February 23, 2010 Grant County Journal Whadda ya mean I’m not friendly? Written by Janet Warren Occasionally I get a comment from one of my readers that makes me smile. My favorite is from the lady who feels like she is sitting on a lounge chair at the beach catching up with an old, comfortable friend when she reads my column. I have had people tell me they feel like they know me even though they have never met me. I know my husband often jokes we have no secrets at the Warren house! I do believe if I ran for public office there would be nothing the opposing party could dig up on me—I have confessed to everything already. Well almost everything—there is something I haven’t told you and it came to the forefront this week when one of the police officers told my husband he didn’t think I was very friendly. “She never waves to us when we see her driving.” Truth be told, it kind of freaks me out that they know what kind of car I drive. But I was bound and determined to rectify my perceived unfriendliness so the next time I saw a police car, I started waving like a maniac. As it passed, however, I realized it had Sheriff written on the side and (although I may be wrong) I don’t think the deputies have a clue I’m the police chief’s wife. The Deputy politely waved back. Which brings me to the topic I have been mulling over this month. People, like me, who were raised in large communities often develop a heightened sense of emotional boundaries. I actually am a friendly person, which is why I write the way I do. You really do know me if you’ve been reading my columns. To me it is a way to connect with you without invading your space. You don’t have to look at me coldly if you don’t want to listen, just turn the page. On the other hand, Mike was raised in small towns in Oregon. He was 15 the first time he, a self-described country bumpkin, visited Portland. He remembers walking down the street, saying “hi, how are you” to everyone only to get ignored or dismissed with a stare. But Mike is a friendly guy and much of that comes from being raised in places where everybody knew his name. He fits in so well in Ephrata. He still walks down the street saying “hi, how are you” to everyone, but now the people he meets are as friendly as he is. I would say at least if he isn’t handcuffing them, but even that doesn’t seem to be the case. For those of you who don’t know, the police chief’s job is mostly administrative. Mike isn’t usually the first responder and he rarely takes someone to jail. He does, however, fill in when needed and his services were needed during the first Basin Summer Sounds he was working. He was the only one with a vehicle as the other officers were on bikes or involved elsewhere. There was a fight and one of the men was handcuffed and put in Mike’s vehicle to go to jail. As Mike started driving, he realized he had never booked anyone into the Grant County Jail and he said out loud, “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to take you.” The young man responded, “Oh no worries, I’ve been there lots of times, I’ll tell you what to do.” And sure enough, he directed him as to what door to go in, where to sign in, and greeted the officers at the jail. Another incident happened recently when two young men came into the police department to say their goodbyes to the police officers because they were going in front of the judge the next day to be sentenced. Somehow I don’t think things like that happen in larger towns. Sure enough, I read in the paper they went away to prison for a couple of years. I hope I don’t sound like I don’t want to be in Ephrata. Not so! I admit when I moved here it was a bit of a culture shock. I have had to loosen up a bit and consciously think that the person standing next to me in the grocery line would not think I was invading his privacy if I spoke to him. There are things I miss about living in a bigger city, mostly conveniences. There are things I do not miss, however, like traffic. Even when I am frustrated trying to get out of the Safeway parking lot onto Basin Street during the “rush 15-minutes” around 3 p.m. I am so grateful I live here instead of Denver or Seattle. I can even mail a package at the post office without standing in line for a half an hour. Mike and I felt like eating a pizza with a movie recently, so I called ahead to order it. I ordered a Barbeque Chicken Pizza, not realizing there was Canadian Bacon on it. When we arrived, we were told the Canadian Bacon was kept off of it because they remembered Mike is allergic to pork. When does that happen in an impersonal big city? The first week I moved to Ephrata, a bank teller wrote me a hand-written note apologizing for some slip up. My experience up until then had been that bankers don’t acknowledge mistakes, let alone apologize for them. I’m learning the small town ways so please be patient with me. If you drive a white car with a ski rack on top and a middle-age woman starts waving hysterically at you…well, it’s probably just me mistaking you for a police car.

Grant County Journal Road Trip! Road Trip! Written by Janet Warren April 26, 2012 I spent almost half of April in Syracuse. No, not Syracuse, New York—Syracuse, Utah. If you don’t know where Syracuse, Utah is you are not alone. Most of the people who live in Utah don’t know where it is unless you mention it’s in between Ogden and Layton. Utah has an interesting layout. Here in Ephrata when you set out to go to the next town, you know when you arrive because there is a lot of farmland in between. In Utah, you never know what town you’re in because they all run together. And don’t get me started on their grid system of street layout—it’s the most confusing thing I’ve experienced. It’s not just the fact that I get lost easily—I never get lost driving in Chandler, Arizona where the grid system actually makes sense and is easy to follow. My sister and her family recently moved to Syracuse. My brother-in-law, Denny, is a manager for Gordmans department store, and they just opened up the Utah territory. So Mike and I took a road trip to Utah with our daughter, Jenni, and three grandchildren in tow. I love it when Mike goes on our little adventures because he likes to drive. We dropped a car off at the Spokane airport for him, and then he drove the 12 or 13 hours to Syracuse. Mike flew back to Spokane a few days later, because as he likes to point out—“Someone has to work,” and Jenni did the driving back home. I always offer to drive, but no one takes me up on it, except my sisters. I once drove my sister, Diane, from Reno, Nevada to Ocean City, New Jersey. This was before I had a GPS and we didn’t even get lost until we hit the New Jersey Turnpike. In my defense, who doesn’t get lost on the New Jersey Turnpike? My sisters and I are directionally impaired so the invention of the GPS changed our lives. But that’s another story. Jenni went on a little vacation to Costa Rica and the grandchildren stayed with the other grandma in American Fork, Utah. I have to share them sometimes. I spent a lot of time reading and relaxing and shopping at Gordmans. My sister, Sara, is one of my best friends so we always have good laughs. Our road trip back to Ephrata was a little longer. We spent the first night in Butte, Montana. Have you ever seen the 90-foot statue of Mary, Our Lady of the Rockies, on top of the Continental Divide in Butte? According to a website: “Our Lady of the Rockies is entirely nondenominational and was dedicated in 1985 to workers and women everywhere — especially to mothers. Butte was an area hard hit by copper mine closures in the early 1980s and this Madonna was believed to be one way to lift the spirits of the residents.” Bus tours to the statue don’t start until June, so we only got to see it through the zoom lens of Jenni’s camera. Our road trip continued to Spokane where I had a conference to attend. This is where the most memorable part of our journey occurred—something that still gives me chills. Our hotel was about a half mile from Riverside Park and we wanted Seth and Noah to ride the carousel. We walked and I got a little turned around (it’s that directionally challenged thing). Jenni followed me because even though she is not directionally challenged, she thought since I used to live in Spokane I might know where I was going. This was her first mistake. Anyway, we found ourselves on the end of the park where the Washington Power Company is and we had to cross some bridges over the Spokane River to get into the park. The rapids were amazing and Jenni wanted to get a picture of the twins on the bridge. She was fiddling with the camera and Seth sat down on a concrete ledge, just the perfect height for a 4-year-old to rest on. As I looked up, I realized the iron bars on the bridge were spaced so far apart, all Seth would have had to do is lean back and he would have fallen through to the rapids and rocks below. In times like this, things flash through your mind. I imagined him falling and Jenni going in after him. I know that’s what her instinct would have been. Her father-in-law was killed in Costa Rica when he became sick on a bridge. The limo driver let him out, he walked over to the side where he lost his balance and fell to his death. Jenni’s mother-in-law’s instinct was to go after him and the limo driver had to hold her back. Would I have had enough presence of mind to hold Jenni back? Or would I have lost my grandson and daughter that day? It still makes me cry to think about it. I know that people can become paralyzed with anxieties about things that could have but didn’t happen and I’m working through that. However, that evening while I was sitting in my conference at the INB Performing Arts Center, my mind kept drifting to how the night could have turned out so much differently. Spokane is about the have the wrath of a grandma unleashed upon them. I’m not going on anymore road trips for awhile. As I took a walk this morning in my quiet Ephrata neighborhood, I realized it was enough. I am glad I am home.