Choosing to throw intellect and rational thought to the wind we decided to brave the holiday traffic and spend the recent Labor Day weekend in Tahoe with my parents.

Normally by the time we’re backing out of the driveway the moon is on the wane and the nocturnal creatures are starting to think about calling it a night.  Being disorganized does have certain advantages, namely that the roads are pretty much clear of traffic by 2:00 AM.

Dollar Point in North Shore, normally rather quiet and serene becomes much more active on holiday weekends. Many of the homes where we’ve considered claiming squatter’s rights due to their consistent lack of occupancy are lit up like Christmas trees as the long weekend brings revelers to the shores of pristine and tranquil Lake Tahoe.

One would think that if ever there were a place where a person could truly relax and feel at peace, allowing the stress and frustrations of everyday life to melt away, it would be Tahoe. My mother, on the other hand, carries a note.  Allow me to explain.

We’ve all heard the old saying about not leaving the house without clean underwear (or as is sometimes the case with the boy, ANY underwear) in case of accident. I discovered on this particular weekend that (in addition to wearing what I assume is clean underwear) when walking alone in Tahoe my mother carries a note in her pocket which contains her name and emergency contact information.  Her reasoning is that should some sort of tragedy befall her no one would know who she was thus she could become a Jane Doe in the Truckee Medical Center until such time as she regained her mental faculties enough to communicate. What she doesn’t realize is that the pink and white stripped shirt that I have yet to see her go without on ANY vacation is probably identifier enough, but that’s a story for another time.

I began to consider the benefit such a note would offer a Good Samaritan who happened upon her prone form in the roadway, having just been besieged and left for dead by a band of antisocial chipmunks.

“Hello is this Mr. Romano? Very good, yes, well I’m sorry to trouble you but I seem to have stumbled upon a Christine Romano lying prone on this beautiful tree lined street directly in front of my ridiculously expensive yet tastefully decorated domicile. I can’t be sure but she appears to have chipmunk sized claw marks about her head and shoulders. My guess is that the little buggers besieged her while she was admiring my home. They can be cunning little devils to be sure. In any event I was in a quandary as to whether to simply roll her out of the way so as to access my driveway or if I should, you know, become involved. Thankfully I found a note on her person which informed me to call YOU good sir.  So if you would be so kind as to come over and collect her I would be most grateful. The wife and I have dinner reservations anon and while I COULD take the Range Rover since it’s already out of the garage I really would like to give the Beemer a little exercise. You understand I’m sure.”

Yes one cannot argue the obvious logic of her actions. In fact I’m sure many of you are contemplating carrying notes of your own the next time you venture out. But let us not get carried aware with our cautionary tale. Even mom does not carry a note when walking in her own neighborhood. She figures one of the neighbors would have the decency to at least drag her back to her own home and ring the bell before pinning an identifying note to her pink and white stripped shirt.