There are some nice pontoon boats on the Island Park Reservoir, but pontoon boat stories are not as good as houseboat stories.
Something was lost in translation. Two beautiful German girls had run off with my jet skis -- again. We were all guests on my brother-in-law's houseboat on Lake Powell. My careful jet ski instructions were forgotten the moment they started the engines and rode off to parts unknown. One week, four families, two German exchange students, and at least one girlfriend made for a memorable first trip to Lake Powell. Over the years, we accepted two or three additional invitations to return and I became an expert at fiberglass and jet ski repair. While my jet ski skills improved, my patience did not. Being like my father, I have a short fuse. I sputter a little and then go on with the fun. I guess it was more impressive to the nieces and nephews who told me a few years ago that they were afraid of me when they were little. And I thought I was Good Time Charlie, Mr. Funnypants, and at the center of their happiness and recreation. OK, so I did blow an O ring when they decided they just had to bake cookies when it was over 100 degrees outside. Mary Kay reminded me that it was not my houseboat's air-conditioner that had just been defeated by two big batches of chocolate chip cookies. Let's just say that I cooled off much faster than the kitchen. The year before he decided to sell the houseboat, my brother-in-law extended another generous invitation to Lake Powell. As we were making final preparations, I remembered to ask who was on the guest list. When we learned that the high school cheerleaders were very excited to be invited, we became less excited to be invited -- much less. My surgical schedule had already been cleared for one week and so we found a great package deal on a flight to Las Vegas that included four days at a new hotel called The Bellagio. Rational people normally don’t choose to go to Las Vegas in July, but we were dodging a bullet and soon found ourselves in Las Vegas, looking up in disbelief at a neon sign telling us that it was 102 degrees at 10:30 at night. Our niece, Jennifer, was living in Las Vegas at the time and had returned early from the Lake Powell trip that we chose to avoid. She suggested we meet for ice cream at Ghiradelli's. The chocolate sundaes were great and we enjoyed catching up on how life was different in Las Vegas. Jennifer's eyes grew wide and she spoke like she was trying not to let anyone else hear as she told us all about the trip to Lake Powell. As it turns out, when the cheerleading squad arrived, there were both boys and girls -- surprise! No one seemed to mind that they would share the upper deck of the houseboat under the stars together. Let me see here, teenage boys and girls in sleeping bags out under the stars in Arizona, miles from nowhere — what could go wrong? It turns out that sunlight created most of the problems. The upper deck became a large drum covered with jumping cheerleaders. I suppose they just thought that everyone else on board would be as excited as they were with their sunrise practice routines. They were mistaken. My brother-in-law woke up and patiently and gently explained that everyone else was more interested in sleeping. They nodded knowingly at his instructions which seemed to make little difference. Their unbridled enthusiasm was unstoppable night and day on the beach, in the water, or on the upper deck of the houseboat. That's why they became cheerleaders. As the sun came up the second morning, so did the cheerleaders. What followed was kind of a blur for Jennifer, but, as she described the scene, I was reminded of how the merchants were cast out of the temple in the New Testament. Let's just say that this time my brother-in-law spoke in his big scary voice and sent the cheerleaders scurrying for their things. They spent the third night on the "beach," as they lived out Benjamin Franklin's aphorism from the 1700s, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days." When they woke up the third morning they soon learned that their week at Lake Powell had suddenly become abbreviated and they were loaded into a speedboat for a quick ride to the marina, followed by a long bus ride back to Salt Lake City. Jennifer said that she was still sleep-deprived and rather than being on vacation, she felt like she'd been to cheerleading camp for three days. She summed it up with brutal honesty, “Uncle Roger, it was just awful! But, if YOU had been there, it would have been a disaster!” To this day she is still my favorite niece named Jennifer.
Ever vigilant,
Roger H. Tall, M.D.
Comments