Month: July 2023

Close Encounters With A Bear

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

(7 minute read)

Just as the action on the television was mounting (cars crashing, crowds of screaming people racing down the city street, zombies pouncing onto the uninfected) a very different kind of scary scene unfolded right inside of our living room. My husband and I had just cleaned up the kitchen after a delicious grilled beef tenderloin dinner, and settled into the comfy sofa in our vacation rental in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. We found “World War Z” starring Brad Pitt, who saves the world (spoiler alert) from an infectious disease that would surely wipe out the human race. It was strange to watch this movie post Covid, as the onscreen characters crossed city streets in masks (a foreboding site at the start of this movie in 2013, which seems so commonplace ten years later). We sank into the cushions and turned up the volume. Just as Brad Pitt was rushing his family through the chaos of the rabies-infected zombie crush, something caught my eye to the left of the tv. My husband saw it too. A bear!

Across the carpeted second floor living room is the banister and top of the stairs. Down the eight steps there is a small landing and the front door to the house. Just around the corner of the front landing are eight more carpeted stairs that lead to the bottom floor of bedrooms and garage. Around 9:30 at night the cool breeze blew through the sliding screen doors from the same deck that we’d shared a bottle of wine and grilled the beef tenderloin an hour or so earlier. The grizzly zombie apocalypse unfolded before us, but that did not send chills up my spine like what happened next.  I froze in fear as my eyes caught movement in the periphery. The giant brown furry back of a bear was making his way up the stairs inside of our house.

He was so quiet yet his entrance into the room was noticed. It was surreal. Something so out of place: a four hundred plus pound bear rounding the corner of our carpeted stairs. The thick cinnamon brown fur on his rounded back, making his way up the staircase, step by step. My husband reached his arm across, resting his hand on my thigh and said aloud, “Carolyn…don’t…move…” His words registered in my brain but my fight-or-flight reaction took over. I leapt over the arm of the sofa and into the half bathroom, closing the door behind me. All I could hear from my hide-out inside of the bathroom walls was the screaming and crashing of the loud zombie movie. I hunkered down in fear. Is the bear right outside the bathroom door? Is he in the kitchen? What happened to Kevin? I had no idea what was taking place outside of that small locked bathroom. Finally, after what seemed like the longest time, the door handle started to jostle. Then my husband began knocking on the door. “It’s safe. All is clear.”

I came out of the bathroom, expecting to see the inside of the house destroyed. Nothing was out of place. My husband, my hero, my protector, saved us. Apparently, after I darted into my hiding spot (instead of staying still), he stood up. He raised his hands high in the air and tried to be as big as possible, slowly walking right toward the bear. His tactic was to “be big.” It worked. The bear looked at him from the top step just six feet separating them and then turned around and walked back down the stairs, and out the way he came in through the screen door in one of the downstairs bedrooms. I was left alone upstairs. I muted the blaring movie. The house was finally quiet. I kept looking over at the stairs (and I still do) expecting to see the large furry back crawling on all fours. 

It was not the first bear I have ever seen. It was also not the only bear we have seen since vacationing up here in Lake Tahoe. Last week we saw a baby bear and her mama bear close by. It was so beautiful that I almost cried. My spirit animal, my grizzlybearma moniker, right before my eyes. The little bear was the cutest, even with his large claws that made it possible for him to scale the tree trunk of the tall pine. His protective mother, much larger, hovered nearby in the bushes. She kept a close eye on us as we watched from our friends’ second story deck. We snapped pictures and talked about bears all evening. Black bears are very frequent visitors to this area, coming around in search of food. Garbage cans need to be securely locked up inside garages or in big metal “bear boxes.” Warnings are posted all over about the bears. Bear sightings became part of the adventure of this high sierra atmosphere.

In the past couple years there was a bear that earned fame on the internet, “Hank the Tank.” He prowled the neighborhoods in South Lake Tahoe, breaking into houses, ransacking kitchens, and making appearances in campgrounds. I looked Hank up online. The bear that came into our living room was not as big as Hank (who was close to 500 pounds). That made no difference to me. This was the largest wild animal that I have ever gotten so close to. Perhaps the most frightening aspect of this encounter was that we were not on a hike, or at a park. We were sitting inside the comfort of our house. It was surreal. There is simply no other way to put it. 

I have been wracking my brain trying to make sense of this. Has he been inside here before? Was he surprised to see people inside the house? Why did he calmly turn around and just leave? No damage, besides the torn screen. No growling. No clawing. No violence. He simply changed his mind when he saw my big tall husband, and walked out.

This story could have had a different outcome. Other bears, such as grizzlies or brown bears, might have hurt us. I have seen movies and read stories. My favorite National Geographic specials are of the grizzly bears on rivers catching fish with their bare claws. Those bears are different. Even so, a docile black bear can be very dangerous if he is surprised or cornered into a space. Luckily, our visitor politely retreated when he found out he was not welcome.

I feel more than luck was involved. Protected is what I am feeling right now. My husband showed he is the ultimate grizzlybearpa, my hero. His bravery and cool calmness under pressure was what kept this situation from going a different direction. We are not often tested in situations like this. I failed, I jumped and ran to hide. I will need to think long and hard about this, as I think of myself as the protective grizzlybearma. He was braver than I was, and than Brad Pitt in the zombie movie. My own real life hero.

Who is in your Framily?

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, Family1 Comment

(6 minute read)

I was a freshman in college when I first met my framily. At the time, I had no idea how much these people would mean to me in my life. During the early months of dating the tall boy with freckles who was two years older than me, I heard about the close friends he had from his small Catholic high school in the valley. I talked about my friends from the San Francisco Bay Area, who I’d gone to school with since kindergarten. I liked that we both valued strong lifelong friendships. It made him even more attractive than his cute dimpled smile. Fraternity theme parties, Sorority formals, and dinner dates laid the foundation of our relationship. We both loved to have fun dancing, dressing up and socializing. We soon realized it was more than just a college crush; it was time to meet the hometown friends. Meeting each other’s families had already taken place at football games and parents’ weekends. 

What concerned me most was if his friends who I had heard so much about would accept me. I was two years younger, not from the valley, and there had been a previous long term girlfriend in the picture. Perhaps this last part was what worried me most. His high school sweetheart was part of their friend group. They dated through the first couple years of college and broke it off shortly before I came onto the scene. I remember on one of our first dates he was driving me in his burnt orange colored Camero. On the visor above the front passenger window there was a dried rose attached. It was a boutonniere from a prom or some special occasion. For someone to keep such a thing within eyesight every time they drive their car made me wonder if this guy had really moved on. How in love were they? Did everyone from his hometown and his family love her as well? I did not let these questions get in the way of our growing relationship at college. Our love blossomed and grew with ease. Then one day he announced that a good friend was getting married and he wanted to bring me to the wedding in his hometown.

Despite the fact that we had one year of dating under our belt and his ex-girlfriend was history, I still felt nervous. I wanted his friends to like me. At nineteen years old, twenty-one year olds seemed so much older. I remember meeting all of his friends and feeling shy and young. Luckily, I was not the only outsider. One of his close friends brought his college girlfriend from Southern California. While she was two years older, I connected with her right away as one of the newcomers to the Catholic school close friend group. At one point she even pulled me aside and said how happy she was to have me there, and that she like me “way more” than his previous girlfriend. I guess that’s all I needed to hear. I loosened up and enjoyed the wedding. We danced and talked. It was fun getting to know the friends who meant so much to my boyfriend. I guess I must have passed the test. It was the first of many social occasions we spent together. 

At the time I did not know that any of them would become framily. My experience with the concept of framily was through my parents’ friends. There were several families who were tight knit, traveling together on ski trips, staying up late on New Years Eve, or sharing Christmas Eve clam chowder together. The way I remember these close friends of my parents is that the adults and the kids shared special bonds. The parents were close, and the kids just as close. Something about the ease of familiarity made our trips together comfortable and memorable. The framilies I had growing up were a big part of different stages of my life. First communion, swim team parties, Rock Creek camping trips, Aptos beach vacations, and fun themed gatherings my parents liked to host. We had summer swim parties, hot dog parties, tennis tournaments, and tamale making parties. Up until now, I think I took for granted how special those framily times were growing up. As the child, I looked forward to seeing the kids and playing while the grownups socialized. Then as I got older I liked having life conversations with my parents’ good friends. They wanted to see me do well and enjoy life as much as any aunt or uncle would want that for their niece or nephew. That was framily before the word was ever even a part of my vocabulary. A real gift to be treasured.

Framily, according to Urban Dictionary, is “when friends become like family, they’re framily. Closer than close, they may know you better than your own family.” My sisters may challenge that, but I do believe another definition I read about framily is spot on: “Friends to whom we would actually choose to be related, because the relationship is mutually respectful, close, supporting and affectionate.”  That is how I would describe my framily. The people I met almost forty years ago at a wedding in the valley have become true framily to us and to our kids. We have been there for each other throughout the years, through the ups and downs. The tough losses we have faced as well as the most joyous celebrations of life. Weddings, babies, big birthdays, vacations, our children’s weddings. What builds framily is time, shared experiences and connection. I believe there is also some magical chemistry that is part of what keeps framily together. Many miles separate us, but that does not matter. Busy family lives can sometimes draw out the time between our gatherings, but that does not matter. Our connection remains strong, perhaps even stronger as time goes on.

This past week the framily reunion took place in the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains next to Lake Tahoe, a place that holds many memories of our time together through the years. It used to be that we parents were the organizers of the daily activities on our trips, but times of changed. Our children are now the next generation of our framily. This past week my heart has been full as I watch all the kids catch up with each other, chatting and laughing (always my measure of a good time). Tearful goodbyes as everyone departed at different times reminded us all of how special our friendships are. How lucky we are to have had over forty years together, and I look forward to many more to come!