King's Island

Several weeks ago I promised to share memories of our family trip to King's Island.  I'm finally getting around to it today.  Better late than never.  

I was a horse-crazy pre-teen.  I read every horse book in our school library, and my home bookshelf was filled with all things equine.  Riding lessons and horse ownership were not practical options when I was growing up, but my parents did indulge my childhood dreams by taking us to Kentucky - the most horse-filled place within driving distance - twice.

Kentucky Souvenir

One of those trips took place in 1979.  That was the year that King's Island in nearby Ohio opened the tallest, fastest and longest wooden roller coaster in the world.  We heard ads for the arrival of "THE BEAST" everywhere we went during the trip.  

It wasn't long before my sister and I were exclaiming "THE BEAST" in suitably deep, growly voices every time the ad came on the radio.  The advertising had certainly worked on us, but we didn't realize that it had worked on our parents too. One night, as my sister and I were tucked up in our hotel-room bed, we overheard our parents discussing making a detour to King's Island.  My parents quickly realized that we weren't asleep when my sister and I turned to each other and gleefully whispered "THE BEAST"! 

King's Island 

We were some of the first guests to arrive at the park, which meant no line-ups.  Somehow, we convinced Mom to go on the first roller coaster we came to: The Racer.  We even managed to get the front seats.  It was my sister and Mom vs Dad and I.  I don't remember who won, but I do remember having to pry my mother's white-knuckled fingers from the safety bar at the end of the race.  No one had to worry about Mom keeping her hands in the ride at all times.  We could barely get her to let go even after the ride was over.  

My sister and I went on the ride a couple more times while Mom settled down a bit.  She said she was fine, but we could tell she was rattled.  The ride was short, but it was really fast, and Mom isn't a fan of heights.  

So, it's kind of surprising that Mom joined us on the next ride: a huge Ferris wheel. Mom and Dad were the very first people on the ride. My sister and I were two cars behind.  Being loaded first meant there were lots of stops while the operator loaded more riders.  Poor Mom.  After the roller coaster the Ferris wheel was too much for her. Even with an empty car between us we could hear Mom.

"Oh, I don't like this.  I want off."

By the time Mom and Dad's car was swinging at the top of the wheel,  Mom was leaning over the side screaming at the ride operator to let her out.  My Dad, sister and I thought this was hilarious.  We laughed.  She screamed.  The entire line stared up at us.  

In spite of Mom's screaming, the rider operator didn't want to stop the ride.  He seemed to think that once the ride was loaded, he should run the required rotations before he let anyone off.  Mom managed to get him to re-think that policy.   When she and Dad got back to the bottom of the wheel the operator stopped the ride just long enough for them to get off.  It's a wonder we didn't get kicked out of the park.

We didn't though, and once Mom had her feet firmly on the ground, she stuck it out for the whole day.  None of us remember if she went on any other rides.  When asked, Mom's only comment was, "All I remember is the racer roller coaster that scared the crap out of me."

Family trips.  All about creating happy memories.  Well, at least memories.  And strangely, in spite of all the hype, none of us can remember riding The Beast.  We know we did, it just didn't leave a lasting impression.  I guess family drama always makes for a more memorable story. 

(*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

Back Soon

Thought I'd let you all know that I'm extending my blog break.  I missed sharing here, and was feeling ready to return, but the talent* was injured in an unfortunate incident involving a malfunctioning wheelchair.

She's recuperating, but would like a bit longer for her texting wrist to heal. 

I don't mind waiting for my sister to recover.  We finally have some summer weather here.  I'll take the extra time away from my keyboard to enjoy it.

See you all soon!

*In spite of her wrist injury, my sister still managed participate in the writing of this post.

Elephantine Eighties Icon

I wasn't sure my sister wanted to use this photo for today's Throwback Thursday.  

Photo courtesy of Dad

"Didn't we already do one of me in a hot pink blouse, in pretty much the same pose?  We talked about RuPaul and Sashay Shantay.  You know, that song from the 80's?  You hadn't heard of it, so you had to search for it for ages before you finally found it.  Don't you remember that?" 

Yes, I remembered using a similar picture of her in April, though I thought her shirt was more orangey-red than hot pink. And I certainly remembered our texted conversation about RuPaul's song.  She's right.  It took me forever to find it online.  Perhaps because she misspelled Sashay Shantay.  Or maybe because the song was released in the 90's.  Or possibly because the song is actually called "Supermodel".  By the time I was done falling down that internet rabbit-hole, I didn't have the time or the energy to figure out how to fit it into our blog post.

Since she didn't seem to want to use this picture,  I texted and offered to send a different picture, then I told her I was going to bed.  Four minutes later my phone pinged.

"No, no, wait one sec."

...

"This elephant has the same haircut!"  

Photo courtesy of my sister

OMG.  She's absolutely right.  Not only does the elephant have the same hair, its lipstick and bow are totally vintage 80's.  So very Madonna!  The only thing missing is fingerless lace gloves. 

My sister claims she didn't intend for this elephant to be an 80's style icon.  Perhaps she was  taking an unintentional walk down memory lane when she drew it, or maybe she's subconsciously trying to revive 80's fashion.  It would be like her to reboot a fashion trend. She's always been miles ahead of me when it comes to style.

A note to my sister, RuPaul, Madonna and elephants.  Any comparisons are meant in the best possible way.   You should all be forever complimented on your fantabulous style.  

(Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

Brain Freeze

Brain freeze.  That's the only thing that explains the look on my face.  It may also explain why my mom, my sister and I have trouble remembering details from the day this picture was taken.

Photo courtesy of Dad

Dad's caption for the photo is "Cedar Point 1975".  

My sister, after she pointed out that her shorts were once again shorter than mine, wondered if we were on a class trip.  She thought that might explain our matching school shirts.  I don't remember a school trip to Cedar Point, and I doubt we would have hung out together on a school trip even if Mom was a chaperone.  

So, back to Dad to confirm that it was a family trip to Cedar Point.  We spent a day there as part of a longer trip that also included Geauga Lake and Sea World.  

Mystery solved.  Until I talked to Mom.  She seemed to think that the picture might have been taken in Florida in 1976.  She has a picture of my sister and I at Busch Gardens wearing the same shorts.  She didn't think we'd be able to fit into the same shorts two summers in a row.  Even my sister would have found her shorts too short a year later.

Photo courtesy of Dad

Dad later sent me the Busch Gardens photo Mom was talking about.  Mom was right, the same shorts are in the picture, but my sister was wearing my hand-me-down shorts from the snow-cone picture. That seemed like evidence that the pictures were taken in consecutive years. 

(I would like to point out that this may be the only photo in existence where my shorts are shorter than my sister's.  My sister would like to point out that my fly is open.)

My sister wasn't convinced.  She wanted more proof that the snow-cone picture was taken at Cedar Point.  She also wanted to know how to pronounce "Geauga Lake".

I couldn't help her with the pronunciation, but I was able to enlarge the image of her snow-cone enough to get a better look at the logo. 

It's blurry, but that looks a lot like Cedar Point logo to me.

My sister still wasn't convinced.  Our conversations became much like an Abbott and Costello routine, particularly after I decided to skip a week last week.

Sister:  What photo are we doing this week?

Me: We're not doing a photo this week.  I'm writing about the Cedar Point photo for next week.

Sister:  What Cedar Point photo?

Me:  The one with the snow cones.

Sister:  I thought that was Busch Gardens.

Eventually, we decided to talk about our trip to King's Island.  Those were memories we could agree on, but they will have to wait for another day.

We never did figure out why we were wearing matching shirts.  Maybe Mom had us wear our brightest tees so she wouldn't lose us in the park.  A good plan, until you realize the park benches are pretty much the same colour as our shirts.  We're practically camouflaged. Only in the 70's could bright, mustard yellow t-shirts blend into the background. 

(*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

Overlooked Heart

My sister is an extrovert, so she is finding pandemic life rather boring.  In attempt to keep her amused, and in an attempt to preserve the mental health of those around her, I've been encouraging her to doodle.  Every few days she sends me a new creation.  I quite enjoy having her colourful designs pop into my inbox. 

The masterpiece below demonstrates original, creative and beautiful use of Sharpie*.  I was so overwhelmed I missed the one thing you'd think I'd spot.

There's a heart in the middle of doodle!  I didn't even notice.  Neither did my sister until someone else pointed it out to her.  I guess creators of extraordinary feats of artistic talent** can get so caught up in their work that they overlook the obvious too. 

* I may have had some "help" with the wording here.

** Same with the wording here.

Blenheim Beauties

This week's Throwback Thursday photo presented a mystery.

Photo courtesy of Dad

Dad titled it "Blenheim Sale". It's obvious from the sign on the shop behind us that we were in Blenheim, but neither my sister nor I have any memory of this trip.  I don't remember ever being in Blenheim.

My sister does.  She remembers going to Blenheim with her guy friends in the winter for hockey games. But, since, "that person beside me looks kind of like you, and I have very short, shorts on, and you have shorts on, it's definitely not winter. I must have gone a third time that I don't remember."

I'm glad she's the one who mentioned her short shorts.  

So, why were we in Blenheim?  Were we there for the carnival? What was the sale that Dad mentioned in the photo title?  Were we there to shop? Did we go on that rather rickety looking Tilt-A-Whirl?

When I look at our hair, I can't tell if we are suffering from post-Tilt-A-Whirl damage or if it's just a windy day.

Mom to the rescue again.  She figures we had gone for a drive out toward Blenheim looking for fruit - perhaps strawberries or cherries - and found the Blenheim Cherry Festival and Sidewalk Sale.  

"OH! No wonder I remember that day so well, it was SO exciting, NOT! Why would we have gone all the way to Blenheim to get strawberries?" 

While Mom's explanation didn't immediately jog my sister's memory, it did prompt this anecdote later in the day:

"Did we sing at this festival - up on a little stage with an old man playing guitar? Wasn't there a radio station there too, and we lost a trivia question but got consolation prizes like a  bumper sticker or something?  I remember playing sidewalk games somewhere too. At that age, I wouldn't have done those things in a town where someone might know me."

I don't remember that happening in Blenheim or anywhere else, though it certainly sounds like something we would do if we knew we would be anonymous.  We have done stranger things - usually at her suggestion.

I do remember the mom-made tops we are wearing.  My sister's without shoulder ties, because she was always more daring in her wardrobe choices.  Did I mention her short shorts?  I also remember the velour rompers Mom made from the same pattern.  They were deliciously soft, but oh-so warm on hot, humid days. 

And though I don't remember this particular day, I do remember summer drives through the county and beyond.  Sometimes there was a destination in mind, but often we were just driving for the experience of the drive.  We never knew where we'd end up, or what adventures we'd have along the way.  Sometimes we'd find perfectly ripened fruit at a road-side stand.  Sometimes we'd find "Ontario's longest running carnival and sidewalk sale".   

Elephants in the Family

A few weeks ago I shared a picture of my sister and I standing in front of elephants at the zoo.  That photo got me thinking about this photo of my nephew and niece.

Photo courtesy of Dad

I wasn't present when the picture was taken, but I thought my sister and her kids would like to share their memories of the day.  I forwarded it to the three of them for their thoughts, only to discover that my sister wasn't there either.  My parents had taken the kids on this adventure.

What?!?  My parents never let me ride an elephant.  Well, at least I had that in common with my sister.  Or so I thought.  

My sister has not only had the chance to ride an elephant, she's also ridden a camel, or  a dromedary, or maybe both.  She was rather fuzzy on the details.  In fact, it's possible the elephant was an alcohol-induced hallucination, as she believes she rode it at a bar in Texas. She didn't say if the elephant was pink.

And speaking of pink...

Photo courtesy of my nephew

My nephew sent this photo with the message "Same shoes" on seeing the elephant photo.  I hadn't even noticed that both my niece and nephew were wearing Crocs.

My sister did though.  Her first comment was "Aren't they cute?" 

Her second comment was, "Those orange and pink Crocs were around forever."

At least she mentioned her cute kids before she commented on their footwear.

My niece also focused on the cuteness, "My brother had the cutest effing smile in this picture."

He truly did. When you look at the delight on his face it's no surprise that he recently spent a semester living on a real African lion safari.

Because yes, that's where the picture was taken. I had to consult Mom to find out that the photo was taken at the African Lion Safari in Cambridge, Ontario. They had stopped there as part of a larger grandparent/grandchild road trip that stretched all the way to Niagara Falls.

Mom told me that after a rainy drive through the park, she, my dad, my niece and my nephew took in the bird show and the elephant show. Then they stood in line in the rain so the kids could ride the elephant. Standing in line in the rain? I don't remember my parents having that much patience when my sister and I were kids, but when I look back on the photos of my childhood road trips, I can see my parents had more patience than I remember.

*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

Polar Poop

After I posted yesterday, my sister came back with another zoo story.  It's one neither my mother nor I remember, but it could be true.  I certainly have no trouble picturing my sister yelling about poop in public.

I cannot confirm the authenticity of my sister's story, but I can confirm that the item pictured above is 100 percent real bear poop.

"I remember the polar bear standing up from his nap.  He stretched and yawned with his mouth open as wide as it could go.  Everyone thought he was so cute. Then he turned around,  stretched again with his ass waving in the air, and dropped a gargantuous pile of poop in front of us all.  Not so cute anymore!

"I yelled, 'Look everyone! He's pooping!' at the top of my lungs.  I'm pretty sure Dad was embarrassed, but he didn't say much.  Probably because of the look Mom gave him.  And because I wasn't the only one yelling about it!"

Nope, I have no memory of this happening, but it sounds so much like something my sister would do that I'm laughing right out loud.

Thanks for the memory, whether I remember it or not!

Polyester Primates

Below we have a photo of four zoo animals - two elephants and two polyester primates.

Detroit Zoo 1974
Photo courtesy of Dad

Seriously, that was the first thing my sister brought up - our outfits. 

"I hated that polyester outfit.  At least yours had ventilation at the neck.  Mine was a stifling, half-turtleneck that was so tight around my neck.  No air circulated through the neck or the chest or the back of the shirt itself." 

I'm sure she's right, but that certainly wasn't what I noticed first about this photo.  We had to continue with the wardrobe critique before we could talk about anything else though.

"I hated it when you wore your hair like that.  Those silly ponytail holders with those little balls.  I just didn't like them.  Oh wait, I did like them for one reason and one reason only.  When we would fight I could grab that silly ball and stretch the elastic.  When it hit your head coming back it must have hurt.  You screamed loud enough."

Fighting aside, I quite liked my hair like that.  Look how straight and shiny it is. I certainly thought it looked better than later perms, but I couldn't get my sister to admit to that.  She did agree that her hair was a bit messed up, but only because she must have wiped the perspiration from her brow just prior to the picture being snapped.  Her bad hair is due to extenuating circumstances. My bad hair, in her opinion, is just bad hair.

Eventually we were able to move on to the elephant in the room - the actual elephants.  

"Dad's timing must have been off.  That angle is making it look like my head has just slid out of that elephant's ass.  Maybe that's what's wrong with my hair.  Ewww."

At least she was willing to finally acknowledge there was something wrong with her hair.

We did eventually reminisce about the zoo itself.  The excitement of spotting the Detroit Zoo water tower from the road.  The fun of following the animal footprints stamped on the walkways throughout the park.  The polar bear that would splash onlookers.  Mom's dislike of the reptile exhibit.  The fact that we both remember all the words from this 1982 commerical**.

On viewing that ad again, I realise that, with her concern about her wardrobe, my sister might have more in common with the peacocks than the primates.  Polyester peacock.  Sounds just about right.

(*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

(** Note: The picture quality is quite bad, but the sound is OK.)

We Thought We Were All That

Photo courtesy of Dad

Something about this picture led my sister to conclude that she is, and has always been, cool, whereas I lack, and have always lacked, that aura of authentic coolness.  She compared me to Sandy in the movie "Grease".  In her opinion, the transformed Sandy at the end of the movie is merely trying to be cool.  She's fake-cool.  As am I.

I don't pretend to understand how my sister's mind works.

Of course, as soon as my sister brought up "Grease" my mind went off on its own tangent.

My sister, Auntie P and I were all tween-agers when the movie was released.  It obviously captured our imaginations, and we often performed musical numbers from the movie when we got together.  From time to time we even made our parents sit though our performances.  (Proof indeed that our parents love us!)

Photo courtesy of Dad
Auntie P on the left, me on the right, and my sister in the middle.

Rehearsals for these performances usually took place in my grandparents' basement.  Not only was it suitably removed from the rest of the family, it had the added benefit of stage props.

First was a two-level coffee table.  Perfect for performances of Greased Lightin'.  My sister would take the top level as Danny Zuko, while Auntie P and I flanked her on the lower levels.

As Auntie P puts it, "Your sister was lead singer and, of course, we were backup.  She took charge and somehow you and I were never coordinated to her liking."

Yup.

Also in my grandparents' basement was a metal, floor-to-ceiling pole.  In reality,  it was there to support the upper storeys.  To the three of us, it was our dance partner for the slow numbers.   We were all, in turn, hopelessly devoted to that post. 

Scenes from musicals weren't the only things getting re-enacted at my grandparents' place.  On seeing the photo above, Auntie P flashed back to my sister's most-memorable recreation of this Brooke Shields' Calvin Klein ad.

Photo "borrowed' from random website

The three of us had been roller skating. My sister and the boy she was couples-skating with wiped out.  The fall may have stressed her denim, because later that day, when she attempted the pose above, her jeans experienced a complete structural failure.  

Auntie P and I still laugh ourselves to tears over that memory.  My parents, grandparents and possibly other family members gathered in my grandparents' living room. My sister, on the floor, arguing that anyone could pose like Brooke, then throwing her legs over her head to prove her point and RIP!  The ass of her pants explodes. My sister still remembers that her entire right butt cheek came through the hole.  At least, as she says, it happened at Gramma's and not at the roller rink.  

In the words of Auntie P, "The three of us had many years of fun, laughter and tears as we navigated our youth like sisters."

Thanks to my sister and Auntie P for helping me with today's post. I had so much fun reliving these memories with you. 

(*Note:  I don't get anything for the links above.  They're there for your information.  Hope you find them useful.)

  

Summer of '69

Photo courtesy of Dad
That's me on the left and my sister on the right

Somehow I don't think this is what Bryan Adams had in mind.

I don't imagine it's what my parents had in mind either.

I'm not sure why my parents continued to take us on family vacations.  You'd think they would have learned their lesson on the Algonquin trip.  Yet they persevered.  

On this trip we camped our way around Lake Huron. I'm surprised my parents didn't turn back before we were out of Southwestern Ontario.  Look at us!  

My sister thinks I look like I'm trying to make fart sounds.  Somehow I doubt it.  Fart sounds were more her thing.  She has no idea what prompted her expression.  Neither of us look very happy.

My sister did notice that her shorts were unusually long, which then led us to notice that mine were unusually short.  Perhaps Mom had put us in the wrong outfits. And it looks like our shoes could be on the wrong feet. That might explain our displeasure - wardrobe malfunctions.

We also noticed the band-aid on my knee.  Then we noticed something on her knee too.  I think it's calamine lotion.  She thinks it's two band-aids, because if she's going to have boo boo it's going to be twice as bad as mine.  Sibling rivalry never ends. 

Either way, boo boos and bug bites couldn't have helped our mood.

Once again we had to turn to Mom for her insight.  She thinks our expressions could have been due to a combination of things.  It had been a long day in the car.  The photo would have been taken around the time Dad was setting up the tent - always a stressful event.  The water behind us was too cold for swimming.  That would have been a huge disappointment for both of us.  Mom also remembers that neither my sister nor I liked the bathroom at this campsite. I'm not surprised that I didn't like it.  I never liked campground bathrooms.  Too many spiders.  

My sister seems to think that she has an aura of cool in this photo that I am lacking.  I think that is hard to determine our coolness factors from this photo, though I know there are pictures out there that support her claim to superior coolness.  They might even show up here.  In the mean time, I'm going to enjoy this adorable snapshot.  It makes me laugh every time I see it.

Throwback Blursday*

Keeping track of time has become a challenge, though yesterday I did know what day it was. It was Thursday.  I just forgot that meant Throwback Thursday, even though I have been doing throwback posts with my sister every Thursday since mid-February.

You remember mid-February, don't you?  Way back in the olden days?

I don't.  Forgetfulness seems to be a theme this week.  

Photo courtesy of Dad

I don't remember anything about his photo.  My sister doesn't remember much about it either.  This led to some rather animated discussion. We finally had to call in Mom to referee.  Just like in the olden days.

With Mom's help we were able to determine that this was my sister's sixth birthday party, not her fifth.  She was in grade one, not kindergarten. We were at McDonald's, not Ponderosa.  McDonald's had a ship, not a train.  

Photo from internet, though our McDonald's had a ship just like this.

We all agreed that I look pissed off.  I probably was.  I am one year and 51 weeks older than my sister. In spite of being the first born, I always got the second birthday party - one week after my sister's.  I was not happy about it.

When talking to Mom about the photo, she pointed out that we were lucky that she didn't combine our celebrations.  Back-to-back birthday parties must have been a nightmare for her.  My adult self appreciates all her hard work.  I doubt my almost-8-year-old self would have bought her logic.  The face above is the face of a child who is a week away from having her birthday party.  I don't want to think about my reaction to a shared party, and I doubt my sister's smile would have been quite so bright if I was unwrapping gifts beside her.   

And I think we can all agree that the less said about olden-days polyester style the better. Though I will say that's a lot of retro plaid!  And my sister wants to call attention to her cute pixie cut.  I won't tell you what she said about my hair.  If you've been reading here I'm sure you can guess what her reaction was.  

* I have tried to find the source of the "Blursday the fortyteenth of Maprilay" meme, but haven't had any luck. (Nor, to be honest, have I tried all that hard.)  I'm sending appreciative vibes to the creator of such silliness.  Thanks for the smile!

Vivid Vintage 80'S

Oh. My. Gawd!  This photo, like, totally reeks of the eighties.  You can practically smell the Rave hairspray and the Ralph Lauren perfume.

Thanks again to Dad for capturing, and sharing,  this rad example of eighties style.  He had a wicked-bodacious model, my sister, to work with.  She shares her, like, totally bitchin' memories in italics below.

I personally don't remember this happening, though I will admit it sounds about right.

Look how good this home perm turned out!  All thanks to time spent as the home gnome!

This is a fabulous showing of 80's bright colors, right down to the matching earrings, as modelled by me, the gorgeous, cute and incredibly helpful youngest daughter. 

"Helpful?" you ask...

Helpful because my sister, who was also dressed up to go out, did the most awful thing to to me.  When we both heard the words, "Hey, come here for a sec!" bellowing from the den, my sister vanished.  She knew our dad had new camera gear and was set up for a round of let's-see-how-this-works. I was not aware of this.  I totally fell for it when she slyly said, "See what he wants real quick. I'm not quite ready teeheehee." and ran out the door. 

This left me to hours of fun-filled posing for pictures when I really wanted to go out with my friends.  I still think I deserve a huge shout-out for being the ever-present model.  We all know how my never-present sister feels about having her picture taken. She's been flipping off photographers for years. Good thing she didn't try that with Dad!

I'll never forget my model days with my dad.  My sister missed out by running away, but who can blame her.  Her hair never looked this good.

Flashback

A short post this week.  My sister thinks that's OK.  She's beautiful, intelligent, musically talented and a photographer.  What more is there to say?

After a conversation that included RuPaul, pureed hotdogs and euchre, we concluded that this photo must have been taken at Christmas in about 1988.

We also realized that there must be a similar photo of me taking a picture of her out there somewhere.  

It actually took two photos to figure all this out.  The second was this cropped group photo. 

Even after all our discussion we were unable to determine what had happened to my hair.

Modest

Today we are throwing waaaay back to 1981.  The beautiful, intelligent, musically talented young woman in this picture is my sister.*

The instrument in the picture is a marching-band French horn.  My sister's marching band experience was so short-lived that I forgot about it until she reminded me.  Surprisingly, she was not kicked out of the band for inability to figure out where the mouthpiece goes.

Oh, I forgot to mention she is awesome and athletic.

Whereas I am old and forgetful.

*I may have had some "help" writing this post.