Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Flamingo Ninjas



In 1983, a rash of lawn ornament thefts was taking place throughout the Rogue Valley. Garden gnomes, lawn jockeys, plastic fawns and rabbits, and pink flamingos. Scores of pink flamingos. If I recall correctly, even the Dari-Mart cow disappeared one foggy night.

I was a senior in high school at the time. There were rumors that a couple of my classmates were involved in the nighttime shenanigans that resulted in dozens of police reports about missing yard decor. It's been 25 years since the thefts took place, and I don't know if there's a statute of limitations issue at play here. But just to be safe, I'll let them continue to bask in semi-anonymity. I'm still not absolutely sure they were involved, because they never really admitted to any involvement, at least not to me, but I had a pretty good idea Mouse and the Attorney were part of the gang.

There was one particular yard on Oak Street that suffered a greater loss than most. Everyone knew him as PJ,
an eccentric (which is sort of redundant when speaking of anyone who's lived in Ashland for more than 10 years) propmaster at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. He had a menagerie of pink flamingos on his front lawn, about a dozen of them. Well, maybe 5 or 6, lining the walk up to his door. Then one evening they disappeared.

It made front page news in the Daily Tidings. In English class, there was a lot of snickering. But no direct confession from Mouse and the Attorney. But we all knew. Well, we all suspected.
Months went by. PJ's lawn was still barren, the flamingos never recovered by the police. The ring of lawn ornament thieves must've moved on to other things, because I don't remember hearing about them again.

Until they showed up on the front lawn of the college next Easter.

Bright and early that Sunday morning, dozens of pink flamingos showed up on the campus lawn in front of Britt Hall. A huge flock of them. Not just PJ's 5 or 6. More than several dozen. And they were dressed in Easter finery. Little dresses and shirts, and bonnets. Once again, it made front page news, this time with a photo. The police took the entire congregation of birds down to the station, and a police spokesperson was quoted in the paper encouraging people who had reported stolen flamingos to come down and attempt to claim their recovered property.

Apparently not many people bothered to try to identify their flamingos, but PJ did. In fact, he ended up with the entire flock, wardrobe and all. For years you could still see those flamingos, all dressed up, populating his front yard. For all I know, they're still there, two blocks off of Main Street.

Meanwhile, Mouse, the Attorney and I all graduated from high school. At the last minute I ditched my plans to go to the UofO and instead signed up as a Psych major at the college in Ashland. That first semester I broke up with my high school boyfriend of 3 years and started dating Camo-Boy, a tall, skinny Sophomore in combat boots who hailed from another town and lived in the dorms. He took me to a Wall of Voodoo concert in SF on our first date. But he was quiet, very shy, and didn't talk much.

One winter day in 1984, Camo-Boy was off studying at the library. I was sitting in his dorm room, awaiting his return. I was alone in his personal space for the first time. I don't recall if I just got snoopy, or if I was looking for a pen in his desk drawer (okay, so I was just being snoopy), but what I found was an envelope of photographs. I thought maybe I'd found pictures of his ex-girlfriend, but what I found absolutely shocked me. I couldn't believe my eyes.

There were flamingos in various stages of undress. Naked, piled in a bathtub, metal legs askew. There were hands, prophylacticated in rubber dishwashing gloves, washing and rubbing down each flamingo. Then photos of flamingos being fitted with little bonnets and frilly dresses. What followed next were photos of a breaking dawn in Ashland, taken from a spot I knew all too well. Across from 7-11, the green lawn of the college campus, dotted with flamingos, dressed in their Easter best.

When Camo-Boy returned from the library, I held up the envelope of photos and with one eyebrow raised, I said, "Lucy, you got some 'splaining to do." And finally, the dam broke. He started talking, and never stopped. He told me how he'd been roomies the year before with a mutual friend from high school that had graduated a few years ahead of me, but surprisingly not Mouse nor The Attorney. In fact, he never mentioned their names at all. I still think they were involved, but had been enlisted as minions, and not masterminds of the Easter Flamingo migration. He told me how they'd spent their nights prowling yards throughout a 2 county area, and how they'd planned to return the flock en mass to a public place. How they'd washed and wiped them down to remove any fingerprints. And how he'd sifted through the bins of baby clothes at Goodwill for weeks to find the right garments to outfit an entire flock of pink plastic flamingos.

Then he confessed to a few more nighttime ninja escapades that shocked me. Not simple lawn decor thefts, but stories that involved air conditioning vents and computers. Stories that made my jaw drop and kept me enraptured for hours. Stories like this one. He was far sneakier and interesting than I'd given him credit for, and suddenly much sexier after the realization that was a prowler who stole from the rich and gave to the propmaster, and not just a member of some simple flamingo liberation group, like these guys. He was so cool. I moved out of my parent's house and followed that guy all the way to the east coast. Didn't last long though. The last I heard, he'd joined the Army. Special Ops. Or so I imagine. I'm sure it's something covert.

The flamingos, so I understand, all still reside with PJ, and now their outfits change with the season, but it hasn't been without continuing fashionnappings. A friend says she kidnapped one of his flamingos in '85, and outfitted it with a sombrero and poncho before putting it back. Some of the other absconded lawn ornaments continued their journey around Southern Oregon for a few years. The porcelain cow ended up passing hands a few different times, once ending up in an encriminating photo smoking a cigarette in bed with a companion, and as late as 1986 was still moving around town; once chained to a tree (see evidence below) in a yard near Lithia Park.


There's a company now that actually sells pink flamingo lawn ornaments (see below) with a complete set of 8 different outfits for various seasons and holidays for less than $25. I'm tempted to get one, but I know it'd just be a matter of time before some teenage gang of ninja flamingo thieves swoops in and steals it under the cover of a warm summer evening, and then months later, after I'd moved on and replaced it with a less attractive ceramic gnome or a Chia-bunny, I'd be pressured to go down to the police station to identify my bird when  it ends up on the lawn of city hall with a bunch of its buddies.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Man Maid

I am so proud of my man!

I know, it's been awhile. No, I haven't fallen out of love or broken up with the best boyfriend in the world. I was actually lucky enough to have him with me in person for the better part of 3 months before he went back to work, so it just didn't seem like I should be blogging about him when I had him right there in front of me.

Anyway, he's back on the road, living in a trailer, working on a road crew 11 or 12 hours a day. Or not. Some days they just tell him to take the day off.
Days like today.
Poor guy, doesn't know what to do with himself.

Last week he went on the great mouse hunt, and emerged victorious (thanks to Jesse, who gave him some great advice about rodents not being able to resist peanut butter).

Today, because the weather's crap and he had nothing else to do, he finally set his mind to being productive, put on a pot of coffee, a little french maid's outfit, and started cleaning the bathroom.

OK, I'm joking about him cleaning the bathroom.

OK, fine, I'm joking about the french maid outfit.

But he really is cleaning the bathroom!!!!

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I always knew she had talent

I jibjabbed the kids!

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Quote of the Week


Lunch
I've had some extra time to spend lately with The Best Boyfriend In The World. He's been in town all week helping out with the monster bathroom renovation. After all, he started it when he did the eyeball pluck on my tub surround back in November.
Since he's here, he's been picking up my 6th grader from school every day.
Yesterday when I got home from work, he was in the doorway of the bathroom, contemplating a hard day's work. She was splayed out on the floor, contemplating her homework.
I said, "Anybody hungry?"
He said, "Nah, I'm okay. I had a late lunch."
"Oh yeah? What'd you eat?"
"Doritos."
"Really? That's all?"
"Oh no, mom!" said my daughter. "He had some potato chips too."

Monday, January 19, 2009

Space Cowboys




Heard in my living room, yesterday, approx 11:30am:

"Zhoo Zhoo!! Zhoooooo! I got you! I got you with my 
P-38 Space Modulater Transmogrifying Laser Ray Gun!"

"Vweeeeem! Vweeeem! No way! I'm sucking the energy out of your gun with my Meteor Space Oxygen Sucker! You're toast!"

He was running around with an orange foam rod dartgun (without any foam darts) and my new shower head and massager attached by a hose, holding one end up to his face (replacing his oxygen supply, of course), pointing the other end at her. She was decked out in a blue bandanna, black cowboy hat, blue LED glasses without the lenses, and a toy pistol (as well as the energy sucking device), chasing him around the living room, through the kitchen, past the dining room table and back through the hallway into the living room again, occasionally shouting, "We're Space Cowboys!"

I don't think she even knows who Steve Miller is, which just makes it twice as adorable that she must think she came up with that term all by herself.

Separated by 32 years in age, but equal on the playing field, my space cowboys. 

Monday, January 5, 2009

The key to a loving relationship? Loving Yourself.



I was married for a very long time. 17 years. To a very nice man. He's kind, generous, gentle, and a great father. He was never mean to me, never physically hurt me, and never lied to me. Yet I asked for a divorce. Because I didn't like who I was when I was with him. There was just something about our chemistry, about the way we interacted, that left me unsettled. Restless.  I can't quite place my finger on why or exactly what it was, but the bottom line is that I didn't like myself very much. 

I'm not ex-husband bashing. He's a perfectly nice guy. He's the father of the most wonderful daughter in the world, and he's 50% of why she's so great. He was just the wrong guy to be my partner in life.

The reason that I'm bringing all of this up is that in discovering what it was that made my first marriage so wrong, I discovered the exact thing that makes my relationship with the best boyfriend in the world so right, and here it is:

I love who I am when I'm with him.

Pretty simple.

Again, I can't necessarily put my finger on it. Maybe it's just chemistry. Maybe it's our history. Maybe it's improved communication. Maybe it's the desire to try harder. Bottom line is that there is something about the way Eddie and I are together that results in me liking who I am more than I ever have in my entire life. My self-confidence is boosted. My face literally glows. I'm nicer to strangers. I let people go in front of me in line. I smile more. I love myself. And it's not necessarily just because Eddie is always telling me that I'm beautiful and sexy, or that I'm the best girlfriend on the planet. I think it's because I am driven to be a better person when I'm with him, and being a better person makes me feel better about myself. 

What a wonderful feeling it is not only to love an amazing man, and to be loved by this man, but also, and most importantly, to love myself.




Saturday, January 3, 2009

How much do I love thee?


Every couple has a secret little language, their ways of communicating affection and intimacies to each other that's all their own. For Eddie and I, we have a love competition. 
He started it when he left me a voicemail claiming, "I love you more than all the rain in Oregon."
That's a lot.
Since then we've been trying to outdo each other.
I love him more than all the sand on the beaches.
He loves me more than all the water in the oceans.
I love him more than all the stars.
And then he threw down the gauntlet. 
"I love you more than love."