Craigger

Today marks week 4 since Craig passed from this life, and I have been intending to tell some good Craig stories. So here goes!

Wolfgang

When we moved to New Jersey in the summer of 1998, I was beginning my senior year, and Craig was starting his freshman year in high school. I had fulfilled my Texas language requirements in taking Spanish, which was my only language option at Terry HS in Rosenberg. But ever since 8th grade, I had been fairly interested in both German and Russian, and suddenly German was an option. So I took it, as did Craig.

Craig and I were sat in tandem - me on the front row, and him directly behind me because of alphabetical arranging. So, for 1st period, the two new long-hairs with weird accents and strong opinions on everything were sat together in German. The class was taught by Herr Lovelle, a Frenchman from Alsace-Lorraine who spoke flawless English (and German, French, Italian, Spanish, and perhaps some others). Herr Lovelle had a weird sense of humor that I swear only Craig and I got. He purported to be fascinated with communist East Germany,  Deutsche Demokratische Republik (probably horribly misspelled, and I am not even going to look it up) - or DDR.

Herr Lovelle would respond to the classic, "Teachers and students, please pardon the interruption..." over the PA with a soulful, from-the-gut, could scramble the entire Luftwaffe, "NEIN!!" When students would ask for an extension on homework, he would shout something about the classroom being a little piece of "dee day day err" (the DDR), and refuse any such Kapitilist requests. Craig and I would laugh and laugh - but not so loud as to be sent to the Kuhler or to a gulag.

I am not sure where we got it, but we used to always say, "I dunno, som'in. Som'in like that." And we naturally translated that directly to German, which at least began with, "Ich weiss nicht. Etwas." We felt as though our German training was lacking in the regard of epithets and mockery, so we made up our own based on our limited vocabulary. Our favorite was to call people Fliegenaffen - flying apes. Dummkopf - dumb head - was another favorite. Knowing German would only get you so far in understanding Craig and me since we extrapolated plenty.

Also, at the beginning of the year, we were able to choose Deutsche names, and I chose Juergen, and Craig chose Wolfgang. We rarely used each other's given names ever after. He would answer my phone calls by shouting "Juerrrrrrgeeeeenn!!" sounding like he was gonna throw in an, "in the hizzie" after. I later heard from my BYU German professor from Germany that those names have a connotation of being of the alternative lifestyle set like adding -lyn to a girl's name in America implies stripperness. Oh well, what do you do?

Music

Craig and I loved music - and we listened to a lot together. He used to laugh any and every time I would do my AC/DC "You Shook Me All Night Long" impression. But that was only because I had it NAILED. We used to jam the Toadies album Leatherneck on a regular basis. I have tried to remember other stuff we listened to together, and I know there were a lot of representatives from my favorite year, 1994. We would listen to Nirvana's unplugged album, Offspring's Smash and Ixnay on the Hombre. I remember one time he got a Pantera album, and I remember being afraid of it. Even before I heard it, I feared its extremeness.

Craig helped me set up my combination receiver/turntable/8-track player wired to a single huge speaker. We used to listen to Pierre Robert [sic?] on the classic rock station together. He was with me when I bought my first Stevie Ray Vaughan cd.

Adventures

Craig was my number 1 wingman for adventures as a kid - mostly in Texas, but it carried over to NJ, as well. We would go to the Old House together - a creepy rundown house in a wooded clump in the middle of some fields. The rumor was that the farmer who owned all the land around was born in that old house. At the time, though, the roof had mostly fallen in, the floor had mostly collapsed, the walls were as much negative space as they were naked wood. There were generally various animal skulls hung on trees all around, and a little old corral with a small clearing of trees in its midst. Shotgun shells and holes abounded. Craig always wanted to go into the house, but I would stop him if I was there, because it was pretty freaking scary. I was sure the floor would collapse, Crag would fall in, get attacked by all the various dangerous wildlife available, and be killed. But it made for a good couple-hour journey via bike or hike.

Riding our bikes on the "farm roads" was some pretty serious exercise. It is no wonder that we never became too acquainted with having our wheels leave the ground. Those paths for the tractors were so lumpy that speed was basically out of the question. Come to think of it, I am not sure why we bothered bringing bikes most places.

The Gar Hole was another favorite destination. Some enterprising individual with access to earth-moving equipment had carved a dirt bike track out of the overgrown landscape just across the creek from the end of the runway from whence the crop dusters came. When we discovered it, we took our bikes there often, and would ride around on the track. Again, we weren't BMX racers, so we didn't exactly exploit the jumps the track could have afforded. Once though, I did have a bit of a spill that left a pretty intense gash on my gut from the exposed end of my handlebar. Craig mocked me at first, which was warranted, but he was pretty cool about at least being concerned after. There wasn't much to offer by way of help that far from home.

Car Wrecks

I have only ever been involved with two car accidents in my life, and Craig was in the car both times. The first was Memorial Day, 1998. We were coming home from John and Jordan's house down Rice Field Road. We were coming from the east into the S bend, and John was coming in a bit hot. As he started turning in to the left, the back end started coming out. He actually applied some opposite lock (I had been int he ditch in his car before due to his NOT knowing how to steer in the case of fishtailing, and he got some verbal "encouragement" for next time), at which point we started heading off the road. So he applied positive lock again, rotating the car still further. By this point, we were off the road sliding sideways on the middle section of the S-bend's shallow-grade ditch which had recently been mowed. I was riding shotgun, and it was pretty intense looking out my window and seeing us going toward what should have been our 3 o'clock. Craig was right behind me when suddenly, the recently mowed grass was in my window, then the windshield, then the opposite side's window, and then we stopped right-side up. I had to do a bit of kicking to open my door, but mine was the only one with difficulty. The only injury was from Jordan flailing in the back seat unrestrained and hitting Craig and giving him a bruise. I think Craig would have preferred to do it again.

The second one was nearly 2 years later in New Jersey. We were headed to 6 Flags, I think with Eliot Omanson and Mike Mojjica. They were up front with Craig and me in the back - me on the driver's side. I was the only putz not wearing a seatbelt, and at one point on Route 70, Eliot was looking down at the cd player changing the (Kid Rock) song when the lady in front of us was slowing to take a left. When Eliot looked up, he slammed on the brakes and tried to steer left around the lady, but she must not have known what was going on because she turned anyway. We slammed into her left side, and left her facing the wrong way on Rt 70 looking east, while we careened into a deep ditch. I had kinda popped forward with my face between Eliot and Mike, and I pushed myself back into my seat just before dropping into the ditch where we slammed into the far bank. The airbags deployed, and I was thrown forward again. Craig hit his shins on the seat in front, and got a minor bruise on each. I thought the car was on fire from the airbag smoke. Craig stretched the truth a bit to the paramedics and police on the scene and said he had nothing wrong whatsoever, so he didn't have to go to the hospital. Eliot and Mike both had the weakest of injuries, so they were taken in. I remember Mom and Dad not being real pleased as if we should have done something differently. I have despised Kid Rock all the more since that day.

I will have to tell my story of Craig being a cop magnet later.

Castles

Now, the source of the large pile of white bricks in our yard is well known, it was a gift (purchased?) from Steve and Janet down the street.  I'm not sure anyone remembers why we had the bricks.  Most likely, they were acquired for some yard project that never happened.  Not saying we didn't use the odd brick to weigh down the black plastic over the garden or line a flower bed, but most of them just sat in a pile.

For a group of boys raised on leggos, the pile of bricks, whatever its source, was quite the windfall.  We immediately set out to build a castle.  Time and how short I was at the time make the dimensions a little foggy, but I'd say the walls were around four feet high and max 40 sq. feet of floor space (and by floor I mean dirt or a chunk of plywood, which is pretty close to what out actual floors were).  We went all out with the first one, it had a few separate rooms and even a circular turret (I believe Brian was our architect).  We camped out a few nights in these roofless huts and in general had a blast.  We'd always try to lure the cats to sleep with us to keep us warm,  although Brian just threw the cats (which have the tendency of landing claws out, knocking a brick or two down after them) from his room to ours which was a trifle annoying.  Naturally, the clean white brick walls were quickly covered in mud from our constant internecine warfare.

We completely dismantled our castle at least twice to rebuild a new one, usually not as elaborate, just trying to maximize floor space and then using plywood for the internal structure.  I think we even had roofs on some of them.  Half the fun was just moving piles of bricks all day!  Anyway, anyone else have any castle memories?

Zero Bars

You guys remember Zero bars, goey nougat and nuts encased in white chocolate? Mom would randomly buy them for us after filling up at the gas station. I don't remember ever begging for one or Mom using them as bribery. Just, every once in a while, Mom emerging from the gas station store with a plastic bag full of 6, 7, 8? Zero bars, one for each of us. Simple pleasures . . .

Van of terror

We Rugglets experienced a variety of vehicles of varying levels of class and volume. The earliest I remember are the White Chrysler Le Baron and the tan 1977 Buick Estate Wagon (red vinyl interior? You bet! More stories on it later, I'm sure). They are both deserving of their own posts - I'm looking at you, Andy, with the various throttle fun you had.

But we outgrew our big-pimpin' wagon. There are only so many people you can fit in a 7-seat car before it starts getting unsafe. So we upgraded to the 1985 blue Ford Econoline van - our Mormon Assault Vehicle. It was blue on the outside, and possibly blue-er on the inside. It had the V8 to make the Mustang drivers jealous. 5.0? Please. 351 all the way!

There was all sorts of genuine fun and madness ensuing constantly. Vacations were downright roomy! Well, if you don't need legroom. We are tall folks - what vehicle short of a limo or luxury car has rear legroom for 6-footers? But we could have a spot open on each row to at least provide elbow room. Mom and Dad probably won't like hearing this, but we could alternate who would lay on the floor and who was on the seats. You grab your old-school music-playing implement of choice, lay down, and rock out! Or read.

Once - I think after Andy had already left home, Craig and I sat in the back row on the way to Tim and Joann's making various projectiles out of some weird wax to shoot out of my blowgun (Thanks, Uncle Tim). We were going for highest pain quotient for the future twin hunting we had planned. We made slugs, and hollow-points, and the more traditional ogive (normal bullet shape). Then, I would have Craig pull up the leg of his shorts and shoot him in the thigh to gauge his reaction and get his feedback. In the end, the projectiles may have been a bit heavy, limiting the range, but they did their work as the twins can attest.

The van never embarrassed me like the wagon. Not that I remember, anyway. That being said, it occasionally sputtered and backfired. The backfires were dramatic as the exhaust developed some crack or something. People in the hood would duck and wonder who bought the light cannon on the black market for Mud Alley use. Andy figured out how to make it backfire on command. It was quite impressive. I remember him doing that in Pecan Grove as we were passing people - awesome.

That exhaust crack had another upshot: we could hear and feel Mom approaching home from a LONG way away. The frequency of the trembling would tell you how fast she was going - and we could literally feel her slow to turn off Mennonite Rd onto Powerline, and slow again to turn onto Mourning Dove. By the time she turned into the driveway, we were bouncing along the floor (where we tended to lie to watch TV for some reason). Except usually we would use the advance warning to do the chores Mom would assign before leaving home. There weren't many chores we couldn't accomplish in her last mile home.

Craig and Mike Lowe didn't believe us that you could feel our van approach. Once though, Craig (brother) and I were at the Lowe's after some activity at the Crane's/Thayne's. When the Blue Whale rumbled down the road and it made every piece of furniture in their full-foundation home tremble and sway - the higher the furniture, the more the swaying - and they had incredulous looks on their faces as they looked outside to see our MAV approach the complex.

I never drove that monster - but I'm not sad. I am a tiny car person in the end. It is weird. I have long realized it is weird that I like small cars in light of me being Texan, but I never realized until just now that it is counter to my automotive experiences in my youth. Maybe it is for me like leftovers for Andy. I think it is for purely nerdy physics reasoning, but I have to wonder. Anyway - that was a good one. Until it started sucking more than was worth trying to fix and we got rid of it. But it was good till then.

Except for the single-digit gas mileage. There is a little hole in the ozone that I think belongs to us...

Girls troubles and yes, even more stinging insects!

As long as I can remember I've preferred feminine company to masculine, and the same was true in elementary school. In third grade however my awkward phase began because it was no longer socially acceptable to hang out with girls (which did not end until high school *shudder*). Anyway, in third grad I tried to hang out with girls anyway, but they would always beat me up (if they could catch me, sic their older sisters on me to beat me up if they couldn't). I reacted as any warm-blooded Rugglet would: with spite and with science. Using a small plastic magnifying glass holder, I would gather as many honey bees as I could. In a confrontation, I would release my hymenopteran minions and let them scare away my foes. I always came off victor, but I never seemed to reconcile fully with the fairer sex till 9th grade.

Regrets

From my bizarre and somewhat deprived childhood I have but one regret: lack of documentation! We need to get more of our stories down, especially seeing as how the last Rugglet will start to contribute soon. I propose a flurry of activity in celebration of Adam's triumphant return, so get on it Rugglets. Rugglet spouses, get on your Rugglet's case about blogging. Cousins, feel free to chime in more often. Need inspiration? Start reading posts from the beginning, we mentioned dozens of topics that your memory could fill pages with. Cats, neighbors, bikes, lawn mowers, porches, piles of bricks, parafoils and DOS computer games are all waiting for their stories to be told!

"It sounds like something...evil..."

This is another story not about growing up in the ghetto, but the fact that we never grew out of it.

The summer after I graduated high school I spent in Texas working for Andy, and in general causing problems. It was one of the best summers of my life.

One day Natalie and Alison were over and we were watching Charlotte, long gone to bed, chatting. That's when we heard the chirping. I'd been hearing it all week, coming from the walls.

"It sounds like something...evil..." Natalie said, and for some reason that line became hilarious. We tried to track down the source of the chirping, but it seemed to be coming from the walls, and moving. A bird perhaps? Muhahaha.

The next day on the can I hear the chirping crazy loud in the wall right next to me, not near the living room where we heard it before and nowhere near the outside. Andy and I decided to take matters into our own hands and cut a hole in the drywall to remove....wait for it...a baby raccoon!

Never before have I been privileged to care for a cuter secret pet. I bottle fed the little guy myself up in my room hoping Jen wouldn't discover our machinations. My favorite part of the whole affair was actually when Jen did find out. 8 months pregnant at the time with Claire, Jen had little patience for us using her baby's bottle to clandestinely keep a varmit in the house: Andy and I got quite the talking to. The thing needed to go, and quicklike. We just set him outside and in less than a minute the momma raccoon was there and scooped him away like a cat. It was awesome.

P.S. To get a more hilarious version of this story, ask Jen about when we ripped a hole in her bathroom to catch a baby raccoon.

TV

One appliance in our household had the curious and dichotomous title of least functioning (saying something in our trailer) and most beloved: the TV.

We got three channels. Kinda. We just had snapped off rabbit ears because cable didn't come our to where we were from (not that the rents would have shelled out the cash to waste even more of our time). Getting the receiver to work involved shoving pillows back by the antennae (whether to hold them in place or as a dielectric, I don't know) and my personal favorite, having someone stand in the middle of the room. I don't know why this helped. But it did. Sometimes we'd stack pillows on a chair to try to simulate a person, which was less effective. Mom's sewing machine also sent the poor contraption into fits. I have studied physics and engineering for almost four years now. I have no idea how any of this works.

Really, the TV was meant for one thing, and one thing only (besides watching Masters of the Universe): Saturday morning cartoons. Nothing has ever gotten me out of bed so early quite as well as SMCs; I even got up hours before in anticipation sometimes. The first kid up would always turn on the TV, but not before placing our massive floor pillow (an entry in itself) over the speaker while we had to pound on the metal buttons to quite the static before we got it to the right channel so mom and dad wouldn't wake up and tell us to go to back to bed. X-men, Spiderman, Batman, Animaniacs: we all had our different favorites, and there were some we all loved (The Tick!!!!).

Other fun times with the TV were Saturday nights when we all rushed through showers to miss as little of Star Trek or Walker: Texas Ranger as possible.

We also just watched a lot of mindless TV, Fresh Prince and Home Improvement. We absorbed the stuff like sponges. I think in response to that, I now rarely watch TV.

Just when the poor contraption seemed to be at its nadir, Tracy and I discovered the wonders of running a cow magnet over the screen. The bizarrely warping colors were fascinating, much more so than reruns of Ghostwriter. However, each time we moved the magnet close, a little more of the color change became permanent, and pretty soon we had an all green TV. It eventually returned mostly to normal, except for a big green patch in the corner. Ahh, good times.

Any other thoughts on that wonderful hunk of scrap?

The Hills

The uninitiated would have hard time identifying any "hills" in a 20 miles radius of our house, but we know better. Once when the ditches were being re-dug Dad decided to ask them for some of the leftover dirt so we could level out the backyard (AKA The Back 40). Ha. Haha. We've since lost3 British exploration expeditions to the maw that was The Back 40, but the dirt remained in two rows of mounds stretching perhaps half an acre. Texan gumbo is Nature's most perfect plaything, luckily, and we put these "hills" to ready use. I'll only recount a few of the more colorful uses here.

Typically they remained overgrown pretty badly, which was ideal. First they served as bike and running trails. Then we started to dig massive holes in some of the larger ones, making a fort. Add water via hose, and this fort becomes a gumbo quarry, perfect for preparing ammunition in a mud war. Don't add water, and they still made perfect quarries for mud wars, but of a more violent and painful sort (I got beaned behind the ear onetime so bad it's still a memory. Brian threw it. He was expectedly impenitent. War is war, eh?). One of may favorite times was when we made the valleys between the hills into houses. Using sturdy dried out bloodweed stabbed into the ground around a perimeter and balanced over the top, we could use grass clippings and such to thatch a roof. These houses rarely survived a mildly windy night. The hills even had their own form of currency, red rocks being the standard. Luckily our driveway (made with loose river bed rocks) was an ideal source of the bullion. I think we even planted watermelons back in those hills one time.

We'd spend hours in those hills, sometimes so busy our parents must have wondered why such ingenuity and effort couldn't be expended on more useful chores, and sometimes just laying on the hard packed trail reading. Any more memories from the hills? I'm sure Brian has some horror story about having to mow them.

not gumbo...lava

anybody remember treating the floor like lava and seeing where we could get to without touching the ground. climbing up the narrow hallway was the funnest for me. i still remember all the shampoo.

Possible Re-hash

Maybe this has been discussed before, but I really used to enjoy the cropdusters. Not everybody gets an aerobatics show over their backyard every Saturday at way-too-early a.m. I remember when they would make the aluminum panels on our roof rattle as they buzzed the trailer on their way under the powerlines barely more than 200 feet from my bed. I remember seeing them clearly and them waving as they pulled up after their insane death-defying acts of fertilization and pest slaughter. Once, there was a loud cracking sound, and a cardboard square with a 12' white streamer fluttered down as the plane passed overhead. Perhaps it was there on the off-chance the commies invaded and locked on as he sprayed our yard with DDT - he had his chaff READY. At any rate, it made my day.

It was a sad day indeed when they stopped flying under the lines - opting (I'm sure out of orders) to fly over the lines - leaving 2 or 3 passes to be done parallel to the powerlines. It was too cool - and I wonder why my kids haven't gotten into airplanes - they don't get the airshow!

Warning: Not a happy memory

I wonder how many of you remember this. When I was twelve Mom received an anonymous phone call from someone who said, "I am going to rape and kill your daughter." Not knowing about the phone call, I was heading out to play outside when Mom told me I couldn't. I asked why and Mom hemmed and hawed and finally told me she'd gotten a phone call from someone who said he wanted to hurt me. It wasn't until I overheard her talking to Dad that I found out exactly what the person had said. Mom and Dad called the police who came over and asked questions. We never found out who had made the call. I think Mom and Dad assumed it was a prank call. I was scared out of my mind though. I had nightmares for a long time after that. One nice thing I can remember about the whole thing . . . Craig following me around outside with a big stick, protecting me.

Hey, look over there!

So, despite her docile surface, Mom was always the most crafty of us all. Her craftiness was primarily funneled into a single day, April Fool's Day. She seemed to slam us every year. One year she had us get up before the crack of dawn scanning the horizon on our rickety porch for a re-entering space shuttle. Dad put his foot down after eating a sandwich with a slice of cheese complete with wrapper (this only allowed her to exert further efforts toward duping her children). We occasionally retaliated, but after raising us all it was difficult to pull the wool over her eyes.

Once, after my mission, Mom invited me to share some experiences with her quilting group. The food was excellent, deviled eggs and the kind of spinach dip that everyone seems to think they're having for the first time every time they eat it. Looking for a quick exit, I divert the group's attention with a classic, "But have you seen that over there?" and made off with two handfuls of deviled eggs. Mom of course didn't buy it for a moment, never turned her eyes and just started laughing.

G-ma Oppelt and Color scheming

we all know about mom's mom's recent taking to knitting things for all of us. most of you get normal colors no matter how silly the item. not true for me. supposedly i told her when i was young that i liked bright colors and 15 years later, she still takes that to heart. however, my presents lead every Rugglet to the question, "how bright is too much?". i used to think that egg yolk yellow slippers or a destructicon themed hat were bad things. not today. you go outside wearing those to check your mail, every girl you see will talk to you. so i guess I'm trying to say, "thanks Grandma (even if you are trying to make me look silly on purpose) and does anyone have any good stories about her presents i don't know about?"

Lots of soccer

All of us have our own memories of playing soccer at various stages growing up. What impresses me is how vivid the memories can be. Especially with Dad - he can recount entire games from 1993. We can still talk about fallacious whistles and epic moments whose stories might lead the innocent into thinking they actually occurred in slow motion. It is funny how much fun I used to have with it being as pathetic as I was. I had some strengths, sure, but I was a rather incomplete player. I had some good times though - and it's still fun to commentate.

Anyone else remember how exciting it was to have World Cup 1994 in the US? We were so sure that was soccer's breakout year - America would be forced to realize its superlativeness. Didn't happen.

And then 1998 was better - we watched 2 games a day all summer until we moved. Of course they were on the Spanish channel Univision, so the commentary was sketchy. And there was that pundit who happened puppet with no eyes - just a massive, bushy unibrow. Any laughing I did had little do with what the comedy they were surely spewing. It was purely ridiculous. I remember the World Cup causing some rubs while we were in California that year - we really wanted to watch it, but things like Sundays and families kept interfering with the World Cup. How rude. I remember loving Holland and seeing Beckham botch it and Zidane be an amazing bald jerk. Great stuff.

Alternative Rock in the Trailer Park

Although some people think people like me are a myth, I'm not a music person. I don't often go out of my way to listen to music, and even less often pay for it (this is a trait inherited from Mom and Dad that it seems only me and Tracy got). What music I do like (and still listen to) I started liking when I was 6: early 90's alternative. I could sing the words (under great protest from musical geniuses like Craig and Brian who claimed I wasn't doing justice to the original masterpiece) to quite a few Offspring and Sublime songs. Cake, Nirvana, Beck, Everclear - these were my musical world. Needless to say, this wasn't the doing of my 6-year-old self, this was because I shared a room with Andy, Brian and Craig and that's what they listened to. Brian and I were talking last summer and we came to the conclusion that music peaked in 1994. Thus, the roots of my bizarre musical taste are exactly where the rest of my roots are, firmly embedded in thick, black, Texan gumbo.

Mom Memories

First memory of mom: Mom insisted that everyone earn their Eagle before they could drive. Where did that leave me? Mom decided I had to earn a "Cockatiel" award. The path to achieving the "Cockatiel" award was ill-defined. It consisted of Mom asking me to do spur-of-the-moment "feather" tasks, in which I could earn a "feather" and work my way up to the coveted "Cockatiel." "Feathers," I came to see, were chores Mom needed help with or homemaking tasks Mom wanted me to learn. Not surprisingly, due to the obscure nature of the "Cockatiel" requirements and my feminist sensibilities I never earned my "Cockatiel" and Mom will ever bear an empty place on her collar, where my own noble bird pin should have gone.

Second memory: I wasn't there for this but I heard it from Adam. And it's great. Mom couldn't figure out how to turn off the low battery alarm on the fire alarm. It was getting very annoying so she called the fire department to ask their advice. The fire dept. protocol was to send out the entire fleet any time anyone called about anything and that is exactly what they did, though Mom begged them not to come. What I don't know is whether all those firemen in all those fire trucks managed to fix the alarm?

Final memory: I wasn't there for this either but it is also great. Basically Craig went on like 10 different prom dates and all his dates were hussies and wore immodest dresses so Mom knitted a shawl for them to wear. Did she ever ask any of them to wear it Craig?

Any other memories of Mom?

Love you Mom! Thanks for the laughs!

ice is thrice as nice

I tell my friends now a days that our part of Texas doesn't have winter or summer. It has a dry season and a rainy season. The few examples of winter wonder stick out vividly for all of us. anyone remember freezing rain? everything and I mean everything froze. the wind would blow the long grass until the rain froze it in place. the road was covered in layers of ice. it was like someone stopped time and put distorted glass in front of your eyes. school was cancelled for days because nothing could stay on the road until the ice melted. every step you took in the front yard had a crunch noise to it. my favorite part was the the fields of frozen grass. the wind was gone but the grass was bent like it was still blowing and encased in ice. it was beautiful and deceptively strong. you could actually walk on the frozen grass 3 feet off the ground. i remember breaking off ice and sucking on it while sitting on the grass hoping it wouldn't shatter underneath me. who needs a white christmas when you get 3 days of vacation from school and your whole neighboorhood transforms. what do you guys remember about freezing rain?

Insane Lizard

So, this is a New Jersey story, so many previous readers and contributors will be unfamiliar with it, but those who were there and met the infamous black-with-yellow-spots Colombian Tegu will never forget him. Most of our other lizards were slow and lethargic; they rarely put on the kind of show you hope they will when you buy them. The hope with a Savannah monitor is that it will grow large enough to be put on a leash, taken for a walk, and eat annoying neighboring chihuahuas in one bite if they should venture too close.

Not the Tegu.

I remember the first time I saw it hunt. When food animals - generally crickets, I think, were let loose in the cage, the Tegu would dart all around its large mesh cage, killing anything that moved. But it didn't stop to eat before it darted on; it would kill and leave it for later. It had some major superiority complex where everything needed to either be dead, or . . . well, everything else needed to be dead.

Watching Craig hold that demon was a little disturbing. Onlookers would generally laugh nervously, silently hoping and praying Craig's grip didn't falter. It would open its mouth wide and flop its body as far as possible in fast spasm trying to bite him. He did not abide being held very well. He would flop side to side rapidly trying to find some flesh to remove as punishment for deigning to hold him still - I never held him.

One particular time, he got loose, and we couldn't find him. We figured that little "free spirit" found his way out somehow. I hoped I didn't find him in the tub one morning while groggily getting into the shower because that would freak me out pretty good.

A little background on our stairs: there was sort of a balcony that ran from Mom and Dad's room to the star of the stairs which went out between 3-5 steps, turned right, went down another 7 steps, turned right, and went down the final few steps. This will come in to play in a minute.

I don't remember if it was Mom or Dad who called us into their room, but they found him. We cornered him under the bed. Suddenly the Tegu - whose body was probably under 10 inches long not counting his tail, darted out from under the bed, and all of us chased after him. We got to the balcony, but didn't even slow. He jumped from under the iron railing across the void a solid ten feet up - it would have been like 10 stories for a human height-wise - onto the lower, longer level of the stairs where he continued down. We had to run all the way around, so by the time we got downstairs, he was gone. Eventually, we found him under the brown chest thing in the den, where we cornered him for good and captured him. It was very impressive.

Our biggest fan

One of my earliest memories is of me curled up under a blanket immediately in front of a gigantic metal fan. I actually remember doing this a lot. Part of the reason I could never sleep on a bed was because my body needed to b close to a fan for full resting action. This, mind you, was independent of the weather. Our hearty metal allies were originally recruited against the fierce Texas summers, but I slept right next to one even on cold nights, sometimes with several blankets to make up for the fact that all of my body heat was being sucked away. Crazy? Yes. Very.
We also used them to make wind tunnels by clothspinning blankets together. These things could take up a entire room and stayed up as long as we could convince Mom to let us have them.
Sometime someone discovered (and I think it was me) that if you attached a balloon to your favorite action figure, fired up the fan and tipped it vertical, lo and behold, the ting would hover! On medium you could usually fit a good four or five of these balloon warriors and they'd bounce around congenially, but when you shifted it to high, they'd start thrashing about wildly until only the victor remained. Marvels of engineering, those fans.