Jarbidge to the Oregon Trail

Levi, my son, does not read my blog. He should. I would like to make fun of him sometime. Like in the last post, when I showed that awesome picture of him dressed in feed bags for my horse.

Arwen does read my blog, and this is as much for Arwen as it is for Levi. So read away, Arwen. When you have internet access, of course.

I do not think Chrystal reads my blog. I rather think not. She thinks she is the only rebel. She has no idea.She should read my blog, too.

We have to do a bit of time travel. Back to 1977. Wow. That’s 31 years ago. 31!!! No way. Not possible. I am only 30 years old. Oh, :::heavy sigh::: I gave birth to Levi the year I turned 30. That’s how I know how old I am: add 30 to whatever age Levi is. I refuse to tell you how old he will be on September 6th of 2008. It just boggles my mind. I don’t have enough wrinkles to be that old.

Focus, Jaci, focus. 1977. There were no cell phones and no PCs. I mean Personal Computers, but there wasn’t anything known as “being PC”, either. No one had to be “Politically Correct.” Such a term did not exist because you still had the option to disagree with the media without being labeled as something. You could still tell Italian jokes.

I remember this because one of my very good friends was an Italian woman 35 years my senior. I remember the first joke I told her over a CB radio. CB radios are what we had before there were cell phones. You didn’t have to worry about whether or not you had a cell tower to get reception. I was ten and we were traveling across the sandy desert behind Winnemucca Mountain, on a return trip from some jeep/sand dune buggy outing, and we were in CB commmunication with my friend, Norma Kearns. Yes, her last name was Kearns, but don’t let that fool you: Norma married the Irish, but she was Italian.

Anyway. I called her on my dad’s CB. “Hey Norma.”

“Hey Jackie.” I spelled my name like my birth certificate in those days. I’m sure we also said “10-4”

“What sound does a flat tire on an Italian car make?”

Norma played dumb. She was very good at this game because Norma loved to laugh. She didn’t care if she was the butt of the joke or not. That is a lesson to be learned. “I don’t know, Jackie?”

“Wop, wop, wop.”

We all laughed and no one cared if it was PC or not. Norma had jokes to tell about the Irish; my dad had jokes about Catholics and Jim (Norma’s husband) had jokes about Protestants. My dad and Jim tried to drink each other under the table with denomination-specific Irish Whiskey. Dad drank Bushmil’s and Jim drank Jameson’s. They swore their whiskey tasted better than the other; I tasted them when I was 20 and they were both peat-moss distilled. They tasted like peat moss. My dad (and Jim) poured their respective whiskey into a glass of milk on the “morning after” and promised it would cure a hangover. Personally it looked like the whiskey curdled the milk. That was enough to make a strong stomach turn.

I prefer Kentucky whiskey and please do not add it to milk.

Point is: in 1977, I made a rash decision. A rash decision that only Levi will appreciate. Well, I think Don appreciated the half of it, but he never heard the whole story. I am ready to share the whole storye, I just have to dig a few photos out of my photo albums and scan them. And I have to rely on my memory.

Here’s the teaser: in April of 1977, I decided I was going to sell everything I owned and I was going to buy an Ameripass on Greyhound. I would have 6 weeks to “see America.” I would be traveling alone (no cell phones!)(no email!) as I crossed the continental U.S. Just me, my back pack, and nobody else. You can imagine the horror my family & friends experienced.

Except my mom and dad said absolutely NOTHING contrary to my plans. My friends did. And my parents’ friends did. But my mom and dad were nothing but supportive. If their oldest hippie daughter wanted to go sail off the dge of the world, they were behind her. They refused to hear all the negative “she’s gonna end up butchered and buried and raped and slaughtered” hate mail that my parent’s friends must have been sending them. Especially Norma’s family. I know this because they assailed me, too.

“You’re nuts.” and You will end up dead.”

Norma took my parent’s side and bought me a good Boy Scout backpack to carry all my belongings in. And she adopted my cat and stored everything I di not sell. I always had Norma to return to.

Thus ends Part 1 of Jaci’s Great adventure.