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.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
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.
Friday, August 19, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
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.
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.
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