What's To Come

Milwaukee

Charles drove me to Milwaukee this morning.  He had to fly to Baltimore today, so it saved Mom another trip to the airport.  He advised me to take Si up on the offer of the newer Tacoma as part of the divorce settlement.  He regaled me (doesn't he always?) along the way with his experiences doing marketing for Harley Davidson, which is one of his main gigs.  The new bike designs for younger, edgier riders.  How they market to women; to Blacks; to Latinos. 

Part of me can't wait to get home.  I handle trouble better when I'm busy.  Down time leads to wool-gathering. 

Part of me wishes I could stay here and hide out a little longer.  Away from the hostility, frustration, doubt, fear and heartache at home.  The dark circles are gone from under my eyes.  I have temporarily lost that pinched, wizened look.  I look good!  I feel rested!

Mostly, though, I'm worried.  Mom cried when I left this morning.  "Don't worry," I said as I hugged her good-bye.  "I'll be OK!"  Remembering something C. had said once, I told her, "I'll be poorer, but I'll be happier."  Do I truly believe that?  Well, depends on the day.  And the time of the day.

Tomorrow, it will be a month since I have seen C.  I have managed pretty well, I think! I moved ahead with the divorce process; I got my professional life back under control; I dragged my ass out of a sad place to a happier one; I have dated a little bit.  I have missed C. horribly; but since he needed this time and more, I haven't looked for him or hoped for him.  All in all, not a good month, but tolerable.  I made it.  My therapist is pleased! 

But the next month?  Ooof.  I try to find a favorable angle from which to view it, but... it's going to suck.  All my risk is about to come home to roost. In 30 more days, what will become of me? 

During this time I need to get a financial settlement hammered out with Si.  I need to have found a place to live and actually moved into it.  I need to start living without my kiddos.  I need to find counseling for them.  I need to establish myself alone. I need to hold things together at Guadalupe.  I still don't have a replacement for Mark:  my earlier prospect has fallen through.  I have two grants to write.  And somehow I have to stay happy and focused and brave and forward-looking.  It seems a lot to manage, emotionally. I'm dreading it. 

And I dread that, through it all, there will be the waiting and the hope/doubts/faith/fear that will tighten in my chest as one month stretches toward two.  Life with him in it?  Life without him in it?   The trip to San Luis Obispo will come right at the end of this period of time, punctuating the second month the way that Wisconsin did  the first month.  I have no idea what my life or mental state will be like when we pull out of SLC, headed for CA; but if it isn't good, I need to be ready with a brave face for this trip.  I need to be 100% great for Sara's sake. Then we will get home, and that... will be all.  My old life will be over and I will not be returning to it.  And I will make the best of it.  Make the most of it?  At least I will finally be able to say, "Now, I know."

["All rows now boarding for Denver."]

I can hesitate and drag my feet, but my flight will leave on time, regardless.  Better get on it and see what comes next.

Slow-Blooming Spring

Oshkosh

Sunday, May 15 

 I woke this morning after eight hours of perfect sleep, to a somewhat better frame of mind and an upgraded forecast.  It was sunny, but with a hard, icy wind.  Leapt out of bed and into my clothes, dancing my bare feet across the floor.  Waited for my tea water to boil while frantically chafing my hands.

I found Dad's work gloves where he had left them, laid across the wood stack in the toolshed; I did some more raking.  The cold weather has delayed the leaves and undergrowth, so treasures were revealed to me when I hauled my burlap bundle back into the woods.

 My grandmother would spend her entire summer here and had gardens.  The fact that her forsythia is just now getting around to blooming goes to show how late spring has come to Wisconsin this year.  I found a rhubarb patch sitting randomly in the woods as well. I vaguely remember that she had a couple of raised beds.  One was in a wooden rowboat - must have composted itself years ago!

My old friend Lisa came to see me.  We took her two little girls down to the beach, but had to hunker down in the sun-warmed sand on the sheltered leeward side of the sandy point, which we laughingly called Ploody Peninsula.

After they left, I unchained the canoe and launched it into the bay.  Despite the relative shelter afforded the bay by Ploody Peninsula, the wind was a real problem.  I worked hard between gusts, wishing for a bad-ass, extra-long stern paddle instead of the regular one I had.  But, with just small me in a 17-foot canoe?  The wind simply picked me up and danced me over to the neighbor's landing across the bay!  No amount of sweep and jay could save me from the inevitability of the neighbor's landing.  I was wishing for ballast!

I was a little bummed because I have a canoe trip coming up in September and I would have enjoyed brushing up my skills a bit. 

Back in Oshkosh tonight, we were hanging out at Charlie's place, and I was laughing about my predicament.  Mom said, "Pffft!  Don't let it bother you!  Once, your dad and I canoed across Lake Moriah to Buzzell's Woods and a storm blew in as we were coming back.  We could not get back to the landing! Kept getting blown off to the side of the lake!  Dad tried everything, but he couldn't manage it.  It was funny!  We ended up walking the canoe around to the landing.  That was your Dad; and there were two people in the canoe!"

Charles chimed in that he and Dad had developed a theory, as yet untested:  when alone in a wind-blown canoe, turn around so that the stern is in the front  and then sit on the bow thwart.  That would have you up high enough for optimum paddling and still in the back half of the canoe, but farther forward than before, for better weight distribution. 

We'll test it next time I come home, Charlie.  But we'll tie a long cord to the bow.  You can stand on the shore, and when I fetch up at the neighbor's landing, you can reel me in!

Solitude

Near Wautoma

Saturday, May 14

Mom didn’t seem keen to have me come up to the cottage all on my own

This may be because she hates saying here alone.  It gives her the willies.  This doesn’t bother me at all, since I spent all those years in our old cabin, which was a lot more isolated than this.  In the right frame of mind, I could happily spend a week or two here on my own. "Spooky" woods at night don’t bother me.      

Or she may have been concerned about the cold.  Today’s high was 46 degrees. 

 This was a bit dampening, but I got busy as soon as she left and found all the useful bedding, including this Hudson’s Bay blanket.

I brought in firewood.  And then I drove into Wautoma for stuff like soup!  To keep me warm.  I didn’t take the canoe out today.  The wind over the lake was cutting little whitecaps and it didn’t look like much fun.  We’ll see what tomorrow brings.  The cold doesn’t bother me. 

Today, I raked last year’s oak leaves from the yard onto a big piece of burlap and hauled it into the woods to dump it.  I got about half done with that. Blistered my hands, but that doesn’t bother me, either.  Watched egret, heron and a big wild turkey while I was raking. 

There were only a few pesky critters.  Ticks are an issue here.  I had kind of forgotten.  I was reminded when I felt something tickling my thigh in a bug-like way and just sort of squashed it absently against my leg with my hand, thinking that would kill whatever it was, y’know?  But it wouldn’t die and kept on tickling until I finally pulled down my pants and found the tick busily burrowing under my skin.  I’ll have to do a tick-check before I go to bed tonight.  A few mice as well.  I watched one bound across the floor just now. Charles has these little plug-ins that make a soft buzzing, supposedly driving mice nuts and keeping them out of your home. It will hurt his feelings if I tell him that they don’t work.  Besides it is just one mouse.  Mice and ticks are no bother. 

I am rocking in my grandmother’s rocking chair, toasting my shins in the heat from the fire.  I am drinking tea mixed with cognac, from a tin cowboy mug.  The kids have just called me to say goodnight.  I asked to speak to Simon, to see how things were going in my absence.  He would only stay on for about 20 seconds before he passed the phone off to Sara.  I should go to bed myself, but that means undressing in the cold, and I’m stalling, putting off the inevitable.  However, sleep is part of my therapy, so I’ll just strip off here by the fire and then nose dive into my nest.

All in all, the only thing bothering me right now is my frame of mind.  

Anonymous in Menasha

Oshkosh-

Quick entry, because I need to get under way for Wautoma.

It's good to be back here.  I have been sleeping.

Mom is well, but very small and thin.  She manages not to drop below 80 pounds, she says.  She eats, though:  I've been watching.  She is not upset with me about divorcing Si - just concerned.  Yesterday morning at breakfast, she appeared with a list of questions:  have I considered health insurance?  What about life insurance?  What do I plan to do about the kids and how upset they are?  How much savings do I have?  How will I feel if Simon starts dating again?  Of course, she was a single mom at my age, so I listen carefully to what she is telling me.  She understands my turmoil.   "Look," she said yesterday.  "You might find these useful."  She lined up three mini-bottles of cognac on the kitchen counter.

I should have left for the cottage yesterday; but with my family, stuff is always happening and plans change.  We went out to lunch with my brother and sister-in-law yesterday.  My SIL had just taken her last exam of the semester and wanted to celebrate, which is how I found myself in a dive bar in Menasha, singing Karaoke with her and her three best girlfriends. 

Not only have I never sung Karaoke, I have never really watched anyone else do it.  "We're not very good, " her friends told me.  "That's why we go to Menasha - no one knows us."  I watched for a while.  Some people were really good singers.  Some were not.  One guy liked to hold onto a prop guitar, which was actually a wooden wall-clock (you know the shellacked kind?) from which he had removed the hands.

SIL's friends are fun.  I hadn't met any of them before and was a little embarrassed that all I had to wear were grubbies.  Remember Thoreau's famous words:  "I went to the woods because I wanted to be alone, wear my oldest pants and get covered in tree sap."  I hadn't exactly planned to go clubbing while I was here.  The best I could manage was my yellow striped shirt over top of my Mickey Mouse t-shirt, and my black and white skaters.  They were not concerned.  We laughed our asses off and shouted requests and danced and drank too much.  They protected me from the predations of some of the regulars, all of whom they referred to with nick-names ("That's Hard-On Rick.  You don't want to dance with him." "I don't?").

So, when it was my turn, I picked Linda Ronstadt and decided that what I may lack in skill or artistry, I would make up for in ballsiness.  My friends were hooting encouragement from the front table. "WHOO, KATE!  GO!   GO!  GO!"  Well, alrighty, then.

I been cheated! (I belted)
Been mistreated!
When will I be loved?!  [Excellent fucking question, really...]

So far, so good.  Watch the words on the screen.

I been put down!
I been pushed 'round!
When will I be loved?!

Uh...  How does the next part go?  There are the words on the screen, but I am not too sure of the tune.  SIL shouts a few measures for me and I take it from there.  I cover any confusion by dancing.  The ending is familiar, so I finish big, with lots of drama.

When will I be looooooooved?! 

Lots of hooting and hollering.  High-fives and congratulations.  "Wow!  That took balls!  First time we tried it, we all got up there and did it together!"  NOW you tell me!  I had a celebratory Jack Daniels and danced like a total doofus to:

I believe in miracles/
Where you from/
you sexy thing?

I strip teased out of my top shirt all sexy and roll-shouldered, which amused the other women a bunch.  I spent a lot of time yelling and laughing at stupid stuff, the way women do when they go out without any men.

This morning I have a headache, but I'm glad I stayed in Oshkosh an extra night.  I needed to let off some steam.  I am feeling a bit morose when I think about my problems back in Salt Lake.  Increasingly, I struggle to maintain hope of a positive outcome with C.  I try hard to pretend that I am confident.  I think I'll go up to the cottage and build a fire.  Read my book and pump my hope and optimism reverves.  Enough to sustain me for a few more weeks.

Layover

Denver.  Long layover.

I am sitting cross-legged on the floor, 'cause I have a knee fetish and the gate is full of travelers about to board for Detroit.  Must control myself...!  No licking allowed... No, actually, I am taking advantage of the outlet in this pillar I am leaning against.  My battery is getting old.

I enjoy traveling; and although I miss my kids already, I sometimes enjoy traveling alone.  In think it is because so little is required of me.  All I have to do is make my way from A to B.  I am anonymous.  If I want to, I can be completely silent for the next six hours.   And I want to.

I can smell french fries.  I wasn't hungry in SLC, but I am now. 

I find all the people incredibly entertaining. Of course, I knew someone on the flight from SLC - that almost always happens. Today it was my old friend Krzyszek, who used to tutor at Guadalupe.  I have only managed to find three Polaks in SLC, and he is one of them.  We looked at each other twice, then laughed in recognition.  I gave him a quick hug and kiss, but I was blocking the aisle and had to keep moving.

I generally can't sleep on the plane, and this flight was very cold.  But I am so exhausted - kept reading the same paragraph in Newsweek over and over.  Finally, I put my jeans jacket on backward and unfolded my orange scarf, which is actually a pashmina.  I wrapped my legs in it, and I was snug, if a little odd-looking.  I dozed fitfully. 

When asleep, I was visited by the person who always visits me when I am half-asleep.  It's been almost a month since I have seen his smile.  I wish I could say that I miss him less or that my feeings are fading. They are not.  Despite my efforts, the longing is intense. My mantras:  pass the time with work and play.  Be strong.  Be ready for the happy outcome.  Be ready, too, never to see him again.   A little more time will pass and then I will know, one way or the other. Then the rest of my life will commence, in some form. What is it?  Day 25.

When awake, I spied on people through my lashes.  The lady next to me was reviewing a brief.  She works for the Bureau of Reclamation, I deduced.  I peeked at her charts and read up on Glen Canyon waterflows.  Across the aisle, 2-year-old Eliza was giving her mother fits.  She started off well, but got bored and twitchy on her mom's lap.  You know how, when a kid that age doesn't want to do something,  they have that way of arching their bodies? Screaming,  "NOOOOOOOOO!"  I remember flying with kids that age.  I got lucky, though.   Neither of them ever had a tantrum. 

[Looks like my gate has been changed.  Oh, well.  I will move later.  I'm comfy here.]

Yesterday was a very long day.  I had to:

1. Do the usual kids-to-school routine.
2. Rec Center. Run about four miles.
3. To Guadalupe and straight into a meeting with my boss.  She asked me if I had a lot on my plate that day and I said I did.  She looked pained, but told me that she needs me to write a short piece for United Way on how we teach our students about money and personal finance.  Sure!  When do you need it?  Friday?  Uhhhh... Guess I'll write it in Denver.  I have a layover.
4. Phone calls to return.
5. E-mail triage.  I only dealt with the ones that couldn't wait 'til later.  One from brother Charles.  OK if he lends me a car with a manual transmission?  Awesome!  I dislike driving automatics.  My left foot is always paddling at the empty air.
6. Strap on my paper-crampons and begin the final assault on the summit of Mount Paperwork.  Melanie helps me. Ray takes over the phones and tells callers I'm in a meeting.
7. Girls on the Run.
8. I go to the TOSH complex on my way home because I need a physical if I want to go to San Luis Obispo next month.  Luckily, the Girl Scout troop leader is also a pediatrician...  I piss in a cup, get my blood pressure checked and let Julia listen to me breathe in an examining room decorated with clowns and giant diagrams of ear infections.  We have a quick gossip-fest about which moms are going, which moms are whining already, whether we'll be able to smuggle a couple bottles of wine along, etc...  The important stuff.  All Girl Scout paperwork now SENT!
9. Grocery store.
10. Home. Sweet potatoes in the oven to roast.
11. Toss an old sweater over my work clothes and head outside.  Water my baby plants and my soon-to-be lettuce patch.
12. Get a shovel and dig a big hole.  Enjoy this immensely.  Plant my new Burning Bush.
13. It's getting late.  Si will be home from his adult league soccer match pretty soon.  Salmon  on.  Broccoli on.
14. Supper as soon as Si gets in the door.
15. Check in for flight on-line.
16. Pack.
17. Back to Guadalupe, I'm afraid.  I pulled off my old sweater and grabbed my purse.  Si gave me a look and said, "Wow.  You look really nice for someone who is just going to work alone at her office."  WTF!?!  "Si.  I have been wearing this all day."  No reply.  "I just had an old sweater over it, is all."  No reply.  I realize that I am sounding defensive.  Mmmmmph. "Do you really think that I am meeting a man rather than going to the office?!?"  Well, no.  Not really.  Uuuugh! Y'know, if I didn't spend so much time fighting with him about stuff like this, I wouldn't be so behind at work. Just sayin'... 
18. I got to the office at 10:30.  Conquered Mount Paperwork!  The staff will be so proud of me!  They finally have the updated reports they need. And I am now in relaxed mode, and can enjoy the rest of the school year, stress free!  Aaaaaaahhh!  BUT.  I still have to create the monthly student newspaper. And plan my lessons for tomorrow night (Everybody!  Read the student newspaper!).  Leave a note for Kristen, who is subbing for me.  Leave a memo for the staff, reminding them of things that need to get done tomorrow night. 
19. Home.  I am not going to say what the time was. Body slam my mattress.  YES!  Now, just in case you think I'm one of those people who can't go anywhere unless her desk is totally clear, it's not true!  I can prove it!  I didn't even glance at my mail.  I didn't empty "Kate's Scary In-Box".  I left all the murky coffee, tea and soup mugs on my crusty desk.  So there.
20. Strangely, I decided to blow off blogging.

Si drove me to the airport this morning.  I was so grateful.  It bought me an extra half-hour of sleep not to have to deal with long-term parking.  The sunrise was beautiful.  I thanked him for his help.  He told me that he wasn't doing it to be nice, but just to save money.  [Sigh]  Well, it's nice anyway, Si.  I still appreciate it. 

As we drove along, he told me that he had called the mortgage company, and that the news was bad.  We refinanced last fall for a fabulous interest rate (3.8%!), but now they tell him that they can't change the terms of the loan or refinance it or allow Simon to assume it on his own until a year has passed.  I am not sure that this is a game-changer for me in any way.  I don't think so. I would ponder further, but my  brain is fairly fried.  For the next four nights, I plan to sleep 8 hours a night.  I will perhaps talk the mortgage issue over with my brother.  Having a friendly adult partner-type person to talk with each day is a great privilege.  I see that now.  Even an absence of hostility feels like a balm. 

My butt is numb.  I should go find the correct gate for Milwaukee.  I will stare at five women with beautiful, thin legs until I don't want french fries any more.

[Ah, yes.  This is the right gate. I know that accent anywhere.]

Selfish IS a Four-Letter Word

It IS.

I've been thinking about this a lot today.

Yesterday's session with the mediator did not go well.  My fault, I think.  I was still rubbed pretty raw by all the adjectives from Sunday and felt disengaged from the conversation.  We talked a little bit about custody again, and I admitted that I felt bad about not getting to have the kids more; but I agreed that it was the most practical solution.

Then we started talking about ways to deal with the house.  Si wants to keep it and buy me out.  He told the mediator about how he wanted the kids to have the stability of their regular home. 

"Do you think it may tip the scales a bit?" asked the mediator.

How do you mean? 

"Well, unfortunately, the kids know that Kate is initiating the divorce.  You will have more custody of them.  You will live with them in their home, while Kate lives somewhere else.  Don't you think it weakens Kate's position as an equal co-parent?"

He didn't think so.  She asked me what I thought.

"Well, yes; I think that's true.  But that's the price I pay."  I shrugged and my eyes slid toward the window.
She sat still for a second.  "What do you mean by 'the price you pay'?"
"By being the one who leaves."  To me that was such a no-brainer.  She looked at me funny, though.

Then, Si talked about his fledgling proposal to buy me out.  We agree that the kids' college fund is sacred, but he is offering to cash out their trust funds, paying me with that money, then having the kids be part owners of the house.  They get their money back (and maybe a little more) when he sells.  I was amazed.  When we were in the heat early divorce discussions, months ago, he told me...uh...firmly... that he would not allow me to touch their trust funds.  As if I would have even thought of it.  The trust funds are gifts from Simon's parents.  It's Sara's and Nathan's money; and before that, it was Digginsmoney.  I have never had much use for Digginsmoney.  

Si now sees this a s a tidy solution, but I have issues with it.

"And when they find out?  That Mom went away and took all their money, too?"
"Who will tell them?  They don't need to know."
"They will ask where you got the money, and you'll tell them the truth.  Or your parents will tell them. With gusto."  They can't stand me.  As my FIL put it, I "took our first born son away from his home and his country".  (I know:  gack.  Yes, they really did say, "first born son", as if they were about to present him to King Herrod or something.)  When they find out that I touched Digginsmoney, there is going to be nastiness.

I mentioned that I felt that this "tipped the scales" of my relationship with the kids yet farther; Si took exception. We were sent to our separate corners:  the mediator wanted to see each of us alone.

She was in with Si for over half an hour.  When it was my turn, the mediator said that she had talked to Simon about having some accountability for the demise of the marriage, and that he had admitted that he had not treated me well over the years.  Given that, she asked me why I maintain that the divorce is my fault. 
"Because no matter what, I'm the leaver, and that makes me the bad one."
"Why does that make you bad?  Maybe you are escaping a bad situation."
"Well, because leaving is...selfish!"
"Why does selfish have to be bad?"  I couldn't even figure out what she meant.  I sputtered.
"Well... well.. of COURSE it's bad!  It's the WORST!  It's the WORST thing a person can be.  It's the thing I most hate being."  Believe me, I have been pondering the question of the worst traits a person can have, in my humble opinion.  I think I may have settled on:  selfish, unkind, weak and cowardly.
"Why?"  (I know.  She needs to cut it out.)
"Because... because.."  I was at a loss. "Huh.  Because... selfishness... is the absence of other-centeredness.  And other-centeredness powers the wheels of social change...  So when I divorce Si, I am gong to be-"
"Happy."
"Selfish.  And broke and-"
"There will be money.  You're going to be OK financi-"
"-and unloved and stupid and-"  (Let's not forget rude, since I was interrupting her at that point...)
"Happy.  You deserve to be a little selfish.  You have sold yourself short for years.  You are going to be happy, and show your kids what that looks like."

I am having a hard time getting my head around selfish ever being a good thing.  I have a hard time dealing with all the guilt that my selfishness has caused.  CB told me once that I should "be more selfish".  He was talking about buying a guitar, though!

Snail Mail

When life gets a little bit sucky around here in my brick bungalow paradise, I sometimes get discouraged by blogging.  I CAN'T WAIT to move forward to the point that I can relay the humorous side of single-girl life.  I am expecting some surprises.  (Hmmm... That's a little oxymoronic...)  Right now, it's all yuck.  What to write about when my life is a steaming heap of day-old possum innards?

I'm a member of this little thing called "Plinky".  Plinky sends prompts and suggestions to writers who want to experiment with different topics.  I have a vast collection of these now, because I never use them:  my life is giving me abundant material just now.  But I'd love to rest from all the emotion for a short interval, and this one is pretty light-weight. 

"What was the last real letter you received in the mail?"

I disqualified Christmas letters. So, would you believe that the last social letter I got was in 2006?!?  From Dad, who was 75 at the time.  He was such a Luddite. No computer in the house, so no e-mail.  I saved it - here it is.

9/6/06
Dear Simon, Kate, Sara and Nate,


Adventure Central checking in:  the conquest of Whitney, Labor Day weekend 2006.

No permits available for the regular "tourist trail", but we could get a last minute permit for the "Mountaineer's Route" - so we did it (PMP [that's Dad], Jerry Hershman [his best buddy from medical school - late Triassic Period], Dan and Jeff Hershman [Jerry's sons, who are about my age, and who often find themselves hauling their asses up trails with Dad and Jerry]). There is no real constructed trail with switchbacks, etc...  An indistinct path (or paths) that will get you to the top, following cairns, rock, gravel and dust.  We camped first night at Boy Scout Lake, 2000 ft. up from parking lot; next day another 2000 ft. up to Iceberg Lake, elevation 12,000 feet.  Third day up to summit - we scrambled up rocks & gravel to the "Notch"  Then Dan had us rope up while we climbed the last 1000 ft. up on big rocks and cliffs.  Hand holds, looking for foot holds (don't look down!).  After the steep rock, all we had to do was walk up to the summit, meet the hikers who came up the real trail.  Coming down was hardest for me.  Dan thought I might not make the 4000 ft. descent from Iceberg Lake.  First he took my sleeping bag & finally just strapped my whole orange pack onto his (total: 60 lbs.).  My thigh muscles were like rubber bands at the bottom.  3 days to recover!  But we all survived the mountaineer's route!

Jerry H. and I have made a solemn oath:  no more mountains!  How about the beach next time?

We had company from some climbers from Belarus (White Russia).  They went up the steep east face.

                                             **********************************

So, you have to put a new roof on your house!  Must have been quite a storm!  Just put a blue tarp over the holes - that's the Alaska way.

Everybody is back in school?  Routine getting settled in, I trust?

Your peaches should be in season if not damaged by the wind storm.

Other news:

Gilman Ness died of cancer.

Badgers and Packers just getting started.

Brewers in decline!!

Next adventure:  in a few weeks we embark on Canadian train at Winnipeg - ride to Jasper - get off for four days, then on to Vancouver for a week then ride the luxury train back to Winnipeg & drive home.  No phone calls, no tasks except eating a lot.

Sara & Nate - here's a picture of me climbing the rocks.

Yeah, I know:  Dad is making more appearances than usual in the blog these days. Coincidence, and a lucky one. I have just remembered that I did get a letter a couple of months ago from Evelyn Jahnke.  She played the role of grandmother to me when I was a kid.  I didn't save that letter, though.  Just as well.  You would have had to read all about every single thing she entered in the county fair last summer. 

I saved this letter because I was proud of Dad for taking a challenging route at his age, coming from the much lower elevation of Wisconsin.  My quads would have been pretty rubbery as well. Mom was pissed, though.  Squawk, squawk!  "He could BARELY WALK when he got off the plane!  He and Jerry are ridiculous.  They act like they're....60 or something!  One of these days he's going to keel over and die on some trail."  That was his stated plan.  No wonder he didn't leave an advance directive.

Miss you, Dad.  I'll be up at the cottage in a few days.  Yes, the family has suggested that I go where everybody goes when (as Charlie says) "it hits the fan", and some serious R&R is called for.  Plus Charlie wants someone to get the raking done.  I plan to build a fire down on the point. I will lie on the sand and roast a sausage on a stick.  I'll drink a beer for you.