Apparently, I am viewed as a very smart, honest mother, who knows what she is talking about (phsssh) with my crafty lies.  I’m not one to lie to her kids… well, not that much, and I like to think that I am the good type of liar, you know, to protect my kids.  So, the booger comment actually was a product of my lies.  He had an awful habit of the snack and knew that it bothered me and often would do it to get a reaction from me.  I found a perfect opportunity to argue my case when for some reason, probably a virus, he vomited.  I told him, “see, you must have picked your nose!”.  Not totally agreeing, he continued his habit until it happened again, and I said the same thing.  Now, he believes me and the habit is over. 

His nose picking habit is done, but he is on to new ones, and I continue lying.  Just yesterday he spent quite a bit of time playing games on the computer.  Silly me, without thinking, I blurted out, “It’s not good for you to play on the computer all day long, your brain will rot”.  As soon as I said it, I knew it was probably not the best way to go about it, especially when I saw the fear on his face.

“You are joking, right mom?” he asked, and I promptly agreed.  You see, when I get caught in a lie, I call it a joke or an attempt to trick someone so that I don’t appear to be that dishonest.  Good, right?

Later, in the evening, he became quite miserable with a headache and a fever; he had come down with yet another virus.  When his father got home from work, he found his son vegging out on the floor, an unusual thing for him to do, and asked him what was wrong.  “My brain is rotten” was his answer.

I had some explaining to do.

The last time I visited my parents, I became curious and wanted to check out my father’s iPhone.  As I sat next to him on the couch with his phone in my hand, I flipped through the two pages of apps that he had, not finding anything that really interested me… well, the National Weather Channel app was pretty cool.  No games… dang.  I needed something that did something, something that I could interact with.

I found the PBS news app.  Although I don’t really make a habit to listen to PBS news, it’s pretty monotone and dry, but it would do.  I decided to try it out, just to see what I could make happen.  I pushed the “listen to the morning news broadcast” and it then said in writing, “you are listening to this morning’s broadcast”. Nothing happened.  There was no sound, no broadcast.  Silly me, I shook the phone as if that was going to make something happen.  I tried to listen to it as if I were making a call.  Nothing.  I turned it backwards, looking for a speaker and tried to put it to my ear.  Again, nothing.  Huh.

All of a sudden, my Dad, who was quietly sitting next to me, watching TV exclaimed, “OH!… the PBS news is playing!”.  My smarty pants, technological Dad had blue toothed his iPhone to his hearing aid!  Sheesh.  I turned the news broadcast off  and put the phone down.

This year, despite the new Christmas tree farm that threw a bit of contest into the game by offering smores, Santa and a tractor ride to the you-cut tree field, we weren’t going to break our tradition and were dead set on going to the cosey family you-cut, Christmas tree business that just serves free hot chocolate and music from the clap-on, clap-off caroling Christmas tree.  This year was a bit different though.  We had the wonderful company from my father, brother, his wife and daughter who moved here for good from New York.

We all did the normal thing, running around looking for the best tree.  I tried my best to discourage the tree that had about a million spider webs, as if we need one more spider this winter.  It was hard.  I don’t know why, but my sweet little girl just thought that tree was THE tree…as if she was getting something extra special for free.

We finally found our tree, minus the spiders and it was on to find the very cool tree my sister-in-law spotted.  That tree had to be just right.  For some reason my mother wanted to have a tree to decorate with blue, silver and white… a Hanukkah tree.  We warmly called it the Hanukkah bush, which I was convinced was a real thing until my sister-in-law, the expert, told me it was just a joke.  Poor thing, she was such a good sport.  She was okay with getting a tree, and okay with decorating it with Israel’s colors, but “please, please, I beg of you, don’t put a Star Of David on it!!!”

So, after we found our trees, shook the dead needles and any stowaway spiders out, bailed and bought them, it was time for the men to put them on the vehicles as the women and children enjoyed some hot chocolate and a singing tree.  This year I was prepared.  Every year I stress and complain about the tree falling off our van all the way home.  Just about all 190 miles home.  This year I vowed to be different.  I made sure that I started by getting plenty of rope.  It was going to be tied down so tightly, that I wasn’t going to have to worry, and the husband wasn’t going to be tempted to tie me up along with the tree on the way home.

First, I found some expensive rope at Safeway.  It was long and it cost nearly $5.  The expensive stuff had to be the best.  I then ended up a the Dollar Tree.  I found some rope, not as long, but it was only$1 so, maybe that could be back-up rope.  Yep, I was ready.

Since I was busy with hot chocolate and dancing to the tree, who was still too cold to open its eyes while it sang, like it was supposed to, I had no part in tieing the tree down.  But, I had faith in the husband.  He had found the longest and expensive rope and decided to use it.

My father, brother and family went back home, while we still had a lot of errands to do.  One of which was to drop the husband off at the Elks Lodge so that he could help out with a charity event.  After dropping him off, the kids and I left the parking lot with many plans dancing in our heads when we heard two loud bangs and a long scraping sound.  My brain couldn’t even get a hold of what was happening and was grateful for my 13 year old’s screaming, “The tree fell off, the tree fell off!”.  I know the other two  reacted too, but I was too busy trying to figure how to get it all together as I realized my biggest fear just came true.

I hastily pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and quickly realized as I jumped out that the tree had fallen in front of several cars in the middle of a fairly busy intersection.  It’s funny what goes through a person’s mind during situations like this.  My thoughts were, “my kids are watching, got to get my hero cape on, no matter what!”.  I can’t help thinking that if my kids weren’t there, it would have been a whole different situation.  I moved as fast as I could, grabbing the top of the tree and dragged it to the edge of the road, as if the people in the waiting cars were going to drive by and chastise me for being so careless as to let a tree fall off my vehicle. 

Every year when we get our tree, I am the one who gets to get the hot chocolate and dance by the tree with the kids, I never got to be the one who hauled the tree to the vehicle and threw it on top.  I finally got the chance to appreciate that job.  That tree was actually very heavy.  My hero adrenaline continued to pump through my veins as I pulled that thing up over the curb and onto the sidewalk. 

I realized at that point, the traffic that I was worried about giving me trouble, actually pulled over to help!  I called my husband, who I am sure barely got through the doors a parking lot away.  The very nice man who stopped and I picked up the tree and together threw it on top (I still had my cape on).  The tree was backwards, but I wasn’t going to complain.  After we threw it on top, we discovered the reason why the tree came off.  My wonderful plan, the-best-tree-ancor-because-it-is-so-expensive rope snapped right off in several places! 

Another man who stopped, the first man, my husband and my father-in-law all anchored that tree down with the Dollar Tree rope as I stood by chatting with the second man’s wife.  They got that thing so tight that one of the comments was, “you better cut the rope off when you get home because by the time you get it untied, it will be too close to Christmas!”.

The rest of the trip went just fine.  We got the tree home safely, all 190 miles home, with the Dollar Tree rope holding it securely down.  I keep thinking about that day however.  I wonder why, after it all happened, that I wasn’t bothered by it.  I wasn’t a bit angry, upset or even embarrassed.  I wondered why that was, since it seemed so strange for me to not stress over something like that, even after it happened.  Maybe it was because I handled the situation just fine, probably because I had my hero cape on.  I think that it was more though.  Maybe it was because I learned to have faith in others, and to assume the best of people.  I have to admit, I am embarrassed that I thought the worst of people and worried that the ones I held up were upset with me, which in reality had compassion and willingness to help.  It probably didn’t even cross their minds to drive by and chastise me.  I got a good lesson, and learned to see the good side of people who over-rode any negative feelings of the situation.  Yes, it turned out to be a tree-mendous time  and one to remember for a long time.

I am thankful…

• that I was totally prepared and didn’t run into the window at the zoo and get a bloody nose this year, like I did last year.
• that my kids haven’t totally destroyed the house.  There have been some casualties however, such as a shattered lightbulb because a certain little boy discovered that when you spray cold water on a hot light bulb, it explodes.  Oh, and a certain teen who despite the fact that she is an awesome cook, found out that when a rice cooker’s cord sits on a hot element, it causes a loud bang and the breaker switch flips off.
• that my son now knows how to cut with scissors… thanks to the help and consequently demise of the couch cover as well a the king sized bottom sheet that was sitting in a pile of clean clothes.  Who knew kids scissors could do that?
• that I have finally been forgiven for forgetting my kiddo at the swimming pool.  So now I have faith that I have some hope of getting out of the dog house yet again for making her have her mouth cut open and partial braces on at the dentist office… wait for it…  the day before her class Thanksgiving Feast they had been preparing so hard for! (Sorry kid, I hope you could chew at least something good).
• for the man at a certain Safeway store who thought I was young enough to be my sister-in-law’s  DAUGHTER!!!!  (She is at least 6 years my junior by the way).  And my teenage daughter, my SISTER!  I wasn’t even the one buying the wine.  I was just standing between the two gals when he took a good look at her, then me and my daughter and said to her, “are these your children?”.  I just about jumped over the counter and gave the man a big old wet kiss on the cheek.  Now, my sister-in-law stood there stewing, saying to herself, “really? I mean, really???” as she took out her ID… yes, he carded us.
• that I finally found the missing ornamental pumpkin.  I was concerned that it was going to rot as I wondered where the heck that odd smell is coming from, which by the way, is a daily occurrence… who knows what is causing all those smells.
• that there are such things as room fresheners and scented candles.
• that we have new windows, roof and siding on our house despite the fact that when I was out of town my husband gave the wrong paint chip to the contractor and we now have a pinkish/tan house… Mary Kay anyone?
• that the battery case in the big old robotic horse in my son’s room fell out… yes on its own, I had nothing to do with it.  Now, I won’t have to scream every time I walk by when it whinnys at me.
• that the deer who visits our backyard dropped our badminton net that was caught up in its antlers before it jumped over the fence and ran through town.
• that the bright side of the deer pooping all over the yard, breaking our fence, and rubbing the bark off the tree with their antlers, is that we don’t have to mow as often.
• that dancing to 80′s music with my kiddos is a blast, despite the sore muscles and the inability to walk the next day.
• that hair grows out.  After I gave my son a haircut in the summer, a parent at a kid event asked him if he tried to cut his own hair! 
• that the skunk that I suspect lives in our backyard hasn’t sprayed us yet.
• that where I live, sliding in the snow, or gliding in the wind are additional modes of transportation.  I love the fall and winter weather.
• that my father really is that good.  I don’t know how he got that bald eagle to swoop down and grab the squirrel that has been giving him so much trouble and in front of my family to boot!  Yup, he really is that good.
• that humor can be found anywhere you look, especially when your son is freaking out that one of his toy dinosaurs was found wearing his sister’s Polly Pocket skirts. 

I remember when such a horrible event brought people together.

I remember when people, even the ones who weren’t directly affected by the event, reacted to sorrow by being kind instead of lashing out.

I remember when I realized that superheros actually do exist.

I remember when we all learned what true compassion felt like… and it hurts like heck.

I remember when I, along with many others, learned about appreciation and gratitude for the things in my own life.

I remember when the story, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, became more of a meaningful story.

I remember when the feeling of awe came over us when the Red Cross started to turn blood donors away because they had more donated blood than what they knew what to do with.

I remember when the feeling of cooperation was thick in the air when everyone, country-wide burned a vigil candle all at the same time.

I remember when true lessons about humanity began.

I remember.

I sometimes drive for at least 3 hours at a time, and guessing what the person is like judging from their bumper stickers has become a pastime for me, keeping me entertained for that long drive-time. 

I remember when I was a kid, our family car had several  stickers on our bumper.  A New Zealand flag sticker on one end, since we lived in that country for a while, and on the other end, an American flag sticker, since that is where we were originally from.  In the middle was probably a sticker advertising a radio station.

Bumpers can reveal what political party you belong to, well at least my parent’s vehicle does.  The radio station sticker that’s on their car is one that is heavily political and plays many talk shows with democrats spouting off what they believe is right.  Occasionally, I see old election stickers like vote for Gore stickers.  Now, that just plain ages a driver. 

You can tell what kind of music people listen to… I just saw one for a country music station.  You can tell if a driver is serious about causes, has a cleaver or even sick sense of humor, a white or blue-collar type of person, or just a plain red-neck. 

Speaking of a sense of humor (and red necks), I have even seen the tow hitch decorated from time to time.  One, for example, is a large scrotum with two very heavy-looking  testicles dangling from the hitch ball.  I don’t even want to think about how that describes a driver.

My favorites  are the ones that throw a curve ball and you just know the driver doesn’t match the sticker.  One that made me laugh so hard that I cried was one that claimed that the driver was under the influence of menstrual hormones, so be warned and stay clear!… and the driver was quite obviously a MAN!  Poor guy must have had to drive his wife’s car.  The other one that made me laugh was similar… something to the effect that the driver was a kick-a$$ soccer mom… and again, the driver was very clearly a MAN.  One good thing about those stickers… it might be hard to have a vehicle stolen with them on, well unless the criminal is a hormonal soccer mom I guess. 

Then there is the stuff written in the dirt that has collected on the back.  Usually it says, “Wash me”.  Now that makes me wonder… does the driver need a bath?  Or there are ones that say “Just married” but has only one person driving and nobody else in the car.  What’s up with that?  Did the driver marry himself?

There are others that play on the now annoying, “my kid is on the honor roll”, by saying “my kid is in solitary detention” or something to that effect.  Remember the “Baby on Board” signs?  That was a good one until EVERYONE did it, even if there wasn’t a baby on board.  I don’t even think the hazardous drivers, whom the sign was intended for, really cared, or even read it since they were too busy weaving in and out of micro spaces between each vehicle on the interstate.  I like the, “I make abrupt stops”, or “breaks for …”.  I need one that says, “breaks abruptly for garage sales”.

So, I got to thinking about what was on my rear end.  What does it say about me? There’s nothing there.  I suppose that could mean something.  Maybe it means that I am a minimalist, or a clean freak (naaaa, those could not get any further from the truth).  Maybe I am boring or perhaps mysterious.  Maybe I need to go out there and scribble on my bumper, “reads too many bumpers” or, “Warning: I judge people by their rear ends” or maybe ”Warning: very bored person behind the wheel”.

When I was twelve years old, my family moved from our home of nine years in New Zealand and lived at my father’s parents house back in the U.S. until our family could get established enough to get our own house.  So, we lived in my grandparents’ cosy attached rec. room, while my grandmother, grandfather and uncle who is only five years older than me, lived in the main part of the house.

Life went on for us kids as we adapted to our new life.  My brothers, as usual, would always play together, finding something to build with or get in trouble with outside, while I would find some sort of solitary activity to do inside.  Never anything remotely against the rules, for I was the oldest, therefore the responsible one.

I took my responsibility very seriously, especially on the day that I noticed that my youngest brother who is eight years younger than me was in grave danger, well, that’s what I thought.  My brothers, who were always thinking about how to substitute things when we didn’t have the money for the real thing, had created water balloons by putting water in sandwich baggies.  That wasn’t the danger though.  The problem was when my other brother, the middle child, the one who seemed to get into trouble the most, was chasing the baby brother around with a small piece of wood with a sharp, rusty nail in it.  I think the intention was to pop the make-shift water balloon that was in our little brother’s hands before he got the chance to throw it. 

When I caught a glimpse of what was going on, I became enraged.  I was sure that my little brother was going to get sliced up or even stabbed with that rusty nail, and possibly catch an instantaneous raging case of a tetanus infection.  I marched my responsible self outside, found an extra, partially filled bag of water and with a mother-hen like impulse, intending to protect the little guy, threw it towards the middle brother, with some added words of wisdom, I am sure. 

Now, I am not a good aim, nor have I ever been one.  That bag of water flung through the air, completely missed both brothers and then continued on in a direction that I had not planned on, only to smash through my grandparents’ house window!  Apparently, that’s how you can get the rambunctious brothers to stop messing around with rusty nails, because we all stopped in our tracks instantly.  I bet my brothers were about to faint because their sister, the one who took her role to heart, and almost never got into trouble, did the unthinkable and ultimate no-no and BROKE A WINDOW!

What came next, was even more surprising  for me and my brothers.  Almost instantly, my uncle rushed outside yelling, “DAVID!!!” (perhaps the obvious first impression)… Nooo.  “BEN!??”… Nooo.  “Laura???”.  To my brothers dismay, instead of reading a riot act right then and there, he quietly turned around and went back inside, I am sure stunned as all heck.  Everyone must have been stunned because I don’t remember being reprimanded at all, which I am sure bothered my brothers beyond belief, that I, their not-as-perfect-as-everyone-thinks, sister got away scott free with breaking a window, a window that wasn’t even ours!

To this day, my brothers are amazed with how I got away with it, and with how people’s reactions were not what they were expecting.  They still scoff at the situation, disappointed that people viewed them as the obvious ones to make that mistake.  We all know that if it was either one of them who had broken the window, someone would have been in big, big trouble.

I met one of those pre-requisites just yesterday.  As summer vacation activities such as swim lessons and summer school started to wind down, I found myself with less running around dropping this kid off, picking up that one to just turn around and drop her off at the next activity.  I felt just a little bit of freedom from the jumble of times and activities I had to remember in my exhausted mind.  I was relieved of some activities, but I had to get through just one more day of swim lessons.

I dropped of my sensitive little one, the middle child, at the local pool for her last swim class.  She was the last activity for the day.  I could now relax, for all the other activities that would normally go on, were finished, well at least for the week.  I went on home and immediately found myself knee-deep in daily projects, plugging along while listening to the TV, totally immersed with millions of things bouncing around in my head.  Then, with a bit of panic, I thought of my kiddo in swim lessons… Oh my gosh!  I got so immersed that I lost track of time!  I looked at the clock, and only half an hour went by.  Her class was 45 minutes long.  I had a few minutes left at home before I had to leave and pick her up.  There was no reason to panic.

I went on, bustling around, then finding something to keep me busy.  I stood at the sink washing away some recycles, making sure they were good and clean enough for them to pass inspection and get reused.  I don’t know how the thought popped into my head, but after a few minutes of listening to the news that had come on, I realized my schedule wasn’t quite right.  Usually I wasn’t listening to the news…. OH CRAP!

I remember the confused looks on the faces of the my two other kiddos as I ran through the house yelling “oh crap, oh crap!” I grabbed my keys and wallet and ran out the door, rushing by my busy husband who was pulling weeds on his day off,  seemingly not noticing my frantic rush.  I threw my vehicle into reverse and imagined my exit from our driveway as what you see on TV when the bad guys drive away from a bank robbery, except I wasn’t in a cool car like on TV, it’s a mini-van, but hey, it still works. 

Why is it that it seems when you are in a rush that there is always something, some obstacle that is sure to slow you down?  I got to the second intersection of our small town, and sure enough there was a vehicle… just one that needed to pass by.  Was the vehicle going fast today, like they all do?  HECK NO!  I contemplated squeezing in front of the vehicle, cutting them off.  Heck, my kid was probably freaked out by now because of my delinquency, I was sure I was justified to cause just a small heart attack to the poor unknowing seniors driving in their very slow truck.  I took a deep breath and listened to my conscience and waited, which seemed to be FOREVER.

Finally, I got on the road and up ahead I could see the intersection that I needed to turn at.  Sitting there was a semi with its turn signal on, seemingly stuck and unable to move.  I went through my mind very quickly with all the alternate routes I could take to avoid this mini traffic jam.  I don’t know what made me stay on the road, but I did.  The semi turned very, very slowly and I followed.

I’m glad that I kept on my normal route because I saw my kiddo walking towards home, clutching her pink swim towel with a forced brave look to her demeanor.  She didn’t see me coming since I was nearly attached to the super slow semi’s rear bumper, but she did see me as I passed by her, making a quick turn at the nearest street.  As she crawled into  the vehicle the tears started to flow.  I could see that she was trying her very best to keep them in, but there was no controlling them, they just burst out.

I got the whole speech about “where were you”, and “I thought you were hurt”, and “I didn’t know what to do because I thought I would get in trouble if I walked home on my own”.  We just had the conversation earlier that morning about her being able to walk around town by herself.  Even though the town we live in is a good one for kids to roam free, I wasn’t ready for her to have that kind of freedom yet. 

The chew-out lasted the whole drive home and clear until we were home for a good 15 minutes.  She tried to get me to promise not to do it again, but I couldn’t do it.  You see, I’m not perfect.  I promised her I wouldn’t do it on purpose, just like this time wasn’t on purpose.  But I couldn’t promise her that I won’t ever make a mistake again.  It just doesn’t work that way.

The guilt didn’t stop there though.  Enter little brother.  For some reason, since I started to leave him at preschool, he has doubts about me coming back for him.  He loves his preschool, but has a great fear that I will never return, which has never happened.  So everyday, even in the summer when there is no preschool, he asks, “you always come back for us?”.  I always assure him that I will come back, secretly hoping I won’t mess up, ever, and knowing full well that there is a chance that I will mess up at some point.  As I was getting my chew-out, her little brother, sharp as a whip, who has a habit of secretly paying attention when you are sure he is not, pipes in, “you always come back for us?”  OH CRAP!

Now, I had lowered myself to not only a child abandoner, but to a liar too.  What next?  What’s next is the next bump, with a whole lot of fun and love and great experiences in between.  I realize that I just experienced a parenting bump that all good parents need to go through once in a while.  I have met one of my many parental mess-up pre-requisites.  Everyone was a bit frazzled, but safe, and maybe a bit smarter and we are going on.

It wasn’t until the memorial service that the memories came flooding in thanks to the wonderful testimonies from my uncles and cousins who stood up and told the audience what they remembered.  One memory was ignited when my cousin mentioned the kinds of foods my grandmother would serve.  She would often cook well-balanced meals, not too fancy, but good.  One night she decided to serve us something that was close to her heart, something that she enjoyed with her family when she was a child.

Although she had fond memories of what her family ate at the dinner table, she knew full well that her grandchildren may not have had the same fondness if they knew what it was, or where it originated from.  As my cousin described it, she tried to pull a fast one on us. 

As my cousin, my brothers and I sat at the small round table, deemed as the kids table for that night, we were served our meal.  It looked normal, a meat and potato style dinner, although the meat looked a little different.  I recall we were watched closely by our grandmother that night, which was in itself strange since she would normally sneak a bit of time at the beginning of dinner to start the dishes.  I remember her pushing us to just try a little bit of the specially prepared meat.  My brother cut a piece and put it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed it.  He’s always been the adventurous one.  Okay… he was fine, so I guessed it was okay for the rest of us to try it.

I don’t know if I was the one, my cousin was the one, or if we did it at the same time, but someone decided to turn the chunk of meat over first to examine it before it was cut and placed on our delicate palates for our expert juvenile taste critique.  That’s when the deal was broken forever, for on the other side of the meat chunk were hundreds of little taste buds!  Our grandmother tried to serve us cow tongue!  Now, after seeing those ugly taste buds looking back at us, there was no way in heck that we were going to eat that meat… ever!  My brother remembers sitting there in disgust that the meat that he had already chewed and swallowed turned out to be something so unappetising.

It’s funny how a night that was so gross and horrifying turned out to be a fond memory, something that we now laugh about together.  I guess in a funny kind of way, we did share our grandmother’s fond family memories.

I am guilty however, for breaking my rules once in a while.  I have yet to pull the restaurant one, or the social call one as far as I know though.  Usually, when I end up answering the phone during a conversation is when I feel the call is either very important, or if it’s from my husband. 

So, today the kiddos and I attended a special event.  A very talented story-teller traveled a long way out to our in-the-middle-of-nowhere town to present his stories, very well I must say.  In the middle of one of his stories a loud obnoxious phone began to ring.  I wondered, “who forgot to turn their phone off or at least to silent mode??? ”, “ Who had the nerve?”  Oh, wait!  It was me!!!  The one who harps on how cell phones should be used!  I sheepishly and frantically scrambled to find my phone in my bag to hit the silent button.

That’s when an awful event came back to me.  One event that I thought I had shoved so far back in my mind that I wouldn’t ever, ever remember it again.  It was September 2001.  The terrorist attacks just happened and were fresh and very raw on everyone’s minds.  It was the evening, and I had just gotten off of work and looked forward to attending the Oktoberfest opening festivities that had been decided to carry on, despite the horrible things that our country had to go through at the time.  I worked in a small town, but when the Oktoberfest was held each year, I swear the population more than tripled.  I made it there in time for the beginning prayers, before the girls did their May pole dance.  I was able to find a good seat, almost in the front which was like striking gold.  I had a great view, not needing to bob around everyone’s heads to see the dancers like I usually had to do when I was forced to stand behind a crowd, several people thick.

Nothing could make me move from my golden seat (alright, it wasn’t really gold, it was a silver bleacher).  The huge crowd became silent.  It was not just time for the normal prayer,  it was extra special this day.  The prayer was for all those who were involved in the horrible 9/11 attacks.  I bowed my head in silence as everyone else did, and listened to the special prayer.  Not more than two sentences in, did my new cell phone begin to ring!  To me, it sounded like it was connected to the loud speakers, and two huge red arrows floated above my head pointing directly at me. 

I started to panic internally, as I quickly decided to put my poker face on and looked surprised and slightly disgusted with the fool who was letting her phone ring on and on and on. You see, the phone was new to me.  I had no idea at that point that I could just hastily push a button, any side button, to silence it.  I continued to bow my head, hoping nobody would notice my stupidity and unintended rudeness.  I was too embarrassed to admit to this peace-ruining crime, and there was no way I was going to let go of my golden seat! 

Thankfully, the prayer continued on and finished peacefully.  I got to see the dancers in their fancy dresses, and the boys in their liderhosin (I had trouble spelling this word, and hope that I got it right) do their dance before I slinked out early, hopefully avoiding the likely livid Oktoberfest visitors whose special prayer I had ruined.

You would think that I would have learned after that traumatizing event, but after today, it appears that I have not.  Yet, I go on, harping on about cell phone etiquette… oh, the hypocrite I am.