You saw me standing alone. (That's "Blue Moon," I know, but this one doesn't happen once in a blue moon.)
It's Friday the Thirteenth. I feel compelled to blog today, because the next Friday the Thirteenth will be my last day of work. Today is the only Friday the Thirteenth this year. There will be two next year, in February and March. (Except in leap years, if February has one, so will March.)
It is also a full moon. The article on this page:
calculates that "the odds of a year having a Friday the 13th full moon are just 5.81 percent. That means it happens, on average, every 20 years or so." While the conclusion is correct, the calculations are bunk. They start with one chance in seven that any given day will be a Friday. Fridays don't occur at random. They occur in a fairly regular succession..., about one every seven days to be exact. Likewise, full moons occur in regular succession, as does the 13th of the month.
But at least they gave me the Friday the Thirteenth Full moons for a couple of centuries. The reason I went looking is that I remember where I was on Friday July 13th 1984. I was Scoutmaster of the Troop I grew up in, and we were at Summer Camp that week. I had 3 boys from my Troop and 3 from another Troop in the same town, and we combined. Since I was chronically unemployable (I called myself "Self Employed") at the time, I could stay the whole week, with other adult leadership switching out as needed.
The Scoutmaster of the other Troop..., I'll call him "Bob," went with us, swapped out with an Assistant from his Troop, and came back Thursday. (I may have some of the details off, but HEY, it's been THIRTY YEARS!) One of the boys from the other Troop was the Scoutmaster's son..., I'll call him "Bob, Jr."
As an aside, I'll mention a tale that my Scoutmaster told me (or it might have been another adult leader he was telling when I was a kid, and I was just eavesdropping.) He had a boy in the Troop once who was epileptic. The kid was probably self conscious about it (since kids that age are self conscious about EVERYTHING) but his parents didn't inform the Scoutmaster about the condition.
In case you are not aware, if you're going to send your kid off into the woods camping for any length of time, it's probably a good idea for the adults in charge to be aware of ANY medical conditions. I promise you, they won't make your kid wear a Scarlet "E," or line 'em up "Bedwetters over here, sleepwalkers over there." They just need to know.
Anyway, my Scoutmaster's story ended, of course, with a seizure and a trip to the emergency room, but it could have been much worse (especially if there had been a less experienced Scoutmaster in charge.)
But back to 1984. July. 12th. Thursday.
This camp had a nice variety of "overnight hikes" for the Troops. That's where you take the Troop and spend the night away from your "regular" campsite, in a more remote (or at least different) area of camp. Two in particular were the Swiss Family Overnight and the Huck Finn Overnight. I scheduled us for the Swiss Family on Thursday and the Huck Finn on Friday.
Bob came back to camp on Thursday. I think I may have mentioned these two overnights before he left. Anyway, he probably seemed to be a little nervous about 'em but I didn't really notice. (I was pretty green back then.) This camp has a pretty good sized lake, and the Swiss Family overnight involved canoeing across and spending the night in a treehouse.
So we're up in the treehouse, bedding down for the night, and Bob seems nervous (but again, I don't notice until I look back on things later.) He says, attempting nonchalance, "I hope nobody sleepwalks," and puts his sleeping bag down right in front of the opening to the ladder "just in case." I figure that's a pretty good idea, but don't give it much further thought.
A little later I'm awakened by a sort of startled "Huh? What's that?" (Or words to that effect. It's been 30 years.) I get up and Bob Jr. is standing at the railing with his flashlight, looking down at a possum on the ground. (I know the proper name is opossum, but I'm from the south. Deal with it.) Anyway, I say "it's a possum, go back to bed." And I assume he does. The rest of the night is uneventful (but Bob didn't seem to get much rest.)
Friday. I was already aware that I would have my Troop in camp on the first Friday the 13th Full moon in 14 years. I figured it would be a great night for ghost stories (but I don't remember if we told any or not.) And the Huck Finn overnight was spent on a raft in the middle of the lake. Full moon. Friday the Thirteenth. Does it get any better?
Bob seemed a little frazzled (but of course I didn't notice, until later.) The treehouse had a railing. The raft had a lake. Bob did a good job of arranging sleeping bags (not Bob Jr.'s tho') around the perimeter. Mine and his were at the edge, and maybe one or two of the older boys. Bob Jr. was near the center tho'. We all went to sleep, the moon was full, there was plenty of light (for the middle of a summer night in the middle of a lake.) I'm usually a pretty sound sleeper, and I was even worse back then, but I was semi-aware of someone getting up. I think I might even have realized it was Bob Jr. I figured he was getting up to take a leak. (We were all males on a raft in a lake ..., I'll let you figure out where the urinal was.) Anyway, the boy approached the edge, near me. I figured that nature's call would be answered.
Then I heard a splash. And an alarmed voice ..., even more so than it had been at the possum. But I was near the edge, and he went in close to me. I rolled over and extended my arm, grabbed his and pulled him back onto the raft. (This is called a "reach rescue," or at least it was when I was a Scout. I never got Lifesaving Merit Badge, but ever since I have bragged that I can do a reach rescue in my sleep. I really still can't believe I was able to do that.)
Anyway, I got him back on the raft, Bob got him a towel, got him dried off and back to bed. And I still didn't realize Bob Jr. was a sleepwalker. I was kind of dense back then.
I gained a little more experience with sleepwalkers in Scouting, but I know one of them reads my blog (or has in the past.) I'll wait for his permission to tell any of those stories.
Anyway, I can retire in 247 days (and in 245 it will be Friday the 13th.)
So you kids get off my lawn!
