I'm hosting Wednesday Whining this week...need to kvetch, bitch, moan, whinge? Drop on by!
(Niobe? Niobe are you reading? Come whine, we miss you!)
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Comedy
It occurs to me that I am very sloppy about reproducing the toddler accent. You might not understand that Z. pronounces "yellow" "lello," and "milk" "mieuwk." Or that her "r"'s exactly split the difference between "r"'s and "w"'s. So I am going to attempt to be a little more faithful, at least this one time.
Z.: Will you swing me?
S.: No, my toe is really hurting, I don't want to swing you.
Z.: Why is youah toe heuhting?
S.: Well, I banged my toe and it just hurts.
Z.: You need to get anudder toe dat wo-uks betteuh.
* * * * *
S.: Do you know what a comedian is?
Z.: Yes!
S.: Oh, you do?
Z.: Yes, I do!
S.: Can you tell me?
Z.: No!
S.: Why not?
Z.: Because I'm eating.
* * * * *
S.: Do you want me to tell you what a comedian is?
Z.: (peers forward expectantly)
S.: A comedian is someone who makes people laugh.
Z.: (beams like someone has just given her a present) Laugh!
S.: Why?
Z.: Because youah my muddeuh!
Z.: Will you swing me?
S.: No, my toe is really hurting, I don't want to swing you.
Z.: Why is youah toe heuhting?
S.: Well, I banged my toe and it just hurts.
Z.: You need to get anudder toe dat wo-uks betteuh.
* * * * *
S.: Do you know what a comedian is?
Z.: Yes!
S.: Oh, you do?
Z.: Yes, I do!
S.: Can you tell me?
Z.: No!
S.: Why not?
Z.: Because I'm eating.
* * * * *
S.: Do you want me to tell you what a comedian is?
Z.: (peers forward expectantly)
S.: A comedian is someone who makes people laugh.
Z.: (beams like someone has just given her a present) Laugh!
S.: Why?
Z.: Because youah my muddeuh!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Hike: Cable Gap Shelter
5/5/98--Cable Gap Shelter, 156.2 miles
It was our first 15-mile day and we couldn't have had a better day for it. It dawned clear--actually cloudless--and by the end of the day nothing more than a few harmless cumulus clouds had passed overhead. I packed up and said goodbye to Florida Tim (my sheltermate of last night) before 8 and passed a bunch of southbound section hikers breaking camp as I came up and over Cheoah Bald. Staying put at Sassafras Gap was definitely the right call all around. Not only did I avoid some nasty weather, but the tent site I'd been aiming for was pretty well occupied and I got to hear stories of Florida Tim's '91 thru-hike, which got me jazzed again. I want to live stories like that. Trail magic, good times, kooky adventures, characters. It reminded me of all the stuff beyond putting in the miles.
But we did put in the miles, and I feel pretty good. Beat. More tired than after 12, but not in any more pain. Diva Dog, too came in fine--no limping at all, and only a little more lagging behind. Our pattern is that she gets out ahead of me on ascents and waits for me to catch up, then on ridges, switchbacks, and gentle descents I take the lead. On steeper descents we play it by ear. Today there was one spot where she had to go down between two rocks and I realized what a good thing it is that everything in her pack is not only waterproof but trailproof, as I took it off and tossed it about 8 feet down so I could keep my hands free to follow her myself.
Took a 2-hour lunch at Brown Fork Shelter and let all my stuff dry in the sun. My damp synthetic bag did keep me warm last night, not not happy. Also appreciated the luxury of a new privy with a view of the mountains and thought--wow, this is where I'm living.
Have an urge to re-read Walden, the Narnia books, and Lolita. Go figure. The Fantastic Four have moved on to Fontana Dam but N. (Pan) reports in the register here that they may split up for awhile. I hope that was an amicable decision. Cheerios is also ahead. Tomorrow I have about 7 miles to the Dam and the visitor center, then the folks from the motel say they'll come pick me up--then 2-3 nights off-trail for my brother's graduation and I should start the Smokies, sans Diva Dog, on Saturday the 9th. Unless something comes up I don't think I'll write til I get back on. Ciao for now. --MC
It was our first 15-mile day and we couldn't have had a better day for it. It dawned clear--actually cloudless--and by the end of the day nothing more than a few harmless cumulus clouds had passed overhead. I packed up and said goodbye to Florida Tim (my sheltermate of last night) before 8 and passed a bunch of southbound section hikers breaking camp as I came up and over Cheoah Bald. Staying put at Sassafras Gap was definitely the right call all around. Not only did I avoid some nasty weather, but the tent site I'd been aiming for was pretty well occupied and I got to hear stories of Florida Tim's '91 thru-hike, which got me jazzed again. I want to live stories like that. Trail magic, good times, kooky adventures, characters. It reminded me of all the stuff beyond putting in the miles.
But we did put in the miles, and I feel pretty good. Beat. More tired than after 12, but not in any more pain. Diva Dog, too came in fine--no limping at all, and only a little more lagging behind. Our pattern is that she gets out ahead of me on ascents and waits for me to catch up, then on ridges, switchbacks, and gentle descents I take the lead. On steeper descents we play it by ear. Today there was one spot where she had to go down between two rocks and I realized what a good thing it is that everything in her pack is not only waterproof but trailproof, as I took it off and tossed it about 8 feet down so I could keep my hands free to follow her myself.
Took a 2-hour lunch at Brown Fork Shelter and let all my stuff dry in the sun. My damp synthetic bag did keep me warm last night, not not happy. Also appreciated the luxury of a new privy with a view of the mountains and thought--wow, this is where I'm living.
Have an urge to re-read Walden, the Narnia books, and Lolita. Go figure. The Fantastic Four have moved on to Fontana Dam but N. (Pan) reports in the register here that they may split up for awhile. I hope that was an amicable decision. Cheerios is also ahead. Tomorrow I have about 7 miles to the Dam and the visitor center, then the folks from the motel say they'll come pick me up--then 2-3 nights off-trail for my brother's graduation and I should start the Smokies, sans Diva Dog, on Saturday the 9th. Unless something comes up I don't think I'll write til I get back on. Ciao for now. --MC
Hike: Sassafras Gap Shelter
5/4/98--Sassafras Gap Shelter, 141.0 4:45 pm
Shortest day yet--not quite 7 miles, almost all uphill. The plan had been to push on and tent at Locust Cove Gap, doing yet another 10-12 miles, but by the time I got here and finished lunch and it finished raining (for the moment, at least) it was after 4 so I'm going to pull my first 15-mile day tomorrow, instead. I'm actually tired enough to go to sleep right now. It may just be from lack of stimulus. I'm not alone--another hiker is here who's been on the Bartram Trail and is taking the AT back to his car on Wayah Bald--but the Fantastic 4 pushed on the 9 miles to Brown Fork and Cheerios is tenting somewhere along the way, so comparatively speaking, this is a desert island, and I feel like collapsing into the solitude.
I did a return trip to the NOC this morning, which explains the lateness of the hour. The prospect of putting my pack on again was just too much. For the past few days, from at least before Franklin, my left rhomboids--muscles that attach the shoulder blade to the spine--went into spasm the moment I put the thing on and stayed in serious pain until I took it off. It's certainly been contributing to my crankiness and discouragement. Well. The staff at the NOC came through again, giving me almost opposite advice from what I got at Walasi-Yi, but this seems to have done it. There was actually space behind my shoulders. Hooray!
Well, there's dinner to eat in a couple of hours, but I may try to nap in the meantime. --MC
Shortest day yet--not quite 7 miles, almost all uphill. The plan had been to push on and tent at Locust Cove Gap, doing yet another 10-12 miles, but by the time I got here and finished lunch and it finished raining (for the moment, at least) it was after 4 so I'm going to pull my first 15-mile day tomorrow, instead. I'm actually tired enough to go to sleep right now. It may just be from lack of stimulus. I'm not alone--another hiker is here who's been on the Bartram Trail and is taking the AT back to his car on Wayah Bald--but the Fantastic 4 pushed on the 9 miles to Brown Fork and Cheerios is tenting somewhere along the way, so comparatively speaking, this is a desert island, and I feel like collapsing into the solitude.
I did a return trip to the NOC this morning, which explains the lateness of the hour. The prospect of putting my pack on again was just too much. For the past few days, from at least before Franklin, my left rhomboids--muscles that attach the shoulder blade to the spine--went into spasm the moment I put the thing on and stayed in serious pain until I took it off. It's certainly been contributing to my crankiness and discouragement. Well. The staff at the NOC came through again, giving me almost opposite advice from what I got at Walasi-Yi, but this seems to have done it. There was actually space behind my shoulders. Hooray!
Well, there's dinner to eat in a couple of hours, but I may try to nap in the meantime. --MC
Hike: Nantahala Outdoor Center
5/3/98--campsite near NOC - 134.? miles
If yesterday was a cranky day I don't know what today was, but I'm glad to finish it in the privacy of my tent, and not in a shelter. The rest are tenting nearby, so it's still group life and there are still great advantages to group life--I spent the afternoon looking forward to comparing notes on how good the Trail smelled, coming down from Wesser Bald, and N. rewarded me with her observation of how much keener our senses of smell are getting (as for our scent--well, we all showered in Franklin, we didn't think we were due for one yet today.) But I feel more surrounded by the group life than of it.
I made an effort today to hike more independently--I cooked lunch, instead of snacking as the Fantastic Four have been doing recently, and I stuck with my slower pace even thought both my feet and Diva Dog's were up to a faster day, in part to let the crowd stay ahead of me, in part to really enjoy our descent. It wasn't bad at all, really. Sure, patches were steep and rocky, but most of it was beautiful, wild-flower-covered switchbacks. The morning had been stormy (my first t'storm while actually hiking) then cloudy, so the sunny-ness of the descent was also a treat. I got to hike myself dry.
The Nantahala Outdoor Center (NOC) was fantastic--the best food I've had since Philly, for one, and then the staff at the outfitter were super-friendly and supportive of thru-hikers. Two gear weight compromises: after the storm this morning in my lightweight running jacket I decided it was time to shell out for Goretex. It's just too damn cold to be so wet so high up. I'd been wondering for awhile how it would do in heavy, sustained rain and the answer is I don't want to find out. (The pants are doing fine--my legs generate so much heat it hardly matters.) The other weight compromise was on a thermarest. My foam is fine when I'm tenting, but not on a wooden sleeping platform. --MC
If yesterday was a cranky day I don't know what today was, but I'm glad to finish it in the privacy of my tent, and not in a shelter. The rest are tenting nearby, so it's still group life and there are still great advantages to group life--I spent the afternoon looking forward to comparing notes on how good the Trail smelled, coming down from Wesser Bald, and N. rewarded me with her observation of how much keener our senses of smell are getting (as for our scent--well, we all showered in Franklin, we didn't think we were due for one yet today.) But I feel more surrounded by the group life than of it.
I made an effort today to hike more independently--I cooked lunch, instead of snacking as the Fantastic Four have been doing recently, and I stuck with my slower pace even thought both my feet and Diva Dog's were up to a faster day, in part to let the crowd stay ahead of me, in part to really enjoy our descent. It wasn't bad at all, really. Sure, patches were steep and rocky, but most of it was beautiful, wild-flower-covered switchbacks. The morning had been stormy (my first t'storm while actually hiking) then cloudy, so the sunny-ness of the descent was also a treat. I got to hike myself dry.
The Nantahala Outdoor Center (NOC) was fantastic--the best food I've had since Philly, for one, and then the staff at the outfitter were super-friendly and supportive of thru-hikers. Two gear weight compromises: after the storm this morning in my lightweight running jacket I decided it was time to shell out for Goretex. It's just too damn cold to be so wet so high up. I'd been wondering for awhile how it would do in heavy, sustained rain and the answer is I don't want to find out. (The pants are doing fine--my legs generate so much heat it hardly matters.) The other weight compromise was on a thermarest. My foam is fine when I'm tenting, but not on a wooden sleeping platform. --MC
Hike: Cold Spring Shelter
5/2/98--Cold Spring Shelter, 122.6
Cranky day. Started out depressed because of the gloomy weather and worried because of my misbehaving innards. I've consulted with D. (Howlin' Jed) who's had giardia, and that's not what this was. Probably just greasy town food catching up with me, but still not pleasant.
I dunno about the weather. It was cloudy, which up here can mean we're in the clouds (as it did today)--sounds romantic, but it's really just dreary. You spend all day in a haze, literally, low visibility even if your glasses don't fog. It cleared up in the afternoon, but my mood was pretty well set at that point. Worrying about making miles and my schedule, wondering if getting done on time means barreling through, and if that's the kind of hike I want to--or am willing to--hike. The compromise I came up with while walking was to skip Pennsylvania if it looks like I won't make it, and come back to do it in October. I just spent an hour or two with the data book and it may not come to that, or it may only come to skipping part of it, but it makes me feel better to have a plan B lined up.
Lots of crankiness going around, though. I think only N. and Cheerios avoided it. J. and D. had some friction over cooking dinner and A. reported feeling annoyed. I can only guess at what the family dynamic must be for them on the inside--even sharing shelters with them for this long, I have a basic emotional distance from it that they don't have, and even so I'm feeling ready to hike on my own (although I know I will miss them.) But I didn't come all the way out here to attach myself to a group, however like-minded and groovy. I'll be doing the Smokies without even Diva Dog--independence, here I come.
Met some flip-flopping southbounders today--southbound footsteps are so rare this time of year that I doubt I see even one a day. --MC
Cranky day. Started out depressed because of the gloomy weather and worried because of my misbehaving innards. I've consulted with D. (Howlin' Jed) who's had giardia, and that's not what this was. Probably just greasy town food catching up with me, but still not pleasant.
I dunno about the weather. It was cloudy, which up here can mean we're in the clouds (as it did today)--sounds romantic, but it's really just dreary. You spend all day in a haze, literally, low visibility even if your glasses don't fog. It cleared up in the afternoon, but my mood was pretty well set at that point. Worrying about making miles and my schedule, wondering if getting done on time means barreling through, and if that's the kind of hike I want to--or am willing to--hike. The compromise I came up with while walking was to skip Pennsylvania if it looks like I won't make it, and come back to do it in October. I just spent an hour or two with the data book and it may not come to that, or it may only come to skipping part of it, but it makes me feel better to have a plan B lined up.
Lots of crankiness going around, though. I think only N. and Cheerios avoided it. J. and D. had some friction over cooking dinner and A. reported feeling annoyed. I can only guess at what the family dynamic must be for them on the inside--even sharing shelters with them for this long, I have a basic emotional distance from it that they don't have, and even so I'm feeling ready to hike on my own (although I know I will miss them.) But I didn't come all the way out here to attach myself to a group, however like-minded and groovy. I'll be doing the Smokies without even Diva Dog--independence, here I come.
Met some flip-flopping southbounders today--southbound footsteps are so rare this time of year that I doubt I see even one a day. --MC
Hike: Siler Bald Shelter
5/1/98--Siler Bald Shelter, 110.5 miles
Woke up to pain-free feet and couldn't quite believe it, but here I am at the end of the day and they're still okay. I've got the right one kind of propped, but at no point today was it ever affecting my stride. Fingers still crossed....
The morning was spent on final town chores--a small resupply at Ingles while the Fantastic 4 hit the post office. We met the Rock Gap Trail Angel--he'd left us oranges in the spring--and he gave Cheerios a lift back to the Trail while we opted for lunch in town. We caught a ride without even lifting a thumb--a local hiker, Skunk Cabbage, saw us getting ready to hitch and called across the street to offer us one. How could we refuse? So we piled into the back of the truck and had a glorious, sunny ride back to Winding Stair Gap.
The sky has been playing whimsical games with us all day--clear and blue with cumulus clouds that give way to intervals of overcast showers, then quickly turn sunny again.
I realize that I haven't said much about the chafing of camp life--living so closely and so temporarily with strangers. I've had the semi-permanence of traveling with the Fantastic Four to insulate me from it to some extent, and then, writing for a public venue, I don't want to offend any hikers who might read these thoughts but it's not always clear how to avoid or resolve conflicts when they come up. I was bothered by someone's language tonight and it made me realize I've been more likely to retreat from uncomfortable situations than to confront them and I don't know that I handled it as well as I would have liked. --M.C.
Woke up to pain-free feet and couldn't quite believe it, but here I am at the end of the day and they're still okay. I've got the right one kind of propped, but at no point today was it ever affecting my stride. Fingers still crossed....
The morning was spent on final town chores--a small resupply at Ingles while the Fantastic 4 hit the post office. We met the Rock Gap Trail Angel--he'd left us oranges in the spring--and he gave Cheerios a lift back to the Trail while we opted for lunch in town. We caught a ride without even lifting a thumb--a local hiker, Skunk Cabbage, saw us getting ready to hitch and called across the street to offer us one. How could we refuse? So we piled into the back of the truck and had a glorious, sunny ride back to Winding Stair Gap.
The sky has been playing whimsical games with us all day--clear and blue with cumulus clouds that give way to intervals of overcast showers, then quickly turn sunny again.
I realize that I haven't said much about the chafing of camp life--living so closely and so temporarily with strangers. I've had the semi-permanence of traveling with the Fantastic Four to insulate me from it to some extent, and then, writing for a public venue, I don't want to offend any hikers who might read these thoughts but it's not always clear how to avoid or resolve conflicts when they come up. I was bothered by someone's language tonight and it made me realize I've been more likely to retreat from uncomfortable situations than to confront them and I don't know that I handled it as well as I would have liked. --M.C.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Gratitude
Shavua tov, for those who pay attention to these things--it's a new week.
As we were driving to the pool yesterday, I was talking with A. about what an intense week the last one was for me: the Harry Potter launch party, the diagnosis, an unbloggable piece that was at a hard place earlier in the week but was at a good place on Friday. I also got word on Friday that a news show wants to film the store on Monday in connection with a magazine article that's coming out this week--which makes me think we may get good news in the magazine.
It was hard to believe it was all in the same week.
The eye diagnosis was bad news that came out of nowhere, and I am grateful to all of you for all your responses. I'm especially grateful to Phantom, who is a good friend and an email wizard, for helping me just be sad about it for an evening and then start putting it in perspective. And to E. and Jenny and Niobe and Mom and everyone else who helped me focus on how good it was that this was caught early and my vision is still fine and how many treatment options there seem to be--also, thank you. Sometimes when you get bad news you just don't want to have a good head on your shoulders, you know? Or sometimes I don't want to, anyway. Sometimes I want someone else to do that part for me so I can indulge in dire thinking--to take myself out to the edge and look over before I find my way back to the path of coping and management. So, thank you all. And I'll let you know how it goes with the ophthalmologist (including whether I manage to get in early!)
And may it be a sweet and easy week for everyone.
p.s. Lo, thank you for making me laugh about A.'s hipsterism!
As we were driving to the pool yesterday, I was talking with A. about what an intense week the last one was for me: the Harry Potter launch party, the diagnosis, an unbloggable piece that was at a hard place earlier in the week but was at a good place on Friday. I also got word on Friday that a news show wants to film the store on Monday in connection with a magazine article that's coming out this week--which makes me think we may get good news in the magazine.
It was hard to believe it was all in the same week.
The eye diagnosis was bad news that came out of nowhere, and I am grateful to all of you for all your responses. I'm especially grateful to Phantom, who is a good friend and an email wizard, for helping me just be sad about it for an evening and then start putting it in perspective. And to E. and Jenny and Niobe and Mom and everyone else who helped me focus on how good it was that this was caught early and my vision is still fine and how many treatment options there seem to be--also, thank you. Sometimes when you get bad news you just don't want to have a good head on your shoulders, you know? Or sometimes I don't want to, anyway. Sometimes I want someone else to do that part for me so I can indulge in dire thinking--to take myself out to the edge and look over before I find my way back to the path of coping and management. So, thank you all. And I'll let you know how it goes with the ophthalmologist (including whether I manage to get in early!)
And may it be a sweet and easy week for everyone.
p.s. Lo, thank you for making me laugh about A.'s hipsterism!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Doctor, my eyes ...
I realize that was a wee bit terse last night; that was pretty much all I could do.
The story is that the Rhyming Family went to the optometrist yesterday, armed with the appropriate vision-benefit forms, specially issued by the teachers' union benefit office.
The last time I had new glasses was four years ago, and since those were knocked onto the floor in a toddler-influenced incident in May, the left lens has a deep scratch in the middle of it, such that when I wear them there is a blurry patch in the middle of my vision on that side. I have been joking that it's like practicing for glaucoma. Ha. Ha. I've taken to using my old glasses instead--the prescription didn't change last time--but four years ago they were beat up enough that I wanted to replace them, so you can imagine how they're doing now. I'm constantly cleaning them only to find it makes little difference. It was time.
For her part, A. needed new glasses because Z. pulled off the earpiece of hers a few months back, and the paper-clip thing only lasts but so long. Plus her prescription sunglasses were destroyed in the accident. Airbag, you know.
A. went first while Z. and I took a little trip next door to Wawa for a whole wheat hoagie, but by the time we got back it was already my turn, so I assigned Z. to consult with A. on frames.
Somehow, it seemed like my exam was taking longer than A.'s. There was a lot of shining lights into my pupils. There was a lot of optometric tools coming up closer to the surface of my eye than was comfortable. Finally he wrote the words "Krukenberg's spindle" on the back of an ophthalmologist's card and told me about the pigment on my cornea, the different sizes of my optic nerves, the possibility of glaucoma.
Then I went out into the frame-choosing part of the office. A. was still choosing frames. I ate my hoagie and I urged A. to take frames just a little more hip than her old ones. I put the things back that Z. took off the shelf. I chose a pair of frames that I had urged A. to reject, in easily the most distracted frame-choosing move of my glasses-wearing life.
I came home, hit google, and fell apart. And Z. chose yesterday to have her first attack of the "why's:" "Why is mama crying?" "Why is she scared?" "Why is there something wrong with her eyes?" She kept climbing into my lap and I couldn't tolerate her there.
What is apparently happening to me is that the pigment is coming off of my irises and floating around the inside of my eyes. In my right eye, which is my worse eye, some of it is collecting at the bottom of my iris. I can see this in the mirror; the only reason I never saw it before is that I didn't know to look. Creepy as all of that sounds, it is apparently not a problem. The problem is that the pigment can block drainage channels in the eye so that pressure increases. And then you can wind up with glaucoma. It is genetic and permanent and degenerative, but it can be managed. So this doesn't mean I'm going to go blind. Most likely. But I don't know how far it's progressed, either. It's been a long time since I saw an optometrist I trusted. At any rate, I called for an appointment with the ophthalmologist this morning; because I'm a new patient they couldn't see me for two weeks, so now I have two weeks to cycle through deliberately forgetting/brooding/obsessive internet searches.
We went directly from breakdown to an outdoor concert with a college friend who's visiting town with her husband and ten-month-old (a different college friend from last week--I do seem to be having a summer full of college friends, which has been lovely). It's the kind of relationship where we keep each other in the loop on marriage invitations and birth announcements, but not the kind of relationship where I could blurt all of this out when I hadn't seen her in two years. Instead, I think I was completely and thoroughly distracted.
Not least by the simple act of seeing. The concert was at the Morris Arboretum, a lush and gorgeous place. My eyesight corrects to better than 20/20--I've always regarded it as a gift and a tool, something I could rely on. I barely took in the concert--it couldn't touch Pink Martini, that's for sure. Instead, I looked out at the crisp, distant leaves on the trees at the far side of the park, and up at the oceans of the moon as it rose, and checked to see if there were any patches I was missing. Not so far. Not so far.
* * * * *
This morning:
Z. clambers into our bed and over Mommy.
Z.: Is it wake-up time?
S.: Hi boo, you are my favorite, favorite boo.
Z.: And you are my mama! And you love me even when you're crying.
S.: That's right.
Z.: And you don't have anything in your eye anymore.
S.: Oh, sweetie.
Z.: And you're not sad.
The story is that the Rhyming Family went to the optometrist yesterday, armed with the appropriate vision-benefit forms, specially issued by the teachers' union benefit office.
The last time I had new glasses was four years ago, and since those were knocked onto the floor in a toddler-influenced incident in May, the left lens has a deep scratch in the middle of it, such that when I wear them there is a blurry patch in the middle of my vision on that side. I have been joking that it's like practicing for glaucoma. Ha. Ha. I've taken to using my old glasses instead--the prescription didn't change last time--but four years ago they were beat up enough that I wanted to replace them, so you can imagine how they're doing now. I'm constantly cleaning them only to find it makes little difference. It was time.
For her part, A. needed new glasses because Z. pulled off the earpiece of hers a few months back, and the paper-clip thing only lasts but so long. Plus her prescription sunglasses were destroyed in the accident. Airbag, you know.
A. went first while Z. and I took a little trip next door to Wawa for a whole wheat hoagie, but by the time we got back it was already my turn, so I assigned Z. to consult with A. on frames.
Somehow, it seemed like my exam was taking longer than A.'s. There was a lot of shining lights into my pupils. There was a lot of optometric tools coming up closer to the surface of my eye than was comfortable. Finally he wrote the words "Krukenberg's spindle" on the back of an ophthalmologist's card and told me about the pigment on my cornea, the different sizes of my optic nerves, the possibility of glaucoma.
Then I went out into the frame-choosing part of the office. A. was still choosing frames. I ate my hoagie and I urged A. to take frames just a little more hip than her old ones. I put the things back that Z. took off the shelf. I chose a pair of frames that I had urged A. to reject, in easily the most distracted frame-choosing move of my glasses-wearing life.
I came home, hit google, and fell apart. And Z. chose yesterday to have her first attack of the "why's:" "Why is mama crying?" "Why is she scared?" "Why is there something wrong with her eyes?" She kept climbing into my lap and I couldn't tolerate her there.
What is apparently happening to me is that the pigment is coming off of my irises and floating around the inside of my eyes. In my right eye, which is my worse eye, some of it is collecting at the bottom of my iris. I can see this in the mirror; the only reason I never saw it before is that I didn't know to look. Creepy as all of that sounds, it is apparently not a problem. The problem is that the pigment can block drainage channels in the eye so that pressure increases. And then you can wind up with glaucoma. It is genetic and permanent and degenerative, but it can be managed. So this doesn't mean I'm going to go blind. Most likely. But I don't know how far it's progressed, either. It's been a long time since I saw an optometrist I trusted. At any rate, I called for an appointment with the ophthalmologist this morning; because I'm a new patient they couldn't see me for two weeks, so now I have two weeks to cycle through deliberately forgetting/brooding/obsessive internet searches.
We went directly from breakdown to an outdoor concert with a college friend who's visiting town with her husband and ten-month-old (a different college friend from last week--I do seem to be having a summer full of college friends, which has been lovely). It's the kind of relationship where we keep each other in the loop on marriage invitations and birth announcements, but not the kind of relationship where I could blurt all of this out when I hadn't seen her in two years. Instead, I think I was completely and thoroughly distracted.
Not least by the simple act of seeing. The concert was at the Morris Arboretum, a lush and gorgeous place. My eyesight corrects to better than 20/20--I've always regarded it as a gift and a tool, something I could rely on. I barely took in the concert--it couldn't touch Pink Martini, that's for sure. Instead, I looked out at the crisp, distant leaves on the trees at the far side of the park, and up at the oceans of the moon as it rose, and checked to see if there were any patches I was missing. Not so far. Not so far.
* * * * *
This morning:
Z. clambers into our bed and over Mommy.
Z.: Is it wake-up time?
S.: Hi boo, you are my favorite, favorite boo.
Z.: And you are my mama! And you love me even when you're crying.
S.: That's right.
Z.: And you don't have anything in your eye anymore.
S.: Oh, sweetie.
Z.: And you're not sad.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
How far have you come?
Niobe asked today if you ever look back at where you started--I didn't comment over there because it would have been out of place for me to do so among the women grieving for lost babies. Z. is alive and well and in her bath with her Mommy as I begin to type. She's thriving.
And since I started this blog, I have come to understand that deeply. One of my big accomplishments this Spring was to let her go to school five days a week.
Oh, where to begin on keeping her home? Z. was home with me for the first six months. We were lucky to have a parent at home that long. But when I tell you I was bleeding from her birth right up to the eight-week follow-up appointment, will you understand that my sanity was also precarious for that long and longer? Forget getting showered and dressed, forget brushing my teeth: if I made it off the bed before A. came home, it was an accomplishment. When A. returned I would thrust Z. into her arms and flee to the garden.
And yet I think that time on the bed was where I respun the threads of connection to my daughter and started knitting my sanity back together. At first, she didn't like being cuddled or touched that much. She didn't resist it, but she didn't seem to relax into it, either. Baby massage didn't calm her down. I did a lot of experimenting with what kind of touch worked--wrapping my hand around one place on her ribs, below her armpit, worked. Rubbing her head a little bit firmly along her suture line. Stroking her legs, sometimes, too. And she wouldn't sleep unless someone was spooned with her, which I found encouraging, though it has taken us until last week to teach her she can go to sleep on her own.
Of course I read all of this in light of her NICU time. She spent her first week in a plastic box with needles in her--and at that point, her first week was very very very recent. So a lot of what I was doing on the bed was teaching her how to be touched and I don't downplay it. But limiting my world to a mattress was not the healthiest thing to have evolved so early in my parenting career.
The best thing I did that summer was hire a girl Friday, a former student who was my mother's helper and assistant in all the preparations for the store. She only came a few hours a day, and not every day, not nearly as long as A. was gone (A.'s school-year schedule keeps her out of the house around 11 hours a day), but knowing she would be there made a huge difference in structuring my day. And then A. finished school and things were easier, and Z.'s day care started a couple days before A. started up again, and then, officially, I was a day-care mom.
I counted myself a failure in the stay-at-home department. I adored the baby, but she took everything I had. I wasn't like those moms who I see walking with a baby in a sling or pushing a stroller to the co-op, moms with routines. Moms with weekly baby groups. Who get out of the house every day. Instead I was home with pillows all around me and a boppy in my lap, unwilling to move a sleeping baby even to get some sleep myself. I had traded away functioning as a professional in the world--or functioning in the world at all--in order to spend all day nursing.
It is unbelievable to me now that I didn't recognize this as depression. Why not? Who knows? I mean, I do know: I saw myself getting better gradually, and I was, at least until the store opened. And I knew that I didn't have post-partum depression. Once Z. was home I was really very fierce about our connection and I didn't question whether I was a good mom, not fundamentally. And it wasn't really six whole months on the bed.
I bawled the first day I left her in day care. She came down with this coxsackie virus only a day and a half after starting. She had an uninterrupted cycle of colds from October to June. I distrusted the mom of three who was the lead teacher because I was sure she was judging my parenting--I mean, she was judging it. But that time away from her was full of renovations and preparations. And when the store opened, it was never enough time.
Her first year, the plan had always been to keep her home on Fridays, but the colds kept her home a lot of other times, too, sometimes so many days that she would have to go in on a Friday instead just so I could get things done, so I wound up seeing her schedule as very flexible. This didn't matter when she was an infant or even a young 1, but I kept it up past her second birthday, and by that time I had to admit I was keeping her home for me, because I didn't want to face work or I because I felt like I could give myself Mama points for putting her needs above mine. I did it because having a flexible schedule was one reason I started my own business--lord knows it wasn't for the financial stability. And I did it, I think, because I liked being at home with her as a toddler in a way I didn't like being home with her as an infant. We got out. We did things.
But there were huge tantrums in the morning, and finally I realized that she never knew whether she was going to school in the morning. That was when I got it. And I got it from having put up a blog post--in not giving her a clear line on this one, major thing, I was keeping her world unstable. So she started going to school every morning.
And I think that was an important moment for me in giving her credit for her health and survival. It meant stepping back from her, hovering less, and in taking that step, the emotional piece followed. She's no more likely to die than any other two-year-old. And, of course, no less. But I'm seeing both sides of that now.
Do I still imagine the car that's going to slam sidelong into Z.'s carseat when we go through the intersection? Well, since A.'s accident in May, it has become the car that will slam into our front while we're turning left at the end of a light cycle. But we turn left less often than we go through intersections. So that's progress.
And since I started this blog, I have come to understand that deeply. One of my big accomplishments this Spring was to let her go to school five days a week.
Oh, where to begin on keeping her home? Z. was home with me for the first six months. We were lucky to have a parent at home that long. But when I tell you I was bleeding from her birth right up to the eight-week follow-up appointment, will you understand that my sanity was also precarious for that long and longer? Forget getting showered and dressed, forget brushing my teeth: if I made it off the bed before A. came home, it was an accomplishment. When A. returned I would thrust Z. into her arms and flee to the garden.
And yet I think that time on the bed was where I respun the threads of connection to my daughter and started knitting my sanity back together. At first, she didn't like being cuddled or touched that much. She didn't resist it, but she didn't seem to relax into it, either. Baby massage didn't calm her down. I did a lot of experimenting with what kind of touch worked--wrapping my hand around one place on her ribs, below her armpit, worked. Rubbing her head a little bit firmly along her suture line. Stroking her legs, sometimes, too. And she wouldn't sleep unless someone was spooned with her, which I found encouraging, though it has taken us until last week to teach her she can go to sleep on her own.
Of course I read all of this in light of her NICU time. She spent her first week in a plastic box with needles in her--and at that point, her first week was very very very recent. So a lot of what I was doing on the bed was teaching her how to be touched and I don't downplay it. But limiting my world to a mattress was not the healthiest thing to have evolved so early in my parenting career.
The best thing I did that summer was hire a girl Friday, a former student who was my mother's helper and assistant in all the preparations for the store. She only came a few hours a day, and not every day, not nearly as long as A. was gone (A.'s school-year schedule keeps her out of the house around 11 hours a day), but knowing she would be there made a huge difference in structuring my day. And then A. finished school and things were easier, and Z.'s day care started a couple days before A. started up again, and then, officially, I was a day-care mom.
I counted myself a failure in the stay-at-home department. I adored the baby, but she took everything I had. I wasn't like those moms who I see walking with a baby in a sling or pushing a stroller to the co-op, moms with routines. Moms with weekly baby groups. Who get out of the house every day. Instead I was home with pillows all around me and a boppy in my lap, unwilling to move a sleeping baby even to get some sleep myself. I had traded away functioning as a professional in the world--or functioning in the world at all--in order to spend all day nursing.
It is unbelievable to me now that I didn't recognize this as depression. Why not? Who knows? I mean, I do know: I saw myself getting better gradually, and I was, at least until the store opened. And I knew that I didn't have post-partum depression. Once Z. was home I was really very fierce about our connection and I didn't question whether I was a good mom, not fundamentally. And it wasn't really six whole months on the bed.
I bawled the first day I left her in day care. She came down with this coxsackie virus only a day and a half after starting. She had an uninterrupted cycle of colds from October to June. I distrusted the mom of three who was the lead teacher because I was sure she was judging my parenting--I mean, she was judging it. But that time away from her was full of renovations and preparations. And when the store opened, it was never enough time.
Her first year, the plan had always been to keep her home on Fridays, but the colds kept her home a lot of other times, too, sometimes so many days that she would have to go in on a Friday instead just so I could get things done, so I wound up seeing her schedule as very flexible. This didn't matter when she was an infant or even a young 1, but I kept it up past her second birthday, and by that time I had to admit I was keeping her home for me, because I didn't want to face work or I because I felt like I could give myself Mama points for putting her needs above mine. I did it because having a flexible schedule was one reason I started my own business--lord knows it wasn't for the financial stability. And I did it, I think, because I liked being at home with her as a toddler in a way I didn't like being home with her as an infant. We got out. We did things.
But there were huge tantrums in the morning, and finally I realized that she never knew whether she was going to school in the morning. That was when I got it. And I got it from having put up a blog post--in not giving her a clear line on this one, major thing, I was keeping her world unstable. So she started going to school every morning.
And I think that was an important moment for me in giving her credit for her health and survival. It meant stepping back from her, hovering less, and in taking that step, the emotional piece followed. She's no more likely to die than any other two-year-old. And, of course, no less. But I'm seeing both sides of that now.
Do I still imagine the car that's going to slam sidelong into Z.'s carseat when we go through the intersection? Well, since A.'s accident in May, it has become the car that will slam into our front while we're turning left at the end of a light cycle. But we turn left less often than we go through intersections. So that's progress.
Hike: Days Inn, Franklin, NC
4/30/98--Days Inn, Franklin, NC 106.8 miles
Rain settled in last night as I was going to bed and it stayed settled until this afternoon. The hike in to town was quick and wet but ended in a golden hitchhike--J. thumbed a ride from a van that took 8 of us--6 humans, 2 dogs, and everyone's packs and hiking poles--and, moreover, waited for the last of us to come down into Winding Stair Gap, so when D., A., and I got into the pullout there was a van with an open door waiting for us.
So we are in town, but it hasn't been the day off I needed. The hotels in the central part of town don't take dogs, so J., his dog, Diva Dog, and I wound up a mile or more away and the walking has been rough on my right foot even without my pack on (we left our packs with the others in the center of town). I'm pretty sure it's some kind of tear in the connective tissue--the pain is in the arch, and it hurts most when I've been off of it awhile and has a chance to stiffen. It's making me worried and discouraged, since all I can do, really, is keep going and keep my fingers crossed. I'm already behind schedule, I can't rest it before Fontana Dam. And the weather report calls for thunderstorms through the weekend.
On the other hand, it's wonderful to be clean and I enjoyed hanging out with J. and N. today--to get out of the full throttle group dynamics for a bit.
It was also great to talk to people from home--my parents, S. it's easy to feel disconnected out here, not just distant but almost disembodied, suspended between Springer and Katahdin for the duration.
Okay, it's late and we have a ways to go early in the morning before we can get back on the Trail. --M.C.
Rain settled in last night as I was going to bed and it stayed settled until this afternoon. The hike in to town was quick and wet but ended in a golden hitchhike--J. thumbed a ride from a van that took 8 of us--6 humans, 2 dogs, and everyone's packs and hiking poles--and, moreover, waited for the last of us to come down into Winding Stair Gap, so when D., A., and I got into the pullout there was a van with an open door waiting for us.
So we are in town, but it hasn't been the day off I needed. The hotels in the central part of town don't take dogs, so J., his dog, Diva Dog, and I wound up a mile or more away and the walking has been rough on my right foot even without my pack on (we left our packs with the others in the center of town). I'm pretty sure it's some kind of tear in the connective tissue--the pain is in the arch, and it hurts most when I've been off of it awhile and has a chance to stiffen. It's making me worried and discouraged, since all I can do, really, is keep going and keep my fingers crossed. I'm already behind schedule, I can't rest it before Fontana Dam. And the weather report calls for thunderstorms through the weekend.
On the other hand, it's wonderful to be clean and I enjoyed hanging out with J. and N. today--to get out of the full throttle group dynamics for a bit.
It was also great to talk to people from home--my parents, S. it's easy to feel disconnected out here, not just distant but almost disembodied, suspended between Springer and Katahdin for the duration.
Okay, it's late and we have a ways to go early in the morning before we can get back on the Trail. --M.C.
Hike: Rock Gap Shelter
4/29/98, Rock Gap Shelter, 103.6 miles
Except for Albert Mountain it was another easy day in North Carolina. Albert was nearly vertical, but it didn't go on too long and Diva Dog did fantastically. We had cheese and pita on the summit and stopped for water at Big Spring. It was mostly a day of zoning off into my own thoughts and the miles flew. My pack seems back down at a manageable weight yet I still have more food than I started the hike with, so that's good. Some continuing worries about the bottoms of my feet, so I'm glad to have the day off for yet another reason. Shower, phone, groceries, and a good soak for my feet and Diva Dog's paws. There has to be something more to say--but maybe that's what there is to report, that all of those hours of walking are starting to take me out of all these words I usually live in.
Except for Albert Mountain it was another easy day in North Carolina. Albert was nearly vertical, but it didn't go on too long and Diva Dog did fantastically. We had cheese and pita on the summit and stopped for water at Big Spring. It was mostly a day of zoning off into my own thoughts and the miles flew. My pack seems back down at a manageable weight yet I still have more food than I started the hike with, so that's good. Some continuing worries about the bottoms of my feet, so I'm glad to have the day off for yet another reason. Shower, phone, groceries, and a good soak for my feet and Diva Dog's paws. There has to be something more to say--but maybe that's what there is to report, that all of those hours of walking are starting to take me out of all these words I usually live in.
Hike: Carter Gap Shelter
4/28/98--Carter Gap Shelter, 90.9 miles from Springer
J. told me I'm supposed to be starting my entries with where I am and the mile marker, so I'm going to try to be consistent.
We're sitting here talking about genitals and making Cheerios uncomfortable, but at least he's entertained. It's another beautiful new shelter like Muskrat Creek--the roof covers the dining area, which has a gravel floor, as well as the sleeping platform. Traveling in a group of 5, we fill most of the shelters we reach. We kind of take them over. The Fantastic 4 generate enough family chaos that our sheltermates barely notice Diva Dog and J.'s dog chasing each other around, and I'm alternately audience, participant, and translator, and general-purpose witness to the proceedings. My current plan is to travel with them to Fontana Dam, which I'm now planning to reach on the 7th. It puts me a good chunk of days behind schedule but I don't think I'll have trouble making them up later and this way I know I'll be in Nashville for my brother on the 8th, not stuck thumbing a ride from Clingman's Dome.
The Trail today was kind to us--12.5 miles in the same amount of time it took us to do 10.5 yesterday. Most of the day was spent crossing Standing Indian Mountain, our first peak over 5,000--and it was damn near 5,500, but the ascent and descent were so gradual it hardly seemed it. There was some FF chaos when J. went to the summit, thinking he was still on the Trail. J., being 6'7", is usually way out front with his dog and so he's the one who calls the breaks. By the time I started descending, I thought he, A., and D. were in front of me, since they had passed me in that order, but A. emerged on the Trail behind me, having had some business to take care of in the bushes, and passed me quickly. I went cheerily on, expecting to find the group gathering for a gorp break around Birch Gap. Instead, J's dog joined me and Diva Dog--from behind us. At first I thought she must have been hiking with A. and had gotten lost or gone exploring, but sure enough, J. came loping down to the gap with a report of the view from the summit and a story about waiting there for a half-hour for the rest of us to show before reading in Wingfoot's guide that he'd gone off the Trail. The end result was that we didn't get a gorp break and D. showed up at the shelter expecting to see J. and A. there but finding no one instead--and the old shelter across the Trail is a pretty scary place. He found Cheerios over here at this shelter which is so new it still smells of pine, and as everyone came in the story unfolded--several times over, for Cheerios's entertainment.
Man, oh man, I miss the Georgia ATC and I take back any griping I did. Those folkds know what they're doing--the erosion control in North Carolina has just been no comparison.
Some beautiful ravines in the last couple of miles today, full of rhododendron and hemlock--the first hemlock we've seen since pretty much the first day.
J. told me I'm supposed to be starting my entries with where I am and the mile marker, so I'm going to try to be consistent.
We're sitting here talking about genitals and making Cheerios uncomfortable, but at least he's entertained. It's another beautiful new shelter like Muskrat Creek--the roof covers the dining area, which has a gravel floor, as well as the sleeping platform. Traveling in a group of 5, we fill most of the shelters we reach. We kind of take them over. The Fantastic 4 generate enough family chaos that our sheltermates barely notice Diva Dog and J.'s dog chasing each other around, and I'm alternately audience, participant, and translator, and general-purpose witness to the proceedings. My current plan is to travel with them to Fontana Dam, which I'm now planning to reach on the 7th. It puts me a good chunk of days behind schedule but I don't think I'll have trouble making them up later and this way I know I'll be in Nashville for my brother on the 8th, not stuck thumbing a ride from Clingman's Dome.
The Trail today was kind to us--12.5 miles in the same amount of time it took us to do 10.5 yesterday. Most of the day was spent crossing Standing Indian Mountain, our first peak over 5,000--and it was damn near 5,500, but the ascent and descent were so gradual it hardly seemed it. There was some FF chaos when J. went to the summit, thinking he was still on the Trail. J., being 6'7", is usually way out front with his dog and so he's the one who calls the breaks. By the time I started descending, I thought he, A., and D. were in front of me, since they had passed me in that order, but A. emerged on the Trail behind me, having had some business to take care of in the bushes, and passed me quickly. I went cheerily on, expecting to find the group gathering for a gorp break around Birch Gap. Instead, J's dog joined me and Diva Dog--from behind us. At first I thought she must have been hiking with A. and had gotten lost or gone exploring, but sure enough, J. came loping down to the gap with a report of the view from the summit and a story about waiting there for a half-hour for the rest of us to show before reading in Wingfoot's guide that he'd gone off the Trail. The end result was that we didn't get a gorp break and D. showed up at the shelter expecting to see J. and A. there but finding no one instead--and the old shelter across the Trail is a pretty scary place. He found Cheerios over here at this shelter which is so new it still smells of pine, and as everyone came in the story unfolded--several times over, for Cheerios's entertainment.
Man, oh man, I miss the Georgia ATC and I take back any griping I did. Those folkds know what they're doing--the erosion control in North Carolina has just been no comparison.
Some beautiful ravines in the last couple of miles today, full of rhododendron and hemlock--the first hemlock we've seen since pretty much the first day.
Hike: Muskrat Creek Shelter
4/27--Muskrat Creek Shelter, North Carolina
10.5 miles and my first state line--but crossing it was kind of a low point since it started raining just before I got there so I opted for a bar instead of cooking lunch, and pushed on. The gnarled oak was cool and all, but the climb that started just beyond was nasty and my glasses fogged to the point I took them off and got reacquainted with my natural vision for a mile or two. Not fun. The Fantastic Four are going in to Franklin Thurs. afternoon and I'm thinking of going in with them. I've been wrapping my left knee, and my right ankle, the one I hurt last summer, is just starting to hint at acting up--not actually hurting but it's making me nervous enough to think I need a day off, and not just Diva Dog. Nothing much hurts when my pack is off--my feet, basically--but the little things add up while I'm on the move. It would mean revising my whole plan for the Smokies and going to my brother's graduation before I start the park instead of getting off for it in Gatlinburg but i may not have a choice--the closest I can cut it is getting to Clingman's Dome on the 7th, which means starting the park on the 5th at the latest, and that could be a long hitch to get to the rental car place in Gatlinburg. If I make it to Carter Gap tomorrow I ca put off the decision one more day.
I realize the past couple of days have mostly been worries about logistics. I think the first enthusiasm is wearing off and I'm settling in to the reality of miles and days. Some interesting sights the past couple of days--the first chipmunk, colonies of grasshoppers that plop back down as you pass through them, sounding like rain. And more poison ivy that I care to think about.
10.5 miles and my first state line--but crossing it was kind of a low point since it started raining just before I got there so I opted for a bar instead of cooking lunch, and pushed on. The gnarled oak was cool and all, but the climb that started just beyond was nasty and my glasses fogged to the point I took them off and got reacquainted with my natural vision for a mile or two. Not fun. The Fantastic Four are going in to Franklin Thurs. afternoon and I'm thinking of going in with them. I've been wrapping my left knee, and my right ankle, the one I hurt last summer, is just starting to hint at acting up--not actually hurting but it's making me nervous enough to think I need a day off, and not just Diva Dog. Nothing much hurts when my pack is off--my feet, basically--but the little things add up while I'm on the move. It would mean revising my whole plan for the Smokies and going to my brother's graduation before I start the park instead of getting off for it in Gatlinburg but i may not have a choice--the closest I can cut it is getting to Clingman's Dome on the 7th, which means starting the park on the 5th at the latest, and that could be a long hitch to get to the rental car place in Gatlinburg. If I make it to Carter Gap tomorrow I ca put off the decision one more day.
I realize the past couple of days have mostly been worries about logistics. I think the first enthusiasm is wearing off and I'm settling in to the reality of miles and days. Some interesting sights the past couple of days--the first chipmunk, colonies of grasshoppers that plop back down as you pass through them, sounding like rain. And more poison ivy that I care to think about.
Hike: past Dicks Creek Gap
4/26 Another sunny day--we're camped about a mile past Dicks Creek Gap. We did 11.7 today, and the last mile probably
--I was interrupted by the arrival of the Fantastic Four, who I thought would be 3 1/2 miles ahead of me at Plumorchard Shelter but who, instead, just got back on the Trail after going in for an unexpected resupply in Hiawassee. I'd run into them unexpectedly at lunch and told them I'd be camping here--good thing! They did the mile up from the road pretty much by headlamp, it was almost 9 when they got here, and the sun was pretty much down by 8:30. I'm outside the tent now as they arrange groundcloths to avoid rocks--at this point they're just sleeping out, which I had contemplated but being alone and so close to the Trail, the tent seemed like a safer option.
What was I saying before the gang showed up? Oh, right. The last mile was really the last straw for Diva Dog. Her paws still aren't looking nearly so bad as they did before Helen -- the Trail wasn't particularly rocky and we took a lot of breaks -- but she just crashed when we got here, and last night she had energy to explore. She was still sniffing around back at Dicks Creek Gap, so I think the last mile did her in. If we really do stick to 10 milers all the way to Fontana Dam--if she doesn't adjust before then--I don't know if we'll make it there before my brother graduates on May 8. So that's the current worry, but with the Fantastic Four back in sync with me for a few days, at least the company will be good.
There was a beautiful grove of rhododendron coming down into Dicks Creek Gap--it held promise of what the woods will look like in a few weeks when the leaves are out on the trees.
--I was interrupted by the arrival of the Fantastic Four, who I thought would be 3 1/2 miles ahead of me at Plumorchard Shelter but who, instead, just got back on the Trail after going in for an unexpected resupply in Hiawassee. I'd run into them unexpectedly at lunch and told them I'd be camping here--good thing! They did the mile up from the road pretty much by headlamp, it was almost 9 when they got here, and the sun was pretty much down by 8:30. I'm outside the tent now as they arrange groundcloths to avoid rocks--at this point they're just sleeping out, which I had contemplated but being alone and so close to the Trail, the tent seemed like a safer option.
What was I saying before the gang showed up? Oh, right. The last mile was really the last straw for Diva Dog. Her paws still aren't looking nearly so bad as they did before Helen -- the Trail wasn't particularly rocky and we took a lot of breaks -- but she just crashed when we got here, and last night she had energy to explore. She was still sniffing around back at Dicks Creek Gap, so I think the last mile did her in. If we really do stick to 10 milers all the way to Fontana Dam--if she doesn't adjust before then--I don't know if we'll make it there before my brother graduates on May 8. So that's the current worry, but with the Fantastic Four back in sync with me for a few days, at least the company will be good.
There was a beautiful grove of rhododendron coming down into Dicks Creek Gap--it held promise of what the woods will look like in a few weeks when the leaves are out on the trees.
Hike: Tray Mountain Shelter
4/25/98--Tray Mountain Shelter
Glad, glad, glad to be back in the woods, but not in the least bit happy about my packweight after collecting my drop. Today, I was carrying 10 days of my food and 2 days of Diva Dog's--up til now I've never had more than 5 days and the difference is huge. It was also sunny and warm for the first time and that also made the hiking harder--drinking more water, carrying more water, stopping more often, moving more slowly when I was moving, and (my first Saturday on the Trail) having to make way for day hikers all the time. There was a huge crowd of people wearing cotton, carrying no food or water, and every single one of them had to comment on Diva Dog's booties. I can tell already I'm going to hate weekends. On the other hand, there's a big, friendly crowd of overnighters tenting around the shelter who seem to really know what they're about, and there's something kind of cool about getting to be the "permanent" residents and tell stories for the tourists.
We got a ride back to Unicoi in the back of a bright red pickup truck from a super-friendly couple--Diva Dog really got into it, kept standing up and poking her head over the edge, then sitting back down as we took the curves. We reached the parking lot just as the Fantastic Four were coming in, so it really felt like coming home. They'll pull ahead of me next--I'm going to stick to 10-ish mile days to try to keep Diva Dog's paws from hurting too badly, but the Four have a drop to pick up in Franklin on Wednesday, so I guess we'll be able to leapfrog for a little while.
And I have to figure out how to work my drops so I'm not carrying this much food again. I'd much rather stop more often and hike more easily in between.
Glad, glad, glad to be back in the woods, but not in the least bit happy about my packweight after collecting my drop. Today, I was carrying 10 days of my food and 2 days of Diva Dog's--up til now I've never had more than 5 days and the difference is huge. It was also sunny and warm for the first time and that also made the hiking harder--drinking more water, carrying more water, stopping more often, moving more slowly when I was moving, and (my first Saturday on the Trail) having to make way for day hikers all the time. There was a huge crowd of people wearing cotton, carrying no food or water, and every single one of them had to comment on Diva Dog's booties. I can tell already I'm going to hate weekends. On the other hand, there's a big, friendly crowd of overnighters tenting around the shelter who seem to really know what they're about, and there's something kind of cool about getting to be the "permanent" residents and tell stories for the tourists.
We got a ride back to Unicoi in the back of a bright red pickup truck from a super-friendly couple--Diva Dog really got into it, kept standing up and poking her head over the edge, then sitting back down as we took the curves. We reached the parking lot just as the Fantastic Four were coming in, so it really felt like coming home. They'll pull ahead of me next--I'm going to stick to 10-ish mile days to try to keep Diva Dog's paws from hurting too badly, but the Four have a drop to pick up in Franklin on Wednesday, so I guess we'll be able to leapfrog for a little while.
And I have to figure out how to work my drops so I'm not carrying this much food again. I'd much rather stop more often and hike more easily in between.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Noes and Yesses
Z.: (apropos of nothing) No, no, no!
S.: Don't say no.
Z.: No.
S.: What are you saying no to?
Z.: Saying yes.
S. laughs.
Z.: Yes!
S.: What are you saying yes to?
Z.: Saying no!
* * * * *
Still not feeling overly inspired today, so I'm going to keep putting up trail entries. I transcribed a whole bunch last night, and I think I'm going to put them up a few at a time so that they don't spin out forever. Today's go through my first town break. These were written to be posted on an AT website so I was assuming an insider audience, but for now I'm not going to do a lot of explaining. The very most basic thing you need to know is that the official AT route is marked by white blazes. Blue blazes mark sidetrails. Yellow blazes are the paint you see in the middle of the road when you're hitching.
S.: Don't say no.
Z.: No.
S.: What are you saying no to?
Z.: Saying yes.
S. laughs.
Z.: Yes!
S.: What are you saying yes to?
Z.: Saying no!
* * * * *
Still not feeling overly inspired today, so I'm going to keep putting up trail entries. I transcribed a whole bunch last night, and I think I'm going to put them up a few at a time so that they don't spin out forever. Today's go through my first town break. These were written to be posted on an AT website so I was assuming an insider audience, but for now I'm not going to do a lot of explaining. The very most basic thing you need to know is that the official AT route is marked by white blazes. Blue blazes mark sidetrails. Yellow blazes are the paint you see in the middle of the road when you're hitching.
Hike: Helen, GA
4/24/98--My dad's birthday, for the even smaller number of you who keep track. We're in Helen, which is a trippy little town. Editor's note: Helen is zoned so that all buildings resemble someone's notion of Bavarian architecture. Imagine Heidi in north Georgia and you will have the idea. Diva Dog's front paw pads are both swollen and the left one is cut. Wearing booties, she scrambled down to Unicoi Gap just fine, but has been limping in her few bare-pawed walks around town. The Helendorf Inn staff have been super-helpful and suggested Epsom salts, which I'm going to try this evening. Mostly, Diva Dog's just stayed at the hotel while I did town chores--laundry, pharmacy, shuttle in to Hiawassee to pick up my drop. I'm going to call her vet in the morning if I can (can't recall their Saturday hours) but the current plan is to be back on the Trail tomorrow, doing 10-mile days to Fontana Dam and giving her plenty of breaks in the day. Fingers crossed we don't lose any booties. Right now they seem like the most important gear in either of our packs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
