We were in a tent on a sandbar in the Rio Grande river, just in front of two vertical walls of a narrow stone canyon when I heard the guide tell his partner that word had just come through of a storm so intense that flash flooding was a probability. Advised to get to high ground, I anticipated what he said next: there was no high ground to get to. “If it happens, we’ll be swept right into those canyon walls…” and so I spent that night clarifying for myself what recreational pleasure meant for me. It means the absolute absence of risk and a high element of peace. I get no pleasure at all from physical risk. That doesn’t mean I don’t love to ski a tough trail in Colorado, but don’t invite me to helicopter ski in the Bugaboos. I think a lot about what it is about physical risk that drives so many people and whatever it is, it is not in me. Cerebral risk? absolutely.

get mqrried…twice!!

Hosted an interracial picnic in our back yard in rural Florida during the 60s. Our family was threatened with burning down our house and very ugly threatening phone calls. The Tampa inter-racial council finally provided us with a 24 hour security guard for about a month and then we moved.

get married..twice!!! sorry about the typo…my 4 year old grandson had his head under my arm…..

Being a true coward, I have never put myself in much danger with physical adventures such as sky diving, etc. I have been, however, called brave and courageous for being independent, pursuing an education, driving cross country with my daughter, and speaking out while others looked away. Actually the most dangerous thing I have ever done is to remain fat and not have the discipline, to go on a drastic diet of twigs and pebbles. Body fat is viewed socially, and medically, as poison we carry around.

Let’s see, came of age in the sixties, looking back it’s a miracle we lived through it… Living in Saudi Arabia with two small children….. Traveling the Middle East…some stories there… And, a few years ago, at age 55, learning to ride a motorcycle……..

I haven’t done anything particularly dangerous like bungee jumping or anything, but I did put myself in some risky situations when I was younger, that now terrify me thinking that my 16 year old son may also do, and the other terrifying thing I used to do is sing on stage in front of people! I would NEVER do that now!

I believe the most dangerous thing I have ever done has been to go whitewater rafting in W. Virginia, which was awesome. However, I do not know how to swim. I did luckily wear a life jacket. I do it again!

Let me see if I can tell this story. Shortly after my second divorce, I moved from L.A. to Salt Lake and began finding great comfort camping out in the deserts of Southern Utah. So, when winter started blowing in, and I wanted to gather wood for my fireplace, it seemed necessary that I drive South and gather up some of the wonderful Juniper that I’d so recently come to appreciate. I had visions of myself, lounging about, a glass of wine dangling from my fingers, enjoying the sensuous aroma of that wood all winter long. So off I went, solo this time. No man at the wheel or in the way, and headed for the San Rafael swell. The further I went, the more nervous I became about actually sleeping out there alone, but I remembered I’d read in Lynn Andrews’ Cougar Woman about sprinking tobacco around a campsite. So I stopped at a convenience store and bought a pack of tobacco. Red Man, I think was the brand. Now, as I was pulling into the swell, I did hit a rut, and I did hear a clunk. But it wasn’t until the next morning that I realized I’d knocked a hole in the oil pan. I’d been too busy gathering wood and building a fire and opening the wine and lying there all night in the wind and the stars. The Juniper there is so generous. It just gives up the branches it can no longer sustain. Lays them on the ground, like it’s hoping you’ll do something useful with them. The night before had been magical, but in the cold clear light of day, I could see. I was leaking oil. Well, I stuffed tobacco in the hole, and I made it to the 2-lane Highway before things siezed up entirely. Who knows what the deputy thought of this strange creature with a car full of wood in the middle of the desert, but he got me, and the car, safely into Green River. I marched the length of the city three times, checking into the Bandit Motel, buying a bus ticket, confirming that my car would need a whole new engine, and making sure I had a wake-up call the next morning. And I responded promptly when the call came, and walked out of my room before dawn and headed, knapsack on my back, toward the bus station. I may have begun contemplating, for the first time, the “sublime to ridiculous” comparison of those two nights: one in the San Rafael Swell, the next in the Bandit Motel. But when I looked up, the “Salt Lake” bus driving toward me, past me, out of town. Evidently, the clocks at one end of Green River were a few minutes behind the other end. Well, I was a little furious, and I can’t tell you now if Greyhound refunded the cost of my ticket or not, but I had an audition on Monday. The truckstop seemed my only prayer. And it was just across the parking lot. So I tip-toed into the cafe, and quietly asked the man at the cash register, if he knew whether or not any of these truckers were headed for Salt Lake. And he gave me a look, and then shouted into this dining room filled with truckers of all description. “LITTLE LADY HERE NEEDS A RIDE TO SALT LAKE CITY!” And when a guy came forward, I got in the truck. And the first guy even told me he couldn’t take me to Salt Lake, but he could take me over to the I-15 interchange and was sure we could flag somebody down from there…even then. I got in his truck. And we chatted amiably all the way to the interchange, and he did indeed flag down a second driver, who took me back to the bus station in Salt Lake, where friends were waiting. The Juniper didn’t make it home for a few more weeks, but I did enjoy it that same winter. And I did make it to the audition, and I got the job! It sustains me to this day. But criminetly, that was stupid!

Hitchhiking with friends (3 other females) to get to the beach. Heaven forbid , we should take public transportation. This was back in the 60’s. We felt invincible, carefree and safe. That was the only time i ever hitchhiked. My heart was palpitating for the 30 minute ride . The driver was a single male, at least 10 years older than ourselves. We had to choose who was going to sit in the front and back of the car. Guess who wound up in the front with the driver.

Just being flat out stupid brought me to the most dangerous things I’ve ever done. As kids, we would gather the neighborhood pack, divide into 2 teams, and then throw lit bottle rockets across the road at the other team. We did this in the dark and eagerly awaited to see where the rocket blew and if we hit someone! Fortunately, no one was ever hurt during one of these duels. Other situations as a teenager and young adult involving too much alocohol and not near enough good judgement. I woke up passed out on a car one night one night during a frat party. There were people everywhere and my jewelry had been stolen off me while passed out! I was damn lucky nothing else happended to me. It took me losing a good friend in college who was driving while drunk to become the designated driver - always. Still drink, just much smarter about it.

When I was five yrs old I was the perfect tomboy. I jumped off the roof of the garage on a bag swing. I’ll never forget the look of horror on my mother’s face when she just happened to walk out and see me. Getting married when I had only known my husband for 6 months. Scary — however, it’s lasted 47 years. Taking the controls of an airplane. Thank God the pilot was there. After the initial shock — it was incredible. I felt like I had my own wings. Maybe that’s why I later became a Flight Attendant.