The Black Lagoon

I don't do heights. I don't do edges. Don't drive on roads that have cliffs and don't back down a boat ramp. I've learned that if it's necessary because I'm a passenger/prisioner, I can close my eyes, or ask to be let out and I walk it.


I have real nightmares of gravity "giving out" as I'm in the middle of a STEEP incline, like Airport Road in St. George, and I fall backward off the hill. I'm a wimp.

So a trip to Lagoon's "Frightmares" seems quite odd, you'd think. BUT, my drive to be a cool grandma outweighed my fears. I did Lagoon. I went on rides-not all but enough to be cool. Richard was behind me all the way . . . .except in the lines. A qweezy stomach keeps his feet on the ground. He's secure with who he is and doesn't need to prove his cool grandpa status.


Adam and Sara could be thrill junkies-catapult, shriekers, corkscrews-I get sick writing about it!
Long lines were my friends. It meant fewer rides. But, I went and when I closed my eyes on the rickity old roller coaster or the very dangerous, fast, and extremely high "Paratrooper", my grandsons bellowed above all the noise in the park, "Open your eyes, Grandma. Face your fears."

I'm thankful for sunglasses.