The Rescue

While sitting in the backseat of my dear friend’s car en route to Newark, New Jersey one afternoon, I called my brother, John, to remind him that I was due to travel to Costa Rica early the next morning for a long anticipated vacation to visit my daughter, Maureen, and her boyfriend, Tom. Those two lovebirds were spending the winter on the Nicoya Peninsula just a few blocks from the beautiful Pacific Ocean. They were kind enough to invite me to join them for a ten day stay. And, I was wise enough to accept  their gracious offer.

Our wonderful family friend, Mark, and his son, James, offered to drive me to my hotel near the Newark Airport on their way to Madison Square Garden to watch a Rangers’ hockey game. Perfect. As soon as their conversation drifted deeply into sports, I decided that a chat with my brother would be a good diversion. I have a funny habit of checking in with my seven siblings before I hop on a plane to anywhere. Ever since that Malaysian plane disappeared midair, I’ve had the urge to hear their voices before taking off into the wild blue yonder. It’s not that I think disaster is possibly looming for my flight. But, connecting with them gives me a sense of comfort that just plain makes me feel good. 

As soon as Mark, my chauffeur for the day, ascertained that I was talking to John, he offered an hello from the front seat which John immediately returned. These two men have always shared a friendly football rivalry involving The New York Giants and The Philadelphia Eagles. So, gentle taunting took place. Then, all of a sudden, my brother asked me why Mark would be driving me to the Philadelphia Airport ( my usual airport ) when he lives in North Jersey. I explained that I would be departing from the Newark Airport in the morning and would be staying in a hotel nearby.

At once, John let out a booming, “WHAT? You’re staying at a hotel near the Newark Airport when I only live fifteen minutes away? Why aren’t you staying with me?” I started to laugh and say, “ Don’t tell me you live near the airport?”    “Yes! Yes, I do. Please cancel your hotel plans and spend the night at my house. I’ll make dinner for us and we’ll have a great evening.” Well, as nice an offer as that was, I knew it was too late to obtain a refund on my room. So, I reluctantly declined my brother’s kind offer and asked for a raincheck. Plus, I wasn’t sure that he really lived only fifteen minutes from the airport. We all know people who say things like that but actually mean more like 35 to 45 minutes. I had to be up and at it by 4:30 the next morning and it was snowing. So, I figured that that plan might not be the best under those circumstances.

Now, in case you’re wondering why I didn’t know the close proximity between his home and the airport, I have two good excuses. First of all, no one in South Jersey, where I live, knows anything about North Jersey. The reverse is true, as well. Secondly, most of our large family lives in Margate City which is in the southern part of the state. John and his family travel to our events all the time. But, we rarely travel north to his home because there are simply too many of us to stay overnight. So, you may think the story ends there. But, no. There’s a rescue involved. My big brother saved the day for me and I’ll be forever grateful. Here’s what happened…

The hotel (and, I use that word loosely) where I reserved a room turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. I didn’t book my accommodations until the day before because there had been another plan in the works which didn’t require an overnight stay. But, that eventually fell through. By the time I started looking for hotels, the majority of them ( meaning the good ones! ) were already sold out. So, I settled on a hotel that had a degree of name recognition. It was across the street from the airport which I thought could be a real plus as it was March and the ground was covered in snow. My first clue that this establishment was less than stellar should have been the fact that there were no reviews for it online. In this day and age, reviews are everything. 

It didn’t seem like a big deal to me when I was safe and sound at home making the reservation because I thought to myself how bad could it be as I recognized the brand name. And, I knew that I would only be there a short night as I had to be at the airport by 5:00 am for the early flight. Oh, what could go wrong? Don’t be too fussy, I thought to myself. Just book it and be done with it. It will all work out well, I assumed. Boy, was I in for shock and awe mixed with serious regret.

As Mark, James and I pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, we all sort of looked at each other with questioning expressions. I quickly calmed their fears by assuring them that I would be fine. I told them that it couldn’t be as bad as it seemed. After all, the name brand and everything. I felt that I had no option but to grin and bare it at that point. So, I sent them on their merry way to the hockey game with much reluctance on their part. If I had allowed them to come inside the lobby with me, they never would have let me stay. They’re true blue friends that way. But, I hurried them along because I knew they had a schedule to keep.

Big mistake. Huge! As they pulled away and I opened the lobby door, I felt like I was entering another world altogether. It was an unsightly room completely devoid of charm. I had looked forward a bit to getting inside because it was freezing outside in the March air only to realize immediately that there was little to no heat in the lobby. The room consisted of old benches pressed up against the windows with a bare, dirty looking linoleum floor. It was dimly lit which was probably intentional, I thought to myself. Now, I’m not the spoiled type who requires nothing but the best in every situation. But, this place was starting to give me the creeps. Little did I know what lie ahead.

I cautiously walked up to the front desk which was small, scratched up and dented and asked the clerk for the key to my room. He gave it to me with directions on how to locate it. I tried to muster up an adventurous spirit as I walked out into the cold, dark night. I kept telling myself that before I know it, I will be on a plane to Costa Rica and this will all be a distant memory. 

This hotel was more like a motel in it’s design. The rooms were separate from the lobby building and around back in what could only be described as a spooky courtyard, of sorts. All I could think of was oh boy, what have I gotten myself into? I suddenly missed Mark, James and everyone I’ve ever known immensely. 

My room was on the second floor just above the dumpsters which I was sure were full of rats that would be ascending the rickety, outside stairs along side me any minute now. My mind was starting to conjure up wild ideas. When I turned the key in the doorknob, the door opened before it should have. Before the key turned all the way. Not a good omen for this dwelling. The door itself was so flimsy that I’m sure I could have single handedly broken it down. Not very reassuring. Everything inside was so old and decrepit that I couldn’t bring myself to sit down on the beds, or the lone chair. That room had seen better days, for sure. The bathroom was quite yucky to say the least. And, there was a series of little holes in the wall just above each bed. I’m sure they were drilled there so that the exterminator could spray chemicals to end the bedbug epidemic that went on prior to my arrival. Oh, Lordy!!! This place should have been torn down twenty years ago.

At that moment, I only knew one thing for sure. I was out of there. No way, Jose, was I going to spend one more minute in that sad excuse for a hotel. Oh, no! Before I abandoned the room, the universe seemed to want to give me one more reason for an exit. The sliding glass door on the far side of the room. It was so loose and unstable that an intruder would classify it a “piece of cake” to open. No effort needed whatsoever.   Okay. Enough signs. My decision to bail out couldn’t have been easier. Fortunately, I knew I had my big brother, John, as a plan B. Time for a phone call.

But, what if he was just being the nice guy he always is to everyone? What if he really didn’t live that close to the airport? What if the snow prevented him from picking me up, or dropping me off at the airport at 5:00 am? Oh boy. Don’t panic, Shelagh. Plan B definitely has to work because Plan A has officially fallen through. Flat on its face. My hands were numb from the cold as I dialed John’s number in the dark, dreaded courtyard. 

Much to my delight, he was thrilled that I needed to be rescued. He had his hat & coat on before I could even tell him about the hotel. He told me to save the story for the car ride and to look for him in fifteen minutes. Yay! I knew that my next move had to be to try to get a refund on the room. The desk clerk/manager/only employee on the premises did not take kindly to my situation. He acted mystified by my unfavorable critique of the hotel. He was not at all happy when I politely, yet firmly, described my room as unsanitary and unsafe. He refused to take the charge off my credit card. Fortunately, later that evening, I was able to get it dropped when I called the main headquarters. Somehow, miraculously, I just happened to have the magic phone number that reached a considerate person who seemed spooked by my legitimate claim that I didn’t feel safe staying there. 

At that point, I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible because I was so cold and the whole thing was giving me a bad feeling. Just in the nick of time, John showed up. Exactly fifteen minutes after I called him. Not one minute later. He could see me in the lobby through the window before I could see him. So, he came inside to get me. What I remember him saying distinctly was, “Hurray up! Just get in the car quickly!” Before we pulled out of the parking lot, he said, “That lobby reminded me of the worst bus station I’ve ever been in!” I laughed in agreement and joy that it was finally over. He cringed at my tale. 

During the car ride ( the exactly, for sure, fifteen minute car ride! ), John described the delightful dinner he was cooking up for us at his home. I was finally starting to relax. During my hotel ordeal, it had not occurred to me that I had no plan for dinner had I stayed there. On top of everything, I would have been mighty hungry. That really, really would have been a long night’s journey into day. 

The evening turned out to be wonderful. John & I caught up on our lives and those of our children over a hot, tasty meal and a little television. All was well. I got a good night’s sleep. Very peaceful. And, as promised, he drove me to the Newark Airport leaving his home at 4:45 am in the dark and snow and arriving at precisely 5:00 am. Fifteen minutes! I told my very kind brother that I’d never forget the rescue and how much it meant to me. I said that maybe I’d even write about it some day!

Reunioning

                                              

I hope no one minds, but I think I just changed the noun reunion into a verb. An action word to be exact. I had to do it to be able to accurately explain what I’ve been up to lately. I’ve been reunioning for the last eight months and having a ball. 

It all started a while back when I asked one of my high school classmates if she thought anyone would mind if I organized our 45th reunion. We graduated from Holy Spirit High School in Absecon, New Jersey in 1971. This dear, old friend gave me the go ahead with glee. She was thrilled that I wanted to do it. And, she assured me that everyone else would be, too. That was all I needed to hear and immediately got the ball rolling. 

I instinctively knew it would be a fun, easy endeavor because I felt confident that I knew what I was going to do. The reason for this sense of security is that I had  organized our last high school reunion a few years ago and it all worked out well. Everyone seemed happy with the result. Thank God because when I took on that challenge, I had no idea what I was doing and all hell seemed to be breaking loose in my life at the same time. 

In the eight months prior to the first reunion I ran for our class, Hurricane Sandy hit New Jersey with a vengeance. It wreaked havoc on the barrier island where I resided fifteen miles away from our high school. The aftermath of that storm required months and months of concentrated effort on the part of every resident to clean up the island and regain some sense of normalcy. Every free moment was spent drying out our homes, schools, stores, etc… We were assigned the enormous task of returning all of the sand that had blanketed the island back to the beach where it rightly belonged. 

In the midst of all of that, my dear old Dad died. As I dealt with my grief, I was given the duty of executrix of his estate. An assignment I was completely unqualified for, to say the least. There were actually a few more bumps in the road I had to deal with at that time, as well. But, in the back of my mind, I kept thinking that I better get going with planning a fun evening for my high school classmates  because, as we all know, time flies. I kept telling myself that I had always been in good standing with these friends and I better not risk it now by reneging on my promise to organize the reunion. 

So, I stepped up to the plate and began building a plan. At first, I didn’t have time to gather a committee to help me. I just went it alone. I chose the date, the location, the DJ and opened a new bank account for our class. I didn’t report in to anyone. I just kept going with the plan that was forming in my head daily. I didn't have a clue as to whether it would all come together. I had so much on my plate that I didn’t have time to wonder if anyone would approve of my decisions. I was on a roll and things seemed to be falling into place quite nicely. 

Classmates started asking if they could help and I began delegating left and right. These wonderful friends were willing to do anything it took to bring a great reunion to fruition. Next thing you knew, we were all at The Log Cabin on the bay in Margate, New Jersey having a ball. I am a keen observer of life. I looked around all evening and marveled at the fact that the reunion was actually taking place. It was happening. As our classmates poured through the door and, then, onto the dance floor, I was in true amazement. Borderline shock that it had all worked out.

I felt like I was experiencing some sort of a miracle. I began thanking God, my Mom and Dad and everyone in Heaven for Divine Intervention. I almost couldn’t believe it. I went from no plan and no direction to a well crafted plan with a successful conclusion. Yay! Three cheers! Phew! Friends were congratulating me and thanking me for creating such an enjoyable evening for our class. I graciously accepted their gratitude all the while laughing to myself. If they only knew how close we came to having pizza in someone’s backyard for the reunion. Or, worse, no reunion at all. If they could have seen the way I was “flying by the seat of my pants” the entire time leading up to the reunion, they would have been stunned. 

But, that was then and this is now. What a difference the passage of time can bring. Last night was our 45th high school reunion and it was wonderful in every way. I actually knew what I was doing this time around. There was no stress. No second guessing myself. No worries. Just pure fun from the day I got the okay to proceed with the planning. Or, what I would like to call “ The Reunioning”.

Again, I chose the venue, the date, the menu, the DJ and determined the cost per person all on my own. It would have taken many meetings if we had to have a general consensus on all of those decisions. I had confidence that my classmates had faith in my judgement. This go around, I decided that the invitation should be sent via email. So, I formed a wonderful committee with the soul intent of acquiring as many email addresses as we could. We searched the highways and byways for our classmates. At times, a little detective work was needed. If we knew anyone that might vaguely know how to get in touch with a classmate, we were on it. We began this quest with zero email addresses and ended up securing about 160, or so. It was a wonderful team effort.

Our intent was to inform everyone of the reunion and then leave it up to them as to whether they wanted to join us, or not. We never wanted to pressure anyone into attending our class party. I fully understand that not everyone feels comfortable being part of a high school reunion. I think this is universal. My guess would be that many people fear being judged by their classmates even though the time they spent together in school was many, many moons ago.   The old “I’m not good enough” feeling surfaces and creates anxiety that makes it not worth it.

I had the joy and privilege of connecting with many of my classmates on a regular basis throughout the entire “reunioning” process. We communicated with each other in every way possible. Email, phone calls, hand written letters (old school!), meetings at different classmates’ homes and my all time favorite- “walk and talks” on the boardwalk. 

Each time we gathered, organizing the reunion was our top priority. Well, for at least the first fifteen minutes, that is. Then, we’d drift off into our old high school stories. We magically were transformed back into the silly, fun loving teenagers we were back in the halls of Holy Spirit High School. We would laugh and laugh as one story after another was shared. Then, as the chairperson, I would start to silently panic as I realized we’re not accomplishing what we set out to do. I would call everyone back to order— at one home using a wine opener as a gavel, of sorts. Yes. There was wine at times. How else was I to bribe people into coming out to help me on bitter cold, snowy nights? Can you blame me?  Sometimes, you’ve just got to do what you’ve got to do, right?

When the big night came—our 45th Reunion—I arrived very early for the event. I wanted to relax and collect my thoughts so that I could help every classmate feel right at home as they entered the ballroom. Wherever I go in my life, I always appreciate being greeted by a smiling face. It puts me at ease and helps me feel like I am where I belong. So, I wanted to be that person for my old friends. 

Right off the bat, everyone who came to the registration table to sign in was cheerful and genuinely happy to be a part of such an joyous event. Many attendees arrived at the same time and no one showed any annoyance at having to wait patiently in line to sign in and receive a name tag. And, speaking of name tags, what a brilliant item they are to have on hand when you are suddenly socializing with people you haven’t seen in ages. Some people look amazingly like their old high school selves but just a bit older. And, understandably so, others don’t look familiar at all. A tricky situation, indeed, when you are trying your best as hostess to make everyone feel comfortable. As if we had all been together just last week!

I was definitely “winging it” at times throughout the evening when it came to remembering names. I felt a connection to my Dad because he was a master of avoiding awkward moments of name forgetting. He would always smile and say in a very welcoming way, “ Hello, sweetie! ( Honeypie, Darling, Dear… ) It’s so good to see you!”  He would then launch right into a friendly conversation so easily that the person whose name he couldn't remember wouldn’t even notice his forgetfulness. It’s a skill most people would do well to master.

The best memory of the evening was being out on the dance floor which was full all evening because the DJ was superb. All I asked him to play was fun 60’s & 70’s dance music and he really came through for us. Not a bit of shyness from my dear old pals. Every girl & every guy took turns spinning around the floor just as we had always done at the very popular Friday night dances in our high school cafeteria oh so many years ago. 

About four or five different times, classmates came up to me while I was “getting jiggy with it” on the dance floor and asked me to give a speech. Their intentions were good. Of course. But, there was no way that I was going to interfere with the amazing energy that was buzzing all around the dancers. Everyone was happy, laughing, smiling and having the time of their lives. It would have been a crime to make that come to a screeching halt just to hear me say a few words. Words that I couldn’t come up with anyway because I was so caught up in the moment. And, we all know that when the fun stops, people go home. I sure didn’t want that to happen. Oh, no! So we danced on.

I had thanked all of the helpers on our reunion committee several times on social media throughout the planning process. A speech from me was absolutely unnecessary. So, each time the request came my way, I just smiled, hugged the person and continued to dance the night away.  

The greatest thrill of the evening for me was watching everyone so easily interact with each other as if they were all still best friends who got together often. The truth is that we are a diverse group from all over the U.S. now. Many of the attendees mentioned that they hadn’t been to a reunion for twenty, thirty and even forty years. I guess that maturity, genuine love and respect for one another and happy memories of our days at Holy Spirit High School, set the tone for the splendid occasion that was our 45th high school reunion. How lucky we are!