Okay, there’s something I didn’t tell you about the trip to Kings Island. Well, a lot of things are still waiting to be told, but this is timely. I lost my Driver’s License at Kings Island, so I had to get a replacement. In these days of intensified indentification, I went to the picture of me when I was under two and pulled my birth certificate from the back of it. ONLY IT WASN’T MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE. It was Quentin’s and if I remember correctly Quentin called me a couple of months ago and asked if I had his birth certificate and I said, “Why, no, Quentin. We sent you yours and mine is behind the picture.”

Oh, yes, that is one of the things I told Jeri about as I meandered through my saga . . . and then I told her I thought we could just keep that to ourselves.  Jeri is the employee who helped me at the license bureau here. I was sitting in the molded plastic chair with the number 72 growing moist in my hand.  This tall blonde called out 71 and no one responded. “72,” she then summoned. I stood up, approached the counter, sat down, looked at her and said, “I have a valid Indiana driver’s license but it is at the bottom of the White Water Canyon ride at Kings Island.”

She grinned and asked, “And you didn’t fish for it?” No, no. I hadn’t. I told her I was too busy sort of throwing up  . . . ”

Yes, that was what happened when I wrote the Diamondback, developed motion sickness and did not reach the point of total recovery before I headed over to White Water Canyon.  I thought since that ride was a wetish one, it would refresh me. Some of the folks in my raft found it to be wetish – I got drenched.

And then the boat slowly rotated . . . and did it again . . . and again. Finally, I turned my head over my shoulder and gave in to the spasms of motion sickness. And I did it again . . . and again . . . and again . . .and again . . . and again. Then the ride ended. I put my head down and got on the rotating deck, staggered to the solid cement and then trekked down the exit trail.

Somewhere and sometime in this White Water Canyon junket, my driver’s license took a dive.

And, then on the walk to my car this morning, I found I didn’t have my birth certificate. I thought I was doomed. But Jeri was very nice and helpful and went through my papers and laughed at mey stories and took my picture and put my new license in my hand.

I had been so apprehensive I had left my purse at home and paid for my license by pulling out a ziplock bag with money in it – one of those I had stuffed in my pockets while at the theme park. For Jeri, it was sort of the coup de grace of an AmeliaJake tale.

But. thank you, Jeri; thank you for being so friendly and understanding and nice.