Another week, another set of postcards from around the world.

At work, when I start thinking about how long it is until I can go home, I start thinking about the possibilities awaiting me in my mailbox. Will there be a postcard from a country I haven’t gotten one from yet? Will there be a thank you card from someone? Will it be written in a foreign language? What will be on the card? A fuzzy animal? Ancient scrolls from long ago? Colorful rocks? Or something self-made? Opening my mailbox is like opening a gift on my birthday. I never know what to expect.

Can anyone read Finnish? I’d like to know what that says.

I guess Pia didn’t have a lot to say.

When I first saw the front of this postcard, I thought it was from China, but no, it was sent from France. This is the first postcard that I have received from France. Postcrossing really is a learning experience. Almost every card I receive teaches me something I didn’t know before. I think that’s pretty cool.

Hopefully, my obsession of checking the mailbox won’t become debilitating. I’d hate to have to go to the doctor to get meds because I like getting mail – a lot.

I used to collect rocks when I was younger. I still have many of them sitting on a shelf somewhere.

This is my 4th postcard from Germany.

What a very interesting photograph. I really like how it is in black and white, and how she left the space on the left to write something. The frayed edge effect is really neat. This is the third hand-made card that I’ve received, and I can’t figure out why many postcrossers don’t want them. I really like them.

This one was actually sent to me in an envelope because it wasn’t affixed to a thick backing. I don’t think it would have made it all the way from Russia in one piece had it been sent by itself. I heard once that someone sent a banana through the mail. I wonder what in the world it looked like when it got to where it was going.

Once upon a time, I owned an Apple II C computer. It was what I used to write all of my poems and stories on before I upgraded and got a Compaq laptop, which was handed down to me from my Dad. It was a big upgrade, I know. Phil was shocked to learn that in 1997 I was still using the Apple. I mean, it worked. I didn’t see the point in replacing it until it blew up. My Apple II C never really blew up, though, in fact, it is still working just like it was 11 years ago, but only because Phil did something I didn’t think anyone could do.

Back in 1997, I had been working on a story called “Home”, a sequel to a story I had written called “Next”, when I went to save my data on my new floppy disk. There were steps you had to follow in order to save properly. I can’t remember exactly how it went, it’s been a while, but it went something like this. You had to insert a certain disk, click a button, take out that disk, insert another one, format it, and then save. My Apple was nice, it always asked me if I was sure I wanted to format the disk I had chosen. I didn’t have any reason to believe the disk I had just inserted into the floppy disk was any other than the one I wanted, so I clicked yes. I heard the awful format sound my Apple made, and when I looked down, I saw that the disk I wanted formated was not the one in the disk drive.

What I wish my Apple had asked me was, “Are you nuts? You want me to format this disk? This disk is the one disk you have to have in order to even operate me! Please, I don’t want to see you cry. Don’t hit yes!”

I had formated my start-up disk. And indeed, it was the one disk I needed to do just about everything on my computer. In less than thirty seconds, my Apple II C computer was nothing more than a paper weight. I think I cried for a good two hours, for all of my creative genius had just become non-accessible. All of my stories. All of my poems. Gone. I was devastated.

For years, I asked people if they knew how to get my Apple back up and running, but no one had a single clue. I looked everywhere for another start-up disk, but no one had one of those either, and at this point in the game, no one was even using the type of floppy I would need. I eventually gave up and said goodbye to my creative writing.

Then one day, I met Phil, my computer buddy. Early in our friendship, I mentioned to him what had happened to my computer and asked if he knew of anything to retrieve my stories. He told me that it wouldn’t be a problem, and that he would get around to it one day. I was stoked. Someone had given me hope.

SIX YEARS LATER

Well, I guess anything is better late than ever.

One night, Phil and I had a fight over something stupid, but it made me mad enough to go home and not talk to him for a few days. One morning, still bleary eyed, I opened my IBM laptop to check my email and found this message waiting from Phil : “Hopefully your still not too mad. Anyway, I’ve been working on something for ya, and I think it’s something you’ll enjoy. There’s more to come.” I didn’t know what he was talking about. In a picture file, at the bottom of my screen, all I could see was a black screen with funky green everywhere. I didn’t have my glasses on at the time. I pulled the computer closer to my face and then I realized what it was. It was a screen shot of my Apple II C, and that funky green was the text of a story I had thought I had lost forever. To say that I was happy, would be an understatement. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry.

Below is one of the stories that Phil was able to recover. Some how or another, he was able to convert it to a text file. I don’t know how he did it, I am just extremely glad that he did. Brain Cell Bob is still in the exact format that it was before. My spelling and grammar are completely atrocious, but I thought you might like to step into the mind of a 15 year old.

Looking back, my creative genius wasn’t as creative as I thought, but it is good to have it back. I didn’t remember writing half of the crap that he recovered. I found some fan fiction that I wrote when I was addicted to The X-Files. Man, that stuff is hilarious. All I know, is that I was a huge dork when I was 15, and if anything, I am a bigger one now. Enjoy!

Brain Cell Bob

By: Gabrielle Cook

2/04/97

Hi. My name is Bob aslo known as Brain Cell Bob. Well,

I know that you are thinking, “Why is a brain cell writing

in the first place?” I’ll answer that by saying I have no

idea.Remember I am just a brain cell and the only thing I

know how to opperate is the brain. Doesn’t the word brain

in brain cell give it away? Thought so. Alright lets move

on.

First things first. I am only a brain cell. I did

have 1,000,000,000,000 brothers and sisters but they all had

tragic deaths in which I would rather not talk about. I

will mention my fondest brother named George and sister

named Geraldine. The were the last to die after a major

high that the hostess recived in her early years. They were

strong willed brain cells in which I will never forget.

My loving parents, who were the first to die, were

named Fred and Ferline II. Because of their age they could

not take all the childs play times and parties. Before they

died on that December morn they had introduced me to my

furture wife named Zelda, the Princess of Heavna. She was

aspretty as a angel. My parents had found her lost and

astray in the National Brain Cell Park where all brain cells

go to find a new home. She was gladly accepted in to our

humble home.

At the time I was about 16 in human years and 4 in

brain cell years. (About the year thing. Don’t try to

figure it out. It is almost next to impossible. The year

16 has nothing to do with age. That is how us brain cells

have learned to figure our own own age compared to the

humans. We do age faster than you may think.) Zelda and I

began dating but did not marry till many years after that

because of so many deaths in the family. Zelda was a young

girl who was about 12 in human years when I met her. My

life revolved around Zelda so when are age came to marry, I

asked for her hand. Of course she replied yes. We were

married on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in June.

Now before I get to ahead and have to jump all the way

back here I’ll start now. I was born on November 2nd, 1981

which is known for Spirit Day. Brain cells, if you did not

know, are quite smart from day one. That was the day that

my parents gave me two names. The first one was a Brain

cell name in the Brain Cell lanuage known as Bruca Bru. My

name was Lankca Stru. It was translated in human english as

Bob. For the fun of it I’ll tell you my brother and

sister’s names. My brother’s name was Rutzca Nizzru and my

sister’s was Starca Merru.

In my young childhood years I learned that the hostess

was a wild one. (I think it was her older brothers that

influenced it though.) Because of this roughness that the

young child had, I lost several brothers and sisters. By

the time the child was 5 I had already lost close to almost

half of my family including my parents. I then began to

write poetry and short stories. Of course always through

the child.

I gave my hostess a name in the Bruca Bru and it was

Lilaca Chizu. Which translated, is little child which

refers to “now young child, will be young woman, then thy

shalt be pure woman.” You may think that it is down right

stupid, but in our lanuage it is a honor.

My School years were long and stressfull. Zelda helped

me through them because she was very gifted in those areas.

I had a hard time with math and occasional social studies

but managed to get through it all. Of course came peer

pressure which included smoking ciggerets to only what you

can amagine. There again I lost several brain cells in my

family. I was a weird brain cell and wanted to try

everything at least once or in some case never. Throught

all these peer pressures I learned right from wrong so that

I would live my entire life that was planned for me.

The year I turned 18 in human years was the year I

married Zelda. A female brain cell carries several brain

cells at once. Ranging from one to two billion. These

brain cells are not used to inhance the smartness of the

child but instead they are used to add company. After nine

long months Zelda gave birth to a half a million baby brain

cells. To the first girl we named her Georgia and to our

frirst son, Bob the second. All the children were given

Bruca Bru names but for the first time they did not end in

ca and u. Georgia’s name was Rosz Quilm and Bob II was Izzy

Bimja.

I opened a new school in the Right Secter which is on

the bottom part of the brain which is very active. That is

the school where all my children attened. Since I founded

the school I was able to name it. I named it M.F. Luder

roughly translated in to your human lanuage as “Once born

always a learner.” Written in many brain cell books it is

known that aprocemently 2,000 baby brian cells will live.

The other will die before there first birthday. This

happens because rough activity or harsh things cause them to

die. All the brain cells that have died are burried in the

Brain Cell Cementary in the left top secter because of it’s

forlorness.

Many years passed and the year my children was coming

of age, so was I. My memory began to fail and my writing

drizzeled. More of my family died and Zelda became ill.

She was put to bed and remained there for many years to

come. Many of my children left and moved on leaving through

the cliff. See the brian cells that don’t die, who were not

put there from the beging move on to better things. The way

they do that is by jumping. They just sorta fly off to the

next brain who they come incontact with.

On a day, all most very similar to are wedding day,

Zelda went into a comma, a few hours later, she left us and

went to her Heaven, Heavena. I weaped at her bed side for

the remainder of the day and then built a church in her

honor. It was named The Church of Princess Zelda, A True

beauty. I put up several pictures of her life from our

marriage to her death. She may not have ruled the hostess

body but she was my queen and will always be.

I recieved letters over the years from my children.

They told me of who they married and how many children they

had. I was now offically a Grandpa. One of my younger

daughters, who was known by Bobet, ruled in a hostess body

and had close to two million children. My two oldest

children, Georgia and Bob II, decided to stay and live with

me since the brain cell population was beging to die off. I

needed the company.

Even more years past and it ended up just being me,

Gerogia and Bob II. They never did marry nor do I think

they wanted to. They were to lazy too anyways. It was the

year turned 67 in human years when the now adult had a

severly major high. My only two children could not take it

anymore and they died that night. I guess my body had

become used to it and; did not bother me. I buried their

remaines in the alter of their mother’s church. I lit

candles in their owner as well as in Zelda’s.

After their death, the Brain Cell world, in which I was

brought up in, slowly turned cold and silent. Once in a

blue moon a stranger would enter my door to take a look.

But once they saw how large the cementary was they would

leave. Soon there after no one came and my life became more

dull. I always had candles lit in the church to be able to

feel all of my family’s prence.

My old age brought sickness and that was when I

recived my first cold. I wanted sometimes to leave and hunt

down my children and my grandchildren, the Grandchildren I

will never see. I then decided to write my life story down

and this is what you are reading. With all the quietness it

was written quite quickly. I knew my death was approaching

and I knew I had lived a much longer life than any brain

cell had ever had before. Who had operated so many tasks

with only one me and even kept sucessfull in keeping me

alive.

When the day came which was Febuary 14th, Valentines

Day, I knew it was time. That is why this ending is written

in such a knewly stated fashion. As though it is happening

write now. As I closed my eyes for the last time I knew my

life had been a most memberable one. And in my mind those

candles I lit will remain burning till the end of time no

matter what happens to the hostess that I lived with. I can

now join my wife and children in my wife’s heaven,

heavena.

Bob’s Note

This goes to all the one brain cell brains that are

just like me. I begg of you to take care of your host or

hostess till the day that you die. You may think you are

just a brain cell but in truth you are more than the

honorable lanuage the Braca Bru could translate. So I will

leave you with these words and take with you them were ever

you may travel to ever you shall and meet. Diwn Ligh Tusm

Rilsha. Live a long life.

Brain Cell Bob 😉

Postcrossing is making me obsessive-compulsive about my mailbox. Seriously.

When I first looked at this, I was like, “Did someone just send me a picture of naked people?” Then I looked at it a little closer and figured out it was Adam and Eve and that they had just watched their underpants. I found it pretty funny. I’m confused why Adam is wearing shoes though. I didn’t think they had that type of attire in the Garden of Eden.

The kitty Keller is speaking of was temporarily possessed this past Saturday. She was panting like a dog and looked very, very evil. I knew something was very wrong when she let me pour several water cans over her and she didn’t move. She seems to be better now, but she would have been a perfect fit for the resurrected cat in in Pet Sematary.

This is one of the most unusual cards I’ve received thus far. I had no idea this was a Salvador Dali painting. I’m telling you, I learn something everyday.

My mother and I both got a card from Germany on the same day. I noticed that both senders wrote their 1’s exactly the same. I’ve never seen anyone write a 1 like that before. It looks like an upside down V. I wonder if all Germans write their 1’s like that.

New Zealand. Phil really wants to visit this country. Neil and Kaliah, two people who taught with me in Fuyang lived in New Zealand for a spell. They showed me pictures of the view from their house. Man, was it beautiful. It didn’t seem real.

I found it odd that the stamps weren’t canceled out like ours. Does this mean I can take the stamp off and put it on another postcard if I happen to be in New Zealand? If you are from New Zealand, and you are reading this, please comment.

A few more postcards came to me this past week. One from Canada, the first one I received from that country, and another one from Sybil who lives in Turkey.

This is her photo, I think. Pretty cool looking. I’d be afraid to take my camera on any ride at an amusement park – even if it was just the swings. I might chance it for a shot like this one though. It’s cool.

Phil thought it said ‘Hell from the swings’ the first time he read it. I think Moo.com allows you to make your own postcards with your photos. I’ll just borrow Phil’s printer. It’s pretty bad ass.

This is the third card that I have received from Sybil. This one is really cool, though, because it is from 1974. That’s a pretty old postcard. She sent it to me from Turkey, but this is a shot of Paris. Very interesting.

I really like the stamp. I don’t know what it says, but it made me laugh. Is that supposed to be Santa? Rufus Wainwright is awesome by the way, if you haven’t heard of him. Great music.

This past Friday, 4 postcards showed up in my mailbox. And then on Saturday, another came. All I have to say, is that postcards from around the world beat a bill any day of the week. 🙂

Card # 1

Tallinn is the capital of Estonia. Looks pretty. I really like the old buildings. So medieval. I’d bet money that the sky in this particular photo isn’t real, though. Take a closer look. What do you think? I can’t figure out why someone would photoshop a fake sky into a postcard.

I found it funny that she didn’t spell out China all the way. Interesting stamp, too. I imagine I’ll be getting many history lessons in the near future. I’ll have to look up his name to see what he did in order to be deserving of a stamp.

Card # 2

Mikkeli, Finland.

Anna-Lisa wrote with a very interesting pen.

Some letters are dark blue while others are light blue.

Is that a moth or a little butterfly?

Card # 3

Sibel lives in Manisa, Turkey, but this postcard is representing Uchisar, Nevsehir – Turkey. Sibel was the first person to receive a postcard from me through Postcrossing. She wanted to send me a postcard in return, so I gave her my address. Turkey seems like a really cool place to visit. I’ll have to put it on my places to go before I die.

I like it when postcards have a lot of writing on them. I’ve always wanted to fly in a hot air balloon. Had Phil and I had the money to do it in Yangshuo, China, we so would have.

Card # 4

I was expecting one postcard, not two from Sibel. I was pleasantly surprised.

All of these postcards are making me antsy. I’ll need to travel somewhere soon.

Card # 5

This fighter jet came all the way from Dayton, Ohio, from Emily. It’s actually her photo, not something she bought. This is something I am going to start doing soon – taking and sending my own postcards. I’ve got over 5,000 to choose from just from spending a year in China.

This is the first card I have received from America. I doubt it will be the last. Something like 18% of Postcrossing users are from America.

Horray! Last Friday, I received my first postcard through Postcrossing. It came from a 9 year old boy living in Veikkola, Finland. It took about 8 days to travel 4701 miles/7566 kilometers. If you want to get a history lesson on Finland, go here.

I think this is the strangest water tower I’ve ever seen.

I think Oliver’s mother transcribed his message for him.

Either that, or Oliver has the best handwriting ever!

Cool stamp. I used to have a collection of frogs when I was younger – figureens, not real ones.

When I was in 3rd grade, Mrs. Lane, my teacher, had me and the rest of the class keep a journal throughout the year.  Phil laughed his ass off when he read through it and thought that I should post a few of them on my blog.  I’ve gone through and taken pictures of the ones I thought were humorous.

How I ever became an English major is beyond me.  My spelling is absolutely atrocious, as you’ll see.  I’m still not that great of a speller today, but at least I don’t spell diary 4 different ways.  🙂  Hey, at least I tried, right?

If you can figure out what I’m trying to say in them, well, you must be special.  Phil had to have me translate a lot of it for him.   Most of it is understandable, I think.   Anyway, I thought it might give you a laugh and make you smile.  I’ll post some more later.

And if you think these are funny, wait until I post the funny journal entry that Phil wrote when he was in elementary school.  I’ll try to get that one up, too.  Enjoy.

Apparently, this was my first day of school.  I don’t remember writing any of these at all.

Of course, this is coming from a kid who really wasn’t afraid of anything that had more than two legs.  My parents had to constantly tell me to be careful what I picked up.  I got bit more times than you can count.

Math was never my strong suit.  I cried over my multiplication tables.  Still do.

I spent many weekends at my grandparent’s house.  I don’t know why I wouldn’t have wanted to go.

I wonder if anyone has every died from laughing.  Sounds painful.

Well, at least my handwriting has. Hehe.

If you’ve taken a look at my comments lately, you probably saw that Sibel, whose from Turkey, left a comment saying she received the postcard that I sent out on April 3rd. It only took 7 business days(8 days in actuality) to get there – which in my humble opinion is amazing. Sometimes it takes 7 days, if not more, to send something to my Dad who lives in Roswell, NM – you know, the place where the aliens crashed in 1947. My Dad was their leader! 🙂 That is the only way I can justify my craziness sometimes.

I would have thought that the postcard I sent to Keller in Connecticut would have gotten their first. Perhaps it did, and it is just taking her some time to hop online and register it. But since we are dealing with the United States Postal Service, I wouldn’t be surprised if my postcard was still somehow in transit.

Unfortunately, Postcrossing is down for some strange reason today. I noticed it this morning and thought it may be my internet being screwy, but then Sibel mentioned it too, all the way in Turkey. I guess their servers crashed. Hopefully, they will get it up and running soon. The sooner Sibel is able to register my card, the sooner I’ll get a postcard in return.

The silliest things make me happy. I know, I’m retarded.

The other day, I was reading through the blogs I like to frequent, and I came across something rather interesting. Thanks, Erick.

I’ve always enjoyed the idea of having a pen pal or something like it, but I’ve never really participated in it fully. A few years ago, I stumbled upon a website that allowed you to send emails to people, but it didn’t work very well, and I got sick of the strange men who kept wanting to marry me. 🙂 I think it had to do with who built the site. It wasn’t very user friendly. I think the site is still up and running because every now and again, I get an email saying that someone has sent me an email. I don’t even bother opening them anymore.

So, I was very happy when I stumbled upon Postcrossing. Basically, in a nut shell, it works like this. You sign up, request a user’s address, and then send them a postcard. Once the person you sent it to registers it on the website(to me this is the only real pitfall, even though after a certain amount of time they expire), your name is then able to be randomly selected by other users. You can’t go requesting user’s addresses all day long. Postcrossing only allows you to send 5 post cards at any given time. They say they do this to protect users from the crazy people out there who just want to gain access to your information. I understand their reasoning, but in reality, all anyone needs is a computer or a phone book. Your address isn’t top secret or anything.

I like that you never know who the postcard will be coming from or when, but you are more or less guaranteed a postcard back if you send one. That is what I really like about Postcrossing. And besides the money you have to spend to buy postcards and stamps, it’s free. Free is good.

So far I have sent postcards to an Annette in Finland, a Robert in Germany, a Keller in Connecticut, a Vinni in Brazil and a Sibel in Turkey. I imagine that the one I sent to Keller will get to her soon, considering how close she is to me.

Hopefully, I won’t get any crazy stalkers or anything. At least, if I do, they’ll most likely have to spend a lot of money getting to me.

I’ll post the postcards as I get them.

This should be interesting. If you want to sign up, just go here.

In an email, a fellow blogger, Reg (AKA Dogbait), mentioned a place that I haven’t thought of in a good long while. This place was the Outer Banks. I went there the summer before I started my freshman year at the University of South Carolina – if my memory servers me correctly. It seemed like a good place to go camping, so me and few of my friends packed up the essentials and off we went. Below is the account of that camping trip. It is one, if not the first, paper I wrote in college. So, if you hate it, blame it on my lack of experience or something. Reading back through it, I noticed I left out that I got pink eye in the end and that while standing on a really big sand dune that eats cities, we got chased by a wall of water. It was a rapidly moving thunderstorm. Apparently, it was moving faster than we were because we all got drenched.

Well, I better get to bed. I start work tomorrow, and I want to be bright eyed and bushy tailed. I’ll fill you in on the happenings of my first day soon.

The Camping Trip From Hell

Waking up at 5:00 A.M. is not easy, especially when the back up alarm is a schizoid cat, who is eager to eat. At the time it seemed that those problems were going to be the worst part of the trip, but in truth, it was only the beginning and trivial compared to what I would endure. So, promptly after my alarm clock went off, and my cat pounced on my face, I rolled out of bed and stumbled down the hallway. My bags had already been packed the night before, so all I had to do was throw on some comfortable clothes and wait for my ride. Right on time, a red Lumina pulled up into my driveway and I attempted to cram myself where Jonathan, Mandy, and Yanni already hogged the space of the crowded car. Seconds later, my camping trip to Nags Head, North Carolina began.

Over the eight-hour course of our journey we all took a turn at the wheel and only stopped occasionally for gas, a quick snack and a bathroom break. Although the drive was long, it seemed to pass somewhat quickly, and before I knew it we had arrived in a town I had only heard of. It was beautiful outside. Classic white puffy clouds were spread over the bright blue sky. It was almost picture perfect day until the wind started. This was no casual breeze. Instead, it was quick, harsh, and almost seemed to find pleasure in blowing our tents down the beach. Frantically, we all tried to catch our tents and find a way to keep the tied to the ground, but the loose sand prevented any progress. It took all our bags of clothes, boxes of food and lots of sand to keep them weighted down, but still the wind taunted us.

The rest of our first day was spent driving around town, walking the beach, and attempting to find a restaurant we could all agree on. We concluded our day learning about the stars at Jockey’s Ridge. Although dark clouds had begun to move in and the wind had increased the park ranger nevertheless continued his lecture on the stars above.

“Now if you place you hand up against the sky you can tell the distance between certain stars,” the park ranger said through the roar of the wind. As Jonathan, Mandy, Yanni and I lifted our hands toward the sky, we were able to observe the lightening in the distance. This prompted us to abandon the amateur astrology class immediately and run to our car. We quickly sped back to our campsite as the gloomy clouds crept closer. As we approached our tents, the headlights of the car allowed us a quick view of the destruction. It was obviously fate – the wind had won. Thankfully, the tents were still there, but just blown over.

We fought the wind for sometime until each tent stood proud. The race to beat the rain was victorious. Every item was strategically placed to avoid moisture and to support the frame of each tent. Exhausted, it was time for some much needed sleep. As our heads hit our pillows, the wind instantly began to lessen and the threatening thunder clouds crept back out to sea. All work put forth into preparing for a horrible storm was almost pointless. As we drifted off to sleep, the sky opened up with millions of stars and the cool summer night was at a rare desirable temperature.

The next morning we all woke up to a beautiful day and decided to drive down to Hatteras. It is rumored that the best waves are there and that people from all over the world travel to Hatteras just to get a thrill of a lifetime. So, after a speedy cold shower, the four of us piled back into the Lumina for another afternoon drive. About an hour later, we reached our destination and by the looks of it, so had everyone elses. It was a short stretch of beach crammed with families and several experienced surfers. Once we found a place to lay our stuff, we joined the numerous people in the untamed waters of the Atlantic.

The surf was rough, and I was constantly fighting to hold my own against the current. Jonathan and Yanni had gone out further to catch larger waves while Mandy was sun bathing on the beach. It seemed to me that the harder I tried to swim back to the shore, the stronger the force became, pulling me closer to the pillars of a rundown dock. At first, I was not worried. I believed that I could fight my way back to a point where my feed could touch ground, but even when they did, I was still being dragged out to sea.

“Jonathan! Yanni! I need your help!” I yelled as I gulped sea water. “Jonathan!” I began to panic as I was pulled even closer to the dock. My legs were getting tired and my stomach churned with fear.

“Swim parallel,” Jonathan said. Moments before I collided with the jagged dock, Jonathan put his arms around my waist and attempted to haul me in. “If you kick, the current will take us both out. Get a hold of yourself.” Just as Jonathan and I reached land, I could see the lifeguards walking our way.

“We were about to come get you, but we saw the you were okay,” one of the lifeguards said. I simply nodded my head, and went to sleep on my towel. When I woke about and hour later, Mandy pointed out a nearby storm that looked like it was not going to pass. Just as we got in the car and started back to our campsite, the rain began to fall, gently at first, and then in angry bursts. By the time we made it back to our tents, a river had formed under them. We sent Yanni to inspect and he returned with a solemn face.

“Everything is water logged,” he said. In an attempt to wait out the storm, we drove toward downtown Nags Head only to find the whole island was in a blackout. All of tehe businesses were closed and traffic was backed up for miles. Listening to a radio broadcast we found out that flash floods were either imminent or occurring and that anyone is low lying areas should evacuate. The first thing to pop into our minds was that our tents were bound to wash away and that the river had probably grown into a lake by now. Once again we rushed back to our tents and this time we found ourselves in the middle of an evacuation. We were told by the park ranger that it would not be safe to stay there for the night.

In the middle of the pouring rain, we tried to collect all of our belongings and throw them into the car. Still, an obstacle stood in our way. Out of no where came a swarm of enormous hungry mosquitoes. They attacked us from head to toe and in our mad search for long pants and sweaters they had us for supper. Screaming and throwing our clothes on we appeared to have escaped the mosquitoes by getting in the car. There was dead silence for a moment until Jonathan turned on the over head light. Inside the car were at least forty mosquitoes.

In unison, we all screamed, “AHHHHHH!” The four of us swatted at them, but more seemed to appear. Jonathan in a rush accelerated the car and rolle down the windows to get the mosquitoes out, but instead more just flew in. As we drove back into town looking for a place to stay, we could still see a few flying about the car.

Our budget was small and trying to find a motel for four looked impossible, until we came to an old motel named London Inn. There we were able to get a warm place to sleep and enjoy a much needed shower. All of our clothes were drenched. Even the ones we wore were soaked. As I packed my bag before I went to bed, I separated my wet clothes from my mildly dry ones.

On the morning of our last day in Nags Head, the weather did not change much. The rain continued to fall and just as we ordered lunch from Taco Bell, the power went out again. The power surge erased all of the stored orders on the computer and forced everyone to reorder their meals. After acquiring our food, we spend the rest of the day waiting our the storm, but it never did go anywhere. So, as night fell, we decided that our trip was over and that is was time to go home. Just as we left so did the rain.

Driving until 5:00 A.M. is not easy, especially when your contacts have stiffened over your eyes and your feel disoriented. Jonathan dropped off Yanni and Mandy first, and then me. As I walked into my house that morning, I found that the clothes I was wearing were still damp and that my hair was no even brushed. The thoughts of what I been through echoed through my mind. Somehow, I had survived and learned how to better prepare more for any future camping trips. Walking down the hall I could hear my mother’s voice.

“Honey, is that you?” I opened her door and peered in. “How was it?” She had been forewarned by Jonathan’s mother that were returning in the wee hours for some curious reason.

With a half smile on my face, I replied, “Jonathan is an Eagle Scout, and he said it was the worst camping trip he had ever been on. Jonathan says it was the camping trip from hell.”