Todd and Tara Take Sin City: Part 2

Day 2

Sunrise. Todd made coffee and I made a smoothie for breakfast. The singles/doubles tournament was at 2:30 so we had several hours to go down to the Strip. High of 99 degrees. I was really looking forward to this.

We were greeted by the world-famous Welcome to Las Vegas sign as we drove in, which was a lot smaller than I expected, with a LINE OF PEOPLE in front of it waiting to take their pic. We drove to The Tropicana and parked the car. If you’ve never been to Vegas, there are escalators outside that take you to a sidewalk overpass every couple of blocks or so. We took the one next to the Tropicana to get to Excalibur. Note: Do NOT touch the handrail.

We passed two homeless people engrossed in conversation in the shade, and another woman lying under the escalators with her dog (also lying on the ground). Homeless people, unlike San Francisco, are a surprise in Vegas, just by sheer design – the place appears very clean and is hotter than Satan’s bedroom. I felt more sorry for the dog than I felt for the people. Why was this dog lying outside on the sidewalk at 9 a.m. in 98 degrees?

So Excalibur is the casino that looks like a castle. For those folks in Southeastern PA, it looks a lot like Dutch Wonderland, only bigger. Inside was delightfully cool and I loved the atmosphere. I love the medieval/Renaissance period… so all you have to do is drop me into a story from that period or a room decorated accordingly and I will stay all day. We decided to collect club cards and play in each casino we visited, just for fun.

We left there and walked next door to Luxor, which is – hands down – my favorite casino in Vegas. Luxor is the shiny black, 30-story pyramid with the giant, towering sphinx out front. At night there’s the sky beam – a beam of light from the apex of the pyramid one can see for miles on a clear night. We walked in the front doors and there was this enormous entryway and a view all the way to the ceiling where you could see the lighted rooms/hallways. It was gorgeous inside. And, at this early hour, not terribly crowded yet but plenty of parents with children.

20190618_100253

Copyright Taraka 2019

Which is what also surprised me. Las Vegas has been pushing the family-friendly vibe for years now, but after 5 days there I honestly cannot understand why anyone in their right mind would WANT to take their kids there. It’s hotter than hell, even by the pool, there’s smoke everywhere, and there’s no shortage of scantily clad showgirls on the streets. And then there’s Fremont Street.

Anyway. The Luxor also has The Titanic Exhibition that I REALLY wanted to see, but we never made it. Tickets run $32, but I found if you’re buying same day tickets the price was $19. The Bodies Exhibition is also there. El Diablo and Rice & Company were two restaurants I noted but never made it to.

From Luxor we walked the indoor passage to Mandalay Bay. It should also be noted here that these three casinos I visited are all connected via a free tram. Mandalay was also pretty spectacular inside, very decadent but then I think they all are. I really wanted to see the pools there, but again – never made it – and there is a$20pp daily cost if you aren’t a guest of the hotel. Todd played the slots in all three – from old favorites to a few new ones – but never hit for more than a few bucks.

We headed back to the tournament. Todd drove the entire Strip so I could see it. There’s so much to see! There’s a two-story Coke bottle with an elevator inside. I decided to hang back at the condo while he bowled; I didn’t really feel like freezing my ass off for three hours. We’d already walked four miles today. We ended up staying at South Point for the night…. had junk food at the Del Mar Deli and Todd played some slots, where some dude asked me, ma’am, could you watch my machine for me (while he went to retrieve his beer at the machine he’d moved from). Fucking MA’AM.

Really feeling my age lately. I mean, I look in the mirror and I see me – the Tara I’ve always known – but I know intrinsically that people are seeing a middle-aged woman and not the me I think I am. It hits me hard and I don’t like it.

Total walking distance: 5.7 miles, which means that we racked up a MILE AND HALF just walking around the South Point casino. Kill me now.
Day 3

We drove down the strip again. Parked at The Flamingo, an old-time casino with a tremendous history linked to the mob in the late 1940s. It’s been through a lot of changes, but still retains the old-time feel. There’s a flamingo habitat in an outdoor courtyard, which we visited and Todd, as always, got the best pictures. I always think I’m being artistic, and then I look at the product and it looks like a two-year-old with no muscle control took it. Like, MY picture has the back of the flamingo, bending over. I don’t even know why I try.

As we were passing through, an employee pulled us aside to offer us some deals and led us over to the wheeler-dealer bitch who wanted us to pick something for free. NOW. We had just arrived and it got to this high pressure point where you wanna slap a bitch, and when she whipped out the 3-ring binder with pictures of our options my old New Yorker instincts kicked in and I just held up my hand and said, I’m done. I just got here and I’m not making decisions right now.

We left the Flamingo and walked across the street to Caesar’s, which was really decadent. I swear, every casino is more decadent than the last. This is Disney for adults, on steroids. One of Caesar’s employees approached us to ask if we were staying on the property and I just put up the hand and walked away, and Todd was the one being Mr. Nice Guy, which is all kinds of ass-backwards. I literally have no qualms about flat out ignoring somebody and unapologetically walking away.

The temp went up to 106 degrees. We walked 6.54 miles. I was impressed and a bit proud to experience 106 degrees.  The sun was blazing hot and I began to feel a bit schizophrenic going between the wonderfully cool a/c and the blistering heat on the street.

20190619_124203

Doesn’t look like 106, does it?

We walked along the street to Paris. More people on the street selling shit. I saw Elvis in an electric wheelchair, which caught me off guard and I must have looked happily surprised… and then the damn bastard stopped and muttered something about a pic for x dollars. What… I’m going to sit on his lap for a picture? Fuck that and his shitbrand polyester suit.

Paris, too, was gorgeous inside. I’m being redundant. We just walked through without playing anything. Took pictures. Enjoyed the air conditioning before stepping back into the frying pan on the street. Remember those news reports where the reporter would cook an egg on the hood of a car? Yeah. Anything that was spilled on the street here looked like it had been welded to the blacktop.

We walked back to the Flamingo,  passing several half-naked showgirls including two from the Flamingo with a heart-shaped pasty over each nipple and nothing else, and there are adolescent boys and little kids walking by. We ended up having lunch  … as it turned out, at Carlos and Charlies. We shared an enormous plate of nachos and drank margaritas.

Todd played the Game of Thrones slot machine afterward, and hit for $40. Which is when Tara quits playing, but Todd keeps rolling the dice until the money runs out. The difference is, he wins. I rarely do. He says he doesn’t like playing on the Strip, because the machines just don’t pay out. I could be wrong, but if you keep playing you might just lose more???

Later, after resting at the condo, we returned to the Strip to see the Cirque du Soleil show Mystére at Treasure Island. It was phenomenal. I never in my life thought I needed to see one of these shows. I actually had tears in my eyes. I highly recommend seeing one of them. You will not be disappointed. And we had fantastic seats.

We puttered around the casino afterward, thought about buying a Mystére t-shirt for $40 and decided not to. Of all the casinos we visited on this trip, Treasure Island was the most disappointing. It was remarkably small and the machines Did Not Pay Out. At All.

 

 

The Bellagio and Luxor at night

Ended up back at South Point where Todd took to the slots again and I sat at one of the centrally located bars and ordered a margarita and dropped five bucks into the tabletop card game. The bartender called me “Miss” and all was right with the world again.

Miscellaneous:

Cirque du Soleil Mystere If you watch nothing else, skip ahead to 4:42. One of the most breathtaking parts of the show. **I do not own the rights to this video.

The Luxor –  Tupac was staying here when he was shot and killed. Casino appeared in Mars Attacks, Vegas Vacation, and The Hangover. Current shows: Carrot Top and Blue Man Group.

Excalibur – Also featured in Vegas Vacation. Current shows: Thunder Down Under, The Australian Bee Gees, and Tournament of Kings.

Mandalay Bay – Current show: Cirque du Soleil, Michael Jackson: One. (Couldn’t score tickets for this show even a month ahead. For good seats, that is.)

The Flamingo – sits on 40 acres originally purchased for $8.75 an acre by one of Vegas’ first settlers, Charles Squires. Years later the casino was developed and opened by Bugsy Siegel in 1946. Show: Donnie and Marie (soon to be replaced by Paula Abdul in August). Obnoxious salespeople: next to the flamingo habitat.

 

 

 

 

Todd and Tara Take Sin City

This year’s National Bowling Tournament season is in Vegas. I was so excited. Not excited to freeze my ass off at a bowling tournament as a spectator, but because I’ve never been to Nevada and I love adventures. And apparently when you get old there is a crapload of mishaps to make you question your very existence.

The tournament was two days but we decided to stay extra days in a timeshare, at the Grandview of Las Vegas, on the Strip but technically in Henderson, Nevada. We were right next door to the South Point Casino, as in, imagine strolling out your front door and walking across the yard to your neighbor’s house. (Pay attention to this detail – it’s going to matter later on.)

But first, we had to get there…

Our Southwest flight was scheduled for 3:25 p.m. In spite of a very stressful ride down I-95, we made it on time and checked his two bowling bags and one suitcase. We didn’t use the self-tagging system because – we’re old. I always keep my carry-on.* Todd had paid for priority boarding and then we ended up with A60 and B1. I bought a bag of M&Ms and one small package of cheese and pepperoni for $17.

After we all lined up, there was an issue – “a problem with the lavatory.” And then we were getting another plane, at the gate next door – the flight was now departing (over an hour later) at 4:45. And everyone – it was the like the exodus out of Egypt – rushed to the gate. Todd and I got separated. A half hour later we lined up again. THEN… we hate to do this to you, folks….they told us there was an issue with one of the seats and maintenance was called.  The dad in front of us swore audibly and generally looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than here with his wife and two kids. And then someone on line farted the most noxious fart I’ve smelled since that memorable elevator ride with mom-mom.

Finally boarded – separately because … A & B (yes, even if you are last in A and hubs is first in B) – but we didn’t have to share with anyone. We watched Glass on his laptop and then Todd sketched on his iPad Pro (guaranteed to draw attention) and I read my book (draws zero attention). A few more noxious farts followed and, since the aforementioned miserable dad was sitting directly in front of us, I nailed it on him. The rest of the flight was filled with the usual – an onion sandwich, a cologne-soaked flight attendant, occasional wafts of alcohol, and people bumping Todd’s shoulder on the aisle. The flight attendant had lots of questions about the iPad (like I said).

Next up: deplaning, collecting luggage, and catching the shuttle to the car rentals, and I was thinking I had a good sense of where we were going but I quickly learned I was fucking up at every turn so I decided to shut up. It got worse, because I fucked up the timeshare reservation and so at 8:30 p.m. PST I was calling my mother (the owner) to contact RCI to issue a “guest certificate” I never got, at 11:00 p.m. HER TIME. She was not pissed. Todd was. He got 5 minutes alone in the car to “vent” at me and then we decided to walk over to South Point for [free!] drinks while waiting for RCI to fix it. Three beers later and waaaaay past my bedtime, we finally checked into our sweet 12th floor condo around 10.

20190618_053544

See South Point Casino in the background between the two condo buildings.       Copyright Taraka 2019.

Day 1

We both woke up to the sun rising slowly like a sleepy stretch – what do you do when you wake up at 8 but the clock says it’s only 5:00 a.m.? We went in search of coffee and ended up having breakfast, and then drove around until we found the grocery store. LET. ME. TELL. YOU. Anderson’s is the place. The produce department in this store at 6:30 a.m. would put Wegman’s to shame. It was a fucking work of art. It was beautiful.

Henderson is a flat, dusty settlement just outside Vegas city limits, surrounded by mountains – one was snow-capped (for reals). One of the most notable things about Nevada for me (besides hundred-degree weather) was that everything is some shade of brown. The homes are brown. The roofs are brown. The developments are surrounded by high concrete (brown) walls. There’s a stark absence of “green” everywhere but on the strip where small patches of lawn are cultivated by the casinos.

Anyway, we unloaded our groceries at the condo and jumped back in the car to go to the tournament. Todd drove to the convention center, a 20-minute drive down I-15 to the opposite end of the Strip. And there were no signs for the USBC tournament. He called Chris from our team. Are you ready for this? The tournament was at the SOUTH POINT CASINO. Which we could have walked to.

So, in quick summary, I dropped him off at the door and drove the car next door to our condo and then walked over. I waited what seemed like forever for them to come out and get started, while I read my book and journaled in sub-zero temperatures. Soon hunger gripped me and I walked to the end of the lanes where there were beer-soaked hot dogs and margaritas. What could be better?

Todd and the team and I went to one of the casino lounges to wait for brackets results (don’t ask). Todd and Momma B took to the slots while the rest of us had cocktails – I got a PATRON margarita for $4. It took forever which is how I got a really nice buzz going before we all decided to stay and have dinner in the Italian restaurant, Don Vito’s. They had table-side Caesar salads and I was really excited until I saw the waiter dump a bottle of Caesar dressing on the greens in the wooden bowl. The food was good, although I made the mistake of ordering the Penne Bolognese, which is nothing like mine, and it was just okay. (Although it was way better reheated for lunch the next day – probably on account of a hangover.)

20190617_163605

$4 Patron margarita. See the USBC cocktail napkin.

Spent the rest of the night following Todd from slot machine to slot machine and dreaming of the soft bed waiting for me. I just don’t have his stamina. In fact, I can’t match the stamina in ANY of the Sagittarians in my life. (See 6-hour shopping trip with my mother.) They exhaust me.

We had also agreed to maintain the East Coast clock so we’d have less difficulty adjusting at home. Let’s see how long that lasted.

 

Miscellaneous:

My luggage was lost on a flight to Greece when I was eleven (eventually found) and I have been scarred for life. Thank you, TWA.

Body language can be very loud. The above-mentioned dad was standing off and away, nearly with his back to his wife and kids. Like they weren’t traveling together. Mom was handling everything. It made me melancholy and angry, and grateful that this is not my life anymore.

Gas while flying is a thing. Low pressure and a rapid increase in altitude contributes to this. Also, prolonged sitting, drinking carbonated beverages, and eating gas-producing foods (hello, onion sandwich eater). I wish angry-dad had worn charcoal inserts in his underwear (yes, there is) which is supposed to neutralize odors. ~ source, MSN online.

Free drinks at Casinos, while you’re playing. This was going to be a long week.

The sign for USBC was literally 20 feet away from the casino club counter where we got our club cards the night before. Not to mention that the cocktail napkins here have USBC on them.

Quick shout-out to Momma B: She is Chris and Rob’s 70-something-year-old mom. She bowls regularly; she travels to the National tournaments. This year she was in a wheelchair. She gets up to bowl, but otherwise rode in the chair the entire trip. It was awesome. She is sweet, sharp, and funny, has more stamina than me (I’ll have to ask her sign) and she was hitting the slots like a boss. She may have won more than all of us combined.

 

The Long Way to Erie, Part 2

We left Niagara Falls – an oddly quiet and yet noisy town, and drove through the fog toward Buffalo. We took 190 to North Street through a quiet area of historical buildings and more churches in a 3 block radius than I’ve ever seen in my life. North Street took us to the corner of Main, and the infamous birthplace of the original Buffalo chicken wings: The Anchor Bar.

Anchor Bar, Buffalo, NY

The Anchor Bar, Buffalo, NY Taraka, 2019

That’s right – we went to Buffalo for one thing and one thing only. The Anchor Bar, on approach, looks like a small, old house. Until you drive around to the left, where the entrance is and ample parking. The walls in the bar area are plastered with license plates from all over the U.S. and Canada. I loved the atmosphere – betcha it’s a fun place on the weekends too. We were seated at a small table against the outside wall that felt a bit like we were sitting uphill (old flooring = uneven flooring?) The menu is newspaper-format, with lots of options for stuffing yourself. The waitress was about our age and warm and welcoming.

We ordered the original wings, which are “medium” and absolutely delicious. According to the website, they will ship wings anywhere in the U.S., which sounds like a fantastic idea. I also ordered a Caesar salad, you know, for balance, and it was huge! Definitely big enough to share. SO glad we put this on our itinerary – if you’re a fan of hot wings, you must make the pilgrimage. Or even if you just like checking off bucket list things, like me.

There’s a small gift shop inside and so Todd stopped there while I used the bathroom. He bought a f@#%ing t-shirt, so that ups his collection to 84. But he also bought a bottle of the Buffalo sauce and a pint glass for the bar we don’t have. Woot! And then we were off to Erie.

I booked the Holiday Inn Express because we’ve always had good experiences there. It was right off the highway and, it turned out, was a few miles out from downtown Erie. Todd didn’t exactly complain, but when someone mentions more than four times that it would’ve been nice if we were closer to the bowling alleys….well…I guess I should’ve looked at a map.

We had a room at the end of the hall on the third floor overlooking the highway, and I really tried to hide my hysteria when Todd noted the noise from the trucks going by. I really did. But the room was nice and comfy! And ice cold. I’m assuming they save energy until someone checks in. There’s also an indoor pool which is really quite nice, if you’re not surrounded by thirty kids under 12 who are splashing and screaming like howler monkeys. Too bad I forgot to pack our suits. This time there was a Keurig in the room, so we could use our own coffee in reusable k-cups.

We rested a bit and decided to head out to the Brewerie at Union Station for a bite. Erie’s Union Station opened in 1927 and saw many travelers over the decades that followed, from WWII soldiers to FDR and Harry Truman, to Babe Ruth. There’s some really interesting history there, like underground tunnels, if you visit their website. The restaurant opened in 2006 as part of a revitalization campaign in Downtown Erie.

20190515_174120

The Brewerie at Union Station Taraka, 2019

We sat in a back booth and ordered an Erie Brewery’s Railbender Ale for Todd and the Misery Bay IPA for me. We liked them both so much, we brought three cases home (can’t get it here). We shared pulled pork bbq nachos and fried pierogies – both equally delicious. One can also purchase beer to go – including their own craft beer in crawler or growler size. The Brewerie at Union Station’s own HopMonster IPA is excellent and, sadly, I didn’t get to bring any home and they don’t currently distribute. (Side note if you visit: they are not open Sundays.)

The next day, Saturday, we got up early, visited the complimentary breakfast bar downstairs (why are scrambled eggs on a buffet always watery?) and hit the road to Cleveland. When I told my mom that I was excited to add another state to my list of states I’ve been to, she said flatly, “Ohio looks just like Pennsylvania,” which is kind of a pessimistic thing to say to someone.

In keeping with the ongoing theme of haunting fog, the skyline of Cleveland was shrouded in an eerie haze. The museum was easy to get to, and parking was also remarkably easy, overlooking Lake Erie. We walked the short distance to the museum and were approached directly by a homeless man and “former Vietnam Vet” who wanted us to buy a paper to help him support his wife and kids. Okay, so I felt a combination of annoyance and compassion, since I remember the homeless selling papers on the subway in New York and it was generally accepted as a legitimate occupation. But, as Todd said, we didn’t drive 300 miles to be solicited outside a museum for money. He also called bullshit on the sob story.

20190504_130151

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Cleveland, Ohio, Taraka, 2019

So the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I don’t even know where to start. The place was crowded, but nothing like the Majestic Theatre so I didn’t complain. Most of the exhibits were comprised of some iconic article of clothing, and other artifacts. I was completely enthralled by the clothes. It sparked something in me I cannot explain yet. There were art posters from the 60s. Tickets from Woodstock. (My mom and dad had tickets to Woodstock. But they decided at the last minute that this was no place for a two-month old, and so dad gave the tickets away.)

Some of the more memorable things: Jimi Hendrix’s brown suede jacket, Janet Jackson’s jacket from the “Control” video, a hand-painted guitar owned by Springsteen, a pair of Ziggy Stardust suits, one of Michael Jackson’s gloves (I’m not so naive to think that’s the only glove), ZZ Tops’ furry drums, Biggie’s Poppa jersey, and a disturbingly small shirt worn by Keith Richards. There was a disappointingly small case of items from Prince – featuring a set list from the only tour I saw and those lace gloves. And then all of a sudden I was fighting back tears. And of course there was little else, because it wasn’t what he was about.

The way out is through the gift shop, of course, and while there were some cool items there, we weren’t even the least bit tempted by the overpriced kitchsy merch … ie… a Woodstock t-shirt for $59. There was a good deal of vinyl for sale: one album I have owned for over 30 years they were selling for $49.99.

We returned to the hotel for some down time before the tournament, which started at 6 p.m. at a BYOB bowling alley. After, five of us went back to the Brewerie at Union Station for snacks and beer. Chris tried a Clarion River Pineapple Under the Sea, rumored to be very sour, but he said it tasted like pee. I don’t often pass up the opportunity to at least taste a new beer, but … no thanks. I didn’t ask how he knew what pee tasted like.

Sunday morning the previous three days of excitement finally caught up with me, about a half hour into the 8 a.m. tournament. I was finishing up The Night Bird (great thriller – should be a movie) and nodding off. I wandered out to the car, started the engine for a few, and then curled up under a blanket until the sound of car doors and voices woke me. The rain returned as we drove the long way home, making road conditions dicey along with monstrous traffic of no particular origin. 6-1/2 hours to home.

 

From top and left to right: Springsteen’s guitar, Keith Richards’ shirt (compare size to the album), The $59 shirt, Cleveland’s skyline

Idyllic Adventure Camp, Giant Swing, and Frog’s Spit

14265026_10209646443174566_9046380442829682586_n

North Bay Adventure Camp. Photo copyright TaraKA and Tara Chronicles, 2016.

As the mother of a Type 1 child, I’ve been on many field trips either as chaperone or just as “nurse.” I’ve been to an arts institute, a technical high school, the Amish Farm, Fair Hill Nature Center (3 years in a row), the local waste treatment plant, Longwood Gardens, a high school drama club performance, Annapolis, Conowingo Dam, and several outdoor scientific explorations in our local area. We live in a rich landscape of nature and bodies of water here in our corner of Maryland and our school system takes full advantage of outdoor classroom opportunities, often led by an organization called North Bay. It’s one of the things I love about living here. The field trips, however fun, always leave me feeling hungover and flu-like by the time we get home – so I was really not looking forward to being on a 4-day field trip.

When we first moved here three years ago, Opac was in 7th grade and Veruca was in 3rd. Opac came home one day telling me about the 6th graders being gone for a week, to some place called North Bay. What do you mean, they’re gone all week?  “They go there and stay overnight for the whole week,” he said. After a nanosecond of – who in their right mind plans something like this – it occurred to me that one day I’d have to face this with V. I already knew there was no freaking way she was going there. I was prepared for battle over this, prepared to tell someone that they can’t make her go, and there was no freaking way I was going to this place for a week – overnight. I had already made up my mind, three years ago, that she wasn’t going.

And then the day finally came. The 6th grade trip to North Bay Adventure Camp. This year we were going the second week of school – the newly-minted middle-schoolers barely adapted to their new environment – and we would also be the first school to kick off North Bay’s school season. There were packets to fill out, medical forms to complete, and FBI clearance forms to turn in. Answers to questions were sparse, and it felt like we were all going in blind on a wing and a prayer.

Veruca rode the bus to school the first day, and I was scheduled to arrive independently at North Bay at 11 a.m. I checked in and received my wristband for the week. The chaperones were milling about at the main point of entry between the administrative building and the Dining Hall.

The buses pulled up around noon, and the kids disembarked to loud music and cheering counselors all in red t-shirts, and were directed to the end of the boardwalk between the two buildings. They were divided into two sides – boys and girls – and that is how they would stay until they returned home. There was some welcome-to-North-Bay fanfare, followed by instructions and expectations over the next several days, and dismissal to collect their luggage and report to their cabins. Even though V was considered a “day camper,” she was still assigned a cabin to change and rest in between lessons and activities.

We had some down-time there as I met the “overnight mom,” and the girls made up their bunk beds and unpacked. I got to meet the two young ladies I’ve been hearing about – K and M – who also have type 1 diabetes. K and M were overnighters, and this would begin the ongoing conversation with V about why can’t I stay overnight too? that I finally had to shut down after the second day.

Finally… lunch! I proactively packed myself a turkey sandwich just in case. In case of what, I wasn’t sure, but anyway. The kids lined up outside the dining hall – 3 lines each of boys on one side, girls on the other. The tables inside were tables of 8, and there were “overflow” tables for the one or two extra campers from individual cabins that didn’t fit at the original 8. This would be something that the kids determined at each mealtime – who would go to the overflow table, and the only rule established was that it was on a rotation-basis.

The grownups had their own tables, and on that first entry into the dining hall – it felt like being back in school again, being the new kid, trying to find a friendly table to sit at. I internally chastised myself for feeling like this. I’m 47 years old! Who cares anymore? It’s funny how quickly we can recall adolescence. Those situations are burned into one’s memory for all eternity.

I found a table. Meals are served “family style,” meaning that we each have a plate with some food on it, and then there are platters and bowls of other offerings we serve ourselves from. There’s a table runner, or whatever they’re called, from each table who has to go get refills if needed and more pitchers of water. I don’t know how I managed to avoid being one of those, for the whole week.

The counselor who welcomed us on arrival stood on stage with a microphone, dispensing more information that met my ears in a way that made me immediately think of the Peanuts teacher. I asked another chaperone if I was missing anything important and she said all she heard was, wanh wanh wanh wanh wanh wanh.

So, lunch. There was something wrapped in foil on the plates, alongside a banana. The foil revealed a … turkey sandwich! It was on a wheat bun with a slice of orange cheese that was not cheddar, and appeared innocuous enough so I ate it. We were also served a bowl of salad tossed with ranch, and I quickly learned that salad was going to be the mealtime saving grace. For dessert, a large plate filled with chocolate chip cookies. Now, I’ve been avoiding junk food in favor of a more healthy gut and not gaining any more weight, but I ate a cookie. And then I ate another. And then there were two left that nobody wanted, so overnight mom and I each took one.

Then, M and Veruca came over to me with K, who told me her sugar was “xx” and going down (she wears a CGM) and asked me what she should do. [!!!!!!!] Who died and made me T1 momma of North Bay?! So I asked her, what do you usually do? I do this. Great! Let’s do that and see how it goes, okay? (** I would never, ever, assume I know what to do for another type 1 child. I don’t even know this young lady’s mother.)

Because North Bay is all about science and environmental education, of course they compost and recycle, and there’s a method to this madness. Paper on one plate/bowl, uneaten food that cannot be composted on another, compost on yet another. Empty any unfinished liquids back into the pitchers, stack the dirty plates, pile flatware on top, stack the cups. It suddenly seemed so complicated and I was relieved that someone else at the table took the initiative.

After lunch, the various cabins dispersed to their respective lessons/activities with their counselors, and the chaperones and teachers were shuffled to Turkey Point theater where we got the schedules for each of the cabins, the expectations they have of the students, what they hope to accomplish this week, and how he/they handle misbehavior. After the kids’ lessons there followed an activity time, and our girls were scheduled for the giant swing. They get all harnessed up and jump on this 3-seater, get hauled up super high, one of them releases the clip, and off they go, screaming like lunatics. V, K, and M all went together. In fact, they went most everywhere together, and so I nicknamed them Team Type 1 on the first day. They liked it.

We were supposed to go kayaking afterward but the winds were high and the water was choppy, so the activity was cancelled. The girls were so disappointed, and we never did get rescheduled to do it. So we killed time until dinner at Horseshoe Point, which houses an indoor climbing wall, a game (billiards) room, gift shop, and the Frog Spit café. Which serves various flavors of Hershey’s ice cream – though not one kid I saw was eating anything other than the cotton candy ice cream. Bleck. Veruca harangued me into letting her buy a North Bay water bottle for $7.50 that was also used for free soda fountain refills throughout their stay. She left it at home the rest of the week. Most. Expensive. Soda. EVER.

But wait! – there’s more.

 

**Disclaimer: I don’t use the upgraded service; therefore, you will see ads at the bottom of my posts (ads I don’t see because I’m not you). As it has come to my attention that certain ads may not align with my world views – I am compelled to add the following statement until further notice.

I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT SUPPORT DONALD TRUMP. NOT YESTERDAY, NOT TODAY, NOT – EVER.