CAMPING RECONSIDERED

Regular readers and anyone who asks, or doesn't, since I'm not shy about sharing in spite of no interest (LOL), know that camping is not my thing.  However, since Hub and I have been hanging out together for over 50 years, I've done A LOT of camping because it definitely IS his thing and I've gone along cuz: 1) I love him; 2) I like the idea of camping;  3) I thought if I kept trying, I'd learn to like it; 4) I wanted our boys to have camping experiences; 5) nature is pretty.

But a few years ago I stopped going.  I decided I was not going to learn to love it.  So Hub went alone, several times each summer (and of course during snowboard season, when he also stays in his cozy camper on some trips.)  He thoroughly enjoys his nature getaways -- long and challenging hikes, kayaking on lakes, gazing into his campfires, his solitude to do as he pleases in his own timeframe, no one else to consider, etc. etc.  I was fine staying at home, but resentment started to set in as well.  I'm not proud of this, but it's a longer story with lots of moving parts.  Suffice to say, we decided last year that I'd go on one or two camping trips with him each summer.  I went once last year.  It went well.  This year we've had so many home projects and truck issues that had to get resolved before he could load up the truck camper, that one trip was all we could schedule.  We went last week.

Mt. Rainier in summer is one of my favorite places to go.  It is so breathtakingly beautiful.  The campground where we stay is quiet, no hook-ups, rarely any rowdies or kids on bikes; just lots of hikers and quiet-seekers, like us. I still went with some hesitation.  I've convinced myself that I "hate" camping.  Even after last year, when the outing turned out OK, I still wasn't convinced.  So this year I decided to keep an almost hour by hour journal of what I "like" and what I "dislike" about camping, to try to find some objectivity.  It was instructive.

What I discovered is that I like being with Hub; I like being in beautiful places; I like that it was warm and sunny this time; I like all the hikes we did (moderate, not too challenging, but beautiful forest trails and views of the mountain); I like the relative perks of the camper -- warm and dry and sorta like a real "house" with lots of amenities. (toilet! shower! lights run from a solar panel!)  I definitely would not sleep in a tent and live at the picnic table!

What I don't like and which overshadows almost everything else is being uncomfortable.  This physical discomfort sensitivity is only one characteristic of being (it's a real thing, confirmed by my therapist) a Highly Sensitive Person.  I can go from "too hot" to "too cold" in seconds.  My body feels every fluctuation, both internally (aches and palpitations) and externally (lumpy pillows and itchy bug bites).  You get the idea. Nothing escapes my sensitivity meter.  And camping is not exactly an activity that creates comfort.  I was uncomfortable a lot!

The camper, while "cozy" is also cramped, with not enough storage space apparently, so that in short order every surface was cluttered with gear and clothing and dishes.  Visual chaos disturbs me; also things always in the way. 

I absolutely hate campfire smoke.  It will find me no matter where I sit/stand.  Thankfully Hub agrees with me on this, although he is more tolerant than I.  He now uses a propane fire ring for his campfire experiences even when on his own.  I know, it's burning fossil fuel, but it's instead of breathing in woodsmoke particulate matter, getting a sore throat, and stinking like a smoke jumper, so there's that.  I'd personally forgo the the whole fire thing completely, and have.  I just go inside at night like any sensible person, but for the S'mores this trip.  Each night I made one, ate it, and retired inside to my Kindle.

Plus, so much gear!  And logistical hassles.  I really hate that.  Why must I pack up a bunch of stuff that is much more conveniently located in my big beautiful house in order to drive it all to a new location in the woods?  We have woods here, and a fire ring, and beautiful gardens, and views of water and mountains and day hikes within easy driving distance!  Plus, we have more privacy at home -- neighbors at campsites are much closer and "in my space" than my neighbors in our neighborhood.  While we have all of that, it is in the heart of the city, so it's a more citified "nature" I guess.  I do get the idea of a "getaway".  I just prefer convenience.

And yet...what surprisingly came out Top Three on my "like" list were: 1) sharing the experience with Hub cuz I love him, as previously mentioned, and still true; 2) the hikes we did (which is shocking to note, since I also have traditionally hated hiking, but I've found my sweet spot with that in terms of distance and challenge and I loved it!); 3) no phone/no computer -- it felt great to be out of cell/WiFi range and have no idea what was happening anywhere but where I was.

I still don't think I'll be adding camping to my "must do"/"can't wait" summer fun list.  But I do think it's reasonable to go once/twice a season to get away, to see and do new things, to be in closer proximity to activities like hiking and kayaking, which are easier to access without the hassle of a commute to get there and back in one day's timeframe.

I guess camping, like life, is full of some "dislikes" one must endure to get to the "likes" that can sometimes compensate. There were way more "dislikes" in my journal, and yet, sitting here now I am recalling the closeness I shared with Hub;  the spectacular views of Rainier; the quiet private place we found to hang out at one trail's end completely alone together with a huge view of Rainier and wildflowers surrounding us; the cooling air we found after a hot hike, sitting on the edge of the rushing glacial melt White River; the hikes through the forest, at times challenging, but beautiful and peaceful.  It was worth some "dislikes", this time, to make those memories.  I'll try to recall that next year when Hub gets the camping bug again.

At least, that's the view from here...©

HIKING HYSTERIA IN THE JUNGLE

Hmmm...usually I just sit on the beach or walk around the ginormous pool here at "our" resort on Kauai on our annual visits.  I have gone on a few hikes over the past 25 years of coming here; mostly hated them.  Swore them off at one point.  But this past year, motivated by fully entering my 70s decade, I've lost a bunch of weight and got myself into fairly decent shape and decided maybe hiking could come back on to the itinerary for this visit.  Easy-breezy. 

So we perused the guide book and decided to follow the advice that "if you only do one hike on Kauai, let it be this one"... up at Waimea Canyon (the Grand Canyon of Hawaii), along a boardwalk trail through the "highest elevation swamp in the country".  8 miles RT.  Sounded fun!  And flat!  We just had to take a 1.8 mile other trail to get to the swamp trail that would then take us to an amazing vista point.  We packed plenty of water, snacks, lunch, bug spray, sunscreen, the "10 essentials" and off we went, feeling maybe a little over-prepared as we saw others in flip flops, little kids, older folks heading out too.  

The sun was shining.  The sky was blue.  Weather report promised "zero precipitation" for the afternoon.  Immediately we headed down a rough rocky track as wide as a road, our hiking poles providing some steadying support, but barely needed actually.  On our left was a huge and breathtaking view of the ocean at the Napali Coast.  There was a precipitous drop off on that side, but only a fool would get that close to the edge of the earth.  We are not fools and have a healthy fear of heights. No problem. Most folks only went this far and turned back to the parking lot.  That was the flip flop crowd.  But we journeyed on.

Soon we entered a tranquil forest, the flat walking path cushioned with leaves and we had plenty of shade.  This was short-lived.  No sooner had I had a moment of gratitude for this lovely easy trail, it opened onto a steep rocky climb through roots and rocks that required planting my poles and hoisting myself up to the the next rock, and the next, and the next.  It was steep!  But I figured this was just a little rough patch and once up top (I couldn't really see the trail above me anymore) all would even out again and be a breeze.

This was wishful thinking.  The next mile or so was a horror show of constant up and down rocks and roots and ruts, poles helping in some spots, and just in the way in others where hand holds on roots, limbs, and rocks provided more assistance in pulling myself upward and hanging on to keep myself from falling/sliding downward.  Hub was there to steady me as well, but he had his own path to forge and often we just had to stop and consider the best (safest) way to navigate the boulders and slippery red dirt pebbles that undermined every foothold that looked stable but wasn't.  It was hot, sweaty, dirty, exhausting work.

One would think it wise to just turn around and go back, but we passed folks who said "this is the worst of it...it gets easier and so worth it!" so we kept going.  And going.  And going.  

We finally reached the area that was on the forest floor, wet and swampy, so there had been boardwalks laid -- some decades ago.  The wood was rotted in places, broken stairways left huge gaps, navigating was a bit of challenge, but it was so much better than what we'd traversed that it felt easy.  Except where there was a huge overhanging branch above the trail.  I kindly warned Hub to duck and promptly hit the top of my own head on the damn thing!  We laughed and kept going to the junction of the next trail -- the one we actually had wanted to be on to get to the vista point.  We were hungry, tired, and surprised that we'd spent far longer on that stretch of the hike than we'd planned. That treacherous mile had taken an hour or more.  We sat down on a log and ate lunch, encouraging each other that the next stretch would be a piece of cake.  (But knowing what we were in store for on the way back.  I tried to stay in the present moment and not live in dread.)

As we sat enjoying our PBJ's and apples, the sky overhead turned a bit gray.  Then we felt the mist.  Then we felt the sprinkles.  We both got very quiet.  I was already pretty tired and Hub had already suggested we might not make it all the way to the vista point.  As the rain fell harder, he said, "I'm making a unilateral decision -- we are going back.  This is socking us in -- there won't be a view; it's getting late; and that area we have to navigate is going to become a river of slippery mud."  Truer words were never spoken.

We turned around and headed back in the rain.  The broken boardwalk was slippery wood; I never looked up from my feet concerned I'd step off the planks and into the muck.  So, when I got to the place where that branch overhang was, I didn't see it.  I ran smack into it with the top of my head at such force it knocked me off my feet backwards -- on my butt and back in the very muck I was trying so hard to avoid getting on my shoes.  I think that's the point where I gave up.  The hike back was not going to be pretty.

We ran out of boardwalk and into the rocks again but now everything was wet and muddy.  Every foothold was full of murky brown water.  Every bit of earth was soaked and had turned into slippery, famous Kauai red mud, making every step feel like I was slipping on ice.  My poles helped in some spots, but mostly I dragged myself up by grabbing roots and branches.  I held myself back from slipping down the same way.  At one point there was a wire fence along one side of the ascent and I grabbed onto that and used it to pull myself upward.  Somewhere along this stretch we missed our turn off and got lost.  Of course.  We reached the top-most point along this fence and nothing looked familiar.  Hub figured out where we were and all was well, except for being on a "point" that had steep drops on both sides and nothing but fog and drizzle to stop us.  It was a large enough piece of land not to feel precarious, but we did have to climb down from this point to where we should have turned off, so that added more descent treachery.

I think I blanked out here.  All I can report from here on out is that it was wet, muddy, slippery, steep (VERY steep) and I was soaked with rain, covered with mud, had scrapes and scratches from sliding on rocks and being stuck by brambles and twigs.  Hub was amazing at scoping out the route on each stretch -- where feet and poles and hand holds should be used.  And he was also amazing at keeping me calm and supported as best he could using his own body to stop my slides and his strong steady grip to pull me up when I went down -- falling another couple of times in the slippery mud.  I finally stopped trying to stay upright at the steepest places and just sat down and slid on my butt.  

I'm known to be a Championship whiner on hikes; at some point I get so tired and frustrated that I actually cry.  I swear a lot, or go steely silent, seething with resentment that "somebody" talked me into this.  Here's the good news.  I did not whine.  I did not cry.  I did not blame anyone.  I did panic slightly a couple of times, imagining the worst, but Hub was right there to "center me" back to present moment reality with steady encouragement.  The best thing he said was that this was among the 2-3 most challenging hikes he's ever done and he was amazed at my ability to keep going with great stamina and relative good humor.  (Only three F-words!)

And we made it.  Back in the now nearly empty parking lot we took photos of ourselves covered in mud.  I was shivering cold, soaking wet, and laughing hysterically.  We used Hub's handkerchief to wash off in a puddle the worst of the mud on our shoes and legs.  We changed into much appreciated clean, dry shirts, put the floor mat from the car on my seat to protect it from my caked-on muddy butt, and hightailed it out of there for the hour drive to our resort and a hot shower that felt like Heaven.

I will say, I found it all rather surreal: simultaneously traumatizing and a source of pride.  I do feel like I did a "thing", an endurance test I've never experienced before.  I'm not naturally athletic and I don't seek out or generally enjoy physical challenges.  And this won't change that.  But I do feel some sense of accomplishment that I did it and was relatively unscathed in the end.   We saw a sign hanging on a fence, post-hike, that described the trail as "difficult and potentially dangerous".  I wish I'd known that! 

However, when I looked up the hike on the Google Machine, others persist in saying what a terrific "moderately difficult" hike it is;  They noted it's steep in places and "you might get a little muddy" but totally great anyway.  I have to think they are far more adventuresome than I.  Also taller.  My short legs simply could not stretch into the slippery footholds worn into those rocks and I had to resort to butt sliding to prevent a head over heels tumble.  I can just hear them:  "It's just a hike!  Not a feat of death-defying bravery!"  Sure, easy for you to say. 🙄

Next week we are taking the Stand-Up Paddleboard up the Wailua River to "dock" at the shady inlet leading to a forest hike to Secret Falls.   Never did that before either.  I'll let you know how it goes...

At least, that's the view from here...©

THE GREAT AMERICAN ECLIPSE 2017 -- PART 2

To see the eclipse, Hub had scoped out a place in the Blue Mountains of Eastern Oregon, smack dab in the center of the totality swath: Magone Lake Campground in Malheur National Forest: twenty-one campsites, no reservations, first come/first served.  He figured if we got there four days early, we might snag a site in the mid-week lull.  If not, turns out you can camp anywhere in a National Forest as long as you are no more than 300 feet off the road and no closer than 30 feet to a body of water.  In a fit of overcompensation, I suggested that if four days was good, five was better....

So, we left on Wednesday August 16 and drove 8 hours to our destination.  Guess what?  NO TRAFFIC!  Hub chose a route to eastern Washington, all interstate, then south into Oregon, also  interstate, then a winding, scenic two-lane state highway that we had almost to ourselves.  I was shocked.  Where were all the back-ups?  We stopped at a little mom and pop place at a crossroads town and, as advised, "topped off" the nearly full tank in our Silverado.  The friendly proprietor was a wealth of  information, very happy to see the area make some money from eclipse tourists, and allowed that yes, her little two-pump joint would likely run out of gas with no way for the tanker trucks to get to her in time to refill her reservoir.  Still, she was good-natured about it.

We got to the campground mid-afternoon to discover it had been full since Monday, so my five days early suggestion seemed excessive since it was no better than four.  On to Plan B, a "boondocking" experience off-road somewhere in the forest.  Our truck camper is totally self-contained with a generator, a 55 gallon water tank, propane-fueled fridge, stove, and heater; we also have an air conditioner, microwave, oven, and even a little toilet/sink/shower bathroom. We can go about anywhere as long as the propane and water hold out and can run the generator occasionally.

We weren't sure where to head, so we drove down the paved road leading out of the campground, on the lookout for a likely spot.  I was sure we'd end up on some narrow, dusty logging road in the middle of nowhere, but in only about a mile we saw a turnoff that seemed perfect.  It was a big gravel pull-out in front of a gate blocking vehicle access to an old fire trail road.  The site was perfectly flat, partially shaded, and plenty big enough for our rig, plus our canopy, table, and a couple of camp chairs.  And...it was FREE!  We very soon realized that we had the very best off-road spot for miles around and it would have been snatched up within an hour of us finding it, judging by the slow-moving, envious gawking we witnessed as other campers drove slowly by as we settled in.  I was back to being glad we'd left a day earlier than the original plan.  I took full credit for our good fortune.

Once set up in our sweet little haven, we decided to explore.  Well, no.  That's not accurate.  First I started to worry.  It all seemed too good to be true.  For the first couple of days I was sure there must be a reason the spot was open -- as in "not legal to camp here."  With every car or truck that went by, I was sure they were either: A) Forest Rangers who would tell us to move or,  B) one of those road-raged travelers who would insist on sharing the site with us because, by god, they were tired and hungry and had to pee and we were taking up a space that another could easily squeeze into with us.  I envisioned gun-totin' Eclipse Pirates ready to storm our camper, demanding to be let onto "our" property -- or else!

One remedy I thought to address this concern was to create a "gated community" of one.  Reasoning that no one would drive over or around a felled tree, I cajoled Hub into helping me move a dead, bare-branched 30 foot tall pine tree, that was lying next to our truck, to a spot 20 feet in front of the truck, thus blocking entry into our space.  This is what worrywart introverts do to feel safe.  I credit this smooth move with keeping the pirates at bay.  As for the Rangers, they all smiled and waved as they drove past and the one who did stop to inspect a nearby dry streambed agreed that we had the best spot going.  No problem.

Now on to explorations.  The morning after our arrival we walked up the road to the lake.  The campground was full, but midweek all was quiet.  The whole area was actually a delight of silence.  Living in the city, I'm accustomed to ambient light and ever-present noise.  But in the forest there is darkness and silence.  The only sounds were winds moving through the trees, a rustle in the underbrush, birds chirping and calling; at night a blanket of stars reached across the nighttime sky.  At the lake we noted the splash of a muskrat, a few ducks quacking, the occasional car door slamming or someone slowly driving through hoping for a spot to land.  The people camped there were quietly going about their lazy afternoon business of reading, setting up solar panels, or opening their hoods to discourage ground squirrels from entering under cover of darkness to gnaw on electrical wiring.  (Learning this, we were eager to get back our truck and open the hood!)  We walked the quiet trail circumnavigating the 40 acre no-motor lake.  It was peaceful personified.

I basked in this respite with my book while Hub did a side hike that I assumed would mean some elevation gain that I didn't want to tackle.   I watched the few people near me and noted the unusual scene of folks NOT looking at their cell  phones.  They spoke quietly, took in their surroundings, lay in the sun, snapped photos.  As for me, we had lost cell service 24 hours previously and I was feeling the effects of withdrawal.   Then Hub returned with amazing news....

He found cell service!  The trail he was on was not long, nor very steep, and about halfway up his phone started dinging and voila!  I was glad for this opportunity, given that the political situation had been on full-boil when we left home.  I know I should sing the praises of being off the grid, but really, not so much.  Over the next few days, I found that the two-mile hike from our campsite to the hillside near the lake where we found cell service served as as both a carrot and a stick.  It was sort of just right, actually.  I couldn't check my phone compulsively, but I got to look forward to doing it once a day.

Back at camp Hub, the intrepid, decided there had to be a way to get to the lake by route of the back-country rather than up the asphalt road.  He took off to explore.  Just when I was about to finalize my plan for walking a mile up the road in the dark to get the campground hosts to call in the Search and Rescue team, he showed back up at the camper delighted in his success.  Yes!  We could get there from here!  From that point on, we no longer walked up the road to the lake, but went "the back way" through the forest.  We never saw another soul on these journeys, heard only the sound of bird call and the crunch of pine needles and cones under our feet; also the occasional expletive I uttered every time I scratched my calf on another log I had to step over.  After four days of this route, however, I was able to anticipate the thorniest of obstacles and with my hiking poles for balance, mostly made it through the thickets unmaimed.

The fire trail road ended up being the entry to other grand adventures in National Forest Service hiking.  Surrounded by pine forest, thick with birds, ground squirrels, and deer, but no sign of cougars or warnings of bears, even I (a city girl who thinks nature is rather malevolent) felt safe on the trails.  We discovered enormous Ponderosa pines, felled trees blocking our way that we had to navigate over or around, hidden meadows, and a crisscross patchwork of other trails intersecting here and there.  It seems like it would be super easy to get lost in the forest.  I hear that happens...everything really does look alike.  Our best find was a private meadow only about 100 or so yards from our camper.  Surrounded by sheltering pines, this open area of tall grasses afforded an unobstructed view of the sky, which given our whole reason for being in the forest at all, was essential.  We went there to be sure the sun was completely visible between 9:30 and 11:30 a.m, the hours of the eclipse viewing with totality to be at 10:24 a.m.  Sure enough, the sun shone brightly overhead and we had our viewing spot all picked out.

It's funny how quickly a routine is established, but then Hub and I are creatures of habit.  We got up each morning at a leisurely hour, drank coffee, made breakfast, did dishes, talked, meditated, walked to the meadow for Qigong, came back and packed a lunch, hiked our private back route to the lake, ascended the trial to our "cell spot" where I sent texts from Eclipse Central to friends and family.  Hub generally took a dip in the lake (too cold for me) and then we walked back to camp, prepped supper, ate, read, star-gazed and/or watched a movie in the camper. (Yes, we have a TV and DVR too.  Roughing it.)

For a woman who bemoans camping, hates hikes, and is generally an "indoors girl",  I was surprised to find I was having a more than pleasant time.  Perfect weather.  Lots of exercise that was just the right amount of challenging.  Delicious, healthy meals.  Long meandering conversations; important insights.  Cozy confines; comfy bed.  Complete privacy.  All shared with the man I love. What could eclipse all that?

I'd find out...©

INNER ADVENTURING

We got together with a bunch of dear, good friends on Saturday night.  We call ourselves "The Tribe".  It was a potluck gathering full of amazingly good food, lighthearted conversation, and lots of laughter.   Over dinner the conversation went in the direction of people sharing tales of their outdoor adventures -- the things they love to do, where they've done them, where they hope to do more of it.  Hiking, biking, camping, snorkeling, scuba diving, kayaking, skiing, snowboarding, boating; travels done or hoped for in the US, Europe, South America, Central America, SE Asia, China, India.

Regular readers of my blog will know how quiet I could have been during this conversation.   I do not particularly like outdoor adventuring, nor traveling.  This puts me in a club of severely limited membership in the Pacific Northwest where passions for these things seem to be a given.  (I fit with the bookstore/coffee shop crowd, who also are a common sight here, but most are just stopping by there in between adventures.)

In order to participate in the conversation, I joined in with my usual self-deprecating jokiness about my lack of Adventuring Gene, with a throw-away, dismissive comment aimed at myself about all of the things they love as something I would never do.  It was funny.  I laughed.  Everyone laughed.  I knew I was violating my therapist's admonition about putting myself down, but I thought I had a good handle on it.  Still, I ended up feeling like the "odd" woman out and not altogether great about it.  But not terrible either.  I thought I'd pulled it off.

Later in the evening the conversation took a turn toward touching on "the divorce".  Not mine and Hub's, but mine with my church.  (Again, I've written about this before, so I won't go into the details here, suffice to say, we split up last August.)  It has been a hard ten months since we parted.  Many don't understand why, many don't care, some hope we will reconcile, almost none understand the depth of hurt and introspection that has gone into diving deep inside myself to figure out how it happened, where I was culpable in the conflict, how we all might have behaved differently, whether I made the right decision, and why I cannot go back to a "partner" I still see as a bit dysfunctional, and with whom I have less and less in common...or at least not a common vision.  I'm trying to move on and find connections in a new and healthier way.   There ended up being maybe a teeny tiny bit of passion around expressing this at the social gathering.  I may have used the "F" word.

Debriefing with Hub the next morning, I allowed that I still seem to have a lot of pain and anger around the divorce and I need to do some more inner work to heal that negativity.  I said that the way I live my inner life, with my constant rumination, seeking to understand situations, other people, and mostly myself on a deep level are every bit as hard as climbing a mountain trail, dammit!  My "adventures" are of an internal nature!

The analogy struck a chord with me.  I realized I have nothing to feel inferior about, nothing to apologize for, if I don't do the "nature challenge" others so enjoy.  My challenges come in the form of deep personal work and the summit I am aiming for is increased self-knowledge, inner peace, compassion and "capital L" Love.

Feeling inspired, I sat down and wrote this poem:

THE ADVENTURER

I ford the river of tears

Climb from the depths of despair

Stumble over jagged rocks of doubt

Lose my way

Each step forward a small victory

Each boot stuck in a muddy rut another defeat

Clouds gather, burst

Cold sleet runs down my neck, chilling me to the bone

Will I ever see the sun?  Hear the birdsong?

Look up at a sky so blue, so clear that all pain is lost in its vast expanse?

I keep the vision close to my heart, the possibility of healing, the promise of joy.

One more step forward, one more slide back, heart muscles aching, breath ragged.

It is a lonely journey, the curved path treacherous, ascent steep

I long for sleep, for rest, for peace

It comes in welcome respite ‘round the night fires

Where other faces emerge from the dark, brother traveler, sister wanderer

Stirring the dying embers, finding warmth, feeling strength return

Awake to another day on the trail ahead

Perhaps this is the day

Perhaps this is the hour

Perhaps this is the moment 

When the summit is reached 

And all the world will lay below me

Dazzling like the jewel that is my life

To live, to love, to be.

****

You take the outer journey, I'll take the inner.  I'll meet you where our paths converge.

At least, that's the view from here...©

CHAMPION GAZER

Already four days into the vacation; it's flying by.  Hung out at the Marriott on Friday and Saturday.  Went to Waimea Canyon yesterday and did a miserable hike on the Canyon Trail, which looked vaguely familiar and later I realized we also did it in 2012 and I was not so happy then, either.  http://myviewfromhere-donna.blogspot.com/2012/05/hikingfor-birds.html

I keep trying to like hiking and I keep hating it.  I want to be a good "adventure" companion for Hub and hiking seems like something I could do, unlike snowboarding (risking a broken hip standing on a slippery hunk of wood sliding down the side of a mountain) or snorkeling (akin to waterboarding) or pitching a no-hitter (which he did and I nearly missed it because I was young and more interested in chatting with my friends in the stands).  But nearly every time I hike I end up feeling incompetent, hot, sweaty, sore, tired, and angry.  No fun.  Also, as the laughing, smiling, "ain't it great to be on this trail?" hikers pass us by, I feel like a lame-ass loser.  Also no fun.

One couple on their way down the trail to the waterfalls asked if we were having a good time.  I said no, not really.  Silence.  Then they asked if the waterfalls were spectacular anyway.  Hub said not particularly unless you have never seen a waterfall, which, being from Washington means we've seen a kajillion of them.  The ones at the end of the trail were like 15 feet or something.  Puhleeze!  At any rate, our responses were not the requisite jolly good time exhortations our trail companions were seeking.  I'm sure they thought we were champion curmudgeons.  They were right in my case; not so much Hub's.  He was just trying to be informative.

We are staying at the resort today -- beach and pool time.  But I woke up thinking I should be taking more advantage of this vacation/vacant time.  I should meditate more, do some beach yoga, take longer walks or go the gym.  But mostly I'm re-reading the second book in the Outlander series.  (Diana Gabaldon has laced these books with some sort of addictive subliminal messaging.  I never re-read fiction books and I can't stop myself....plus the TV series is covering the same territory and that is equally addicting.  Even Hub said the other night, as we caught up on Season 5 of Game of Thrones and endured yet another graphically violent massacre, "I like Outlander better." )  So, anyway, I'm not doing much of anything that I said I'd have more time to do once I was on vacation.

But maybe that's the point:  Do nothing.  Indulge in self-indulgence.  I'm eating healthy, meditating with the sound of the waves splashing the shoreline, languidly stretching in front of the open patio doors as the breeze off the Bay cools my skin; I'm enjoying walking through the gardens and along the beach, camera at the ready.  Maybe the idea is to let go of the self-improvement agenda, open my Kindle and just be.  Since I am a champion reader, people-watcher, and gazer into the horizon, I should really be in my element today.  I can out-sit Hub any day of the week.  Lame-ass loser?  Not me!

At least, that's the view from here....©

EASE ON DOWN THE ROAD

The word "exercise" is synonymous with high school PE to me.  I sucked at PE.  I was not athletic and didn't care to be.  I was not strong or coordinated and had no natural inclination for sports or games. I had no endurance.  It was torture.  And embarrassing.  I still feel that way.

Maybe that's why I was drawn to Hub.  I have a "jock" husband -- star pitcher (ask him about his no-hitter), game winning quarterback (ask about the quarterback sneak against cross-town rivals).  He still absolutely owns the double-diamond runs on his snowboard, at 64 years old.   He's a natural at most sports stuff.  For years he wanted me to like physical activity too.  He was patient and encouraging and unfailingly persistent. We tried hiking, kayaking, snowshoeing, jogging, walking, biking...I would start out with good intentions, then at his urging to go "just a little further" there would inevitably be that point where I was frustrated, ashamed, and in tears, vowing, "never again".

He has learned over the decades together that I will no more leap at the chance to do a challenging hike or take to the snow-covered mountains with him, than he will ever want to sit with a cup of coffee and write a poem or read for hours on end with a purring cat on his lap.  We've made our peace with this divide.  I will go for the occasional hike or walk or bike ride or kayak paddle -- at a slower, more leisurely pace than he would if he were alone.  But we are companionable about it now and I don't cry.  He will also often go off on his adventures alone while I read and write and sip my coffee (alas, no more kitties).

Yet, I know a bit more physical activity that gets the heart pumping would be a good thing for me.  How can I motivate myself?  This is a question I've been asking for most of my sedentary-leaning life.  The other day I decided to boil it down to what I like:  Pleasure, Ease, and Beauty.  So, how can those be part of my movement practice?

Pleasure:  Music -- I could listen to I-Tunes while walking.  Movies and TV -- I could watch while on my treadmill.  Coffee Shops, Art Galleries, Book Stores, Libraries -- I could make these destinations for my walks.  Peacefulness -- I could take a flow Yoga class that is a bit more aerobic.

Ease & Comfort:  I could walk/ride on flat terrain, eschewing the hills.  I could use hiking poles on (gently sloping) trails.  I could do outdoor activities only in pleasant weather.

Beauty:  I could do my walking/riding in arboretums, through pretty neighborhoods, along waterfronts and in forests.

I could dance -- a winning combination of heart-pumping movement, pleasure, ease, comfort and beauty.  I've gotten away from my Ecstatic Dance practice since I stopped facilitating this for other people.  But tonight is Ecstatic Dance night and the gal who took over for me will be leading folks in an hour of joyful, meditative movement to a playlist that will both rock and sooth the soul.

Maybe it's time I started to look at exercise differently; maybe it can be pleasurable, easy, and beautiful. Hmmmm….we'll see….

At least, that's the view from here…. ©

TEACH YOUR CHILDREN WELL

Angel's childcare provider up and left for 2-1/2 months to visit her family in Pakistan, so Hub and I volunteered to help out last week until another provider stepped in this week.  It was a week when semi-retired Hub was scheduled to work 3 out of the 5 days -- wouldn't you know it?!

I decided that to keep both Angel and I sane during our 10-hour days together, I would schedule "theme days" with outings each day.

Last Monday was "Art and Nature Day".  Most of the morning was spent with art supplies, primarily focused on Angel's idea to create a Halloween mask.  Hub took over in the afternoon with a "hike" through a local park on wooded trails leading to the playground.  Then, naturally, they went to Costco since Hub can't get in the car without ending up a Costco.  They scored big time, since it was "sample day" and returned with Food Court frozen yogurts for everyone!  Yay!

On Tuesday I was on my own.  "Library Day"!  Angel's first library visit delighted her, starting with the huge aquarium at the entrance to the children's section and finding little Nemo swimming around in the coral.  She was overcome with excitement at the amazing numbers of books and DVD's, kicking off her shoes and settling in for a lengthy perusal.  She played with some toys and the dollhouse,then we retired to the Library Coffee Shop for a hot coco and a mini lemon scone, paging through the books and chatting about art.  We stopped at the park on the way home.

Wednesday was "Girls Go Shopping" day, when we met up with a friend of mine for browsing antiques, gifts, and bookstores in a nearby town.  Angel's favorite store, also my own favorite, had so many wondrous things to touch!!!  And tiny purses that just fit a 4 year old's hands.  I try to not encourage impulse buys, but she did, in the end, walk out with a little purse.  We also stopped for coco and croissants and a joint coloring project as my friend and I talked and colored with Angel for over an hour.

Thursday Hub helped plan a day-long "Public Transportation Day".  We took the bus from the bus/train station to the ferry landing, then hopped on the ferry for the crossing to a nearby island where we spent two hours playing on the beach, building sand castles, collecting seashells and exploring a "cave".  We also stopped at a coffee kiosk for coco and cookies.  Late in the afternoon we took the ferry back to the mainland, had a bite of lunch, watched a guy crabbing off the pier,  then boarded the train for a ride back to the station.

Friday, on my own again, and OK, maybe dragging a bit, I declared it "Halloween Day".  We went shopping for a costume.  I was delighted she wanted to be "Spiderman Girl" and was all set to find a terrific super hero costume for her, but once in the store the fairy princess sparkle took hold and we came home with a winged pink and purple sequined frock.  We stopped at Starbucks for coco and bought a small pumpkin to carve, saving the seeds for roasting, and then made sugar cookies shaped like pumpkins and ghosts, frosting them in orange and white and black.

I think we had a pretty good week.  I do have to wonder if Angel was as exhausted at the end of each day as I was.  Probably not.  Her creativity and imagination seem to power her through each day with constant enthusiasm.  I love being with her.  And I get tired.  Friday night I sort of collapsed in gratitude -- for the time spent together and for her aunt, who would be taking over care this week.

But I think I did a good job teaching her a few new things -- her first trip to the library and her first bus and train rides, how to make a mask, roast pumpkin seeds and make cookies.  And other stuff too I'm sure; things that kids just absorb with no effort or recognition by the adults around them.

Most importantly, though, I taught her that no day is complete without a brief respite over coffee, coco, and a sweet treat, best enjoyed with a good friend.  And since she has declared me her "best friend", I look forward to many more cups and conversations in the years to come.  This Gramma thing is awesome.

At least, that's the view from here....©

YA SPOT IT, YA GOT IT

Hub told me my last post, about the cruise ship crowd, was a bit "snarky".  Pshaw.  I wasn't even close to as snarky as I could have been.  Plus, we all know humor (or an attempt at it) is really ultimately at our own expense.  Ya spot it, ya got it...as in the points I made in that other post:  I am not so spry nor am I super thin; I used to both drink and smoke; I burn easily in the sun; I wear dorky clothes sometimes and I am among the least well-traveled people I know, hence "foreign" really is foreign to me.   Are we all  happy now?

So, let's try this -- a snarky post about me.

I suck at hiking.  I wrote about this last year in Kaua'i, too, so I won't go into detail.  Suffice to say, there may be beauty all around me, but I mostly stare at the ground when I'm moving, willing the death march to be over.  Yesterday, though, I was on one of my fave Kaua'i hikes (the one I like) and I wish I'd switched on my I-Phone video so I could post for you the Jurassic Park jungle beauty around me and the brilliant, varied, and beautiful birdsong that was the soundtrack.  Pretty amazing.

I also suck at water sports, except for my favorite, which is sitting at water's edge in the sand for a few minutes, until the sun becomes too intense and I scurry for the shade of a palm tree.  I have friends at home who are strongly encouraging me to try snorkeling.  They are full of gentle urging and handy tips -- float with a floaty Noodle under my chest; practice in the pool; get a tight-fitting mask...  Putting my face in the water on purpose feels like anti-survival.  I did not evolve with gills.  But I did work up the courage to stick my face in the water in the pool today and blow bubbles through my nose.  I held Hub's hand the whole time (5 seconds) and he cheered enthusiastically and offered "Good job!" congratulations.  I  am now on par with all the three-year-olds in my class.

I do not like to "party all night long".  It is our habit to leave our lounge chairs at around 5:00 and head for our unit.  I shower, throw on a loose fitting sundress, pour a Club Soda and watch the waves from our deck until Hub is ready to grill some fish for dinner.  He takes off to do that, while I prepare a salad (open the Costco container) and set the table.  Soon he is back with tales of grilling adventures from the courtyard, where he meets and talks to strangers.  We eat; I clean up; we each grab a book and lie back to read until we fall asleep.  Or, we might turn on the TV.  There are limited channels here, but we do get Comedy Central so our beloved Daily Show and Colbert Report are available.  We also brought some Netflix discs of Homeland with us, but dispensed with those within the first few days of our vacation.  Hub forgot to pack Game of Thrones, so we are currently at a DVD-watching handicap.

So, you see, one could make a snarky comment about how absolutely NO FUN I am.  But that depends on your perspective, right?  I make terrific fodder for writing snarky blog posts, which is EXTREME fun!

At least, that's the view from here....©

HIKING...FOR THE BIRDS

Let's review.  I said a couple of days ago that I "enjoy a shorter, less strenuous hike" with my adventuring husband.  I guess he thought "moderately strenuous" was the very definition of "shorter, less strenuous" when he ran across the Canyon Trail hike description in the Kaua'i Guidebook.

So yesterday we drove to Waimea Canyon to hit the trailhead (also in search of the drier, sunnier side of the island since the rain and clouds where we are staying have been a bit persistent of late).

I knew I was in trouble right away.  I am leery of trails that start out going downhill.  Common sense, and previous excruciating experience, has taught me that what goes down, must come up.  And down we went..down...down...down.  I was already dreading climbing my butt back out of that canyon.  Regardless of the promised twin waterfalls, our destination, I was already certain they would not be worth the trek up, up, up at the tailend of our day.

Plus going down also means staring vigilantly at my feet, to avoid tangles of roots reaching for the tips of my toes, rocks and boulders to navigate, and slippery loose gravel underfoot -- all leading to the dreaded butt-whack onto surprisingly hard Kaua'i red dirt jarring my tailbone, back, and neck into spasm -- often with legs and arms akimbo and stretched unnaturally in their opposite and incorrect position.  Again, experience is the teacher here.

But with Hub's urging, optimistic encouragement, a nice walking stick, and his arm to hold onto, I kept on, only completely balking at yet another steep decline on that damnable gravel slipway and announcing, "That's it!  I'm waiting here!"  He assured me we were "95% there".  (Hub gives a running commentary on our assumed progress throughout each hike we've taken; he means this to be encouraging.)  So I got pissed and decided "Screw it...he can just carry me and my broken hip out of here then -- 2 miles -- uphill!"  I kept going.

The waterfalls were there, as promised.  But unspectacular.  My PBJ sandwich was the trail's end highlight for me.  I tried not to think of the uphill slog back to the car.  Instead, I started to listen to the "quiet" -- the wind rustling the leaves, the sound of the water trickling down ancient lava rock, the songs of birds all around me.   I saw the blue sky, the myriad shades of green in foliage, the brilliant yellows, oranges, and reds of flowering bushes along the trail.

So, instead of my usual "game" of getting through a difficult hike by pretending I've been taken hostage in a militant Third World country where I am forced to march through thick jungle with a gun at my back, I decided to listen to the birds.  That's all.  No thoughts.  No feeling the blister forming on my big toe, or the thorny twigs scratching bloody trails on the backs of my legs.  No wondering how much farther.  No thinking my lungs will surely burst and my heart will pound straight out of my chest, Alien-like.  Just listen to birdsong.  Hiking meditation.

Turns out, going up hill was surprisingly easy.  Much easier than going down.  Hub kept me hydrated with frequent gulps from the Camelpack.  My sturdy walking stick helped propel me.  My footing was sure.  My breathing was deep and strong.  My healthy heart was pumping and the birds were singing everywhere, lifting me...up, up, up...arriving at the trailhead much sooner than I thought possible.  I felt a grudging sense of accomplishment -- and wonderment that my meditation practice, the practice of "letting go of suffering", seemed to hold the key to my surprisingly pleasant regard for Hub as he "high-fived" me when we emerged from the trees.  On other "adventure" occasions there have been more murderous thoughts.

The fact remains, however;  I still don't like hiking.  Hub needs to join the Mountaineers or something.

At least, that's the view from here...©