Living a Dreamer's Dream

The Christmas Stroll

2012-01-21T18:10:00.010-05:00

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

2010-12-12T10:15:00.003-05:00

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

2010-10-27T09:14:00.014-04:00

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........

2010-10-19T06:58:00.004-04:00

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?

2010-06-28T13:06:00.004-04:00

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!

2009-11-11T18:56:00.013-05:00

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.....

2009-10-22T17:09:00.013-04:00

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........

Rocks

2009-10-09T07:37:00.017-04:00

10/09/09

What can you say about rocks? You step on them, you sit on them when you’re tired, kids climb on them, you skip them across water, you build walls with them, and line your garden with them, but have you ever really looked at rocks close up. I'm not talking about your run of the mill, gray jagged edged, boring rocks. I'm talking about interesting rocks! You know, the red ones, the spotted ones, the green smooth rocks, rocks with white stripes, heart shaped rocks, round smooth river rocks, rocks that wash up on the beach, etc.

I've been picking up rocks for almost fifteen years now, I have boxes of them. Rocks from Wyoming, Montana, Washington, British Columbia, the Yukon, Niagara Falls, Michigan, the beaches of Maine, Connecticut, Alaska and Ireland.

There was one beautiful rock on the North shore of Lake Superior, that was so large, I couldn’t lift it. I worked for hours, sweating profusely, rolling it, prying it with a large branch and finally, managed to get it back to the camper. Try as I might, and much to my chagrin, and after extensive contemplation, I came to the conclusion that there was no way I could possibly lift or maneuver that boulder into the truck or camper, .....I sadly, had to leave it behind.

There were three rocks, from the tailings of Crazy Horse that were so heavy, I thought my arms would come out of their sockets on the long walk carrying them back to my truck on the far side of the parking lot. I was hoping for some help, but all I received were some really strange stares.

While traveling across country with my sister and her husband, we stopped in a Rock Shop in South Dakota. There were shelves of crystals, pyrite, fossils and gemstones. It was great fun to browse, lots of eye candy everywhere. We asked the man behind the counter if he could identify some of the rocks that we found in a river along the way. We thought they were chunks of Turquoise.....we never did get a straight answer. On one of the shelves there was a large Citrine quartz crystal, about twice the size of a softball, it caught my eye and every few minutes would go back to look at it again. It was $40.00, too much for my budget, besides, who in their right mind would pay for a rock! We walked around and around, finally got back in the truck and just as we were about to pull out of the driveway I said, WAIT, I have to go get that rock! I can’t believe I “PAID” for a rock but it was calling me, and so, it sits on my night-stand at my sisters house and was worth every penny.

Thank goodness for the Post Office and their “Flat Rate” boxes. I’ve mailed home about one hundred twenty pounds of rocks over the past few years. I hope they don’t change their policy and put a limit on the weight of those boxes. Two years ago, I was in Fairbanks, getting ready to put my camper in storage for the winter and was packing up all my belongings. Everywhere I looked in the camper and the truck, there were rocks.

I gathered the smaller ones into a couple of milk crates until they were overflowing, I thought, wow, that’s a lot, of rocks, and quite a heavy load. No wonder my gas milage is so poor! From under the mattress, I took three $12.95 flat rate boxes that I always keep on hand and began to fill them. As I crammed a few of the smaller rocks into the edges, I thought, yikes, I don’t know if the Post Office will accept this or not?
I sealed all the corners with packing tape, addressed it to my sisters house and went on to the next box. Yup, filled all three boxes and still had enough rocks to fill six more!
Off to the Post Office I went. I could only carry one box at a time. I figured they weighed between twenty-five to thirty pounds each. I had to wait in line........yes, as you know, there’s always a line at the Post Office. I placed the first box on the side counter and headed back out to the truck to retrieve the other two boxes. I wasn’t worried about anyone taking them, no one could lift them, or want to! After thirty minutes or so, and some interesting conversations while waiting, it was my turn at the window. One by one, I hefted the boxes onto the counter and was asked the usual question......Anything liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous? No, not in my boxes! The clerk slid the box onto the scale,(I think for her own curiosity) and with a sullen look on her face, she peered at me over the top of her glasses and said, “You’re really getting your moneys worth, aren’t you?” I thought my plan was doomed! I just smiled and said, yes.
She asked if I would like to insure the boxes......I hesitated, they were irreplaceable.......but I said no. I finally whispered to her, (why the whisper, I don’t know), that the boxes were filled with my treasure of rocks. She lit up like a Christmas Tree and said she loved rocks! That her husband threatened if she brought any more rocks home, she would have to find a new place to live.......and take her rocks with her! With a wry smile, I told her in, no uncertain terms, if the rocks didn’t arrive safely back to the East coast, I’d know where to start looking!
My rock collecting has gotten to the point of absurdity! I don’t have a place to put them. I live in my camper, or stay with family. What in the world am I to do with all these rocks? For now, they are all safe in storage, in Maine, boxes and boxes of them and there are more than a few boxes in my sisters closet.

Now that I’m back in Alaska, I’ve begun to gather again, surprise, surprise! Taking the dogs for long walks three or four times a day, gives me the opportunity to peruse the landscape, and I’m in a prime spot. This area was covered in glaciers not to long ago and it is a virtual mine field of possibilities. I wonder how these rocks were formed, how far have they traveled, and wonder, where will they end up and how many can I carry?

I remember being in the middle of no where, on a trail in the Alaska Range and seeing a rock up on a bluff, about the size of a baseball that was forced apart with quartz strands. It was the most interesting rock I think I’ve ever seen. At the time, I thought I had collected enough rocks and just took a photo of it and walked on. That night, I could not get that rock out of my head, I could not sleep and decided, first thing in the morning, I would go back and find it. I spent three days, looking for it! I even gave a picture of the rock to two teenage girls I had met, gave them the best directions I could as to where I thought it was, and offered a twenty dollar reward if they brought it back to me, it was never found.

The poor dogs I’m sitting for, get dragged up hills and down the rock slides. I’ve been good and haven’t worn my back pack, I only fill my vest or jacket pockets. I make cairns with the rocks I can’t take with me and then return later with my camera. I can do a whole photo exhibit with my rock photos!
I’m trying my darnedest to be selective, but many of those rocks are just to beautiful to leave behind............

Hmmm, I’ve just left a note in the mail box and asked the Post man to leave a couple of “Large” flat rate boxes the next time he delivers the mail!

October 3rd, 2009

2009-10-03T19:28:00.005-04:00

October 3rd, 2009

Here I sit at the dining room table in Paxson, AK. I’m gazing out the window as the snow is pouring down. Tiny light flakes coming to rest on the evergreen branches. I can see and hear a huge black raven clucking and cawing, I also hear hooting? I just got up and opened the door to see if I could find where the hooting was coming from. I’m still trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive owl that lives somewhere here in the trees by the river. The complete silence makes your ears attune to the slightest sound. To my amazement, it was the raven that was hooting! Native folk lore calls the raven “The Trickster”, he certainly is, he mimics what he hears! I wish I could have had the room in my suitcase to bring my movie camera. I would have loved to catch that on video. He sat on the branch high up in the spruce tree, bobbing his head up and down, hooting and clucking. I watched for 30-40 seconds and as soon as I raised the camera, he flew off to who knows where.......... I stood for a moment wishing I could follow him just to hear his story again.
It was time to check for eggs. Entering the chicken pen and walking towards the coup, I startled the Magpie as he flew out, egg yolk dripping from his beak...GGGRRRRR. Two of the six eggs had been pecked open and their contents devoured by the insidious magpie! He had not gotten to the lone cold egg that was in the farthest nesting box. Thank goodness, one of the hens is very protective and pecks at anyone or any bird, that tries to remove the eggs she's sitting on, three to be exact! I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and endured the multiple sharp pecks as I lifted her and quickly grabbed the three warm eggs that she was keeping under careful watch.
I retrieved the two dogs from their pen, covered in a blanket of white, back to the house. Much to their dismay, they are blockaded in the entrance way until they dry off. I play the harmonica (very loose term) to entertain myself, both dogs sit, stick their noses in the air, and howl along. I’m not sure if they enjoy the sound or are begging me to stop the painful noise! I think it’s the latter.....poor things!
Looking out the window toward where the mountain was out in a beautiful display yesterday, with the caribou grazing everywhere, all I can see is a curtain of white. Everyday is a different palate, a tribute to Mother Nature and her magnificent power.
It’s a good day to cuddle up next to the wood stove, read a book and keep a sharp ear out for the trickster.

My Happy Place

2009-09-28T16:09:00.009-04:00

My soul is feeling the peace of getting back to my happy place. Just now, settling in to my new environment, just as the frost is settling into the ground.
Leaving family and friends is always difficult. Leaving my folks, who aren't getting any younger is the most difficult of all. Not knowing if I'll see them again before they depart this earth. I expressed my love for them and told them I'd be back for the holidays, part of my heart was left with them.
My children and grand children know that I come and go like the wind. They know how much I love them and miss them but they also know that I need to be in the Great Land to experience the joy that the wild outdoors brings to my soul. I'll bring back stories and rocks, lots of photos and a ton of love when I go back east.
My friends don't know what to think of me, some say I'm totally crazy, some think I'm adventurous and some wonder if I'll leave one of these times and never return. Some ask what my plans are.......all I can say is, I just don't know! I'm not a planner per say, I have no idea what I'll have for lunch or dinner, never mind what I'll be doing tomorrow, next week or next year. I take each day as it comes. They ask, "What about your retirement?" WHAT??? I'm living an awesome life, and I wonder, retire from what? You only get one life and I don't want to grow old and say, golly, I wish I had done this, or traveled there. I'm living and enjoying new experiences, everyday! I never know what day it is, or what time it is, nor, do I care.
I learned to live without"things", they are not important. There's so much more to life and living, and with fewer belongings, there's a sense of freedom to come and go. There are so many interesting people to meet and share stories with. That's one of the reasons I love it here in Alaska, people enjoy life everyday. They are not caught up in what they own or worrying how they'll pay for things. Yesterday, I met a woman from Juneau, originally from Pennsylvania, who moved here in 1995 with her teenage daughter, who by the way, thought she was nuts! An attorney, she started mushing dogs in 1999 and has decided to try racing in the Iditarod. She ferried her truck, dogs, snow machine and four wheeler and is spending the winter in the mountains, alone, training for the last great race. She's 58 yrs old, put her practice aside and is living life. Can you imagine? I wish her well.
Hopefully, in this quiet place with stunning surroundings I'll be able to put my thoughts to paper. If I can inspire one person to seek their dreams, my ramblings will not be in vane.

Summer fleeting away.......

2009-08-14T21:22:00.006-04:00

How quickly time flies when you are so busy! Work, play, sleep, visiting, hiking, swimming, playing nursemaid, building, cleaning, repairing, chatting, driving, so much to do, so little time.
Here it is the middle of August, the nights are getting shorter, although not as cool as I'd like them to be. All the fun ideas for the summer, camping, hiking, playing didn't happen, somehow time passed in a blur without those thoughts coming to fruition.
I think in terms of years now, not weeks or months. Life seems to be spinning faster and faster. Children are growing older, getting taller, much smarter and I'm loving them more each day. I miss the babies I get to see oh, so infrequently. I miss the smiles, the new accomplishments, the cute phrases that come from their innocent mouths. I miss their tiny chubby legs and puggy fingers, and inquisitive bright eyes.

Getting older is not it's all cracked up to be.......all the wishes in the world can't slow down the aging process, much to our dismay. I savor every day and thank the power that is, for all my blessings. I'm so very lucky! Healthy, loving family, great friends and incredible jobs that seem to fall in my lap. I believe everything happens for a reason and you must take advantage of every opportunity, no matter how strange, or far fetched. Life is here to be lived to the fullest, it's such a short ride!

The Morning Light

2009-07-16T05:29:00.018-04:00

Woke up this morning at 4:15. After making a pot of coffee and checking email, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, the sun making it's debut. They say "red sky in the morn, sailor be warned." It is one of those mornings. I sat in awe as the sun lit up the clouds with bright red rays, and thought I should go out to the car and get my camera and take some photos, but... I was too lazy.
The rays were getting brighter and brighter and I couldn't turn away. Hurrying, I put my boots on, thinking I've missed a great opportunity. I got the camera out of the car and headed up the back hill. Of course, by this time most of the red had disappeared, a reminder that minutes truly count. The sun was rising above the clouds. The smell of the cool morning air is so invigorating. I headed up over the hill and into the pasture. The morning dew on the hay field was seeping through my sweat pants up over my knees, and felt really cold on my legs but I didn't mind. It's all part of the big picture and I just breathe it all in, and thank the powers that be, for allowing me to be "in the moment."
As I turned to head back to the house, I noticed the neighbors out in their garden, enjoying the predawn air, coffee in hand. I'm not the only early riser!
It is the start of a great day!

Photographs and Memories.......

2009-06-07T20:24:00.035-04:00

Photography is not only a hobby, but my passion. Photos help, along with stories to share wonderful times and places with family and friends.
On Friday, June 5th, 2009, my Grand daughter Anna and I spent the morning hiking at Moose Point State Park in Searsport, Maine. It was a glorious day, and with a little chill in the air, it was perfect. Anna and I wore our wind breakers, and arrived at the park by 9:15AM. We pulled up to the toll house at the park entrance and the Ranger asked if we were Maine residents, yes, I said. She then asked if Anna (who just turned ten) was under the age of five. Oh boy, that was not cool! I told the ranger that Anna was very proud to have just celebrated her "10th" birthday. The charge was two dollars for me, and one for Anna.
Three dollars, a bargain as far as I was concerned. To have a day walking through the woods, along the Maine coast with my Grand daughter was heaven to me. Anna was totally insulted that she would have been mistaken for someone under the age of five! After all, she was closer to being a teenager than a "kid" under five years old. "Did she look like a five year old" she asked? I explained that they asked all children their age ........She didn't buy it. It seemed to be on her mind for the rest of the day.
After loading my backpack with water, camera lens, and snacks, we headed down the path to the point. It's not a very long walk, but a truly beautiful one. The park is meticulously kept by my good friend, Julie, who works endlessly to keep the park looking pristine. Wild flowers are everywhere, including Lady Slippers, one of my favorites. Anna spied the flowers first and asked what they were. The flowers were shielded by a wire cage and Anna asked why? I explained it was to protect the flowers from being trampled or picked. She bent down to examine them closely and quietly as if the flowers could hear, proclaimed "they were the most beautiful". I wanted to take a photo and carefully lifted the chicken wire over the flowers. I snapped a few pictures and carefully replaced the wire and Anna told me she would replace the sticks that were securing the cage to the ground. She was so gentle.....I could tell the memory of that flower would remain with her for a long time.

Next to the Lady Slippers were some tiny yellow flowers, they almost looked as if they belonged to the orchid family. I'll have to look them up.

We walked on, Anna kept peeking through the trees at the water below, just itching to get down to the waters edge. We walked past the largest tree in the park, listed as over one hundred years old, Anna stopped to admire it. I truly believe Anna is an "Old Soul", appreciating with her entire being, the truly beautiful things in life.
As we walked past two trees that were close together, Anna stopped and said, "Look Gram, this tree is hugging the other, it's holding it up." I filled up with tears.......

We came to the point, there's a huge granite outcropping that cascades down to the waters edge. Anna exclaimed, "I love this place, look at all the rocks!"

As we climbed down the rocky ledge, Anna asked what the pink flower was that was growing out of the face of the rocks. I told her it was a beach rose and that we would be seeing a lot more of them as we walked back along the rocky coast.

So many things to see, like the lobster boat that was chugging by. I told Anna to wave to the folks and they returned two handed waves, much to Anna's delight.

The water was so calm and Anna's eyes were darting everywhere. She found a tidal pool and schooched (I know it's not in the dictionary) down to see what she could find. Snails, seaweed, a few small dead crabs and small chunks of granite that glistened in the water, Anna picked them up to show me.

She was so excited about finding "pretty rocks"and filled her pockets until her pants started to fall down. She asked if she could put them in my backpack and I knew what this would entail. (Anyone who knows me, knows that everywhere I go, I bring back, bags and bags of rocks. I must have at least a ton stored at different locations.) At least Anna was choosing marble sized rocks, they wouldn't be so heavy. She also asked if she could bring her Mom a prize, a small smooth piece of driftwood the size of a twelve inch ruler. Yes, she's a collector. It is in our family DNA. My Mom, both sisters, one of three brothers and I, collect rocks, driftwood, shells, salted sea glass, etc. Anna was hooked and I can proudly say, I didn't pick up even "one" rock! I was having so much fun watching and photographing Anna that it truly never crossed my mind.

As we walked back along the water, the rocks became more jagged and stepping from rock to rock was more precarious. Anna and I were a little concerned about slipping and falling, especially with Anna's broken arm. We glanced up at the cliff side and decided that climbing up the rock face would not be prudent, and carefully made our way around the next bend. The tide was going out, at least we didn't have to worry about that. The rock formations were amazing, we took our time and talked about each design, and how amazing Mother Nature is.

As we came around the bend, Anna got all excited and said "Look at all the driftwood", I started to laugh. We sat and had a snack and some water and talked about how lucky we were to be able to enjoy our surroundings. Anna loves being outside and wonders why some people stay in the house all the time. I agreed, there's just too much to see!
Anna spied designs someone had meticulously carved into one of the driftwood trees. I asked if she'd like to put her name on it also. I gave her my car keys and she sat and worked for quite a while. The smile on her face when she was done was priceless! Some people may not approve of me letting her carve her initials, but it's driftwood, and the next high tide will roll the log around and the carving will slowly disappear. We would never think of carving anything into a live tree, so not to worry.

After sitting for a while, we decided it was time to head back home. We hiked up over a few huge rocks and made it back to the trail. After a short walk, we made it to the car. Anna unpacked her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and shared it with me, it's been a while since I've had peanut butter and jelly. I have to say it tasted pretty darn good! A stop at Dairy Queen on the way home topped off a wonderful day, out in the sunshine with my precious Grand daughter, enjoying all life has to offer and making precious memories that will last a lifetime.

Fixation with frogs?

2009-05-24T22:07:00.016-04:00

What makes a person fixate on a particular subject? It seems I go in spurts, lately it has been the beach, rocks, shoes, and frogs!
Frogs..... Maybe it's because the frogs have been startling me as I walk by the ponds, and obviously I startle them, as they quickly dive into the water. I freeze, spotting another, resting on an old lily pad, with it's large eyes glistening in the sun. I raise the camera and focus, and plop, it's gone! I'm patient, and as still as a statue, I wait, and sure enough, I see the eyes pop through the surface of the pond and I snap the photo.
Today, my Grand Daughter Anna, asked if I would walk down to the pond at the bottom of the hill, in her back yard, with her and her friend. They wanted to see if they could capture a frog or tadpole with the small nets with long red handles they were toting.

I said sure, and grabbed my camera, put on my green Muck boots and off we went. The pond is quite deep and I was a little nervous about the girls getting too close to the edge and mentioned: "That if they fell in, they were on their own, due to the fact, I would be too busy, snapping pictures of the whole event". They became quite cautious!

While the girls were screaming about the small fish that were darting back and forth, there on the brown floating reeds from last year, was a nice big green frog, just sitting there begging me to take his portrait.

I was afraid to take my eyes off the girls and took a couple of quick shots of the accommodating frog. The girls spied the frog and reached with their nets, splashing them down, at least six feet from where the little guy was sunning himself. PLOP, and he was gone. I could see tad poles swimming to the surface, gobbling the bugs that were sitting on the water, then quickly diving back down to the bottom. The girls caught two tadpoles and had them in a bucket. My four year old grandson came running down the hill, and I knew there would be issues, James has no fear and would want to get right up to the edge of the pond. I tried to convince the girls it was time to head back up to the house. While walking through the knee high grass, little James, flushed a Mallard hen, obviously sitting on a nest. James froze, and I explained there must be a nest and that we had to be extremely careful not to step on it. Just one foot in front of James was the nest, snuggled in the deep grass, hidden from the crows and nest robbers.

We counted eleven eggs. I took a few snap shots so James could show his Mom and Dad. We made our way up the hill, hoping we hadn't scared the mother duck too badly. The wild strawberry blossoms were everywhere as well as the small white bell shaped flowers of the wild Maine blueberry. What a great place for children. My daughter Heather and her friend Susan, tell stories of me "forcing" them to pick the wild strawberries for hours on end when they were young. In reality, it was only a request, to keep them occupied and it was only two cups, to make a batch of wild strawberry jam, that they couldn't wait to try. Funny, how life comes around. Here I am, enjoying the same things with my grandchildren, that I used to do with my children and loving every moment.

As we came to the top of the hill and up the garden steps, I looked down into the small frog pond in the garden, and there on the edge was a small brown toad, just waiting for his picture to be taken.

A Frosty Morning Walk

2009-05-17T12:58:00.003-04:00

On Wednesday, May 13th, I awoke to the bright eastern predawn glow through the french doors of my second floor bedroom. The soft light gently waking me to a view of thick mist hanging over the meadow. A few minutes later with my eyes fully awake and taking in the quiet that was clearly visible, I quickly rose, dressed, grabbed my camera and jacket and left for a morning photo shoot.

Off to Ruffingham Meadow. The water was like glass and the mist hung softly near the shoreline. A perfect reflection of the tree line was mirrored on either side of the mist and there wasn't a sound. The birds were still huddled in their nest keeping their newly hatched babies warm.

According to the thermometer in the car, it was thirty four degrees. I drove further down the road, parked the car, donned my boots and walked into the woods, one of my favorite places to be. The sun was now above the horizon and the frost on the new leaves, wild strawberries plants, and fiddlehead ferns was beginning to melt. Bending down to get close up photos of the ice crystals, I could watch as the tender fiddlehead sprouts wilted as the sun warmed them, they were doomed, sad, but all part of natures way.

The birds began to sing their morning songs, chirping away, flittering here and there, looking for tasty morsels to bring back to the fledglings anxiously awaiting their buggy breakfast. I walked past a beaver lodge, and obviously they were sound asleep, there wasn't a ripple anywhere to be seen. I climbed over the hill and through a wild raspberry patch, the thorns catching my jeans,. I had to stop and carefully pick the thorny branches out of my leg, ouch! I thought about a place I used to go to bow hunt. A natural rock formation at the top of the hill that formed a perfectly comfortable arm chair. I remember leaving a padded heated seat, wrapped in a plastic trash bag there years ago and wondered if it was still there. When I arrived at the spot, the rock formation was still there. The heated seat was gone, and trees and bushes obscured the view of the swamp and field that I had so long ago watched as the white tailed deer grazed in the early morn.

Looking to the north over the tops of the brush, I could see the tall dead tree on the next ridge, I was excited to get there. Climbing over rocks, dead trees, and through the thick alder clumps, I found a small deer trail. I followed the trail across the bottom land, sometimes having to circumnavigate the swampy area and then take a right, heading up the hill, through an area that had burned about ten years ago. The fire had started by a lightening strike and with luck, the smoke had been spotted early by a neighbor and the fire department, quickly extinguished it with Indian tanks. Although there were still signs of the fire, new growth was now about five feet tall and lichen was growing on the dead falls.
Reaching the tall dead tree at the top of the ridge, I climbed on the huge granite rock, with a flat top that sits to the left of the dead tree. I've spent many hours on that rock taking in the view to the south east. I could see the Northport and Camden hills from there. On many occasions I've camped there alone, under the full moon in two feet of snow and had my morning tea sitting on that granite rock, streaked with quartz, watching the sunrise, contemplating just how very lucky I am, just to be.............alone, in the Maine woods, my sanctuary.

Aiming for the Stars

2009-05-07T20:30:00.000-04:00

It's been raining off and on all week here in southern New England, leaving lot's of time for day dreaming and planning future adventures. Family members mention their "Bucket List" over dinner, and I always ask......What's on your "Bucket List"? It occurred to me that I should take the time to write down what I would like to accomplish before I leave this earth! So here's my wish list, and although it is no where near complete, the list includes chapters in a book yet to be written. I'm aiming for the stars!

Spend three weeks hiking Cusco and Machu Picchu, Peru

Work for a year in Antarctica

Publish a book about my Alaska adventures

Organize my 35,000 photos (YIKES)

Spend some time in the desert in the fall

Do more fly fishing

Acquire a good used commercial bread mixer

Teach my Grandchildren about the wild outdoors

Live off the grid

Blogging......

2009-05-03T12:39:00.000-04:00

Blogging......I suppose it's the same as keeping a journal, a diary or whatever you would like to call putting your thoughts on paper. Hummmm.....I have been writing my thoughts and experiences in emails, to share with family and friends for the past five years and have just now considered opening my private thoughts to the internet. Kind of scary, once posted, you have released your words that cannot be retrieved, to be left forever floating in cyberspace for the entire world to read. Millions do it, but this is about "my" life, my opinions, my experiences.....oh, what the heck.....I'll live on the edge and go for it! After all "I AM THE DRAGON"

"The Shoes"

2009-05-03T12:06:00.000-04:00

Shoes, I never thought I'd EVER purchase a pair of shoes so wildly beautiful. Me, the woodsy girl, hiking boots, sweatshirts, and jeans. Not the typical middle aged Grandma with coiffed hair, polished nails and Talbot clothing. I'm more comfortable in jeans, wool socks, turtlenecks and fleece. BUT, while out perusing garage sales and thrift stores with my sister, I came across "The Shoes" in the back corner of a thrift store, quietly, (as quiet as shoes can be) sitting there and my eyes caught their beauty. My eyes were locked on those shoes, the colors, the style, they were the most beautiful shoes I think I've ever seen, I had to have them.
BUT, what in the world would I do with them. I can't walk in the woods with them or even spend an hour in them without my feet barking back. I can't drive around in my car with them. They wouldn't do shopping in Target or the grocery store. I turned the shoes over, and the price was fifteen dollars, that was a lot! I slipped out of my flip flops and tried them on. They fit like Cinderella's glass slippers. I had to have them! I walked around and around in that thrift store while my sister and her daughter tried on clothes, beautiful clothes, but I was fixated on the shoes. I showed them to the shoppers and their mouths fell agape, yes, I had to have "The Shoes". I thought, well.... I could wear them to my Dad's 90th Birthday party, yes, that's what I'd do.
So, the shoes are sitting on the bureau, waiting as patiently as I am, for the 18th of April when they can be worn, displayed, admired, and danced in. Both the shoes and I will be in our glory!
At least for one day, I'll feel like Cinderella, the shoes will be exploited and admired and then will be retired to the closet of the camper. My feet will welcome the comfort of my flip flops and work boots but I can always look in the box, in the back of the closet, at the shoes that took my breath away in the dark corner of the thrift store.