Somewhere in my DNA I picked up an anomaly, high gag reflex. I am capable of fixating on something gross until I start gagging and dry heaving. Traveling in the Cobra RV for our first camping trip is a perfect example.
Imagine driving 55mph with Neil Diamond playing on the 8 track and suddenly the RV lurches due to a bump in the road. Most people would think nothing of it, but not my third grade mind. I fixated on the fact that our family pool of feces and urine that was magically contained in a mystery vat somewhere under the RV was now sloshing around together creating a liquid nightmare. Gagging immediately ensued until I heard, "We're here, kiddos!"
The sign read: Shady Pines KOA
Sounded kind of quaint and well, rather shady. Dad pulled the RV to a stop in front of a trailer which was the campground office. While he ran inside to check us in our mother stood at a floor length mirror brushing her hair.
"One must always look fashionable," she stated to herself.
Us kids, on the other hand, started creating up names for KOA.
Kind Of Assinine
King Of Ass
Kind Of Annoying
Kick Off Ass
Keg Of Amusement
Our mother immediately turned her beauty accessory into a weapon designed to smack some code of conduct into us. As she pointed her yellow brush at us she stated, "Listen. Your father worked hard to put this weekend together and I will not have you ruin it! Do I make myself clear?"
"Kind Of Angel," my sister Jennifer stated with a smirk.
Our dad resumed his spot as 'captain of this ship' and drove us to our lucky campsite 27. Great so there are 26 other families bonding. Once the RV came to a complete stop our dad immediately jumped into action.
"Sue, find me the instructions," he ordered. "You know the instructions how to hook us up to empty the bathroom."
Gag, gag, gag.
While our parents worked on that us kids stood at the door of the RV in a collective stupor. What were we supposed to do?
"Kids, run off and explore," our mother demanded.
A year prior we would have launched off that RV before it even stopped like a pack of wild heathens, but that was before money had coddled us into mere images of what we once were.
"Ah, shit," our dad said quite ironically as he tried to remove our waste. That quickly made me the first one off the RV.
Us kids clearly felt safer exploring Shady Pines KOA together. We passed a rusty old swing set and slide. The word tetanus quickly ran through my mind. Right beyond the playground we saw a small brick building and a pool with a chain link fence enclosing it. That perked our dismal group up!
We walked through the archway of the building. I had never seen so many people crammed in a single pool. It looked like all 26 campsites were in that rectangular pool of chlorinated pee. We soon realized all eyes were on us in our snazzy new camping outfits. We looked like we were dressed to see a broadway show, not camping.
(To be cont'd)
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
After we got settled in our new mansion by the bay some more peculiar things started occurring. Everyday we would go home from school and each of us would have a new outfit on our bed. You know you are getting spoiled when third graders start realizing you never wear the same outfit twice or you start to wonder why you don't get new weekend outfits too?
On another day we walked home from the bus stop and there was a brand new MG convertible sitting on our driveway. I immediately wondered if my long lost dad, Michael Langdon, was paying us a visit to make sure we were treating his old home right. Or quite possibly he was there to take me home to Hollywood?
How wrong I was!!
"Kids, do I have a surprise for you??!!!" Our dad said it with such enthusiasm it made me back up a few steps.
Our mom magically appeared looking like a robotic homemaker from the 1950's. She wiped her hands on her apron that was plastered with the slogan, Florida Wives Bake it Better. The huge smile was equally as scary as our dads. None of this was adding up. We lived in a very small home 20 feet from a set of railroad tracks in West Virginia to all of this in a matter of a month.
We followed our parents outside. My dad ran to the back of the shiny white MG convertible. My mom quickly shuffled to the front in her loud ass Dr. Scholl's heels. She ran her hands along the car in Vanna White fashion as she said, "Ta-da!!"
"Here's our new car," dad added in.
My brother was the first one that spoke up.
"Does this mean we have to get rid of the new Cadillac?" He asked.
"I don't understand how we will all fit in it," I said as I nodded at my siblings.
"That's just it kids; we now have two cars!" Mom exclaimed. "Can you believe it?!"
"To be honest, no," our sister, Allison, stated.
My dad appeared flustered at that comment as he tried to squeeze us all in the new car for a spin. The car was fun! I have many good memories of us taking both cars to the beach. At stoplights we would toss a tennis ball from one car to the other. Life was good for the 'New Face of Apple'. I still wondered what that meant, but feared asking it would make the new life go away.
Two weeks after the new car we came home to a strange vehicle on the driveway. It looked so space-agey for the 70's that I was sure this HAD to be my long lost dad. Wrong, dad bought us a new Cobra RV.
Their exact words, "this will be a great bonding experience for us to go camping!"
Possibly for children that were not becoming spoiled brats. We lived in a shack that was pretty much like camping every single day. The last thing we wanted to do was to actually leave our pool and fancy house to go sleep in that in the woods.
It was clear our parents could feel our enthusiasm waning, "Great news! We're going camping this weekend!"
(To be cont'd with our first camping excursion)
On another day we walked home from the bus stop and there was a brand new MG convertible sitting on our driveway. I immediately wondered if my long lost dad, Michael Langdon, was paying us a visit to make sure we were treating his old home right. Or quite possibly he was there to take me home to Hollywood?
How wrong I was!!
"Kids, do I have a surprise for you??!!!" Our dad said it with such enthusiasm it made me back up a few steps.
Our mom magically appeared looking like a robotic homemaker from the 1950's. She wiped her hands on her apron that was plastered with the slogan, Florida Wives Bake it Better. The huge smile was equally as scary as our dads. None of this was adding up. We lived in a very small home 20 feet from a set of railroad tracks in West Virginia to all of this in a matter of a month.
We followed our parents outside. My dad ran to the back of the shiny white MG convertible. My mom quickly shuffled to the front in her loud ass Dr. Scholl's heels. She ran her hands along the car in Vanna White fashion as she said, "Ta-da!!"
"Here's our new car," dad added in.
My brother was the first one that spoke up.
"Does this mean we have to get rid of the new Cadillac?" He asked.
"I don't understand how we will all fit in it," I said as I nodded at my siblings.
"That's just it kids; we now have two cars!" Mom exclaimed. "Can you believe it?!"
"To be honest, no," our sister, Allison, stated.
My dad appeared flustered at that comment as he tried to squeeze us all in the new car for a spin. The car was fun! I have many good memories of us taking both cars to the beach. At stoplights we would toss a tennis ball from one car to the other. Life was good for the 'New Face of Apple'. I still wondered what that meant, but feared asking it would make the new life go away.
Two weeks after the new car we came home to a strange vehicle on the driveway. It looked so space-agey for the 70's that I was sure this HAD to be my long lost dad. Wrong, dad bought us a new Cobra RV.
Their exact words, "this will be a great bonding experience for us to go camping!"
Possibly for children that were not becoming spoiled brats. We lived in a shack that was pretty much like camping every single day. The last thing we wanted to do was to actually leave our pool and fancy house to go sleep in that in the woods.
It was clear our parents could feel our enthusiasm waning, "Great news! We're going camping this weekend!"
(To be cont'd with our first camping excursion)
Thursday, March 3, 2011
An Apple a Day Doesn't Keep the Sherriff Away pt.2
When I say this house was beautiful that is no exaggeration. We walked up long winding stairs on the side of this hill which lead us around to the front door. The door was a heavy, dark masculine wood. All around the front porch was rich vegetation, just what you would expect to see in Florida.
All of us children were still a combination of awe and waiting for the rug to be ripped out from under us any second. Our dad opened the front door and it was clear our mom was completely in love with not only the house, but all of a sudden our dad was the best husband in the world. She was absolutely giddy.
"Oh, Mike," she squealed, "this is like a dream come true! A complete dream!!"
She then leaned into him and kissed him, long and hard. The four of us kids stood there with disgusted looks on our faces. I wanted to go back to the crappy Holiday Inn and swim with the new friends we met. These friends were really on vacation and they thought we were the greatest things since we told them we LIVED at the Holiday Inn. I liked that. We were so cool to be residents of the hotel rather than just mere vacationers.
"Kids, you won't believe this, but up those stairs right there we have our very own pool!!" Dad shouted as he pointed with his head to some white stucco stairs in the family room.
Wait a minute, wait a damn minute. We will have our own pool?? Okay, now I wanted to drink some of the kool-aid our mom was drinking!
"You all won't believe this room," our mom said to us as she hustled after us. "This room is a 'conversation pit'."
We turned left out of the main foyer of the home and followed our parents down a short hallway. All of the walls in the house were made of a stucco material and our footsteps echoed as we walked. We rounded the corner and the room before us was truly amazing!
The room was completely all white shag carpeting and the couches were built into the room....the couches WERE the room. You walked down three shag carpeted steps and sat on the circular couch. In the middle of the couch was an eight foot diameter fireplace which was made of brick. Hanging up above that was a black massive cone-shaped fireplace chimney which lead out of the ceiling.
I guess the idea was you sit around this fireplace and have conversations; the conversaton pit. I can remember after we settled into the house and into our new school we had many slumber parties in this room. It was truly a great house for parties.
After viewing the conversation pit we noticed some black metal circular stairs that led up to a hole in the ceiling.
We all followed our parents up these stairs and we were told by our dad, "this is our side of the house. This is the master suite! The upstairs of the other side of the house is your side!"
And what a suite it was. They had a 1,000 square foot main bedroom. They also had a fireplace in their room. The fireplace was situated up against a wall so it could also be the fireplace for the master bathroom. The shower in their bathroom was large enough to hold twenty people, or so our dad told us.
I looked at it and imagined twenty people in it nude showering and I felt sick to my stomach. They had a wall of windows that looked out onto the pool area. They were also the mirrored windows, so from the outside you could only see your own reflection.
This was our first chance to see the pool and a second after seeing it we had already mentally checked out of the Holiday Inn. The pool was a beautiful inground pool in the shape of the letter "L".
One thing I have learned about my father now that I am an adult is that he likes to weave tales. Tales that make things seem better than they are and I now question the validity of this tale.
"Kids, what do you think that L stands for?"
I was the first to take a stab at it, "love?"
"Great guess, Michelle, but think of a big celebrity," our father replied.
My sister, Jennifer, being the perpetual smartass that she was and still is said, "L-vis?"
"All right, you will never guess, let me help you out. What is your favorite television show right now?"
Back then 'Little House on the Prairie' was the bomb! I was often told back then that I looked like Laura Ingalls. I would FORCE my mom to braid my hair almost every single day so I would look like my doppelganger. I would have fantasies that Pa Ingalls would become my real dad.
My dreams often consisted of some bizarre accident that would capture the national news and Michael Langdon would swoop in and take us children under his wing to be his own. And at some point he would tire of my siblings and force them to go live with our grandmother.
Screw that dream, I could possibly swim in Michael Langdon's pool????
I screamed out with so much enthusiasm that it even caught myself off guard, "MICHAEL LANGDON????!!!!???!!!"
Now our dad never officially said yes, but the smile on his face led us to believe that my guess was right. I walked around the shape of the "L" just imagining my REAL dad, Pa Ingalls, doing breast stroke in the pool. I envisioned him tanning on the deck that wrapped around the deep end of the pool. I could see him darting across the hot pebbled concrete to the shallow end stairs as his feet were burning in the heat. I could imagine him sliding down the windy slide, his big white teeth glistening in the sun.
I imagined him all over the house and a smile of my own took over my entire face. I glanced at my dad and was in awe that he made this happen. Then I wondered HOW did he make this happen? My smile started fading as I wondered more. Before this home we lived in a dump not even 20 yards away from a railroad track in Huntington, West Virginia. We were one mountaintop away from being a HBO documentary about children of the Appalachian Mountains. How did we go from that to living in Pa Ingall's old house??
To be cont'd. :)
All of us children were still a combination of awe and waiting for the rug to be ripped out from under us any second. Our dad opened the front door and it was clear our mom was completely in love with not only the house, but all of a sudden our dad was the best husband in the world. She was absolutely giddy.
"Oh, Mike," she squealed, "this is like a dream come true! A complete dream!!"
She then leaned into him and kissed him, long and hard. The four of us kids stood there with disgusted looks on our faces. I wanted to go back to the crappy Holiday Inn and swim with the new friends we met. These friends were really on vacation and they thought we were the greatest things since we told them we LIVED at the Holiday Inn. I liked that. We were so cool to be residents of the hotel rather than just mere vacationers.
"Kids, you won't believe this, but up those stairs right there we have our very own pool!!" Dad shouted as he pointed with his head to some white stucco stairs in the family room.
Wait a minute, wait a damn minute. We will have our own pool?? Okay, now I wanted to drink some of the kool-aid our mom was drinking!
"You all won't believe this room," our mom said to us as she hustled after us. "This room is a 'conversation pit'."
We turned left out of the main foyer of the home and followed our parents down a short hallway. All of the walls in the house were made of a stucco material and our footsteps echoed as we walked. We rounded the corner and the room before us was truly amazing!
The room was completely all white shag carpeting and the couches were built into the room....the couches WERE the room. You walked down three shag carpeted steps and sat on the circular couch. In the middle of the couch was an eight foot diameter fireplace which was made of brick. Hanging up above that was a black massive cone-shaped fireplace chimney which lead out of the ceiling.
I guess the idea was you sit around this fireplace and have conversations; the conversaton pit. I can remember after we settled into the house and into our new school we had many slumber parties in this room. It was truly a great house for parties.
After viewing the conversation pit we noticed some black metal circular stairs that led up to a hole in the ceiling.
We all followed our parents up these stairs and we were told by our dad, "this is our side of the house. This is the master suite! The upstairs of the other side of the house is your side!"
And what a suite it was. They had a 1,000 square foot main bedroom. They also had a fireplace in their room. The fireplace was situated up against a wall so it could also be the fireplace for the master bathroom. The shower in their bathroom was large enough to hold twenty people, or so our dad told us.
I looked at it and imagined twenty people in it nude showering and I felt sick to my stomach. They had a wall of windows that looked out onto the pool area. They were also the mirrored windows, so from the outside you could only see your own reflection.
This was our first chance to see the pool and a second after seeing it we had already mentally checked out of the Holiday Inn. The pool was a beautiful inground pool in the shape of the letter "L".
One thing I have learned about my father now that I am an adult is that he likes to weave tales. Tales that make things seem better than they are and I now question the validity of this tale.
"Kids, what do you think that L stands for?"
I was the first to take a stab at it, "love?"
"Great guess, Michelle, but think of a big celebrity," our father replied.
My sister, Jennifer, being the perpetual smartass that she was and still is said, "L-vis?"
"All right, you will never guess, let me help you out. What is your favorite television show right now?"
Back then 'Little House on the Prairie' was the bomb! I was often told back then that I looked like Laura Ingalls. I would FORCE my mom to braid my hair almost every single day so I would look like my doppelganger. I would have fantasies that Pa Ingalls would become my real dad.
My dreams often consisted of some bizarre accident that would capture the national news and Michael Langdon would swoop in and take us children under his wing to be his own. And at some point he would tire of my siblings and force them to go live with our grandmother.
Screw that dream, I could possibly swim in Michael Langdon's pool????
I screamed out with so much enthusiasm that it even caught myself off guard, "MICHAEL LANGDON????!!!!???!!!"
Now our dad never officially said yes, but the smile on his face led us to believe that my guess was right. I walked around the shape of the "L" just imagining my REAL dad, Pa Ingalls, doing breast stroke in the pool. I envisioned him tanning on the deck that wrapped around the deep end of the pool. I could see him darting across the hot pebbled concrete to the shallow end stairs as his feet were burning in the heat. I could imagine him sliding down the windy slide, his big white teeth glistening in the sun.
I imagined him all over the house and a smile of my own took over my entire face. I glanced at my dad and was in awe that he made this happen. Then I wondered HOW did he make this happen? My smile started fading as I wondered more. Before this home we lived in a dump not even 20 yards away from a railroad track in Huntington, West Virginia. We were one mountaintop away from being a HBO documentary about children of the Appalachian Mountains. How did we go from that to living in Pa Ingall's old house??
To be cont'd. :)
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
An Apple a Day Doesn't Keep the Sheriff Away!
Back before we ate out of dumpsters to survive, we were living the high life. Let me digress back to third grade. We were moving from Monroe, Louisiana to Valparaiso, Florida. This was one of 13 moves we made during my childhood. Enough said, it's not amazing that I now REFUSE to move even down the street. Need to have stability in my childrens' lives.
We made it to Florida and dad went off on a lot of business meetings, he was always gone. We stayed at a Holiday Inn when we first arrived to Florida that had an indoor pool. This was great! We could miss school since we weren't registered in Florida yet, so we swam all day! This was wonderful to us kids! The management of the hotel didn't like us too much as we always raided their mint dishes.
Dad would be gone for days at a time and finally one day he came home to the hotel, after one week of meetings and said, "I found us a house!!! Not only that, but I have us a new car!"
The car we arrived to Florida in was an old Impala that lurched forward uncontrollably every 12 feet. Back in the 70's we didn't HAVE to wear seatbelts unless you were in this Impala with all of us Rose people. Drive twelve feet, lurch forward 2 feet, etc. If you didn't have the antiquated seatbelt on you were going into the front windshield or the seat in front of you.
Imagine Kenny Rogers playing on the 8 track as we are lurching and breaking for 1,000 miles. It was loads of fun!
As an 8 year old I thought my dad was the greatest man on earth, so imagine my surprise when we walked out of the lobby of Holiday Inn that one day to a brand spanking new dark green cadillac?!?
Me and my three siblings all looked at eachother like it was a prank of some sort. Is this for real? Is this ours?
Our dad said, "Hop in! You will love the new house!"
We rode in the new car and marvelled at the buttons. We had never used a button to push our mom back and forth in her seat up front!
We finally pulled up to a house on the bay. It was beautiful. The entire frontside was mirrored windows. It was huge! Me and my siblings sat in the backseat of the brand spanking new car with our mouths agape.
I wondered, is this for real? Will I cheer and gasp only to be told, "no, honey, we're two houses down!"
I noticed even our mother didn't move. She sat stoically in the front seat of the new "caddy"; completely motionless.
My dad finally broke the ice and yelled out, "Welcome home, kids!"
How is this possible? Why are we living in this mansion on the water? And why are we arriving in a brand new Cadillac?
My dad obviously sensed our enthusiasm waning and so he swooped my mother out of the "caddy" and ran her across the threshold in a genuinely nauseating display of newlywed affection, yet they weren't newlyweds.
They were already in the house and we kids still sat in the car motionless. Allison had a passenger window, Jennifer had a passenger window, I was in the middle and Steve was crammed in the back window of the "caddy", by 1970's safety standards.
After a few minutes our dad came out trying to hustle us out of the car.
"Come on guys! This is great!" He bellowed way too much. "This is the new face of Apple!"
This was back when I was 8 or 9, so back in 1976. I never doubted and still do not doubt my dad is a brilliant man. As I am older I only wish he had stuck with his instincts. Had he done so, wow is all I can say.
I remember looking at Allison, who was the oldest, and wondering, "new face of Appple? Who the heck is Apple?"
She read my mind, shrugged her shoulders and got out of the brand spanking new caddy. We all followed.
(why are we the new face of Apple,....and who is Apple?)
Seriously, back in 1976, who could Apple be??
To be cont'd!
We made it to Florida and dad went off on a lot of business meetings, he was always gone. We stayed at a Holiday Inn when we first arrived to Florida that had an indoor pool. This was great! We could miss school since we weren't registered in Florida yet, so we swam all day! This was wonderful to us kids! The management of the hotel didn't like us too much as we always raided their mint dishes.
Dad would be gone for days at a time and finally one day he came home to the hotel, after one week of meetings and said, "I found us a house!!! Not only that, but I have us a new car!"
The car we arrived to Florida in was an old Impala that lurched forward uncontrollably every 12 feet. Back in the 70's we didn't HAVE to wear seatbelts unless you were in this Impala with all of us Rose people. Drive twelve feet, lurch forward 2 feet, etc. If you didn't have the antiquated seatbelt on you were going into the front windshield or the seat in front of you.
Imagine Kenny Rogers playing on the 8 track as we are lurching and breaking for 1,000 miles. It was loads of fun!
As an 8 year old I thought my dad was the greatest man on earth, so imagine my surprise when we walked out of the lobby of Holiday Inn that one day to a brand spanking new dark green cadillac?!?
Me and my three siblings all looked at eachother like it was a prank of some sort. Is this for real? Is this ours?
Our dad said, "Hop in! You will love the new house!"
We rode in the new car and marvelled at the buttons. We had never used a button to push our mom back and forth in her seat up front!
We finally pulled up to a house on the bay. It was beautiful. The entire frontside was mirrored windows. It was huge! Me and my siblings sat in the backseat of the brand spanking new car with our mouths agape.
I wondered, is this for real? Will I cheer and gasp only to be told, "no, honey, we're two houses down!"
I noticed even our mother didn't move. She sat stoically in the front seat of the new "caddy"; completely motionless.
My dad finally broke the ice and yelled out, "Welcome home, kids!"
How is this possible? Why are we living in this mansion on the water? And why are we arriving in a brand new Cadillac?
My dad obviously sensed our enthusiasm waning and so he swooped my mother out of the "caddy" and ran her across the threshold in a genuinely nauseating display of newlywed affection, yet they weren't newlyweds.
They were already in the house and we kids still sat in the car motionless. Allison had a passenger window, Jennifer had a passenger window, I was in the middle and Steve was crammed in the back window of the "caddy", by 1970's safety standards.
After a few minutes our dad came out trying to hustle us out of the car.
"Come on guys! This is great!" He bellowed way too much. "This is the new face of Apple!"
This was back when I was 8 or 9, so back in 1976. I never doubted and still do not doubt my dad is a brilliant man. As I am older I only wish he had stuck with his instincts. Had he done so, wow is all I can say.
I remember looking at Allison, who was the oldest, and wondering, "new face of Appple? Who the heck is Apple?"
She read my mind, shrugged her shoulders and got out of the brand spanking new caddy. We all followed.
(why are we the new face of Apple,....and who is Apple?)
Seriously, back in 1976, who could Apple be??
To be cont'd!
Monday, February 21, 2011
Day Old Bread (part 3)
The following morning, bright and early, Jennifer and I dressed for our dumpster diving excursion. One might think that we would wear the oldest, dirtiest clothes we owned, but no, we decided we should dress in our nicest clothing that way we wouldn't look like we were dumpster diving. We had a reason to be behind that store near the dumpster in nice clothes.
We were teenagers and we were all about outward appearances, but especially during this time in our lives. The second we knew we ate out of a dumpster, things clearly changed for us. We weren't a normal family. We didn't sit down together for meals because the meals weren't regular. While one day we might have an abundance of food, the next there could be nothing.
Everything in Treasure Island is on the water and this Winn Dixie was no different. Behind the store there was a 20 foot strip of paved road and then there was the sea wall of the Boca Ciega Bay. We scoped out the store and it was empty except for what we assumed were the few employees cars that were there getting the store ready for opening. We sat out on the sea wall behind the store just waiting to get our baked goodies. We scoped out the dumpster and the proximity to the store. We noticed that the dumpster blocked the road, so there was only one way out, the way we came.
"I bet we find those little powdered donuts!" I declared with giddy enthusiasm. "Maybe we'll even find chocolate ones?!"
"Don't be stupid, Michelle," Jennifer said with a knowing confidence like she had really thought this thing through. "Think about it, it's day old because no one bought this crap. So more than likely we will get loaves of french bread or more danish that no one wants."
I stared out at the water and watched fishing boats go by. The blaring horn of the causeway bridge sounded alerting drivers to the bridge opening. Those bridges always scared me. I always had a fear when walking across that they would open without the operator knowing I was on it and I would slide down into the water only to be eaten by ravenous blood thirsty sharks.
I noticed Jennifer was also staring out at the water.
"Just imagine, I bet one day we could live in one of those houses again," she said as she pointed with her head across the water.
I glanced quickly, but didn't let my eyes linger too long. It seemed to be something that was so far removed from what our life had become. At one point we did live in a house like those. We lived in a home where people drove by and slowed down to stare. I truly believe that is what made eating dumpster food so much more painful. We knew what it was like to be rich in wealth. If we had always been poor it would have been a way of life rather than this cruel anomaly.
A blast of a car horn shocked us both out of our daydreaming and memories. We both jerked our heads around right as a big conversion van pulled behind the Winn Dixie. Written on the side were the words, 'Sunny Day Resting Home'.
Jennifer was the leader of our two person team and she quickly said, "Keep looking at the water like we are watching fish."
There we sat, she in her best shorts and sandals, me in a nice spaghetti strap sundress. We were clearly sticking out like sore thumbs at the back of the store in the early morning hours.
The doors of the van opened and out filed 8 elderly people. Some had binoculars hanging around their necks, others had white zinc oxide smeared on their noses. We saw a lot of matching two piece outfits and sandals with socks on. I could feel all sixteen eyes on us, questioning us, almost challenging us to our right to be back there with them.
While Jennifer was the one with the street smarts and dare I say it, but a conman attitude, I was the one with the book smarts, the one who could figure out various scenarios.
"They are here to get the day old bread so they can feed the seagulls," I said to Jennifer.
"Well, we're here to feed some seagulls too, but these seagulls have the last name of Rose and real people lips," she replied. "we're not leaving here without something out of that dumpster."
The doors of the Winn Dixie slammed open and out came a young man in his 20's with a small gray dumpster on wheels, one of the wheels vibrated as he pushed it and the squeaking noise bothered me. He stopped and kicked the wheel with his foot fixing it straight. The group of elderly people cheered and crowded around the dumpster as the young man wheeled it to the larger outside dumpster.
"All right, get ready to run," Jennifer alerted me, "I'm going for it."
I never doubted her ability to be a fast runner, we were both ranked high in the nation for cross country at one point and it paid off at times like this. Jennifer leapt to her feet and with such great focus and no fear at all she ran straight for the little gray dumpster, she reached in with two hands as the elderly people jumped out of her way.
"Run, run!"
Jennifer was running at me so fast and I looked back as I started running as well. I stuck my hand out behind me as she slapped a loaf of french bread into it. This was seriously where our running days paid off. That loaf of bread was a baton and we were in a relay race to get our little asses back across the street to the safety of our cottage.
Once across Gulf Boulevard, we darted to the picnic table behind our seriously humble abode. We were both out of breath, yet also excited with fear and accomplishment. Jennifer had landed us two loaves of french bread.
She opened one bag and yanked off a hunk for me and a hunk for herself. We both chewed quietly and slowly hoping to enjoy each little savory bite. I started to suggest how it would be great if we had butter to go on it, but decided against ruining that moment; that wonderful glorious moment.
We brought the bread into our mom who was scrubbing the floor of the cottage. That seemed to become her escape, cleaning. Every square inch of that cottage was scrubbed every single day. At times she would be so focused on scrubbing the bathtub that we siblings could have a civil war erupting in the main room and she was oblivious to it.
But when we walked in with that bread I could see the relief on her face. That night she fixed french toast which we ate with watered down syrup. Best french toast ever!
We never went back to the dumpster, but Jennifer and I did discover that we could in to the store at lunch time and get some samples from the deli. We did that everyday for a week until finally the store manager approached us. Jennifer never shied away from authority figures and the store manager was no different.
"I guess we will have to tell our parents how rude you were to us so they won't ever give you our business again," Jennifer stated so matter of factly. "Come on, Michelle, we don't need to be treated this way!"
We marched out of that store with our heads held high. That is one thing our parents taught us. They always said we could be dirt poor and they still wanted us to act with class, so much so that we could walk into the White House and fit in.
So we walked out of that Winn Dixie and never went back in again.
****
The next chapter is about how we got to that point in our lives. It is titled......An Apple a Day Doesn't Keep the Sheriff Away. :)
We were teenagers and we were all about outward appearances, but especially during this time in our lives. The second we knew we ate out of a dumpster, things clearly changed for us. We weren't a normal family. We didn't sit down together for meals because the meals weren't regular. While one day we might have an abundance of food, the next there could be nothing.
Everything in Treasure Island is on the water and this Winn Dixie was no different. Behind the store there was a 20 foot strip of paved road and then there was the sea wall of the Boca Ciega Bay. We scoped out the store and it was empty except for what we assumed were the few employees cars that were there getting the store ready for opening. We sat out on the sea wall behind the store just waiting to get our baked goodies. We scoped out the dumpster and the proximity to the store. We noticed that the dumpster blocked the road, so there was only one way out, the way we came.
"I bet we find those little powdered donuts!" I declared with giddy enthusiasm. "Maybe we'll even find chocolate ones?!"
"Don't be stupid, Michelle," Jennifer said with a knowing confidence like she had really thought this thing through. "Think about it, it's day old because no one bought this crap. So more than likely we will get loaves of french bread or more danish that no one wants."
I stared out at the water and watched fishing boats go by. The blaring horn of the causeway bridge sounded alerting drivers to the bridge opening. Those bridges always scared me. I always had a fear when walking across that they would open without the operator knowing I was on it and I would slide down into the water only to be eaten by ravenous blood thirsty sharks.
I noticed Jennifer was also staring out at the water.
"Just imagine, I bet one day we could live in one of those houses again," she said as she pointed with her head across the water.
I glanced quickly, but didn't let my eyes linger too long. It seemed to be something that was so far removed from what our life had become. At one point we did live in a house like those. We lived in a home where people drove by and slowed down to stare. I truly believe that is what made eating dumpster food so much more painful. We knew what it was like to be rich in wealth. If we had always been poor it would have been a way of life rather than this cruel anomaly.
A blast of a car horn shocked us both out of our daydreaming and memories. We both jerked our heads around right as a big conversion van pulled behind the Winn Dixie. Written on the side were the words, 'Sunny Day Resting Home'.
Jennifer was the leader of our two person team and she quickly said, "Keep looking at the water like we are watching fish."
There we sat, she in her best shorts and sandals, me in a nice spaghetti strap sundress. We were clearly sticking out like sore thumbs at the back of the store in the early morning hours.
The doors of the van opened and out filed 8 elderly people. Some had binoculars hanging around their necks, others had white zinc oxide smeared on their noses. We saw a lot of matching two piece outfits and sandals with socks on. I could feel all sixteen eyes on us, questioning us, almost challenging us to our right to be back there with them.
While Jennifer was the one with the street smarts and dare I say it, but a conman attitude, I was the one with the book smarts, the one who could figure out various scenarios.
"They are here to get the day old bread so they can feed the seagulls," I said to Jennifer.
"Well, we're here to feed some seagulls too, but these seagulls have the last name of Rose and real people lips," she replied. "we're not leaving here without something out of that dumpster."
The doors of the Winn Dixie slammed open and out came a young man in his 20's with a small gray dumpster on wheels, one of the wheels vibrated as he pushed it and the squeaking noise bothered me. He stopped and kicked the wheel with his foot fixing it straight. The group of elderly people cheered and crowded around the dumpster as the young man wheeled it to the larger outside dumpster.
"All right, get ready to run," Jennifer alerted me, "I'm going for it."
I never doubted her ability to be a fast runner, we were both ranked high in the nation for cross country at one point and it paid off at times like this. Jennifer leapt to her feet and with such great focus and no fear at all she ran straight for the little gray dumpster, she reached in with two hands as the elderly people jumped out of her way.
"Run, run!"
Jennifer was running at me so fast and I looked back as I started running as well. I stuck my hand out behind me as she slapped a loaf of french bread into it. This was seriously where our running days paid off. That loaf of bread was a baton and we were in a relay race to get our little asses back across the street to the safety of our cottage.
Once across Gulf Boulevard, we darted to the picnic table behind our seriously humble abode. We were both out of breath, yet also excited with fear and accomplishment. Jennifer had landed us two loaves of french bread.
She opened one bag and yanked off a hunk for me and a hunk for herself. We both chewed quietly and slowly hoping to enjoy each little savory bite. I started to suggest how it would be great if we had butter to go on it, but decided against ruining that moment; that wonderful glorious moment.
We brought the bread into our mom who was scrubbing the floor of the cottage. That seemed to become her escape, cleaning. Every square inch of that cottage was scrubbed every single day. At times she would be so focused on scrubbing the bathtub that we siblings could have a civil war erupting in the main room and she was oblivious to it.
But when we walked in with that bread I could see the relief on her face. That night she fixed french toast which we ate with watered down syrup. Best french toast ever!
We never went back to the dumpster, but Jennifer and I did discover that we could in to the store at lunch time and get some samples from the deli. We did that everyday for a week until finally the store manager approached us. Jennifer never shied away from authority figures and the store manager was no different.
"I guess we will have to tell our parents how rude you were to us so they won't ever give you our business again," Jennifer stated so matter of factly. "Come on, Michelle, we don't need to be treated this way!"
We marched out of that store with our heads held high. That is one thing our parents taught us. They always said we could be dirt poor and they still wanted us to act with class, so much so that we could walk into the White House and fit in.
So we walked out of that Winn Dixie and never went back in again.
****
The next chapter is about how we got to that point in our lives. It is titled......An Apple a Day Doesn't Keep the Sheriff Away. :)
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Day Old Bread (cont'd)
I glanced down at my empty plate and then quickly back up to my glaring sister. Her hands were on her hips as if she were waiting for me to stand up and join her little one person revolution. I was quite perplexed. Although I agreed the idea of eating food that could have possibly been nestled beside a dirty diaper or rotting meat wasn't rather appealing, but there was no denying the danish was delicious.
I looked down at the beach and watched a dad chase after his toddler taking a tumble in the surf. A few feet away another gaggle of children were burying another child in the sand up to his neck. Clearly these people were vacationers and by all outward appearances we looked like vacationers as well. How lucky were we to be in a beachside cottage? The glaringly obvious exception was that there were six of us crammed into the 700 square foot home for three months, not for a long carefree weekend.
Yep, my sister was still standing there; her face a myriad of fury, pimples and utter disbelief.
I started to think if I ignored her she would walk off in a huff, but she continued to stand and stare at me with her beady little eyes. She was really expecting me to do something with her. What did she want me to do? Were we going to form a sit in to demand better and more sanitary food? Were we going to demand an apology from our parents for feeding us danish? Were we going to demand a change in our crammed living arrangements?
The cottage door slammed shut again and out marched my other sister, Jennifer, who was 16 at the time and quite the rebel of the family. In her hand was a plate with a piece of the danish on it. I was finally furious, but not for the reason you think. I was furious because she had seconds!
"Tastes good to me," Jennifer declared with a shrug of her shoulders as she took a huge bite.
"You all are so absolutely and completely disgusting," Allison said as she stormed off down the boardwalk in a snit.
I hungrily watched my sister devouring her little piece of heaven and found myself wondering what other things we could find in the Winn Dixie dumpster? Could there be little gems like donuts, or even cookies?
One thing for sure is my sister, Jennifer, was a conspiring girl and I was usually her partner in crime. Her mind was always scheming up some new plan or venture for us to get into and this dumpster diving revelation was no different.
"All right. Dad said if we hit up the dumpster in the morning the store employees put the day old bakery things in the dumpster. So if we get there early enough they won't be sitting in the dumpster for that long," Jennifer said as she blotted her plate with the fingertip of her index finger. "If you want to come with me we split the findings."
To be cont'd.
I looked down at the beach and watched a dad chase after his toddler taking a tumble in the surf. A few feet away another gaggle of children were burying another child in the sand up to his neck. Clearly these people were vacationers and by all outward appearances we looked like vacationers as well. How lucky were we to be in a beachside cottage? The glaringly obvious exception was that there were six of us crammed into the 700 square foot home for three months, not for a long carefree weekend.
Yep, my sister was still standing there; her face a myriad of fury, pimples and utter disbelief.
I started to think if I ignored her she would walk off in a huff, but she continued to stand and stare at me with her beady little eyes. She was really expecting me to do something with her. What did she want me to do? Were we going to form a sit in to demand better and more sanitary food? Were we going to demand an apology from our parents for feeding us danish? Were we going to demand a change in our crammed living arrangements?
The cottage door slammed shut again and out marched my other sister, Jennifer, who was 16 at the time and quite the rebel of the family. In her hand was a plate with a piece of the danish on it. I was finally furious, but not for the reason you think. I was furious because she had seconds!
"Tastes good to me," Jennifer declared with a shrug of her shoulders as she took a huge bite.
"You all are so absolutely and completely disgusting," Allison said as she stormed off down the boardwalk in a snit.
I hungrily watched my sister devouring her little piece of heaven and found myself wondering what other things we could find in the Winn Dixie dumpster? Could there be little gems like donuts, or even cookies?
One thing for sure is my sister, Jennifer, was a conspiring girl and I was usually her partner in crime. Her mind was always scheming up some new plan or venture for us to get into and this dumpster diving revelation was no different.
"All right. Dad said if we hit up the dumpster in the morning the store employees put the day old bakery things in the dumpster. So if we get there early enough they won't be sitting in the dumpster for that long," Jennifer said as she blotted her plate with the fingertip of her index finger. "If you want to come with me we split the findings."
To be cont'd.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Day Old Bread
I sat at the weathered picnic table looking out at the ocean water of Treasure Island, Florida. It was a clear warm day and the water was a spectacular blue with diamonds shimmering on the surface. My bare feet dug into the white powdery sand under the table. The granules sifted in and out between my toes, which at times could be rather irritating, but something about this day seemed different. Nothing seemed to be wrong or out of place. That was until I took my last bite of the delectable cheese danish my father brought home.
I had never tasted a cheese danish quite as good as this one. The cream cheese filling was sweet, yet almost savory. The icing drizzled on it added a special sweetness to it that was unbelievable to my teenage taste buds. I needed sugar, thrived on sugar, excelled off sugar. It had been a good two weeks since my version of cocaine had touched my tongue, it almost hurt my cheeks to finally taste it again. Money was very tight since we moved to Florida, so tight there were six of us living in a one bedroom cottage on the beach and my dad could often be found smoking disposed cigarette butts of strangers.
But this was such a treat! I even started thinking, our dad is the best in the whole world! Could life get any better than this?
My quiet little picnic of one was quickly shattered when I heard the backdoor of the meager cottage slam shut. I licked at some icing at the corner of my lips and dabbed my finger on my plate to get every last crumb!
"Oh my gawd! I hate you! I can't believe this!" My sister, Allison, yelled.
By this point I was in a sugar stupor; feeling slightly giddy and lightheaded. I felt great and no one, not even the moody 18-year old would ruin my day!
"I've got news for you," she spat out to me as I continued dabbing my plate with my finger, "You just ate a danish that came out of a Winn Dixie dumpster!"
I briefly felt nauseous and then confused. How could dumpster food taste so good? Had I been so deprived of sugar and carbohydrates that my body couldn't discern between good food and bad food anymore? Was I forever going to be like this? Would I not care if a plate of Spam was placed before me? Would I soon be digging into a small tin of sardines with a gluttonous abandon? Then I wondered how many other times we ate food without knowing where it came from?
My mind drifted back to the egg sandwich from the day before, was that meal also from the dumpster?
To be cont'd.
I had never tasted a cheese danish quite as good as this one. The cream cheese filling was sweet, yet almost savory. The icing drizzled on it added a special sweetness to it that was unbelievable to my teenage taste buds. I needed sugar, thrived on sugar, excelled off sugar. It had been a good two weeks since my version of cocaine had touched my tongue, it almost hurt my cheeks to finally taste it again. Money was very tight since we moved to Florida, so tight there were six of us living in a one bedroom cottage on the beach and my dad could often be found smoking disposed cigarette butts of strangers.
But this was such a treat! I even started thinking, our dad is the best in the whole world! Could life get any better than this?
My quiet little picnic of one was quickly shattered when I heard the backdoor of the meager cottage slam shut. I licked at some icing at the corner of my lips and dabbed my finger on my plate to get every last crumb!
"Oh my gawd! I hate you! I can't believe this!" My sister, Allison, yelled.
By this point I was in a sugar stupor; feeling slightly giddy and lightheaded. I felt great and no one, not even the moody 18-year old would ruin my day!
"I've got news for you," she spat out to me as I continued dabbing my plate with my finger, "You just ate a danish that came out of a Winn Dixie dumpster!"
I briefly felt nauseous and then confused. How could dumpster food taste so good? Had I been so deprived of sugar and carbohydrates that my body couldn't discern between good food and bad food anymore? Was I forever going to be like this? Would I not care if a plate of Spam was placed before me? Would I soon be digging into a small tin of sardines with a gluttonous abandon? Then I wondered how many other times we ate food without knowing where it came from?
My mind drifted back to the egg sandwich from the day before, was that meal also from the dumpster?
To be cont'd.
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