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I’m going to tell you about a crazy adventure I had with my best friend. It’s going to be split into several blogs.

March of 1990 my friend, Mary Beth, asked me to come to Cape Cod and help her bring her life back to Michigan. In August 1989 she was married and moved to Wellfleet, Massachusetts (Cape Cod). By January she was pregnant and treated like the maid and baby sitter for her step kids instead of a wife. She planned “operation get me home” and kept me and her family posted on the details.

Her dad not only picked me up at my apartment and took me to the airport; he also gave me $200 cash and his gas and VISA card. When we pulled up at the airport, he looked me in the eyes and said “Bring my daughter home.” I was on a mission. This covert operation was known only by us in Michigan.

I flew into Boston airport. Before her trek to the airport that day, she hadn’t driven farther than the Wellfleet city limits. She handled the crazy roundabouts like a pro! There weren’t Google maps back then and to this day, she doesn’t know how she did it.

It was off-season and it looked like the whole area had rolled up their sidewalks. I kept looking around half expecting to see Alfred Hitchcock or Rod Serling. The first thing I noticed when I opened the motel door…no phone in my room. I had a TV and a mini-fridge but no phone. If this was happening now, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Back in 1990, we were decades away from smartphones. My “car phone” was hardwired in my Honda back in Michigan.

We walked back to the office so I could call my husband, Jack, to let him know I arrived safely. He was our contact person back home and was in charge of keeping our parents in the loop.

I settled in with my dinner of Girl Scout cookies and beer. It was way before DVRs so Mary Beth stayed to watch Knotts Landing because she wouldn’t have made it home in time.

The next morning I sat in my phoneless motel room, not knowing what was going on. Mary Beth needed to wait until her husband left for work and the kids were waiting for the school bus.

I heard a knock at the door and was greeted with “Hi, I puked.” That morning was the one and only time she puked during the whole pregnancy. We hopped in her Blazer and headed toward her house. On the way, we stopped for breakfast at The Lighthouse Diner. She had a bagel and cream cheese. Not what I would have chosen if I had just puked.

Taking the main (probably the only) road to the diner, we saw a school bus coming toward us. Standing up was her stepdaughter staring right at us! When we arrived at the house, the movers were waiting for us. Let the fun begin! Since no one living in the house was privy to the plan, nothing and I mean nothing was packed.

After she showered, she realized the movers packed her hairdryer and curling iron. The movers also packed her bras. Not as important as the other two items. They didn’t fit her started-out-large-now-growing-out-of-control 1st trimester boobs.

We packed more Tupperware containers than you could ever imagine. We found some in the freezer containing her father-in-law’s signature fish “chowda”. In order to be able to wash and pack said containers, the chowda was dumped off the back deck…lunch for the chickens. Sadly the Tupperware collection was lost in transit.

There were hours of endless packing. The movers did an awesome job with the big boxes and things. You would be amazed at how much you can pack into a 1985 Blazer. I lost track of the number of trips I made between the house and the vehicle packing her stereo, tv, plants, suitcases, etc.

A side note on the Blazer. It was stuck on the beach, by Mr. Wonderful, and got to experience high tide…not good. It had to be pulled out with a crain and the sun roof was damaged.

After the movers drove away and we were getting the last of her things stuffed into the Blazer, her father-in-law pulled up with her stepdaughter that saw us earlier in the day. He didn’t stay. We figured he knew what was going on. As I was walking out with yet another box, I was met by her stepdaughter at the door. The look on her face was priceless! She looked around the empty rooms with a deer in the headlights stare. Most of the items in the house belonged to Mary Beth so they were on the truck.

We were finally ready to start on our memorable journey home. She got in the driver’s seat as I squeezed in on the passenger side. The seat was pulled forward and several boxes were on the floor. We pulled out of the driveway and never looked back.

Stay tuned for part 2…

My in-laws, Paul and Romaine, were the kindest, most genuine people I’ve ever known. There are several stories about them I want to share with you. This one puts a smile on my face when I picture Paul telling it to anyone that would listen.

He loved to play the lottery! One of his favorite numbers to play was 4263. This is the story of how this lucky four-digit came to be.

The “pot”, as he called it, belonged to his mother-in-law, Sarah. She lived on the main floor of a small senior apartment complex in Lincoln Park with Romaine’s blind sister, Marion.
Paul and Romaine would visit them often. One visit they were greeted by a Wagner Ware roaster in the hall next to the door. When they entered the apartment and got the hello hugs and kisses out of the way, Paul asked why the pot was banished to the hallway. They got an earful. Sarah was madder than a hornet because the roast she had put in the pot for dinner was burned beyond recognition. So the pot and it’s contents were tossed out.
The answer Paul received when he asked if he could take it home was “As long as I never see it again!”

After they returned home, Paul noticed numbers on the bottom of the pot as he meticulously cleaned the charred remains. A few days later, Romaine cooked a roast in the pot. It was delicious! The following day Paul played the four-digit number from the pot in the lottery and won! From that day forward, 4263 was known as “The pot number”.

Through the years he played that number numerous times and had won more times than I can remember.

My husband and I have inherited the pot. Sadly we haven’t used it as often as we should for delicious pot roasts or winning lottery numbers. Maybe after I post this blog we’ll pop a roast in the oven and purchase 4263 for old times’ sake.

Sacrifices Worth Making.