1. WASP STING ON ANTELOPE ISLAND or TROUBLE IN UNEXPECTED PLACES.
Rod (my husband), Monica (a friend from Norway), and I are on a day trip from Salt Lake City to Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake. It’s an intriguing idea to visit an island in this unusual lake by driving across a long causeway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous antelope that give the island its name, and perhaps some buffalo.
We drive our hired car up to Buffalo Point, with wonderful views out across the island, its coves and white sand beaches, and across to the snow-capped Wasatch Mountains. The scene is peaceful and idyllic in the sunshine---blue sky, blue water with changing patterns of color, patches of bright green grass, olive green and grey sage brush, small purple and yellow wild flowers, wild barley grass. It’s peaceful, except for the wind, which blows strongly and constantly. It whips our hair into our eyes, and makes it hard to get photographs of the wonderful wild spring flowers, as the stalks swing wildly from side to side.
On the Point is a trailer-café serving snacks and buffalo hamburgers. Monica decides she really must taste buffalo at least once here in USA, so she orders a burger. We sip lemonades on the huge open wooden deck while we wait, and try to escape the wind behind the trailer.
Perhaps the wind drove the wasp into the basic, outside bathroom, who knows? In this bathroom I am caught, literally, with my pants down! It’s a small shack behind the trailer. It has no lights, just natural light from a skylight in the high roof. I enter, shut the door, and pull down my denims.
A sharp sting to my bared hip. I flinch and fumble, unknowing, and yank at my pants, disturbing the beast, thus getting another sting. Now I panic, as I don’t know what’s got me. I imagine spiders, then snakes, spin round and yank open the door. With the extra light I see that it’s a wasp. Bad news, as I’m allergic to wasp stings and know I’ll be in big trouble tomorrow, or sooner even.
I babble almost hysterically to Rod, who calms me down and gets some ice from the caravan staff. I take an anti-histamine tablet and we decide to continue with the island tour. I’m shaken but begin to relax.
In spite of “my wasp”, the island was still worth it, especially when we see a large herd of buffalo on the hillside. They’re big and shaggy, much bigger than we expected.
The moral? I’m not sure. Expect the unexpected, perhaps. Or, be careful where you bare your behind.
3. HARRY POTTER AND THE KNIFE. Or, A BACKPACK CARRYING JUST A KNIFE. May 2002.
It’s Salt Lake City after the Olympics. Airport security is on high alert. And we’re about to be in violation.
We’ve checked our suitcases and got our boarding passes. We decide to go through the security checkpoint for a coffee in the café while we wait for our plane. Our various bags and backpacks go through the X-ray machines and my husband, Rod, has his camera bag pulled aside.
“Sir, I think you have a knife”.
“No, I don’t. It’s in the toiletries bag in checked luggage”. He denies it, as he really believes the Swiss army knife he takes on trips was taken out of its former carrying place in the camera bag a long time ago. We know that no knife is allowed in carry-on bags now. But memory plays tricks.
They run the camera bag through the machine again, and sure enough…it’s there, so he feels very foolish.
“Yes, sir, you do have a knife”.
The security guy is not sympathetic, as for all he knows we’d done this on purpose. What to do, as Rod doesn’t want to lose the knife? The security guy says he will confiscate it, or we can check it, but our checked luggage already went.
So, our young grandson’s Harry Potter backpack is commandeered, and the contents emptied into his mom’s backpack. We put the knife into the empty Harry and Rod returns to the check-in counter to check in the backpack. Our little guy is inconsolable, so worried about his special Harry Potter. He cries bitterly, believing that he’ll never see the backpack again. He’s never been parted from the backpack since he got it, as it goes to school every day, and also came on holiday now.
We feel bad too (and a bit guilty about the whole episode) and buy him a special Olympics cap (which he really loves and wears often) as consolation. Many people comment and compliment him on the cap while we wait for the plane, so he’s happy for a while!
Rod and I change planes in St Louis, where my daughter and grandson get off. For school tomorrow, he’ll have to use his mom’s backpack, much to his horror, as he thought that Harry was going to St Louis. But, no, Harry was checked to our town.
We continue home. Our big bag arrives, plus the Harry Potter backpack, going round and round the carrousel, empty except for a Swiss army knife. The ludicrousness of the whole thing hits us, and we can’t help laughing.