Back in high school...

I rang bells for 4+ hours each week. Oh yes, my friends, as many of you know I was in a bell choir. And not just any bell choir, but the Wesley Bell Ringers. The country's best and brightest, white-glove-wearing, trilling and chime-playing prodigies. Ok, so I'm a bit biased. But that's not the point of this story.

You, like many of my peers, might snicker at the fact that I was a bell ringer. ("Does that mean you stand outside grocery stores at Christmas?") It's ok, go ahead, I'm used to it. But what you might not realize is that my membership in this melodic group meant two to four weeks of a tradition we called "Tour." Just like rock stars, we boarded a bus each summer and spread the sound of angels all over this land. From Quebec to Tucson, we played in 4th of July parades, Disney World, the middle of California's giant Sequoias and held nightly concerts in churches big and small. And in high school this is almost too much freedom and excitement to take.

Being a bell ringer was secretly cool.

We worked hard to keep this boat called "Tour" afloat. We sold hoagie sandwiches, attempted to sell wrapping paper, took up church offerings, and hocked our CD, but nothing compared to the twice-yearly monster rummage sale. This was our bread and butter. It was an incredible amount of work, but also the most fun we had all year. As a thrift store fanatic, for me this was a playground full of treasure. And one of my best finds is pictured below.


The Joy of Skiing sounds like a self-help book for poor souls having trouble moving beyond "snowplow," or an enlightened look at how one can attain total transcendence on a double black. I'm not really sure what it's about, because I've never actually read it. To me, and my best friend Allie, this book was all about dreams.

Allie and I, as many teens did before gas prices were so high, spent many a night driving the Salt Lake Valley in search of auto salvation. She drove a Nova from the 80's. I had a Sable station wagon that I refused to clean in protest (until the day I finally gave up the ghost and offered "Bessie" a bit of detailing, only to total her the next night). But what we desperately wanted was the car that would buy our way into the cool club. And this little book that we snagged from the rummage bin turned into our hand-scrawled "Blue Book" record of what we fantasized our parents would tie a big red bow on for our birthdays.

1991 BMW that "runs like a hero."
Two Land Cruisers for the price of one.
Jaguar VandenPlas XJ6 for a mere $10,500.
Jetta. Red. Hot boy driving. $4,000 OBO.

I was cleaning out a bookshelf yesterday and ran across this trove of memories. It brought me back to those warm summer nights. The smell of slurpees and the heater on full blast so Allie's Nova didn't overheat. Spontaneous Sno Shack runs and semi-stalker-ish drives by the homes of our crushes. Flip flops on the dash. Radio turned up and no place to be.

Flipping through the pages made me laugh at what I thought was affordable in the days before I became a card-carrying member of the job force. And, of course, looking back I'm very glad my parents didn't indulge my every desire. But I'm also deeply grateful that Allie and I bonded over a "1967 Bronco for $5,000" and created a hilarious record of our exploits. We may have thought that a few thousand comes easy, but memories like these are priceless. I'll take our "Guide to Salt Lake's Tightest Available Transportation Necessities" over a mere car any day!