Nudity & The Ninth Wonder of My World #AtoZ

Having a title starting with the word "Nudity," I wonder if this little post will gain top hits status. Yeah! Admit it. You clicked on my blog. I'll tell YOU exactly what I told my pediatrician when he asked five-year-old me to take off my clothes: I said, "You're nasty." But that's not exactly what this post is about. Here goes . . .

It's great to be alive; it's even greater to be in Colorado; but it's best to be at Shwayder Camp --"Uncle Max" Frankel

One of my most embarrassing moments occurred at a youth group convention held at Camp Shwayder in Idaho Springs, Colorado. After spending a full summer working that camp, I knew my way around inside and out. So when we got stinky by riding horses, I found myself at the end of an extremely long shower line. I mean I could have climbed to the top of one of those mountains, jumped in a frigid lake, and hiked back before I'd have a turn at getting clean. Not to worry. Remember, I knew the camp inside and out. 

A lone shower stall existed in a meeting room cabin that few people ever entered, so why not? I grabbed my clothes, towel, soap, etc. and snuck into the private shower. This would have been fine had I not been greeted by a cabin full of boys being friendly while I showered, in the nude! Their cabin shared a wall with the meeting room cabin.

"Hello, Joyce!" They all shouted through the walls.

Feeling a bit shocked by the greeting, I didn't worry too much because after all, no one was in my part of the cabin.

"Where are you?"

"Watching you shower."

"Ha. Ha. No, you're not. No one's in this room," so, "Where are you?"

"Look up. There are holes in the wall."

Sure enough, at the top of the shower, several holes punctured the wall. Uh, er, I didn't know about those. Although I couldn't see any eyeballs goggling through, I had to wonder, could they really see me? I sure hoped not. I believe they were just messing with me after seeing me enter the cabin with a towel et al.; however, my friends wouldn't tell what they did or didn't see, so I guess this remains the Ninth Wonder of the World. Feel free to look at my most popular posts if you're curious about the Eighth Wonder of the World.

See you Monday when we explore the letter Ooooooo, which is for Oops and Oliver--the class pet who didn't enjoy his visit at our house.

Moving #AtoZ

You want me to teach where?

As a young teacher, I often traveled to a different school each day, and on some days, I even hit two schools at once. On one such day, the principal told me I had to move everything out of my portable because a teacher from the middle school, across the field, would be using my room. She assigned me to a new room on the far side of the building, and I frantically tore posters off of walls, threw various items into boxes, and hustled to my new room to be sure to have an empty portable for this middle school teacher.

At 11:30, I left the elementary school and walked the field to my middle school assignment. Upon entering the building, my administrator told me that I would be using the portable at the elementary school. In case you didn't catch this, I moved out so that I could move in. If I didn't laugh, I'd cry.

Tune in tomorrow for the letter N. Psst. It's about NUDITY.  =:o

Lost in France #AtoZ

As a child, I was fortunate to attend thirteen years at one of the best public school districts in the country--Clayton in St. Louis, Missouri. This city of predominately wealthy retirees allowed us few young folks to bask in the privileges of their high tax dollars. The school supplied us with pencils and art supplies, we received free swimming lessons at the high school natatorium, and had the opportunity to go on amazing field trips.

When I was in the eighth grade, I took a field trip to Paris, France for a week with seven other students and my poor French teacher. This was one of the most amazing experiences of my childhood, but unfortunately, the last time Ms. Silberg took a class out of the country.

The nightmare began at Notre Dame Cathedral shortly before Easter. My friend Judy picked up a spray of holy leaves that she carried through the paved area in front of the church. A stranger stopped us to ask Judy where she'd gotten her holy weeds. Having only studied French for a year and a half, it took us awhile to translate what exactly the gentleman was saying and figure out how to answer him. By the time we finished talking to the stranger, something one should never do, the class had disappeared. 

We wandered throughout the grounds of Notre Dame looking for our teacher and classmates, but no luck. Not to worry. Knowing we were smart, fearless kids, we'd just jump on the subway and get off at our stop, Bastille. Unfortunately, we did not know that there were two Bastille stops, and of course, we jumped train at the wrong one. So, we were forced to wander the subways shouting, "Parlez vous Anglais?" to any passing stranger.

One woman stopped to tell us, "Yes. I speak English," but she looked totally frazzled when we spat out our predicament in a language that she just thought she spoke. This was surprising because it seemed like many of the French speak English. For example, at another part of the trip, we tried to get off at our subway stop but found ourselves blocked by a rather large passenger. 

We said, "Excuse-moi! Pardon!" but the woman wouldn't budge until Laura said, "Move it, lady!" See! An English speaker.

Anyway, we wandered the Paris subways for two hours and amazingly found our way back with the help of a woman from North Carolina who spoke both languages. By the time we reached our dorm, the teacher's hair shot out in every direction, her nails were chewed off, and she didn't know whether to hug us or slap us. Sorry Miss Silberg!

Oh mon Dieu! by E. Lansky

Tune in tomorrow when I tackle the letter M and my amazingly ridiculous moving situation.