Back in 1990s, my husband, daughter, and I lived in a neighborhood that teamed with kids ranging in ages from our two-year-old sprout to the ripe old age of fifteen. We had a chance to get to know all the kids since they played basketball and lawn games with my husband, and they always seemed to have room for the homemade treats I loved to make. This was a great place to raise a child, and we loved our neighborhood. We still do!

One day, I asked the kids what they would do for Halloween, and most of them said, regretfully, not a lot. A few of them had been invited to a party of a classmate, but they said their friends had lame parties–their friends’ parents expected the kids to sit down, talk quietly, and not make a lot of noise during the party. Oh, what fun that would be for some pre-teens!

The only activity left was Trick or Treating for the rest of the kids. That was fine for the younger kids, but the rest of the kids thought they were too old to go Trick or Treating. I grabbed the local paper and sure enough, all the activities were for really young kids with nothing for the older ones. There really wasn’t a lot for tweens and young teens to do for Halloween, which made me sad. I got to thinking about what I could do about this and offered to do a haunted house for them in our house. The idea was an instant hit with all the kids, so I got busy recruiting volunteers to make the haunted house happen.

Hubby and I got group of our friends and neighbors to come over to help plan and build the haunt. We decided to use the whole bottom of our house that included our finished off family room and storage room. We put up temporary walls so that we‘d have many places to scare the kids, and we put together some basic sets. We did the typical things like a body in the bed that was a real person, black out hallway with bugs dropping on them, tunnel with haunted hands trying to grab them as they passed, and other things we thought would be scary. We blacked out the windows and put out some four-watt candlesticks from Christmas as the kids’ only light. After a lot of work, we were ready for the kids. We hoped the kids would enjoy our efforts and would feel like they had a great holiday night. However, with this age group, you never know if they’ll like it or not!

The big night finally came, and sure enough, all the kids in our neighborhood flooded in. My husband, the gatekeeper, sent down small groups of four or five kids at a time. We jumped out at them and made them scream non-stop. The volunteers and I got so tickled at the way the kids screamed their heads off and then laughed as they funneled through time and time again.

We adults thought we’d do the haunted house for maybe a couple of hours, but the night dragged on:  The kids just kept coming! Then I started noticing adults and kids I didn’t recognize coming through at almost nine-thirty. I radioed up to the gatekeeper and aske if all the kids had been though at least twice so we could shut down. That was when I got a shock. He said there was a line of over thirty people waiting to go through besides the kids that had already gone through earlier. What? I was shocked to find out the kids had been having so much fun they’d all called their parents, brothers, sisters, and classmates to come over to go though the haunt with them. Then the older kids called their high school and college-aged friends and siblings to come, too. I have to say that  they were the best-behaved group of people we’ve ever had come to our house!

We were thrilled everyone had such a good time with the haunted house, so we just kept going and going. We kept the haunt open until midnight and finally had to turn people away. The volunteers were pooped and needed a break. We were delighted to listen to the kids laugh as they figured out who each costumed character was, and then they’d tell us how badly we’d scared them. They happily babbled on non-stop about every detail of their trips through, which got me to thinking about all the other kids in town. It bothered me that the kids in my town didn’t have anything to look forward to on my favorite holiday. That was when I got the bug to do the haunt again, but now I wanted do a family friendly haunt for the whole town full of kids.

It was a strange thing to find out that I dearly loved scaring people and that they‘d pay me to scare them! I wouldn’t like scaring people if it made them feel bad. I love it because they have so much fun being scared! They scream and then laugh as they come back again and again. We ran The Haunted Castle for four fun years and entertained a lot of families! The next haunt is not going to be a family friendly haunt, and I’m looking forward to the challenge of doing an “in your face” haunt. More on that one later!

Sarah

Rocky Dog a.k.a. Mutt-Boy

Like I said in the Many Tails of Rocky Dog, Rocky was the world’s worst rescue dog, which made him hard to adopt. Being a sucker for ANY dog, I took the little guy in. He had the personality of Walter Mathau’s character in Grumpy Old Men, could appear innocent as an angel while eating part of my rocking chair, and barked non-stop. Here is another story of my little Mutt-Boy that made me laugh and cry every day but in the end taught me a lot about life and love.

A crisp, early fall Saturday morning with a cloudless blue sky created the kind of invigorating fresh air that makes me want to stop and fill my lungs as deeply as I can without passing out. I stepped out onto our deck, lazily slouched  over to the black metal table, and pulled out a chair. I debated silently about climbing a mountain because of the way the fall air made me feel but decided to stick to writing in my journal as Mutt-Boy happily lay in the sunshine beside me. He loved to be outside on the deck, barking at every leaf that blew in the cool breeze as I wrote. In an act of dog and baby safety, hubbster and I had covered the wooden side rails of the deck in steel screen-wire to keep Mutt-boy and toddler from falling off the two story deck.

I had only been writing for a few blessed minutes when the sound of my telephone ringing in the house jarred me from my pen and thoughts. Rocky started barking madly at the phone as I sat back, debating whether to answer it. But what choice did I have since Rocky wouldn’t stop barking as long as it rang? In a huff I went into the house, leaving Mutt-Boy outside to enjoy the sunshine.

Rocky barked fiercely the whole time I spoke on the phone, making me cut my call short so I could go out and stop his annoying, high-pitched barking. I walked to the storm door and threw it open as I called Rocky’s name just in time to hear his claws scrabbling on the wooden planks. I let the door slip out of my hand, and I peered around the long side of the deck to see why he ran madly around.

To my horror, Mutt-Boy barreled around the corner of the house in hot pursuit of a large, terrified gray squirrel that ran sideways on the screen wire. I swear its bulging eyes and mine locked as he and I realized he headed right for my pant legs at full speed! I screamed loudly as the poor critter cried out since he, too, had realized I stood in his flight path and couldn’t stop! I reached for the door handle wildly as the little gray varmint tried desperately to go around me until I stupidly opened the storm door beside me. The open door blocked his path of escape, making me panick further as I tried to jump inside the house just as Mutt-Boy slid between my spread legs. He still barked furiously at the squirrel that still tried frantically to squall to a stop to avoid my legs. His nails screeched on the screen-wire as he jumped over my left leg, spun around, and barreled right back at me since I stupidly didn’t let go of the door handle!

Now it’s official; he’s either going to have to climb my pant leg or run into my house unless I can slam the door shut that I’d worked so hard to open! The panicked squirrel saw Rocky sliding right at him as he cut his u-turn, making the squirrel start eyeing my pant legs as a serious option since he desperately wanted to get away from both of us! He again jumped over my leg as the silly varmint dashed back around the side of house again with Mutt-Boy happily trotting hot on his heels. I screamed and jumped into the house just as the both of them flew around the side of the house for their second lap.

At this point the freaked-out squirrel noticed the door and I were out of his way and that only the side rails of the deck sat covered in screen wire. He ran straight up on the top of the rail head and launched himself into the safety of a tree. Rocky-Dog voiced his objection to the squirrel cheating as the squirrel clung to the branch of the tree, his little over-taxed lungs panting.

Once the squirrel realized that he was safe, he chattered at Rocky-Dog as he continued to bark while I came out and did my spastic Squirrel-Almost-Climbed-Up-My-Pant-Leg dance! At that point, I noticed one of my elderly neighbors standing on his porch staring at me like I were insane or as if I wore a giant squirrel costume on July 4th. I waved quickly to him as I hustled into the house with Mutt-Boy happily prancing on my heels.

It took hours for my heart to stop racing and for both of us to calm down until the picture of this scene flashed into my mind. I started laughing my head off at how stupid this must have looked to my neighbor or anyone that saw what happened. I love nature, and I love my dog–just not at the same time.

Several Sunday’s ago, my family and I dutifully waited for the communion tray. My husband took his and held it for me when I again popped the wafer in my mouth and grabbed a cup of juice. As I brought the cup up to my mouth, I happened to look down. Much to my horror, I saw lipstick on the cup that quickly hit my open lips! Before I could stop myself, the juice flowed into my mouth and down the hatch! I’d just drunk a used cup of juice! I was horrified as the taste of the juice filled my mouth, making me want to barf! Then an elderly woman sitting at the end of our pew let out an awful hacking cough that filled me with fears of getting hoof and mouth from her since she was the one that passed the tray to us!

My husband and daughter were both grossed out when I told them what I’d done but couldn’t stop laughing at the same time. Now my husband points out a full cup each time we take communion, and I know I’ll never live this down! LOL

Don’t Bug Me–For Home Use Only!

My friend and I pulled this prank on a person at a really fancy hotel where our spring conference was being held. I usually carry several reddish-brown rubber cockroaches that are easy to conceal in people’s food or under a stack of papers. I usually buy them in packages of one hundred forty-four and name all of them George. Why? Because I can! Here is a true story involving one of my Georges at a trade show.

At a conference in New Orleans ten years or so ago, my roommate and I saw a man who we’d been to several other conferences with us, and we found him to be a really fun guy. We thought he’d be fun to prank since we knew he had a great sense of humor and we’d seen him prank his partner at the last one. She and I decided to put George #141 in his salad, thinking he’d just laugh the bug off or go “eeewwwww!”

The waiters brought in our first course of fine dinning and sat the ornate salad down before each of us. The salad looked divine, and we all started munching happily. I slipped George into his salad when he had turned in his chair to talk to someone behind him. He turned back around and started eating. Seconds later the man turned over a lettuce leaf and saw George! He jumped up from the elegantly set table, knocking over his chair and thrashing his plate madly with his napkin as he shrieked and babbled incoherently. He managed to knock off several other plates, flung salad all over us, and continued to knock off pieces of fine stemware as he screamed like a little girl that bugs were after him. We sat opened mouthed and staring in horror at this mad man. We looked at each other as it dawned on us that it was poor little George the roach that had caused his unbelievable freak out. Oh, boy!

How were we to know that he was a phobic about roaches and had been seeing a shrink for his roach phobia for years? We had to beg and whine with the hotel manager and security people a long time to let us stay the last night of our conference because, as we found out, big name hotels and especially world famous New Orleans restaurants don’t care for this prank at all. Gulp! Do not do this in a restaurant. They can file criminal charges if they want! Oh, and they’ll want to!

With this story in mind, buy a package of rubber roaches and put them in your purse or pocket so you‘ll always be ready to play this prank. But only pull it on friends and family. Get a package of at least a gross (no pun intended, but I’ll take it) of the little dickens when you buy them. Why? I don’t always get my pets back, and some of them have been smashed into unfamiliar lumps of reddish brown rubber like when I pulled a prank with New Orleans George. I did meekly ask for his smashed and beaten carcass back, but they wouldn‘t let me have him. They said it was evidence!

Anyway, the next time you go to a friend’s house (make sure he/she hasn’t been going to a shrink for years for a bug phobia first) and silently hide one in the piles of dirty dishes (at least you get your meal before you get kicked out) and watch what happens.  More pranks later. . .

“How much do I owe you?” I smiled down at her innocent face as I fished out some change.

“$5.00 please.” Her face exploded with a brilliant gap-toothed smile as she watched my face contort in surprise at the price of what must be a solid gold cookie.

“Oh . . . I thought they were 50 cents?”

Then, an older woman’s harsh voice rang out of the darkened garage, making both of us jump.

“Lindsey! I told you those were 50 cents, not $5.00!” The child’s smile quickly slid off her round face as she narrowed her eyes at the disembodied voice in the garage. She then turned her narrow glare back at me as if it had been me that had just spoken.

“Fifty cents, please.” Her lips were thin and pulled back in a vampire-like smile as she remained obviously unhappy at the selling price.

“OK. Here you go.” I put two new quarters in her puffy little outstretched hand and waited for my cookie. She leveled her fixed stare at me and then at the cookie she held in her hand. She swiftly snapped it cleanly in half and handed me my half. I had to hold back my laughter as I took the half cookie in silent surprise.

“I’d like a free napkin too, please.”
Her eyes remained locked on mine as she shook her little curls at the audacity of my request before she gruffly replied.

“I don’t have any.” She snapped the lid of her cash box shut, clearly letting me know she was now closed!

I laughed all the way home and can’t stop laughing yet! That was one of the funniest things that’s happened to me in a long time! I think Donald Trump better keep looking over his shoulder . . . this kid maybe on his heels soon!

“Oh, dear, ask your tummy what would make it feel better.” I smiled at her, not knowing what she would say.

She lifted her little pink flowered shirt up to her chin and said, “Tummy? Mama wants to know what would make you feel better.” She listened intently, paused, and then nodded her head in agreement. “My tummy says oatmeal cookies please!” She grinned from ear-to-ear as she gazed expectantly at me.

“Tell your tummy that we’ll get some at K-Mart, our next stop.” She pulled up her shirt and repeated what my answer to her tummy. She giggled uncontrollably with her little dimpled hands over her mouth in delight.

I had just finished my K-Mart shopping when I saw the Little Debbie display,  and I pointed it out to my little Sweet-ba-tootie sitting quietly in the cart.

“Claire, tell your tummy that I found them. Here is your box of cookies.”

She squealed joyfully as she turned around in the cart and threw her stubbly little arms out around the box of oatmeal pies. She yanked up her shirt and yelled, “Oh, tummy, look! Mama found the cookies!” She hugged the box to her tummy and sang all the way to the checkouts. I smiled widely at her and her now happy tummy.

That is just one of the many rewards I got for staying home with our daughter, and I think that’s the best kind to get.

Love Mom

One day, she and I went out to the haunt so I could work on the crypt. She had a big cardboard box in our staging area she loved to put props, stuffed animals, and other toys in and close the lid. She played in the big box for hours, and I was glad. I always knew where she was and that she wasn‘t into anything that could harm her. Our staging area is where the actors kept their costumes, props, and food we all ate and drank during breaks or meetings. The Parks and Rec department owned the building we used, and they would bring inmates to empty the trash and clean up the park during the day.

This particular day, I heard the back door open as I glued vines on the crypt, but I wasn’t alarmed since I stood just outside the staging room door.  I knew it had to be the guys from the city. Suddenly I heard a man scream bloody murder, and then my daughter scream bloody murder.  All hell broke loose as deafening crashes and booms came from the staging room. I ran in to see a frozen picture of a huge man grabbing his chest, eyes bugged out, and falling out the back door screaming as if the devil himself were after him. On the other side of the room sat my daughter  screaming and standing in her box with a mask in one hand and her stuffed Moosie in the other. I grabbed her and called out to the inmate to come back as a new round of people came rushing in. The supervisor of the inmates burst in, not knowing what had happened as the rest of his crew took off after the screaming inmate.

Oh, the tangled web we weave when we forget to tell people we’re going to be in what should’ve been an empty haunted attraction! The poor inmate, Lafayette, was already scared to come into the staging area because he was very superstitious and was afraid the props/masks would come to life. The other inmates must have gone back the night before and told the others about the strange and freaky items they’d seen, thus kicking up his superstitions. He had no idea that my daughter or I were there, and when she popped out of the box, he thought his worse fears had come to life. My poor daughter popped out of the box expecting to see me when she heard someone moving around and wanted to scare me. She got the scare when she saw poor Lafayette standing there, so she screamed when he screamed.

It took a lot to coax the poor man back and explain what had happened. He finally calmed down enough when we could reassure him that it had just been my little girl and not a monster. My little daughter went over to him and said she was sorry for scaring him but continued to tell him how much he’d scared her too! LOL I swear it was like a freaky Norman Rockwell painting the way they were both frozen by fear, making it easy for me to see exactly what had happened the second I came in the room! Oh what a day that was, and I wouldn‘t have missed it for all the money in the world!

Many years ago on Valentine’s Day, I got ready for a date with my future husband. I decided to take a long bubble bath to relax after a day with my screaming boss and grumpy co-workers. My sweet little dog, Duffy, loved to sit by the tub and “talk” to me while I bathed. I talked and petted her as I took off my clothes (hold on, cowboys–that’s as far as this part of the story goes!), and we both bustled into the bathroom. I turned on the water and started filling the tub with lot of water the perfect temperature to relax in. I grabbed my new green bottle of expensive bubble bath I’d bought weeks earlier just as the phone rang. I hurriedly put a generous amount of bubble bath into the stream of water and raced for the phone. I returned to the bathroom a few minutes later, lit three of my favorite candles, and put on some soft music.

I felt puzzled when Duffy took off out of the bathroom at a dead run and figured she didn’t like the smell of the new expensive bubble bath. I put my hair up, turned off the rushing water, and slid into the wonderfully warm water and bubbles. I lowered myself until the water lapped at my chin and closed my eyes as the soothing temperature of the water warmed my taut muscles and started doing its magic. Ahhhhhh.

I let out a long breath and took in a long breath in, the top of the bubbles just inches from my nose. My nose wrinkled in disgust as I thought, This fancy bubble bath doesn’t smell very good for the high price I’d paid for it. Nevertheless, I thought I could get used to the smell and told myself to relax. I started wondering idly why Duffy dog had dashed out of the bathroom at lightning speed. My mind then started thinking about my date that night as I wondered what we would do.

Suddenly, I got a burning in a part of my body that usually doesn’t burn and I won‘t name. My eyes popped open as the burning spread to the rest of my nether regions and . . . well . . . my feeble brain reeled from immediate burning. The full aroma rising from the bubbles just inches from my nose gagged me and made my eyes tear up. It was then that I focused my watering eyes on the fancy green bottle of the expensive bubble bath sitting at the foot of the tub . . . that was still full! Full?

All at once it hit me why my nether regions burned as my feverishly watering eyes scanned over to the second green bottle sitting just inches from the other green bottle at the end of the tub . . . it sat half-empty! I lay soaking in my dog’s flea dip!  I jumped up and screamed as the burning continued to worsen as the realization of what I’d done sunk in. Now I have a real good idea why poor Duffy dog took off!

After a very long, and I mean long, shower to rise off, I sat at the kitchen table laughing until I cried at what had happened. I called to my sweet pooch, but she remained at the far end of the hall, looking as if she felt sure her turn was next!

Ok, I hope you’ve picked yourself up off the floor by now because most people who know me know this kind of thing happens to me all the time. Why do I tell this on myself? I tell on myself it’s because I think it’s too funny to keep to myself, and why not? Right? I had a group of ladies hammer me for telling these funny stories. It’s their opinion I should be embarrassed by my actions and that I shouldn‘t draw attention to myself. My reply? Ohhhh, lighten up, folks . . . life is too short to not have a good chuckle at yourself!  And at least I didn’t have to worry about having fleas any more.

Another day . . . Sarah

Anyboo, in 2006 an older group of ToTer’ came and played games. A little black and white cat they brought with them was adorable and took center stage with kids and parents alike! The kitten looked to be about seven to eight weeks old and was the stockiest little cat I’ve ever seen. It had paws the size of catcher mitts for a young cat! This was the most loving animal I’ve ever seen, and he was a joy to have around the kids since the cat seemed to delight in any attention it got. The little cat purred non-stop as he’d watch each child play a game and would go from kid to adult in a never-ending need for petting.

When the kids that brought the cat were leaving, I pointed out that their black and white kitten still sat in the carnival. They said the friendly cat wasn’t theirs and that it’d been following them all night. I looked down the kitten wrapped firmly around my daughter’s ankles. I yearned to ask the kids a different question when I noticed that they’d raced off down the street and into the night. I could see my daughter quickly falling in love with the purring kitten, and I knew the next thing she would say. “No, we already have a wild-man cat Gizmo, and that’s enough.”

When we had lull in the crowds, we asked, Jeff, my husband if we could keep him. No, was his answer since we already had a cat, and he was right–an owner might be  missing this cat. Then my daughter and I got him to agree to keep the little cat safely in the house all night since fools are sometimes mean to cats on Halloween night. He agreed that, if the cat were still at our house after we took everyone out to Steak-N-Shake, we could keep him in the house. Claire and I were on pins and needles while we had our shakes and fries, wondering if the little cat would stay. The drive home seemed endless but was really only ten minutes!

I can’t tell you how happy we were when we pulled in and saw a little black head pop up out of one of the games we’d left out. We raced over to the cat and playfully fought over who’d get to hold him next. Even my husband got into the act! But he made me promise to call Annie, the Animal Control Officer, in the morning and see if anyone missed this cat. Then he told us, “If no one claims him, we can keep him.” We all cheered and went into the house.

We went into the house, released Gizmo, and put the new kitten in the bathroom after I made a makeshift litter box, dish of food, and a bowl of water. The little cat was so hungry! He had most of the food in the dish eaten before I got out of the bathroom. I tickled me to listen to him purr while he ate. We all took turns going into the bathroom and petting the docile cat before we went to bed that night.

The next morning, I called Annie (Animal Control Office) with a knot in my throat, worried that someone had already called her looking for the kitten. Annie laughed as I told her our plight with the kitten, but I promised to call her and list the found cat. Yes, I got more ribbing about more cats! Then she said the shelter was full and asked if we would mind to keep him. Not a problem! They would post the found kitten on their website, newspaper, and list it with the office in case someone called looking for the cat. Then she told me the best part–we were free to keep him if no one called and we still wanted him. Snicker! Annie knew the answer to that question since she was the officer that did the home follow up visit when we adopted Gizmo. She marveled at how Giz wouldn’t be worth taking back because he was already spoiled rotten!

On the third long day, we celebrated getting to keep and name the kitten! He was so sweet all the time,  unlike our wild man Giz that really doesn’t want to get petted very often. We started to name him something Halloween related since that was the night we found him,  but none of them fit him his sweet personality. So we decided on Bean since we kept saying, “He is such sweet bean!”

I bundled him off to our vet for a once over, to get his shots, and to schedule him for neutering. He had several things wrong with him (parasites and such) and that visit cost us $168.32! Ouch. So much for him being a free cat! LOL

Beanie and Gizmo got along great after Bean boxed Gizmo’s aggressive ears once. Bean’s placid temperament was amazing, and he never got into anything.  Nor did he play a lot. Months later, we noticed that he slowly stopped eating, but his tummy was terribly bloated. I called the vet and made another appointment.

Bad news. Beanie wasn’t placid–he was really sick. X-rays showed that his kidneys, bladder, and other organs were filled to the brim with stones/crystals, making it almost impossible for him to urinate. We were surprised to find out that he’d been racked with pain for weeks, but he’d not made a sound or act sick. We thought he was just a lazy cat. He needed a $668.00 surgery and had to be on expensive cat food ($46.00 for a 20 lb bag) for the rest of his life. Gulp!

We’d had just made reservations for our summer vacation. We all sat down as a family and tried to decide what to do. We loved Bean dearly and couldn’t stand to let him suffer. The decision was easy. We decided to forget our vacation and fix our Sweet Bean. None of us gavethe  canceled vacation a second thought as Beanie was operated on. Our vet is one in a million; she gave us quite a break on the bill since it was going to be a lot higher than she thought originally. She’d found other complications when they opened up little Beanie. They literally had taken a teaspoon and scooped out the crystals from all the effected organs! Our vet offered to let us make payments for the surgery, but we gave her the funds we had set aside for the vacation instead. By the time we were finsihed, he’d cost us almost a thousand dollars! So much for our cat being free. Wink!

Finally, after days at the clinic, we could bring Beanie home! We were so excited, and we all stayed with him as he lay around a few more days recouping from his surgery. People dropped by to see him and brought him toys since he could’t eat anything but the special diet. He was a different cat when he was well! He played all the time and even started getting into things. But that didn’t change the fact that he still held the title of being “Worlds Laziest Cat!” LOL

You know, getting Bean was one of the best things that ever happened to us and as for forking over our vacation fund? Any other trade has ever felt so good! LoL We did get to go on a scaled down vacation later that summer, so it all worked out for the best.

How is Bean doing now? I’ll be writing more about the boys as the months go by. He lies on my desk as I work and will slowly move his head over so that when I go to grab my mouse I get an old Bean-head instead. He sleeps with me and has taken over my TV chair–that’s fine with me. It’s a small price to pay for being gifted with such a wonderful little cat that is every bit a member of our family. Oh hummm . . . Little cat. Beanie is a huge cat now–he weights 18 ½ pounds of gelatinous love baby. Oh, he’s not fat–just one huge, healthy and happy kitty.

Sarah

On  a snowy Sunday the service had thankfully ground to a conclusion. Not that there was anything wrong with the sermon, but it was just a lackluster, mid-winter day where my mind wanders and my legs are restless. When it was time for communion, a deacon brought the shiny gold tray containing the body of Christ (wafer) and the blood of Christ (juice).

I was particularly gunkie that morning from allergies, but I didn’t think anything about it as I eyed the tray and waited my turn. My husband held the tray while I popped the wafer in my mouth took the cup with about a half of an ounce of juice, slugging it back like a shot. Usually it’s enough juice to allow me to swallow the wafer. But not this time! Thank to the gunk in my throat, the wafer attached itself to the back of my throat and wouldn’t go down. My eyes bulged with silent panic and lack of oxygen as I tried repeatedly to swallow. I tried to slowly breathe, but I had to stop instantly when I felt the wafer wedge more. The wafer vibrated when I’d breathe in, causing me to choke again! I didn’t want to disturb the whole church, so I tried to motion to my husband that I was choking.  He, of course, did not recognize the international symbol for choking and  had no idea what I  tried to tell him. I darted out of the sanctuary on little or no air into the gathering area. I gagged and coughed loudly, but the wafer still teetered between the two pipes and remained firmly attached to the back of my throat. I grabbed a cup and slugged down some water. It finally went down. Several pre-schoolers trotted past me with their teacher. The kids stared at me with wide eyes as I filled my lungs with air and coughed harshly at the same time. Their teacher looked sternly at them as she said, “See, kids, what can happen if you drink too fast?” I didn’t bother to use any of the newly found air I’d just greedily filled my lungs with to contradict her. I made my way back to my husband as soon as I could stop coughing and gagging.

I explained my quick exit to him, and he started quietly laughing. He said he couldn’t take me anywhere! LOL