A gal who cain’t say no

The legendary playwright and wit George S. Kaufman famously said that one should try everything once.

Except incest.

And folk dancing.

I subscribe to this philosophy whole-heartedly.  I remember even giving folk dancing a shot.  (Didn’t we all  have to take lessons in the seventh grade?)

I don’t know exactly when or how it started but my mantra is “Say yes to everything.”  I never say “no” because you never know what you’re going to miss out on if you decline an invitation.

If someone takes the trouble to actually ask you to something, you kind of owe it to yourself- and them- to jump in.

The same can also be said for a challenge.

Or a dare.

Some of you may recall that I started skiing at an advanced age because Bill dared me. And was he ever sorry.  Turned out I loved it and spent tons of his hard-earned lettuce on ski lessons, ski clothes and ski vacations.

And a ski house.

But he was really in no position to complain because he had an expensive little hobby of his own.  And it cost way more that my schussing ever did.

Bill was a pilot and he owned his own plane.

It started when he was the University of Illinois.  He took a course in aviation and was bitten by the bug.  From college on, he racked up hours, kept his license valid and always managed to get in some time in the cockpit.

And when Natasha and Nick were about ten and twelve he bought himself- and us- a snazzy little puddle jumper to zoom around in.

This purchase was met with varying responses from the Ross flight crew.  Nick was intrigued.  But prone to air-sickness.  So he wasn’t wild about right-seating it.

Natasha didn’t like the score her father had gotten on his written exam.  (When Bill told her he had racked up a very respectable 83 or something on the test, she still declined to go up with him.  “I don’t fly with B- pilots,” was her judgmental response.)

That left yours truly.

(Who wholeheartedly shared Nick’s mal de mer and Natasha’s grading scale.)

But I went.  Gritting my teeth and praying for good weather at every banked turn.

I remember once, in some dicey, not-so-hot visual conditions, I asked Bill to turn on the radio.  I thought we’d get a weather update or a heads up about other aircraft in our airspace.

He did.  To the Bears game.  Not exactly what I had in mind…

But still I went with him.  Because I don’t like to say the word “no.”

This was only the warm-up to the adventures that lay in store for me.  My anti-no bias led me to paragliding when another guy wanted to give it a try.

For the uninitiated among you, paragliding is big in Aspen.  Singly (no thank you) or in tandem with an instructor (yes, please) you can Jeep up the backside of Ajax- Aspen’s famous mountain- and jump off.

Depending on the winds- and how much you’ve eaten that morning-*** you can soar like an eagle for at least twenty minutes.

***When my man of the hour called to book the reservations, he listened to the instructor on the other end of the phone and then said “175.”

Then he listened again and turned to me.

“How much do you weigh?” he asked.

“90,” I reported.

Over the wires I could hear the instructor happily sing out, “She’s MY girl!”

And so I was.

The next morning, Jan- a veteran of the Norwegian Air Force- and I made a running start off the cliff- and kept going.  We stayed up for what seemed like forever, circling, and swooping up again as each summer thermal caught us and launched us anew.  It was fabulous.

And the photo op was only matched by the adrenaline rush.

Maybe that’s the downside to never saying “never.”  You do become an excitement junkie- always looking for the next big thrill.

My last husband provided them.  In spades.

He adored anything on wheels- go carts, ATV’s, sports cars.

And all of them going at warp speed.

Stuck with my “Say Yes to Anything” credo this meant that I:

1.  Drove from Aspen to Moab where he tore through the canyons and precipices on an ATV- with me perilously hanging off the back.  He’d take that dune buggy right up to the edge, too- in pursuit of a great picture.

(Is it any wonder that my hair turned gray before its time?)

2.  Spent three days at the Panoz Racing School outside of Atlanta.  At last, legitimately- and free from the menace of radar and traffic school- he could go as fast as he wanted in GT racing cars.

And, at the end of the course, I could finally beam with pride (instead of seethe with anger) as my protegé came in valedictorian of his class.  With honors.

3.  Took a turn on the “Big Shot” at the Stratosphere Casino in Las Vegas.

This ride is heinous.

I’m quoting straight from its advertisement now:

“Prepare to be shot 160 feet into the sky at 45 miles per hour as you overlook majestic Las Vegas valley.  In a matter of seconds, the Big Shot thrill ride catapults sixteen riders from the 921-foot high platform up the tower’s mast to a height of 1,081 feet and down again. Before you catch your breath, you’ll be shot back up again at forces unmatched by other Vegas thrill parks.  Experience a gut-wrenching four G’s of force on the way up, and feel negative G’s on the way down…”

OMG.

When I staggered off that thing I was ready for a hospital- or a criminal defense lawyer.  If I wasn’t so freakin’ dizzy, I would have KILLED him.

In-N-Out Burger Side Bar:  He did try to make it up to me by taking me to my fave In-N- Out Burger joint after my stomach relocated to its proper position.  But as our taxi waited in the order line, a Vegas SWAT team burst in, cordoned off the place and closed it to all us non-criminals as they made some kind of drug bust.  I never did get to place my order.

Oh well.  When you can beat ’em, you might as well join ’em.

I’m not pushing my philosophy on all of you, mind.  But I have to report that my anti-no mindset has brought me joy more often than not.  Scary and stomach-churning though it’s been.

And it sure beats sitting it out on Life’s sidelines.

And George.  A little do-si-do-ing never hurt anybody.

Come on, y’awl.   Allemand  left… allemand right…

Now who’s up for skydiving?

And who’s ready for In-N-Out Burger afterwards?

See me.