Odd Days: Tandem

First of all, I have this to say to Pope Gregory: Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice....uh, how does that go? What I'm trying to say is that I shall not be fooled twice by a calendar system that occasionally places two odd days right next to each other. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, just fergedaboudit.

So anyway, guess what I got for my birthday!



If you've never been on a tandem, here's what you need to know. The front driver is the "Captain" and the rear rider is the "Stoker." That's not the part you need to know. But remember those exercises you did in psychology 101 where you pair up with someone, put on a blindfold and fall backwards, hopefully into the arms of your partner? Remember? It's a *trust* exercise.

Using that exercise as an analogy, the stoker is the blindfolded person. The only thing she has to do when riding a tandem is trust the captain. That means trusting the captain when he tells her to keep her feet on the pedals even as the bike is listing dangerously to the right. It means trusting the captain even when the bike is weaving all over the road and the captain is muttering, "oh shit, holy crap, uh oh" and other words of the same ilk.

How did we do, you might ask. Well...Pikes Peak Road Race, here we come! Soon. Sometime this decade.

Odd Days: Camp

I think of kid camp as the place you go to discover all the things you can't do. The humiliation you suffer as a result either puts hair on your chest or condemns you to a lifetime of insecurity.

Neither I nor any of my siblings went to camp (as far as I know), so Tanya and I decided to have that missing camp experience last week. Not exactly a bucket list thing, but an adventure nonetheless.

My first humbling experience was kayaking. I had done it before, maybe three times. The third time, I came up on the beach upside down, dangling from the seat with my head in the water wondering why god wanted me to drown in such an ignominious fashion. But I lived to kayak another day, obviously.

We entered the water without incident. But before long Tanya, who had never kayaked before, pointed out to me that every time I put my paddle in the water the boat turned right. Furthermore, I demonstrated no ability to correct my unbalanced stroke. Eventually, Tanya suggested I rest. Ahem. (You know, the gentle version of "Get your damned paddle out of the water and let me steer.")

Meanwhile, Tanya's first challenge was the mattress on the bed in the tent cabin. Its colorful cover told the story of many users and their various accidents. But she had been forewarned and came prepared -- with a futon, a mattress pad, a full set of sheets, AND a sleeping bag. Oh yeah, and four pillows. Score 1 for Tanya.

My second challenge was water aerobics. Lordy lordy. They put a noodle around my waist and I still couldn't stay afloat. My new friend, Camille, whispered to me, "You haven't done this before, have you, Twila?" That got me laughing, whereupon I sank to the bottom of the pool and nearly drowned. When I came up, I was banished to the back of the pool (the shallows).

Tanya, a fish in her previous life, found no challenge in the water aerobics and set her sights on a training session for open water swimming. Score 2 for Tanya.

The coup de grace was jewelry-making on the last day. Oh my god! Tanya and I both approached the table of beads enthusiastically and naturally I ran into the table and knocked three billion beads to the floor. Things did not improve from there. When our teacher looked at our works-in-progress, Tanya and I were both sent off for remediation. But as weird as our finished little leather bracelets look, we totally love them.

In spite of the challenges, I had a good time. Tanya had a good time. (Happy hours helped!) But if I were a 12 year old girl and my parents sent me to camp, I'd be thinking of payback about now. You know, the elderly equivalent of camp, which we call "nursing homes."

Fear and pain - Part 3.

Naturally, I have tried many times to encourage Twila to get rid of her fear. I redoubled my efforts before Pikes Peak, but to no avail. Twila is both very independent and fiercely self-reliant and she likes to do things her own way. Here's an example.

There is only one medically proven cure for hiccups - swallow one teaspoon of granulated sugar. I've done it many times, and it works. Every time Twila gets hiccups, I remind her about the sugar, but no matter how uncomfortable she might be, she won't try it. I don't think that swallowing a teaspoon of sugar is unpalatable to her, she just wants to do things her way, even though she has no other answer for curing hiccups.

Before Pikes Peak, Twila spent a lot of time on the web researching possible exposures that would trigger her acrophobia. Presumably she was looking for assurance that the hike would not be scary, but instead she just intensified her fear. "Twila," I said several times, "get rid of that fear!" That was as anathema to her as a teaspoon of sugar. Her approach was do the hike and try to get through the scary parts. In that way, she is one of the bravest people I know, but her decision-making is curious, in my view.

On to pain.

I heard many years ago that once pain becomes unbearable, it becomes pleasure. I don't recall the source of that statement, but I've always remembered it. I put it to good use for the first time in 1979.

I had just experienced a very unexpected and painful emotional blow. Afterward I sat in a chair in my apartment in Sunnyvale, unable or unwilling to move. I was distraught. That went on for at least an hour, then I had an idea. Since I could see no way to eliminate the pain, I decided to embrace it. Instead of futilely trying to feel better, I would try to see how bad I could feel. I would wallow.

So wallow I did, and almost immediately I felt better. I still knew something horrible had happened to me, but I also knew I was handling it. And if I could handle this, what couldn't I handle? Imagine feeling that you could handle anything that life throws your way. That's a great feeling… and that's how I felt.

When I'd heard the "pain becomes pleasure" statement I'd reflexively thought of physical pain, and I was intrigued and gratified that it also applied to emotional pain. At some point -- maybe when I was scheduled to have some bone marrow sucked out, but it could have been a flu shot or something -- I decided to try the same approach with physical pain.

I'd had some experience with that. About 41 miles into a race, I was running along a trail, my right calf cramped and I fell flat on my face. The only thought that ran through my mind was, "There are only 9 miles to go. I can't stop now." So I immediately got up and resumed running, and I had no further problem with my calf.

There were also a few times when I was doing LSD that I would get a bad cramp. But, being stoned, groaning in agony never entered my mind. Instead, I felt the pain and thought, "Wow."

So I knew that in extreme circumstances it was possible, but what about the more mundane? Could I get rid of pain in those, too?

Not only is the answer yes, but also it was relatively easy. Start imagining now that the next time you have pain, you won't fight it and agonize over it. (If a crazed gopher is biting your leg, you might want to try to pry him loose, though.) Instead, say, "I have pain," focus on it, and accept it. You will still feel the pain, but it won't be pain anymore. It will be a curiosity, an experience.

Will that always work? Theoretically, I think yes, but you'd have to be Gandhi or something. Until we get to that level, there is nothing to lose by trying, and most of the time it works.

[Addendum]
My LSD days are decades in the past, but due to my happy-go-lucky lifestyle I not infrequently get cramps in my toes and feet, and sometimes a calf cramp. They don't bother me anymore. Often I watch a toe bending in an impossible direction and simply remark how interesting it is.

Odd Days: Birthdays

There comes a time in life when you must take control of your own birthday. You've moved out of your parents' house, so you can no longer rely on Mom to fill your special day with cool surprises and endless pampering. Sooner than you might think, you start to notice that time has sped up. You feel a need to mark your birthday with a memorable activity or event. Nowadays they call that "crossing things off your bucket list." In my day, such behavior was called a midlife crisis.

For me, the need to put a unique marker on each birthday began in my late twenties. My first wild ass adventure was getting my ears pierced. I know....yawn. But by the time I hit thirty, I was living on the edge. That year I got a tattoo. Now don't go yawning over a tat. Back then, only Janis Joplin and the entire U.S. Army had tattoos. Back then, you could still find Lyle Tuttle in a tiny shop on 7th Street in San Francsico offering tattoos for $35.

Eventually my birthday events morphed into full-fledged adventures, and this year the adventure was Pikes Peak. (The cherry on top was a multisport camping trip in the mountains on my actual birthday. More about that in a future blog.)

Although the list of adventures-to-come is not growing shorter, I now have a second list -- a list of things I will (probably) never do, or never do again. Before you get all teary, let me just say, I'm not in mourning over any of the items on that list. For example, I'm quite sure I'll never run a six minute mile. I've given up thigh high skirts and 4 inch heels. And I promise never to wear a bikini again.

Hmmmmm. Short list. I guess everything else is still on the table.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog...

Today is my favorite day of the year - the anniversary of the birth of the person I love more than anything else in the world, the one who made my life complete. Unfortunately, for the second year in a row, we can't be together on this special day. Last year she had a big party in San Francisco and I had to stay in New York, and this year she is in Oakland on an all-female outing (they rejected my application). So I'll say it here:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TWILA!

Fear and pain - Part 2.

Fear also has different forms, including worry and anxiety. An example, and what inspired this post, is Twila's fear before and during the Pikes Peak climb. As soon as she got the idea to do the hike, she began to worry about her acrophobia. On one hand she was excited, on the other she was terrified. She spent a lot of time in distress about something that might never have happened.

I used to have fears and worry on a regular basis. I went on a motorcycle ride with a friend and was worried that he was too close to the edge of the road. I fretted about being burglarized. And I, too, had acrophobia - to such an extent that once when I was on a business trip and in a room near the top floor of a hotel, I tied myself the bed with a sheet to prevent waking up in the middle of the night and impulsively smashing through the window and to the ground below. (Most likely the window would not have broken and it's my face that would have been smashed, but that is beside the point.) But *all* of my fears went away in about 30 seconds.

It was about 25 years ago. Twila and I had just arrived in Kauai for a vacation. The first night we were walking down to the beach behind our hotel. The lighting was poor, and the roar of the waves was loud. I knew that there was no swimming allowed at the shore because of the undertow and smashing surf. I was afraid. Even though I was still walking along, I became really annoyed that my fear was ruining the experience. I became angry at my fear, and I thought, in essence, "Screw you, fear. I'm sick of you making me miserable, and I do not accept you anymore!"

It worked. I was no longer afraid, and I have not been afraid of anything since then. I am essentially free of fear.

There are, of course, times when fear is useful - it alerts you to imminent danger. To borrow my "anger" adjective, that is flash fear, and it is short-lived and important.

There has been one time since that time in Kauai that I experienced fear that I could not release. Several years ago Twila had medical symptoms that could have been indicative of a life-threatening condition, and we wouldn't know for sure for weeks. That was a very uncomfortable time, and it wasn't relieved until test reports came in and said that nothing truly serious was wrong.

The reason I started this post by talking about anger is that you can harness it and use it to deal with difficult situations. I became angry momentarily with fear and chased it out of my life. It can also be used in other situations that are trying, like being spurned in a relationship or being fired from a job - find a way to become angry just long enough to rid yourself of whatever distress you've been feeling.

Thinking about this blog reminded me of another time I used anger, though I really didn't analyze it at the time. It was about 45 years ago, when I was in college. For a long time I'd had horrible nightmares. Often they would awaken me, but the nightmare kept going on. I'd see terrifying spiders dropping on me, or worse. One night as I was going to sleep I became afraid that I'd have another nightmare, but somehow I decided that I'd had enough. I became angry with my nightmares. I told myself that they were only dreams and that there was no need for me to fear them. It was me versus nightmares, and I said, in effect, "To hell with you nightmares. Bring it on. I'm not afraid anymore!"

I have not had a single nightmare since then. (I have to qualify that. About three times several years ago I dreamed that Twila had suffered a great loss, and I awoke immediately, trembling. They were dreams that only lasted a few seconds - flash dreams, I suppose.)

Fear and pain - Part 1.

Fear and pain are two sensations that most people… well, fear. I did, but I no longer do, so I'll tell you how I accomplished that in the hope that you might be able to do it, too. But first I have to talk about anger.

There are different kinds of anger, including annoyance, irritability, and possibly frustration, among others. One type I call flash anger, which is where you are relatively calm one moment and the next you've flipped out, lost it, and expressed yourself emphatically. Fortunately, that anger is self-relieving, so after you've picked up the shards of glass and repaired the holes in the wall (I threw a paperweight through my wall once), you're pretty much back to normal.

The kind of anger that is most destructive is that which sits deep inside you, festering. I haven't felt that often (unless you count politics), and I haven't had much success controlling it. A few years ago Twila was out of town and something happened that made me *very* angry. (It had nothing to do with Twila). The anger was just burning inside me, and I had no idea at all how to release it. After several hours I hiked around our nearby lake, and that helped a lot. By the end of the day it had become manageable.

Perhaps more insidious is the less apparent anger that, once it starts, lives in you. It might hibernate for a while, but it is easily triggered and then is very hard to dismiss. It takes a lot of work to release that anger, and in the meantime it eats away at you.

That's enough about anger. I wish I could suggest techniques to deal with it, but I haven't discovered them yet.

Odd Days: Kissing Toads

I don't know if it's global warming or our seeping septic system but we've had an influx of toads in our neighborhood over the last few months. I am aware of this primarily because of the quantity of carcasses I see on the road when I'm running or biking. To be honest, if the carcass is fresh I hope fervently that a dog will come and eat the toad before I run by again. Otherwise I have to watch as it gets flatter and flatter until it is nothing more than a stain on the road. And I just know that every time I go by that stain, I will remember it was once a toad.

Why the affection for toads, you might ask. Well, there is a reason and here it is. Some years ago I went to India for a few months and was living (and teaching sporadically) in a women's college in Punjab. A shortage of space landed me in the green room attached to the school auditorium. The bathroom was down the hall. The first morning after my arrival I ventured into the shower. My first surprise was the lack of hot water. It was hot though so I soon settled into the cool stream. All of a sudden I saw a shape jump from the floor of the shower clear up to my nose. I screamed.

I prayed silently to myself that it was just some weird hallucination, but then it happened again. I screamed. Realizing that it probably was not a hallucination, I stepped out of the shower and braved a look-see. Yep, you guessed it. A family of toads had taken up residence in the shower. More interesting perhaps is that they never relocated. So for all the months I lived there I shared a shower with a family of toads.

I can only assume I was a toad in an earlier life or something, but my affection for the little creatures still lingers.

Odd Days: Saddle Sores

I've been the victim of a hoax! I think.

First some history. I've been riding a bike for some 53 (ACK!) years. When I rode Ride the Rockies two years ago, my bike seat was the same one I'd had for several decades. During those decades, I watched Durf purchase a new saddle each time the technology improved. Nowadays, bike seats for guys have a giant hole in the middle so they can still have children after riding their bikes.

For quite a long time, it seemed as though saddle innovators ignored female anatomy. I mean, I could have used one of those giant holes, too. Not so much so that I could have children, but so that I could shower afterward without screaming in pain.

After Ride the Rockies (five long days of mountain climbing on a bike with a 30 year old seat), I decided to do a little research into high tech bike seats for women. And indeed it would appear that changes have been made. I googlized the subject to death, narrowed the search to a couple of seats and finally selected a highly rated one. A self-described superstar female rider gave the seat high praise with these words, "This is the perfect saddle - protection and comfort without being too squishy." And there's the rub, if you will.

I bought the seat. The good news is that I don't scream in the shower anymore. Nope, the pain has shifted back to my sit bones. The seat is so damn hard that I walk like Grandpappy Amos when I first get off the bike. And then it's a good 36 hours before I can sit in a chair. As I was pacing yesterday, waiting for the pain to subside, I was thinking about that reviewer. It was probably some redneck pickup truck driver trying to clear the road of pesky female bike riders. I've been had.

Beer.

When I was a much younger man there was a short period, say 25-30 years, when I routinely drank a 6-pack or more of beer a day. For some reason, maybe because they frequently saw me with one in my hand, people decided that I had a particular attachment to beer. On my birthday and Christmas I could always count in getting some beer-related gift, like a book named "Great Beers of the World". That was long enough ago that I think I can confess now that I never even opened one of those books, nor used my other beer gifts - unless they actually contained beer.

The thing is, I didn't have a special affection for beer, I just liked to drink. I don't mean alcoholic drinks, necessarily, but anything: water, juice, cola, iced tea, beer, wine, whatever. I usually chose beer because it isn't too sweet and it's thirst quenching. Also, you can just drink it, gulp it down. It was very satisfying.

I didn't even know I was drinking a lot until I broke my elbow and the orthopedist asked me how much alcohol I normally consumed. I told him a 6-pack or so plus two or three shots of Wild Turkey 101 a day, and he said, "That's a lot!" I said, "It is?" I mean, I hardly ever got tipsy. I've only been truly drunk, Great White Altar drunk, about a half dozen times in my entire life, and that was usually because I'd skipped eating.

About 10 years ago everything suddenly changed. I stopped liking beer. Not only did it taste less good than it had before, but also I felt full and bloated after drinking even one. My beer consumption dropped faster than the stock market. I didn't drink more than a 6-pack every three or four months. People continued to give me beer gifts, but I kept telling them that I didn't drink beer anymore, and after a year or so they got the idea.

I had to find something to replace beer, of course, because I still liked to drink. Drinking a 6-pack of Wild Turkey 101 every day was out of the question, and I'd actually stopped liking it, too. So mostly I switched to diet cola, even though it's too sweet for my taste. At the end of a day I'd drink wine, mostly, with an occasional shot of vodka or something.

Then an odd thing happened: NuSTAR. I was back in New York State, the very first place I'd ever drunk beer (we loved a place in Manlius that sold 15-cent drafts). It was really hot and really humid and I wanted a beer. It was good. It didn't fill me up. I was home again.

So beer is back in my life, at a more reasonable level. On a really hot day I might drink three. I haven't really settled on which beer I prefer, since Utica Club seems to be out of the picture. Currently I have Old Milwaukee, but I like PBR, maybe better. I'll figure it out.

P.S. No beer gifts, please.

 

Odd Days: Where's Waldo

Durf has frequently lamented the fact that I can't seem to stand properly in front of a camera. Instead I morph into some wacko performance artist. But Tanya doesn't seem to mind, so how about some Where's TwiWaldo.

Humility has me hiding in all of the following photos. Vanity has me believing you'll want to find me in all of these photos.















This was at Butchart Gardens. I think the old guy thought I was sneaking around back to tweak his bum!















The Beach at Kalaloch on the Olympic Peninsula. We had to redo this one four times because Tanya kept saying I wasn't in the photo.




















This one was fun. I think some of these people thought I was a terrorist.




















About 7 a.m. on a trail by Lake Crescent (on the O.P.). Tanya was slow with this one and I ended up with bug bites all over my arms.




















This shot (on the trail to Marymere Falls near Lake Crescent) cost me my favorite cords.





















Also at Lake Crescent, just before cocktails.

I'll let y'all know when the Where's TwiWaldo book is ready for purchase.

Odd Days: Colorado Dogs

I've heard that 60% of Colorado households have dogs. Although the number might sound high to you, it sounds low to me. I'm quite certain the dog population rivals the cockroach population.

I, myself, have never wanted a dog, and the reasons are simple: 1) I don't like cleaning up poop; 2) I don't like cleaning up dog hair; 3) I don't like the designs that dog toenails carve into hardwood floors.

Nonetheless, I occasionally yearn for an enthusiastic running and hiking companion. I rarely see another hiker or runner without her trusty friend padding along beside her. So I started to think...maybe I could hire someone to pick up poop. I could get a dog that doesn't shed, and I could insist that Rover wear booties in the house -- like all self-respecting NYC dogs do (remember?). At least I would have my running partner.

But then I met Trike.

Trike lives on a horse property just across the county road. We met when I was running by one day and Trike decided to join me for my run. I made half-hearted attempts to send him home, but in my heart of hearts, I was hoping he would come along. And he did.

Then, about two miles into our run, I saw a car coming down the road toward us and much to my horror, Trike trotted to the middle of the road to greet the car. He just stood there as the car barreled down the road straight at him. I start screaming at Trike to "come" but apparently he didn't speak English. I didn't know whether to run out and rescue Trike or cover my eyes and hope for the best.

Trike never budged and the car careened around him. My heart rate gradually returned to normal and we continued. I'd like to say that was Trike's last near-death experience, but it wasn't. By the end of the run, I had been flipped off, cursed at, and glared at. One fellow stopped his pickup and said in a quiet but menacing voice, "You really should keep your dog out of the street."

By the time we finished the run, I was a wreck, but Trike wanted to come live with me. He wouldn't leave, so I called the phone number on his tags and told the owner to come get him. Then I said sternly, "Trike's not afraid of cars. He almost got himself killed! 15 times!" And the owner said, "Yep. He's just a puppy. Hasn't learned that bit yet."

I'm obviously not ready for a dog. No siree.

Photos from Round Mountain.

Odd Days: Even Days?

I think I'm entitled to dispensation when I travel. I have no idea why my posts showed up on even days. I have some theories, but unless any of you are going to obsess about it, I'm going to forgo the research and pretend that I posted timely. I confess to forgetting to post on Saturday. Jet lag, house guests and a nine mile hike all conspired against me.

On we go to more important matters.

After leaving the Olympic Peninsula, Tanya and I spent three very civilized days in Victoria BC. I'm planning to move there as soon as I see evidence that my Colorado doctor is using the new health care laws as an excuse to kill grannies (of which I would be one, if age is the measure). Gorgeous gardens are another enticement. Everyone in Victoria has a beautiful garden and I'm quite sure I could green up my black thumb if I simply moved into the province. Oh, and the food is good. (Colorado: -1)

Heading home, our first flight--from Victoria to Seattle--was on a puddle jumper. We had a very noticeable close encounter with another aircraft as we attempted to land, and yet not one person on the plane let out a peep. In fact, I didn't even see anyone look up from his/her ipad. That gives me pause. Why don't Canadians react to near death experiences? I don't think it's a statement about their health care system. Really, I don't.

Days off.

Before starting my post, I want to mention that Twila is chagrined at having missed her recent scheduled Odd Days post. The reasons for her failure to write will appear soon. Meanwhile, I just noticed that all of her Odd Days posts in August were posted on even days, except for the August 1 post. Even I think that's odd.


For almost all of my life I beat myself up regularly for "not getting enough done". Even when I was working full time, I was upset with myself for not cleaning the garage, writing a letter to an editor, keeping my budget up to date, or whatever else was on my list. I gave myself more leeway after I retired, but I thought I was living a lazy and useless life. When I started working for NuSTAR, I decided that 6 days a week in the lab, even though they were only half days, would suffice to satisfy my accomplishment needs, so I'd arrive home at 8:30 AM and was perfectly happy to take the rest of the day off doing non-productive but enjoyable things. There were some necessary chores, of course, and I learned that by focusing on what needed to be done I could finish those jobs quickly and effectively. That was a huge improvement in my life, and I've been refining it. I recently read a great article about lists and mental lint that I think will also be very useful.


Anyway, on August 3 Twila went to Washington for 9 days and I was a bachelor. I had a list of things I wanted to do while she was away, and most days I worked on them. There were a few days I took off, though, because I had all that time to myself. I suppose I should include the couple of days I was too hung over to get out of my chair.


As the time neared for Twila to arrive home, there were some things that I really wanted or needed to finish before she arrived, so I got really busy. Before leaving for NY I'd torn our boat apart to install a new depth finder - running the wires was the hard part, and I was a bit queasy about drilling holes in the transom below the water line. I also replaced one of the batteries. When I put the windshield back on, I realized that the previous owner had stripped the screw holes in the fiberglass that held the windshield, so I had to devise a temporary fix, while obtaining a fiberglass repair kit for a permanent fix later. That all worked out well, though it took longer than expected. (Everything always does, it seems.)


Something else I wanted to get done was the installation of a garage door opener in our detached garage. It wasn't really necessary to finish that before Twila came home (I had to finish the boat because we'd have guests who wanted to go for a boat ride), but the thought of a solar-powered garage door opener was too cool to resist. Because of the construction and installation of our garage door I had to modify the opener installation, but it worked out well.


By spending a few days with very little time off, I managed to finish those and other necessary jobs. I was tired, but it was satisfying.


Friday evening Twila arrived home with two of our friends who would be staying with us for a couple of days. I'd gotten things together for dinner, and we had an enjoyable evening. The next day, Saturday, they wanted to climb Round Mountain. I was actually looking forward to it. I was thinking, "Hey, I climbed Pikes Peak. Round Mountain is going to be easy this time."


We started climbing Saturday morning and for the first mile I did think it was easier than my previous climbs. But the temperature was in the 80s and that took a toll. We reached the summit in 3 hours and it had been a struggle. I gratefully flopped down on the ground to rest.


After lingering for a half hour, we started back down. It was a lot easier than going up, of course, but it was still 4 1/2 miles of often rugged trail, and it was hot. Everyone ran out of water with two miles to go, and I couldn't help but long desperately to get back to the trailhead and head home for a beer. It seemed like forever, but finally we made it.


I know I'm repeating part of an earlier post, but after we all were in the car, two people said, "Wow, that was fun." My brain could not compute that. Yes, we'd successfully completed a difficult hike, which no doubt had both physical and mental benefits. But fun? I'm not a damn masochist. At least 3/4 of the hike I was laboring in near-misery. I asked how anyone could say the hike was "fun". One of our guests offered that it felt great to be done and that we soon could sit down and enjoy a cold beer. I responded that it would be just as satisfying to get up in the morning and sit down with a cold beer, leaving out all the agony. I don't think anyone was convinced. They actually seem to like torturing themselves.


Our guests are still here, and Twila took them to the annual Loveland Sculpture Fair, an event that attracts sculptors from all over the world. I decided to stay home - I'd suffered enough yesterday. I thought I might have a day off.


Alas, that was not to be. All the work with the boat, etc., had left me behind in some essential areas, like paying bills and answering important email. So I'm doing that, but at least it's quiet.


Postscript: Twila and I bought a lawn tractor in Spring 2010, before we knew we'd be moving to Tarrytown. It's really useful, since we have a 1 acre lot. Mowing it wasn't particularly difficult, but it took a very long time, whereas the tractor finishes the job in a couple of hours. My next garage project is to attach a snowplow to the tractor, since winter happens really quickly here. One week it's hot, the next week it's cold, and then it stays cold. I think it will be fun attaching the plow, especially since I can now get in the garage by using the opener.

Odd Days: Bear obsession

What is it with humans' obsession with bears? Those of us who wander into the wilderness in search of wildlife come out happy only if we've seen a bear. There doesn't seem to be anything rational about it. People are terrified that they will run into a bear. They sing songs and bang Sierra cups to keep bears away. At the same time they fantasize about meeting Mrs. Bear (and her cubs), making friends, following her back to her bear cave and curling up with her for the winter.

To be honest, I've been part of a bear jam or two myself. And Tanya, never having seen a bear in the wild, declared that she hoped we might run into a bear while we were on the Olympic Peninsula. Sadly for her, we failed to score even after Tanya ordered me to quit singing.

And then...and then...we were in the car heading back to Seattle at about 60 mph when this beautiful black bear burst from the forest on the left side of the road and galloped across the road in front of us with a stride that would have put Secretariat to shame. I screamed, "iT'S A BEAR!" Tanya screamed "IT'S A BEAR!" Then we both screamed...for about three continuous minutes.

Then I stopped the car, and Tanya and I threw the carcass in the trunk and drove to the nearest taxidermy shop.

Ok, that last sentence wasn't true.

Odd Days: Forks?

Some years ago, Durf, Tanya and I attempted to ride our bikes from Bellingham to San Francisco. The apple cart was upset in Aberdeen Washington when Durf misjudged a curb and broke his olecranon. Since then Tanya has been on a mission to return me to the Olympic Peninsula to revisit the good times and erase the bad.

Getting here was more challenging than we expected. Our ferry was delayed by fog first and then security dogs that sniffed every car. I was so excited to finally get on the ferry that I forgot to ask what the dogs were looking for, but I'm guessing Carl can help us out with that. In any case, here we are and --hold onto your hat-- the sun is shining! A truly rare occurrence.

On our first hike of the first day, we managed to take a wrong turn within a quarter mile of our oh-so-rustic lodge. In no time we were lost, but it didn't bother us a bit. The real challenge was trying to locate a valium for Tanya when she found a spider in the bathtub. She doesn't really do rustic, so I was beginning to wonder why we were here.

About then she tells me we will be stopping in Forks. Forks is a remarkable place for two reasons that I can cite. It is the rainiest place in the continental U.S. And it is the city that features most prominently in the wildly popular Twilight series. Let me just say that neither the rain nor the fame seems to have done much for the local economy. With apologies to teens the world around, we did not dwell in Forks.

Also I did not see Tanya purchase any caskets, fangs, garlic, or Edward and Bella t-shirts. So I'm thinking she came to Forks for the rain -- and was disappointed.

Odd Days: 85 Might Be Fun

Most people think they would like to be 85 one day, but they don't expect it to be much fun. Well I'm not so sure. We came up here to celebrate my dad's 85th birthday and we let him plan the celebration. That in and of itself was almost enough to make it the best damn birthday ever. He was so excited he couldn't sleep the night before. Bear in mind, this man has been on dialysis for four years. He is not ambulatory and he cannot sit upright for any length of time without getting a headache.

So what did he want to do? He wanted to go to a casino south of here and stay overnight. While there, he planned to gamble, dine, and go for a swim. He was so pumped, he forgot that swimming in a pool with an open dialysis port is something he shouldn't do.

So we get to the casino and Dad proves he was born to the penny slots. Soon he was ready for lunch. Never much of a drinker, he nonetheless decided to order a martini. His birthday, don't you know. Two gin soaked olives later, he was ready for a nap. Two hours later, he was ready for round two. The second round of slots was followed by a steak dinner--sans martini.

Eight hours into this adventure, Dad is more voluble than he's been in ten years. He wants to discuss winning combinations, cuts of steak and plans for the future.

He talks us into buying him a cigar. When was the last time he had a cigar we wonder out loud. He wags his eyebrows like Groucho Marx but he doesn't answer the question.

Oh please let me be like this when I am 85 and 4 years into dialysis!

Odd Days: Bellingham Doesn't Suck in August

I'm in Bellingham now, visiting my dad who, unfortunately, lives with the evil stepmother. Cinderella only had to scrub floors. My dad has to watch his wife throw a temper tantrum when he won't eat her microwaved hotdog. I know, I know, I sound like some version of Drizella, myself.

My beloved sister Tanya encourages me to rise above the fray, but being a down and dirty kind of girl, I find such rising difficult. Her solution, when she sees the steam coming out of my ears is to cry out joyfully, "Oh wow, what could be more beautiful than Bellingham in August? Let's go for a walk!" Six and a half miles later, I'm feeling better and ready for the next round.

I never did like Bellingham when I lived here in the 60s. No sun for one thing. And nothing for a 13-year-old to do. I couldn't go downtown for two reasons. First, it smelled like vomit (paper mill). And second, it was such a small town, if I ventured to the shopping district, I was bound to run into someone I knew. A horrifying prospect.

But now the paper mill is gone. And when I wander the downtown and peer into the faces of the locals, I wonder if I went to school with any of them. Most surprising of all, I have discovered there are plenty of fun things to do in Bellingham, not least of which is making faces at the stepmother behind her back. I'm all grown up now, I guess.

Odd Days: Nora Ephron, where are you?

I'm on my way to Bellingham. More travel. That's a good thing. I still love to travel in spite of the fact that I have to arrive at the Denver airport earlier than ever. As you know, I am an "opt-out." So I have to allow time for my own personal hands-on body search. Furthermore, Denver hardly ever puts a shortcut through the security line, even when there are only 10 people in the entire airport. That means you have to traverse about .5 miles of switchbacks to get to the guy who shines a flashlight on your driver's license. But I digress.

Travel is more relaxed for me now that I'm old(er). Because I frequently traveled by myself when I was young, I occasionally had to deal with unwanted boorish behavior on the part of men in airports. Sometimes they were drunk-ish, sometimes not. Many were persistent in pressing their attentions on me and would be mystified and sometimes outraged by a dismissal of those attentions.

But now I am not approached by young(ish) men at airports anymore. In fact young men don't flirt with me at all -- unless they are angling for a tip. I'm not sure when I first noticed this, but probably later than I should have.

If anyone flirts with me these days, he is most likely a half generation or more older than I. Lots of my clients flirt with me. Of course they might be angling for tips, too. In any case, a fellow who flirts with me is likely to be sitting in a wheelchair, so I feel confident I can escape if the old coot gets too crazy.

So there I was, a relaxed traveler, minding my own business when this (sort of) old guy sits next to me and starts chatting me up. He looked harmless so I chatted back. After a while, there was a pause in his chatter. He was looking at me intently and I could see him screwing up his courage. He says, "So...." And I'm thinking, oh great, now he's going to ask me if I'm married or something. Finally he spits it out, "So, are you still working or are you retired?" Wow, isn't that flattering!

Odd Days: Oops

I love blogging. But I decided to blog on odd days (that's every other day...usually), because then I would have an entire day (more actually) to think about a blog. You know, come up with something really interesting.

So here it is, 8:30 p.m. Almost my bedtime. (I am *not* exaggerating.) Durf and I are sitting on the porch, drinking wine, listening to Fresh Air. I'm feeling a little sleepy. Durf says (casually), "You didn't blog today." I say, equally casually, "I blog on odd days." He says, "Yep." I think about that for a second.

ACK! It's AUGUST 1. Wait, didn't I blog yesterday? Durf says, "Yep." Hmmmmm. I have to think about this. Yesterday was July 31. An odd day. Two odd days in a row. Hmmmm. Something wrong with the system.

Ok, here's the interesting part: Durf told me I failed to blog *before* he told me the House passed the debt ceiling bill. I am so glad Durf has his priorities straight.