The Christmas Stroll

My folks have been married for seventy years and live in the small coastal town of Old Saybrook, Connecticut. On December 2nd, 2011, my Dad (92), and my Mom (90), decided they would like to participate in the town’s, Main Street festivities. The agenda included, a Heroes Tree Lighting in front of the Katherine Hepburn Cultural Arts Center, honoring those who gave their lives for our Country. The stores along Main Street were brightly decorated, with open doors and holiday refreshments, an enticement to all of the visitors. Horse drawn hay rides carried families up and down the beautifully decorated streets. There were Christmas Carolers in period clothing, on the corners, entertaining the crowds with their merriment. Santa Claus was greeting the children, taking note of the items on their wish list. The whole town was out to support the local shops and enjoy the music. The air was filled with laughter and people coming together.

My parents live in the Senior Housing complex, across from the elementary school, about two blocks from Main Street. My folks had enjoyed going to the Stroll for a number of years and my Dad said, let’s go! My Mom did not want to drive with all the people crowded in the streets. My Dad had the bright idea, mind you, he is blind and deaf, to borrow a wheelchair for my Mom. She has arthritis in her knees and uses a walker to shuffle along. Dad would push her in the wheelchair, down the road to Main Street! They both got excited, it would be great fun!
The wheelchair was picked up from the office and taken back to their apartment. It was then decorated with fake green garland and blinking white lights. My parents donned their Christmas finery, warm coats, Santa hats, gloves and lap robe. They were ready to go!
With Mom in the wheelchair and Dad holding the rear handles, off they went! When they got to the end of sidewalk at the entrance to their complex, my Dad was huffing and puffing, pushing the chair with Mom in it, was a tad more strenuous than he thought. My Mom could hear his heavy breathing and voiced her concern, but Dad said he was fine. They would have to travel along the road, two blocks to Main Street, in the DARK!
Dad was pushing while Mom directed him at the top of her lungs. Dad was not hearing her. She was facing forward, he behind her, she yelled, THE CURB! They made it to Main Street without any catastrophic incidents. Now, once onto Main Street, they tried to make their way to the Art Center for the tree lighting, just another block away! The sidewalk was crowded with revelers. Dad was pushing, Mom was yelling, STOP, YOU ARE GOING TO RUN PEOPLE OVER! Dad, not hearing her, pushed on. A large dog, tugging at the end of his leash, bumped the wheelchair, the arm of the chair fell off. I’m sure Mom’s death grip might have had something to do with it. Dad started hollering, “What’s the matter with you, get that damn dog out of here, watch where you’re going!” Mom’s yelling at him to "pipe down". The dogs owner, said he was sorry, fixed the arm, said Merry Christmas and walked on.
Mom and Dad were both frustrated. Dad mostly because he could not see where he was going and was getting tired of getting yelled at. Mom, because Dad couldn't hear her and scared to death because she was being pushed head on into people.
Sounds like fun to me!
They reached the tree lighting and enjoyed the upfront seating, Dad being a Veteran and all. The ceremony and speech honoring the war heroes was quite beautiful and they both teared up. They chatted with the locals and enjoyed the music that was played by the band.
After the ceremony they thought it best if they headed back towards home. They were both exhausted and a bit frightened about the trip back, although neither one would admit it.
They slowly made their way back through the crowd to Sheffield Street and started the two block walk, back to their apartment. Dad was pushing the wheelchair with it’s fake green garland and blinking white lights. Mom in her Santa hat, riding with a death grip on the arms of the chair. Neither of them speaking a word.
Fifty yards or so down Sheffield Street, Dad was huffing and puffing so hard, Mom thought he was going to have a stroke. She yelled “STOP!” Which I’m sure could have been heard across town. Dad stopped. Mom wiggled and squirmed until she was standing. She inched her way around to the back of the wheelchair and insisted that my Dad get in! She, was going to push him! (I’m laughing out loud). I’m sure the air was blue! To her consternation, he wouldn’t hear of it! Mom, refused to get back in the chair. (It's a good thing neither of them are unreasonably obstinate.)
So, my ninety year old Mom, with arthritis in her knees, started pushing the empty chair, and my ninety two year old, blind and deaf Dad, hanging onto the right side of the wheelchair with the blinking lights, walked slowly, and I mean slowly, and in utter silence, the two of them, made their way home.
Dad unlocked the front door, helped get Mom and the wheelchair inside, hung up their coats, and without speaking went into his room and shut the door. Mom went to the cabinet and took a Valium, or nerve pill, as Mom calls it, and laid on the couch. Neither of them spoke a word the rest of the night.
I called Mom on Sunday morning to see how they were doing and she recounted the agonizing, “horrible” evening. I laughed so hard, I thought I’d wet my pants!!!!! If only they were wearing a helmet cam! We could have made millions! I told her to look at it from my perspective.....Mom started laughing. You can't make this up!
It’s been over six weeks now and the two of them can finally talk about “The Stroll”, and laugh. Dad decided pushing Mom around town in a wheelchair wasn't all that much fun. Mom said, it WAS a really nice evening, and they did receive some really “nice” greetings from all the “nice” people that came out to enjoy the Christmas Stroll.
Sitting on the couch together, holding hands, they both agreed, they won’t go on any more walking adventures, in the dark! They gave each other a kiss and a squeeze and started laughing.

But, they are currently talking about a ten day trip to Ireland, in May.
More laughs to come!

Rough Water

Reading the news about the cruise ship that was in trouble going through Drake's Passage, on it's way to Antarctica bought back some memories.....

Although I could never afford the $8-10,000 for a one week trip, I've read and dreamed about taking a cruise to Antarctica and working there for a year. The thought of going through Drakes Passage at the tip of Cape Horn fascinates and terrifies me at the same time.
I've been in very high seas, back in 2004. I had signed up for a tour of the Fiord's out of Juneau, Alaska. It was a twelve hour day trip. After cruising about ninety minutes from port, the weather had taken a very nasty turn. The seas were so high, the tour boat that held about seventy passengers, was getting tossed around like a toy. Deck chairs and trash cans were flung overboard as the ship gyrated back and forth, getting slammed by the next wave. All passengers were already inside the small cabin, to avoid the wet salty spray, that stung when it hit your face. Most had their heads buried in there arms, folded on the tables. I kept thinking to myself, it must be this "very" young Captains first adventure taking the controls of the ship. He seemed to be getting hit from the side by each of the waves. I later learned he was very experienced. The unpredictable turbulence of the Alaskan waters is very real.
The plastic deck chair that I was sitting in would come off the deck about 6-8" every time the ship slammed down into the next troth. I'm always up for a great adventure, and didn't want to miss the excitement and enjoyed the adrenalin rush. There was only one young man and myself out on the deck. His fiance and the rest of the passengers were inside. There were so many people getting sick in the small salon, yuck. Who would want to miss the raging seas, the howling wind, and be inside with all the retching? Not me!
At this point, the captain announced, "if" we could make it another hour or so, we would be through the worst of it. There seemed to be no worry and there was no call for life jackets. Another thirty minutes went by....suddenly, the ship slammed so hard into a huge wave, that I lost my grip on the rail, the chair went flying across the deck with me in it, spread eagle, hoping to grab anything. I thought I was going over the rail. The young man grabbed the arm of my chair as I slid by and I grabbed his arm. His eyes were as wide as saucers, as I'm sure mine were. Somehow, we quickly, wiggled and scooted our chairs back to the center of the ship right by the entrance to the cabin, locked our arms around the rail by the door and sighed a HUGE sigh, then laughed like crazy! In a situation like this, things run through your mind. Was there a chance that the ship might go down as so many in Alaska do? I realized that I wasn't terrified, just excited, and that if I went into the water, so be it. What a way to go, experiencing a fabulous adventure. I thought, this is what it's like for all the sailors and fishermen that work out on the ocean, everyday.
A few minutes later, the captain announced that the seas were about to get rougher. I could hear the people inside screaming in fear, some shouting, NOOOO! Soon, at the terrified bequest of all the passengers inside, the Captain was coming about, and heading back to Juneau.
Although disappointed that we didn't get to the Fiord's, I have to admit, I was relieved that we would NOT be experiencing rougher water. The cruise company refunded the cost of the trip. The weather was pretty bad the rest of the week, so I haven't experienced the Fiord's, YET!
(There were no photos taken on this adventure. I didn't want to risk loosing my camera, so it stayed in my backpack, in the cabin).
Taking the Antarctic cruise and experiencing Drake's Passage is on my Bucket List!

Below is a video link to the cruise ship that was recently in trouble in Drake's Passage.

http://www.usatoday.com/video/index.htm?bctid=703298531001


Remember...Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming , WOW, WHAT A RIDE!

The Fog 10/27/10

It’s early morning, the light is just breaking. I’m sitting at the table, looking out the front window towards the bay. I’m mesmerized by the dense fog that is sitting low on the water. Across the road, the pine and birch trees that are faded in the fog, line the edge of the water like a gateway to a surreal vastness. The fog has totally obliterated the sight of the water and islands. There is an emptiness.





Looking out the side window the glowing leaves of the deciduous trees, burning yellow, amber, orange and red, shine so brightly it fills my living room like sunshine. Although surrounded by the vibrant colors of the fall leaves, it’s the grey emptiness that holds my attention, it’s calling me like a siren. It’s not a cold empty feeling, it feels warm, as if I’m snuggled in a beautiful wool blanket, to ward off the dampness.. it feels like..... home.

I'm tired........

I just moved into a beautiful furnished home with fabulous ocean views for the winter, but the house has a quirk...

10/18/10
I’m tired....
That darn water conditioner! It sits on the backside of my bedroom wall. I’m going to have to do something about that contraption! I’ve looked for the paperwork to change the timer but as of yet, have had no luck.
The tubular tank of steel with a digital control on top, back-washes at 3AM! It sounds like the space shuttle taking off with full booster rockets, and the sound of gushing fire hoses squirting everywhere! When it starts, (third time in ten days), I sit straight up in bed, thinking the house is ready to explode. I jump out of bed, feel my way to the far bedroom door that opens into the bathroom, quickly inching my way around to the left, so as not to fall off the step, (which happened the first night in the house). With hands outstretched, I carefully and quickly feel for the folding louvered doors that fold outward into the bathroom. I slide my hand, left and right, up and down, on the right hand wall for the light switch to illuminate the mechanical room, where the furnace, washer and dryer and the dang water conditioner reside. I flip the switch expecting to see water pouring everywhere and seeing the water conditioner vibrating with flames shooting out of the bottom and expecting lift off out through the roof, any second. My eyes squinting, (no time to find my glasses) adjusting to the bright light and with heart pounding out of my skin, I look, and much to my amazement, everything was as it should be, no water squirting anywhere, the tubular metal water conditioner, sitting in the corner, still making ungodly noises, stationary, and no rocket fuel bursting flames from the base of it. I take a deep breath and wonder..........Who in their right mind, would set the water conditioner to backwash at 3AM!!!!!! The previous tenants? Did they work nights? The company that installed the dang thing (mean joke if they did)? Or, does it just backwash when needed?
Today, I’m tired......after checking for lift off and seeing that all was okay, I went back to bed, but hearing that thing jumble softball size rocks around inside that metal tube for thirty to forty minutes, I was wide awake. 3:45AM, It was time to make coffee, by 6:30AM, I had made a batch of oatmeal cookies, checked my email, took photos of a lobster boat chugging by, the lobster man in his yellow slicker, checking his traps. I ran down the road in my bathrobe and slippers to catch a good photo, between the trees, of a huge tanker heading to Searsport and a beautiful sailboat with red sails, skimming across the beam of sunshine that was just cresting the horizon. By 8AM, I had washed all the windows on the front of the house inside and out and swept the garage........I went to work this afternoon for five hours, came home had a glass of wine and a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner. That's all I could muster.
It’s now, 8PM, I’m absolutely exhausted and heading to bed. If that dang thing goes off again in the morning. I’m grabbing my sleeping bag and heading for the garage!

Baked or Fried?

I picked up a part time job waitressing at the diner that’s just a half a mile down the road from where I’m staying in my camper for the summer. Mind you, I’m almost fifty eight years old and it has been a few years since I last waited tables at the Lodge in Alaska.
I trained for two days, doing the morning shift that starts at 6:30AM. The morning shift is perfect for me, as I’m usually awake by 4:30AM and out in the garden.
Prepping for the day, the morning shift is responsible for shredding cabbage and carrots and making dressing for cole slaw, filling catsup and syrup bottles, making tartar sauce, etc.
We wash pots and pans that the cooks have been using to make their soups and specials for the day and carry five gallon buckets of ice from the ice machine in the basement to fill the soda fountain machine. Suffice it to say, carrying heavy buckets up the stairs, then standing on a chair to reach the top of the soda machine and lifting the buckets to pour into the top of the soda machine gives me pause to consider what the heck was I thinking!
The first day was a bit overwhelming, one of the busiest days the restaurant has had in three months. One waitress, and one trainee, a very busy day to say the least. I worked until 3:30PM the first day, totally exhausted and worn out. I did fine and waited tables without incident. When in training you’re not allowed to keep any tips, they all go to the girl training you. Okay, so that’s the rules, I can deal with that. The second day was a bit easier, although I was still exhausted from my first day.
It was now my third day, my first day on my own and able to keep my tips. The other waitress and I took turns taking tables. It was extremely slow. There were the few regulars, coffee and muffin and a few folks in for a full breakfast. It was fine, I actually got to chat with the people for a while and I thought, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
One couple came in, they looked very familiar, and I asked where they were from. They said from Clinton, Connecticut, my home town. At the time, the woman worked for the Clinton Recorder, the local paper, and after thirty years we caught up on all the people we knew in common.
The morning went by and it was a nice steady pace. Around 11:15 an older gentleman, maybe in his early seventies, came in, alone. I assumed a farmer, wearing his blue Dickie work clothes. He had a full beard, a dark tan and large hands that showed many years of hard work. I handed him the lunch menu and placed a cup of hot, Green Mountain coffee down on the table in front of him. He looked up at me and asked what the lunch specials were. That’s when the trouble began............
Usually, the lunch specials are printed out by the cook by 10AM, not today. I asked the other waitress if she could print them out, she said no. So, I went to the kitchen and asked the cook. I won’t mention his name, he’s a very tall fellow and in the three days that I had been working, I never saw him smile once. As a matter of fact, he seemed like a very angry man, slamming pots and snarling. Everyone else that works in the restaurant is very pleasant, says excuse me, or behind you, or pardon me, when they walk by you, not this guy, he just huffs by. I asked the grouch, nicely, if he could take a moment and please, print out the lunch specials, that we had a customer that was asking about them. I received no answer, as a matter of fact, he never even acknowledged me. I went back to the table with the elderly gentleman and said that it might be a few minutes, he was fine with that. I then asked the other waitress if she could help. She went to the kitchen and asked the grouch if he would please print out the specials.
He came out, sat at the counter where the computer and cash register are and started to work on the specials. Mind you, it’s a full page of specials, about twenty of them. I felt bad for the gentleman that was waiting and looking over the grouch’s shoulder, I tried to remember the long list of specials, walked back to the farmer, and could only remember two. After two trips, I gave up. The cook got up and walked back to the kitchen. I walked behind the counter and could hear the printer working but no paper was coming out. I read the screen and it said the printer was out of ink! It had been about twenty minutes since this poor man sat down to order his lunch and still no specials. He decided to order from the regular lunch menu. He ordered a large haddock dinner. He mentioned that he only came to the restaurant once every three or four months as a special treat to himself. I asked if he wanted mashed or french fries, and told him the long list of vegetables that he could choose from that I had written on the back of my order pad. Squash was his choice of vegetable and he requested extra tartar sauce. I remembered to put the price on the order ticket and thanked the farmer for his patience.
I walked back to the kitchen, put the order ticket up on the nail for the cook, and said “order up”. I turned and walked back to take care of the other customers. After seven minutes or so, I heard “Mary Ellen”, and walked back to the kitchen, the cook had the farmers order in his hand and asked me “baked or fried?” Oh my goodness, I hadn’t asked the farmer, now I had to go back and ask.
The farmer said, “fried”........now, I was flustered, this poor man had been in the restaurant for over a half an hour and his food still hadn’t been started! I turned and walked back to the kitchen and stared at the cook, who said “Well?”.........Oh no, I had forgot! I couldn’t believe it! He said, “go back and ask him how he wants his haddock cooked, baked or fried.” I was so embarrassed and was starting to shake. I turned and walked back to the farmer with a sheepish look on my face, and apologized profusely, and told him, I had forgotten what he said, baked or fried? He calmly looked at me and said, “fried”. Back to the kitchen and yikes, I drew a complete blank, nothing, not a clue, I had no idea what that man had said to me! I had a brain cramp and couldn’t remember, baked or fried. I turned and went back around the corner, and looked at the farmer, he was staring at me and just mouthed the word “FRIED”. So after an hour of waiting, I finally brought the farmer his lunch. He enjoyed his haddock, and after finishing and walking towards the door to leave, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry Mary Ellen, your memory will get better”. I thanked him and said no, that it probably wouldn’t but as long as people have a sense of humor about it, and weren’t on a time schedule, we would all be fine. He left me a very generous tip.
I don’t know if I’m cut out for waitressing at this point in my life. I enjoy talking with people and don’t mind the work. It’s my brain that I’m concerned with. Too bad our brains aren’t like computers, that you can clear out the hard drive and reboot. I’ve decided from now on, when I ask, “baked or fried”, I’ll be sure to write it down, even if I have to write it on my hand...........”IF”, I can remember.

When life throws you a curve ball!

Sometimes in life, you get thrown a curve ball. Some people get more than others, some are lucky enough to go through life with none at all. I have to say, I’ve been lucky enough, to have had very few curve balls thrown my way, but got a doozie, this past week.
I was out walking the two dogs I’m sitting for, it was after dark and approximately, minus five degrees. We had walked about three hundred yards from the house, when a snow white rabbit hopped across the road in front of us. One dog saw it and tried to take off in the direction of the rabbit, the other dog just got excited and was jumping around. I was trying to control both dogs and didn’t see the eight inch step up in front of me and slipped, fell and landed on my left wrist. The pain was instant and excruciating and now that I was on the ground, flopping around like a fish out of water, moaning and I must admit, swearing a bit, and trying to get the leash from my left hand that was no longer usable, into my right, I was being mauled by the dogs. The dogs thought I was playing with them and forgot all about the rabbit that was now, down over the hill, on the opposite side of the road. They were jumping on me, licking me, wagging their tails like I was just the best thing since sliced bread. I got to my knees and begged the dogs to just SIT. They were great, maybe they could tell by my quivering voice that I was hurt or maybe they thought I’d lay down again, so they could jump on me, I don’t know. I rose to my feet and with both dogs now tethered to my other hand, walked slowly back to the house. I didn’t cry!
I knew that I had either sprained my wrist REALLY bad, or broke it. I couldn’t move my fingers very well, but even the thought of moving my thumb, would send electrical shock waves through my body, warning me not to consider moving it again. The dogs were really well behaved walking back to the house, maybe they knew something was wrong by my (throw back to childbirth),Lamaze breathing. I was just praying that we wouldn’t encounter another rabbit while walking back up the driveway, rabbits, seem to be everywhere. Once back in the house, I asked the dogs to sit, which they very kindly did. I had to take my gloves off, jacket, hat and neck warmer before I could take their leashes off. Thankfully, the dogs sat still while my useless right hand tried to manipulate the clips on their collars and once off, the dogs booked it for the living room.
I went straight to the freezer to get some ice for my now, blown up like a balloon, throbbing hand. There were no knuckles showing, fingers swollen and straight like sausages, and my wrist was almost half again as big as my right wrist. There wasn’t any black and blue that usually comes with a bad sprain, so that was my second inkling, that more than likely, it was broken. I put the ice in a zip lock bag, grabbed a dish towel and went to the dining room table. I was now dealt the task of trying to balance the ice over my wrist while wrapping the towel around my throbbing hand, with the useless appendage that hangs from my right shoulder. I never had great dexterity with that right hand and now I was willing it, to PLEASE, PLEASE, cooperate with the rest of me! It only took six or seven tries before I had it wrapped tight enough to hold the ice in place, yet loose enough to not cause more pain. I went to the bathroom and was fortunate enough to find an ace bandage in the first drawer I looked in. I’m care-taking a business for some friends and I’m not the type to snoop in cabinets or drawers and felt really guilty looking for that ace bandage, but relieved upon finding it in the first drawer I looked in. After wrapping my hand, ice, and dish towel in the newly found ace bandage, I finally sat on the couch to assess my options. I was two hours away from any medical treatment, it was now about 6PM and pitch dark. The nearest neighbors that I could call were an hour and a half away. I decided to just wait it out. After all, I’m in Alaska, where I love to be. Many people live much more remote than I am, what would their options be? They could wait for help, or treat their injury themselves. The ice began to melt and was leaking out of the Zip Lock bag, and down my arm towards my elbow, OOhhhhhh.
I had to take the whole thing apart and regroup. While my hand was out from under the ice pack, I checked it over thoroughly. I didn’t see any deviation in my wrist or thumb and contemplated....if it was broken, what would the clinic do, put a cast on it to hold it in place until the bones healed? If it was sprained, they would wrap it in an ace bandage until it healed. I decided I would deal with this myself.
The dogs had to go out to relieve themselves one more time before I went to bed and I was dreading it. It was really cold out and I was still shaking from the trauma. I asked the dogs to sit and reached for the leash that I now had to clip to their collars that were wrapped around anxious wiggling necks, buried in thick hair, with a right hand that refuses to listen to brain commands, all the while, protecting my left hand from any inherent wagging tails or licks of gratitude for taking them outside again! I reached for my down jacket with my right hand and slowly slid my left down into the sleeve. The bundle that was wrapped around my hurting hand would not go all the way through the end of the sleeve, fine, it was good enough for me. Reaching back with my right arm, I slid into the jacket and pulled it into place. I looked down and there.... was another curve ball... waiting for me.......I couldn’t zip my jacket! My left hand was bundled up inside my sleeve and there was no way that the fumbling filanges, on my right hand, that won’t listen to my brain, were going to work that tiny zipper by themselves, no matter how hard I tried. I took one dog at a time, jacket wide open, blowing in the breeze, out to do their business. Another thing puzzles me. Why do dogs have to walk in circles, seventy-six times before they find the right spot to “go,” it makes me nuts! After what seemed like forever, I finally made it into the house, settled the dogs down and headed down the hall to go to bed, it was now 10:30PM.
Another one..... I couldn’t take my pull over off, without removing the nicely wrapped broken hand that was finally numb from the ice. I thought about just sleeping with my polar fleece top on, but decided I would sleep better if I was comfortable, so began the process of unraveling my frozen stump of a hand. Once the ace bandage and dish towel were loose, the now melted ice ran all over my pillowcase, more fun. I went to the bathroom and discovered that using your non-dominant hand is not pleasant, at all! Why in heaven’s name won’t that hand listen. Is it connected to the upstairs wiring at all? I tried pulling up three layers of pants, underwear, long johns and jeans, but that was also a disaster, everything was twisted and no matter how much I wiggled and tugged, it was futile, they were all rolled together. I dropped them right there! I turned the hot water faucet on and filled my hand with soap from the dispenser on the counter and gingerly, washed my poor swollen left hand that has served me so well, independent of any help from the right hand for the past fifty-seven years. Putting any pressure on my dripping left hand, by drying it with a towel was out of the question. My hair dryer was sitting on the counter, so with the dysfunctional right hand, I tried for five minutes or so, before getting the darn plug into the outlet that was eye level on the wall. I turned the dryer on and let the warm air dry my hand. It felt so, good.
I wanted to brush my teeth and started to laugh, what else was I going to do! After a fashion, I managed to squeeze the toothpaste onto my tooth brush and picked it up and luckily got the tooth brush into my mouth, without smearing my face, but there was a problem. I couldn’t for the life of me, get my wonderful right hand, to brush up and down or back and forth. I found myself trying to hold my hand still and move my head back and forth and up and down. I looked like a two year old handed a toothbrush for the first time. I’m glad there are no neighbors or hidden cameras, it must have been quite the sight! Now that I was washed and ready for bed, I took a Tylenol P.M, and an Ibuprofen, recommended by the medical site, regarding broken wrist symptoms and treatment, I had checked out, on the computer.
It was time to wrap the throbbing hand again. This time, I thought, hhhmmm, what if I filled the zip lock bag with snow, it would mold to my hand and not be so painful? So, quickly, I opened the slider, stepped out on the deck and scooped up handfuls of snow and filled the bag, but not fast enough, I was chilled to the bone!
After wrapping my hand again, I remembered that I still had to load the wood-stove. How in the world would I be able to do that! The night was getting longer by the minute! Luckily, I had bought in enough wood earlier in the day to at least get me through the night. Loading the stove wasn’t as bad as I imagined. I just laid the log centered on my right hand and let it roll into the front opening in the stove, three sticks and I called it good, closed the door, set the damper and headed to bed. I was still traumatized by the thought of my first broken bone ever, chilled to the core, shaking uncontrollably, and utterly exhausted! I just wanted to crawl under the down comforter, lay my head down on a dry pillow and sleep. No, that was not going to happen. I, tossed and turned, raised my injured hand up on a pillow to see if I could stop the throbbing but nothing worked. After what seemed like days, I went into the living room, grabbed my computer and took it back to the bedroom, plugged it in and slid a movie into the DVD slot, thinking I might fall asleep while being distracted by the movie. It worked for a while until the movie was over. I was up and back on the couch in the living room by 4AM, with a cup of coffee, in the hand that would have to help me out, for the next four to six weeks. I hoped it would buck up and start earning the name “helping hand.”
I knew my friends Susie and Alan were in Fairbanks, so about 8AM I called them on their cell phone and asked if they were still in town and could they possibly do me a favor. Would they please pick up a wrist splint with Velcro closures and thumb restraint, they said sure and asked what had happened, I told them about my slip, I also asked if they’d pick up a bag of Tostito corn chips, so I could make an easy nacho dinner for myself.
Susie & Alan arrived late in the afternoon, and helped put the splint on my hand, oh, it felt good, maybe it was aligning my hand in the right position, I don’t know, but it felt better than the ace bandage. Alan bought in a load of wood for me, for the wood-stove. What a relief! They brought in the few groceries I had asked them to pick up in town. They retrieved the mail from the screen house and the few packages still in the sled and were on their way back out on the Denali Highway, to the Lodge. It was after 5PM, and I was hungry. I tried to open the bag of chips, but with one hand, it wasn’t working. I opened the drawer to get the scissors, only to realize I couldn’t use them in my right hand. I could not get the signal from my brain, down into the fingers that were just sitting there, in their own little world, to open or close those scissors. I laid the bag of chips on the counter, put my belly up against the counter and gave the bag an elbow shot, that any WWF fighter would be proud of. The bag did pop open and chips were all over the toaster and counter. Luckily, it opened towards the back-splash and not onto the floor! I went to the fridge to get the jar of salsa and guacamole only to learn that opening the jar would test my patience beyond, belief. It only took a mere forty-five minutes to put some chips, salsa and guacamole on a plate so I could eat my dinner!
I woke up around 5AM on Friday and the arm was just throbbing. I was a bit concerned that there might be a bone fragment floating around, so around 9AM, I called the clinic in Delta, about 120 miles away, and asked if they could do an X-ray. They said yes, but they closed at noon. I'm left handed, and broke the left wrist, hmm, could I drive all that way using only, my useless, right hand? I thought about it for a while, wondering if there was anyone that could drive me......The closest neighbor, Bert the trapper, was 1 1/2 hrs away and who knew when he could get here, or even if I could get in touch with him, so I decided to drive myself. I couldn't leave the dogs alone for the day, so loaded them in the back of the Suberu and headed north. It was sunny when I left the house, but heading up and over the Alaska Range, the clouds were hanging thick and heavy. It started to snow and blow and the road was covered in places and I was a wreck! Coming around Rainbow Mountain, it was a full blown white out. That's all I need, is to get stuck in a blizzard, and not be able to zip my coat! I started to call all angels to watch over me, and they did a great job! I made it there just fine.
The people at the clinic were very cordial. I have to tell you, it was 12* there, blowing like a banshee! A wee bit chilly! It was worth the trip, the wrist WAS broken in two places, and the really HOT Russian Doctor was dreamy and very attentive! He wanted to put a cast on my arm, but I said no, that I lived alone and needed to take a shower, so I'd be happy if I could keep the Velcro splint on. Reluctantly, he agreed and helped me put the splint back on, said it was a good one, and that I needed to keep it on for the next six weeks and be careful with it. Before I left, he asked if I had any questions or if there was anything he could do for me?.............All I could think of was, Would you come and cook dinner for me? But... I'm a chicken, and just said no. He told me I should come back next week, for another X-ray to make sure everything was healing correctly, but that he would not be there. Needless to say, there's no reason for me to go back then, is there?
It’s been a week today since I fell, and I have to say, I am coping quite well! Dealing with a broken wrist, even if it is my left one, is not nearly as bad as spraining my ankle or crunching my back. I just think how lucky I am that my wrist will heal in a few weeks, it could have been much, much worse!
Life may throw you a curve ball, but you have to do your best, to knock it out of the park and get back in the game!

Snow.....

Snow.....
How wonderful nature is, a new canvas everyday.
There are people like me, there must be, that enjoy the intrinsic beauty of the first sight of the frozen crystals.

I love the minute water droplets that are transformed magically in the clouds and morph into unique crystals, that gently float to the ground. Not like the rain that splatters, so that everything it touches is moved. I love the delicate flakes that land softly, so as not to disturb the object it lands on. The crystals barely touch each other, like down feathers in a pile, so much air in between each flake, so light and fluffy. It is so quiet when it’s snowing, you could not hear a pin drop, the sound would be muffled by the blanket of white.
Everything is brighter, even with complete cloud cover, it makes me feel happy. The flock of red Grossbeaks sitting on the dark green branches of the spruce tree, really stand out with the contrast of white. I tried taking a photo but it’s still a little dark. The sun will not be up for another hour or so and by then the Grossbeaks will be on their way to who knows where. The black capped Chickadees are at the feeder, snow falling all around them. There are maybe twelve or so, flitting back and forth, eating the sunflower seeds, just like on the Christmas cards. I’ve opened the kitchen window so I can hear their chatter, chicka-de-de-de.

Oh, how I love winter......the cold and snow and silence, somehow, it makes me feel warm, like it’s cradling and comforting me. I love the way the cold air chills my face and makes my eyes water. I’m not crazy about how cold my glasses get or how they fog up when I come inside, but it’s a small price to pay to be able to feel the invigorating cold. It makes me feel, so alive!

It’s snowing, it’s snowing, it’s snowing! I must go, it's calling me........