Getting There

It all started with this photo on facebook.

So, why would anyone load a tent and two big dogs into the car and drive eleven hours each way to spend two nights in the Adirondack woods? One with BEARS? Let me tell you our story.

Late last month Ann, a friend from college, (YES, I went), posted a photo of this caribou head on facebook saying she had put it on craigslist on a whim, saying ”I don't think it will sell. I will probably have to give it away.”

Nobody would want it? Was she nuts?

Let me explain. I’m the type of guy who loves animals, feels guilty about eating meat and loving it, even hates to kill a fly (I’ll comically karmically capture and release) and has always had this fanatic fascination with taxidermy. I know, it’s sick. I’ve always wanted to collect heads (be warned). So when the opportunity arose, I fired off an email offering WHATEVER she wanted: it’s a good thing I don’t have a first born.

The head was at her camp. See, Ann was married to this guy who came from the kind of family who had long ago (late 1800’s?) built this “camp” in the woods of the Adirondacks. All rough twigs and logs, rustic, hunt and gamey, vernacular and compound-y and very, very cool. She had her wedding there in the boathouse of ONE of the lodges in the late 80’s. I attended. I fell in love with the buildings, and all 50,000+ park-like acres of it. But more on the camp later. We decided to go again. The Caribou was the door prize.

We left last Friday afternoon, heading due south to the turnpike. I drove but don’t let the picture of me an Lucy fool you. Brian soon tired of my speed limit “speed” and got behind the wheel at the 1st opportunity in Ohio and we continued to head east. Making good time despite a stand still near Cleveland.

I love the north east coast of our country. It’s all mossy and historical. (Laugh all you want Europeans, smirk-on Westerners, I love it.) The further East, the older it seems to get. We were headed into Buffalo that night, and hopefully Frank & Teressa’s Anchor Bar, and the 1930’s and the 60’s

Teressa is credited with the invention of Buffalo Wings one late Friday night in 1964, for her bar tending son Dominic’s ravenous friends.

We checked into the Motel 6 and made it to the Anchor before it closed, we ordered the wings, we thanked Teressa.

The place was a great big. friendly. noisy. aging, paneled NE bar. I loved it, loved the wings, loved the company, loved that our waitress told me I could keep the menu. Face it, we’re Road Food-y kind of guys. Hope that’s alright.

- - - David

My summer "vacation"

Don’t let that pretty friend
or that dentally clasped daisy fool you,
that guy’s on pain pills

Less than a week after our return from hot humid heavenly NOLA I was being wheeled in for a little surgical tune-up. The umbilical hernia that was protruding from my abdomen for so long it had earned the nickname “my little alien” had been recently joined with one a little above it and another a little “below” it. This unknown doctor had been recommended by my new not much better known GP who had been “pin the tail on the donkey” chosen from a three page list provided by my beloved but retiring OLD GP.

Because I had had two previous laparoscopic hernia surgeries I was both optimistic and no longer a candidate for yet more. This procedure would have to be the old fashioned, hands on (in), scalpel cutting kind. Still I was optimistically expecting a few days of recovery. WRONG

This one seemed to get worse, not better, with the passing of time. This time I REFILLED the prescription pain killer TWICE and the doctor eventually threw in some antibiotics too (for the infection that set in). I’m not complaining, I survived. It’s just that a month+ of my summer has been spent on shuffling, house-bound, couch sitting solitude. AGAIN. A month of “Hey Gods, I just did this a few months ago!” feeling tired, mopey, grumpy and sorry for myself.

There’s an upside though. All this concentrating on the leaking incisions, taped gauze and a different sort of pill collection has taken my mind off the stroke. I was able to trick myself with this diversionary tactic from the tedious relearning and therapeutic remastering of simple BORING tasks. Walking slowly down the hall I was thinking about the belly NOT the wobbling.

Looking back, this was quite enjoyable. Surely there’s a suitable parable for this. Like “Don’t count your chickens in one silver basket” or something. This muddled brain can’t think of one so please provide a suitable one of your own. Perhaps you could email it to me?

I was ALSO grateful for the immediate visitation/diversion of my new friends Wendy and her family (Greg and [the most adorable] Sophia) in the days immediately after the “procedure”. They stopped by on their way from Taos NM to Costa Rica. (I didn’t even know we were on that route). They were joyous/joyful/a joy. I am SO grateful they came (AND to B for making us a pile of my favorite Overnight Waffles).

Following on their heals was our Seattle pal Calyn. Who graciously made her way to our door for an overnight after visiting family in Okemos before she made a journey to her Ol’ Kentucky home.

Seeing the C after all these years was a godsend, a blessing and even MORE sheer joy for this patient and his caretaker. The brief hours spent touring Hidden Lake Garden, visiting Ann Arbor, shopping for scooters, having (a recession improved?) fine dinner at Evan’s Street or just couch potato-ing and schmoozing was the best medicine I could request. The memory of her smile AND the thrill of her laughter AND the glowing warmth of her presence may have dimmed but now I clearly recalled the love she radiates so freely.

Look for the silver lining kids, that golden cup of nectar from the gods, it’s there somewhere. You may need it when you’re on the sofa, staring at your toes, realizing how easily the world goes on without you.

- - - David