go.
xcited at this prospect, I got everything I needed, a note-pad, pen, sleeping bag, a few other items to wash, a couple bucks and I was good to go.
Little did we know, though, that Cooper had discovered that you can jump up on the tire and that made you closer to the kingdom of nuts hidden in the van and the squirrel was bound and determined to figure out how to bypass these ugly two-legged creatures and take all the spoils for him (her?) self.
As I prepped to go, the damn squirrel had once again jumped under the car. Miriam and the kids were decidedly worried about the squirrel but I told them that the moment I slammed the door of the van, he’d run off and I’d be all good. Besides, I had some contemplating to do.
Door slammed, I was off to Plain. Still, the kids were crying that they didn’t see the squirrel. It wouldn’t be the first time I made my kids cry...it wouldn’t be the last.
Plain, WA is just small town near Fish Lake and Lake Wenatchee and a dozen miles from Leavenworth (the biggest nearby town).
Note Lake Wenatchee in Upper Left and Plain...middle South
Once I got there, I found the Laundromat and purchased some soap from the local grocer who informed me that his normal washing machines couldn’t hold a sleeping bag. I didn’t listen to him. It’s a kid’s sleeping bag and I’m not going to lose my alone time because he’s fearing that I might flood his precious washing machine. Besides, it’s not my fault his “big” washing machine is out-of-order.
Laundromat is directly behind the Just Plain Grocery -
annoyed owner works here.
Sleeping bag loaded in small washer, pen and paper in hand, I took to the park bench outside the Laundromat to contemplate my life. But...contemplation would have to wait. You see, that little Cooper had, somehow, crawled its way into a safe place UNDERNEATH the minivan and had travelled a terrifying six miles. I picture something akin to Indiana Jones hanging on for dear life straddling a beam with certain death a broken fingernail away. But he probably found a small cubby hole or something and enjoyed the ride. Still...the terrified squirrel is a better visual.
I realized now that this squirrel’s life and/or existence would now have to take precedence over my mini midlife crisis. What if the squirrel has a wife/husband. Or kids? I couldn’t very well take it six miles from its home and not return it. That would be cruel. But...now, how to get it back?
The Laundromat was buffered by a lumber yard and the door to the Laundromat had a window in it. I could/would have to try and work the Cooper back into the van with whatever nuts I had at my disposal. All while it runs around sheets of ply-wood and two-by-fours.
Lucky for me, I had my jacket and I devised a simple plan. Get the squirrel within jacket throwing distance and huck the jacket at it. Certainly this would enable me to pick up the squirrel in a “net” and shove him back into the van. My first and, of course, errant throw, caused the squirrel to scatter back amongst the lumber and it was quickly determined that that was not going to work.
Next move was to somehow lure the little bugger back in using the very thing it was obsessed with. Nuts. A trail would have to work from the lumber yard to the van. All the while I’m hoping that no Eagle or Falcon or Hawk would swoop down and grab the little morsel and whisk him away to an afternoon feast. Then I’d have to return and sing the “Circle of Life” song to the kids (what we did when something would eat/kill something else in our yard).
Treats placed, I hid in the ‘Mat looking out the window. Watching every move. Lucky for me, the squirrel took the bait and I had placed a box or something on the ground to get him to jump up into the van. He was just moments away from nut nirvana and in he went. Still – eager to get this over with – jumped out of the ‘Mat scaring the crap out of him and watching him scamper back to the confines of sheets of plywood. Damn!
This got me thinking...would he learn his lesson? Would he know the jig is up? Would he even question what the hell is going on? If I was him, I’d still be traumatized by the 6 mile drive – but this was one focused rodent.
More peanuts placed, more kind words from the scary bald fat white guy and into my hiding place I went, watching and waiting for him to make his move. I’d have to be more cautious. A squirrel trapping ninja.
This time he found the nuts and headed to the van, slowly eating each one as he went. Onto the box and into the van he went. Once in the van, he hung a left instead of staying in the open and I knew my moment was at hand. I sprang out of the ‘Mat like Jackie Chan in his prime and slammed the van door shut behind the squirrel. Then I cautiously, but quickly, jumped into the driver’s seat and tore out of the parking lot back towards camp. My introspection would have to wait a little while longer.
As I drove the squirrel scurried under and around the floor of the car. I feared that he would jump on me and/or bite me but I think he was just pissed that he couldn’t readily find more nuts.
Turning into the campground, I saw my family at the end of the street about to go on a hike. Stunned that I had come back, Miriam asked me what was up. “I’ve got the damn Cooper in the van.” was my response. The kids now cried with joy.
By the time I had pulled back into our campsite they had returned and waited for me to open the van door. Door open, the squirrel took off like a shot and I don’t think we saw him for the rest of the trip. Everyone was happy and I was back to the Plain to deal with the sleeping bag.
When I returned the sleeping bag had washed itself fine (no flooding to be found) and I put it and the other items in the dryer...finally I had the opportunity to sit, in quiet, the wind rustling the trees, a train whistle in the distance to realize that saving a squirrel to make my kids happy is probably better than filming a movie with Martin Sheen’s brother...and I had some alone time.
As I came back, I stopped at the local camp store and bought myself a 24 oz. Schmidts (or some other cheap headache beer) to celebrate my adventure. Life, even after twenty years of being out of High School is good.
No comments:
Post a Comment