By the middle of May the desert heat was so great that the children were let out of school and the big yellow dog, little girl and her family returned to the cool forest in California for the summer. All were glad to be home to their cabin in the woods, the trees and the woods and the sky above, small and covered with the tops of trees and the clouds above.
One morning the yellow dog was gone, just as he had come. But in no time another dog, a small Sheltie, brown and black and white, came to be with the little girl. And he followed her every where she went and stayed by her side. They followed the trail that she knew. It wound around the forest to a little lake full of shiny rainbow trout. They spent hours and hours, happy hours exploring the forest and the lake and sitting and watching through the trees and listening to the sounds in the forest and feeling the cool air surrounding them.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
THE YELLOW DOG
The yellow dog woke in the morning to a bright summer's day. He lifted his heavy body slowly and stretched it out as long as he could and groaned just a little. He could smell the dry day and the sun filled the room and warmed his long yellow fir. He shook and yawned and went over to his bowls and finished his breakfast. The door was left open and he listened to his people wake up and work their daily chores.
He began his ritual sniffing along the floor, out to the steps and around the garbage out back. He blew out through his nose several times and made the dust puff up. Then he began to trot across the yard and on to the road. The road was not a busy road. There was a rustling through the trees, the evergreens and the maples. A rustling of branches and leaves. He listened for other animals. He listened to the voices of the forest. He did not want to be surprised and he wanted to chase little squirrels and mice. He would like to come across a dog to smell, to touch noses with.
The sky was field of blue. Black birds flue across it as if they had been thrown by a giant hand. The yellow dog ran barking, with his head turned up, his eyes rolled back and his tongue flapping wildly around his mouth. Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Across the sky the birds paid him no mind. They were wild. The dog ran and ran until the birds were gone and he had nothing to do but flop down on the ground. His big head on the cool earth with his breathing hard.
On his way home, he came upon garbage strewn about. Two hot dogs and a hamburger and some chips. He seemed to inhale them, as hungry as he was and returned to his home. A good day in the life of the dog. The next day his life would change. He spent time digging holes, which he loved doing. He would push his nose deep in the ground and then dig madly, push his nose in the ground, then dig madly. He then sat calmly on the porch and looked over the pine trees and the mountains in the distance and listened to the crickets and the frogs and he heard other dogs, too, barking to one another. But he was spent, done for the day, and he watched the sun sinking down over the trees.
The next morning life was the same. He woke up, crunched his breakfast and drank his water and headed out the door to poop and piss. He wandered along the road but came to a car filled with a family of a mother, father, boy and little girl. The back door was open and the dog crawled in the back seat. "Couldn't he go with us?" she asked. She clung to the dog who was bigger than she was.
The car door slammed and the big yellow dog was all locked in and off he went with his new family. A new adventure awaited him and his head lopped out the window as the car started taking in the miles. Down, down the winding mountain. The air was hot and sunny with the summer. These were kind people who liked just being alive and awaiting the next adventure. The little girl cried herself to sleep as she felt that she was leaving the beautiful green mountain but the dog, the big yellow dog, felt the air against his fir and his eyes stayed forward and alert.
After a while, an unknown amount of time, home was a little house in the desert. There were flowers and a small gate, not really meant to keep anyone or anything out. The little girl started school and forgot the forest. She liked the warm ground, the stars that filled the sky at night and her new school. The school was across the street from the house where she lived and her dog walked her to school every morning. In the afternoon when she would stay after to play on the slide and the merry-go-round and jump rope with her little girl friends, the dog would wander over to the play ground, for he waited all day for the little girl and for school to be out. He was a very odd dog. He knew how to climb up the slide and sit up as he slid down. No one suggested that he do this. He would just do this over and over again. The children were made to be very happy at this and he was thought to be the most wonderful dog.
He began his ritual sniffing along the floor, out to the steps and around the garbage out back. He blew out through his nose several times and made the dust puff up. Then he began to trot across the yard and on to the road. The road was not a busy road. There was a rustling through the trees, the evergreens and the maples. A rustling of branches and leaves. He listened for other animals. He listened to the voices of the forest. He did not want to be surprised and he wanted to chase little squirrels and mice. He would like to come across a dog to smell, to touch noses with.
The sky was field of blue. Black birds flue across it as if they had been thrown by a giant hand. The yellow dog ran barking, with his head turned up, his eyes rolled back and his tongue flapping wildly around his mouth. Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Across the sky the birds paid him no mind. They were wild. The dog ran and ran until the birds were gone and he had nothing to do but flop down on the ground. His big head on the cool earth with his breathing hard.
On his way home, he came upon garbage strewn about. Two hot dogs and a hamburger and some chips. He seemed to inhale them, as hungry as he was and returned to his home. A good day in the life of the dog. The next day his life would change. He spent time digging holes, which he loved doing. He would push his nose deep in the ground and then dig madly, push his nose in the ground, then dig madly. He then sat calmly on the porch and looked over the pine trees and the mountains in the distance and listened to the crickets and the frogs and he heard other dogs, too, barking to one another. But he was spent, done for the day, and he watched the sun sinking down over the trees.
The next morning life was the same. He woke up, crunched his breakfast and drank his water and headed out the door to poop and piss. He wandered along the road but came to a car filled with a family of a mother, father, boy and little girl. The back door was open and the dog crawled in the back seat. "Couldn't he go with us?" she asked. She clung to the dog who was bigger than she was.
The car door slammed and the big yellow dog was all locked in and off he went with his new family. A new adventure awaited him and his head lopped out the window as the car started taking in the miles. Down, down the winding mountain. The air was hot and sunny with the summer. These were kind people who liked just being alive and awaiting the next adventure. The little girl cried herself to sleep as she felt that she was leaving the beautiful green mountain but the dog, the big yellow dog, felt the air against his fir and his eyes stayed forward and alert.
After a while, an unknown amount of time, home was a little house in the desert. There were flowers and a small gate, not really meant to keep anyone or anything out. The little girl started school and forgot the forest. She liked the warm ground, the stars that filled the sky at night and her new school. The school was across the street from the house where she lived and her dog walked her to school every morning. In the afternoon when she would stay after to play on the slide and the merry-go-round and jump rope with her little girl friends, the dog would wander over to the play ground, for he waited all day for the little girl and for school to be out. He was a very odd dog. He knew how to climb up the slide and sit up as he slid down. No one suggested that he do this. He would just do this over and over again. The children were made to be very happy at this and he was thought to be the most wonderful dog.
Monday, December 1, 2014
THE SPANIARD
The old woman stood by the door of the classroom. The room was
filled with college freshmen, she and one other would have to sit in the
doorway. She studied each young face. They were easy to see from the
place where she was standing. The sunlight filled the air and poured
through the windows on to the faces of the eager students of which she
was one. The students had come to learn Spanish. Some studied to earn
their degrees, while others came because they traveled to Mexico or
because they were in the medical profession. The old woman had come to
learn her own language. She had been born in a small village in
southern Mexico but had come to America when she was six years old with
her mother and her father. They had traveled up the Pacific coastline,
working the fruit and had settled in Oregon. This had been many years
before. Now she was old and she wanted to return to the little village
in Mexico where she had been born. Many of her relatives were still
living there. She wanted to learn her language, perhaps she would decide
to stay there, to die there, of this possibility she was thinking.
That September morning was fair. She fixed her attention on the professor who was sitting on the edge of his desk. He was a small man and very handsome. He spoke with a thick accent. "I am from Spain," he told the class, "Southern Spain," he added proudly. "Seville."
The old woman wondered what Seville was like and why he had traveled so far from home. Of course, everyone wanted to come to America, didn't they? Even her own parents had wanted to come to America and they had come, just as this little Spaniard had come.
One afternoon during a class discussion she had asked him just that, why? He spoke only in Spanish during these discussions. "I came for money and to study the theater. In Spain one is only able to study the theater for six months and then no more. Also the libraries in America are extensive, unlike those in Spain." "Well," she had thought, "her parents had not come for these reasons."
She had often wondered how old the Spaniard was. Some days he looked quite young, some where in his twenties, but other days-older, in his forties. On these days his otherwise handsome face could almost appear ugly. His beautiful expressive eyes would take on an almond shape and wrinkles circled them and spread across his forehead. There were some days, she felt, that the Spaniard was not happy. On theses days he could be extremely harsh with his students. She watched him carefully, until she began to wonder at herself and at the way that she would watch him. "Surely this old heart of mine feels alive again," she thought. But she put this out of her mind most of the time because she was practically a dead old woman and he was a young, handsome man.
It was true, the Spaniard was a handsome man. His dark hair curled about the nap of his neck and his voice was rich and deep. His eyes were expressive of all that he felt and this was enough to make any woman fall in love with him, which many women were, this the old woman could see. But these were not the only things that attracted the old woman to him, for there were many handsome men walking around the face of the earth and her heart had been dead for a long time, until now. Now, it was not only his physical beauty that attracted her, what she saw over a period of time was his great intelligence and his great sensitivity. These were his valuable things and even his cruelty, yes, his quick anger, could not spoil what he had been gifted with, these were the qualities that she watched day by day and grew to love.
Early in the fall it became known that the little Spaniard would return to Spain. This seemed far off but made sense to the old woman who was herself planning a return to her own people. "He will be happier," she thought, "although I will miss him."
As the school year progressed all of his students grew to love him more, although he became more frequently unhappy and there were bad days with him as well as good.
Once during the year the Spanish class met in the park for games and a picnic. There the young people played soccer. At this the little Spaniard was very good. He took off his shoes and ran in his naked feet. He ran very fast. The old woman had heard of this game but had never seen it played. She sat under a big tree with some other women. They spoke part English and part Spanish with each other. When one young man came running in from the field to rest, sweat poured from his body and he gasped for air. "You look just like an animal." the old woman had spoken to him in Spanish. The man had not understood the words. She then watched the little Spaniard run and felt sad to think that someday she would see him no more. She wondered more at herself for feeling this. Why would nature play a trick on her now, when she was a shriveled up old woman that even a blind man would not want. Some days she felt very angry over this and could only hope that the love in her heart would not show on her face, the love she had , unwillingly, for the Spaniard.
Finally the end of Spring came and the beginning of summer. All the young students were tired from school and this was especially true of the old woman. She understood enough of her language now to go back to her people unashamed that she had lived so many years in America.
There was only one sadness in her life and it cut through her with a pain that she would never have imagined possible, this pain was the handsome little Spaniard.
"Surely I will not say goodbye to him or I may cry" she thought. "And then everyone will wonder at an old woman wanting a young man." Never had life seemed so cruel. She worked quietly in her garden as she thought. She plucked the last dead buds off her rose bush and tossed them to the ground. This rosebush was her favorite, the flowers were a deep pink and they had a strong aroma. She snipped off five stems that had multiple blossoms and filled a blue china vase with them. "They never last," she spoke aloud to a white cat that played with the petals as they fell from the branch. "The pedals drop off and make a terrible mess, but the fresh ones are always beautiful." She carried the vase into the house and shut the door.
That September morning was fair. She fixed her attention on the professor who was sitting on the edge of his desk. He was a small man and very handsome. He spoke with a thick accent. "I am from Spain," he told the class, "Southern Spain," he added proudly. "Seville."
The old woman wondered what Seville was like and why he had traveled so far from home. Of course, everyone wanted to come to America, didn't they? Even her own parents had wanted to come to America and they had come, just as this little Spaniard had come.
One afternoon during a class discussion she had asked him just that, why? He spoke only in Spanish during these discussions. "I came for money and to study the theater. In Spain one is only able to study the theater for six months and then no more. Also the libraries in America are extensive, unlike those in Spain." "Well," she had thought, "her parents had not come for these reasons."
She had often wondered how old the Spaniard was. Some days he looked quite young, some where in his twenties, but other days-older, in his forties. On these days his otherwise handsome face could almost appear ugly. His beautiful expressive eyes would take on an almond shape and wrinkles circled them and spread across his forehead. There were some days, she felt, that the Spaniard was not happy. On theses days he could be extremely harsh with his students. She watched him carefully, until she began to wonder at herself and at the way that she would watch him. "Surely this old heart of mine feels alive again," she thought. But she put this out of her mind most of the time because she was practically a dead old woman and he was a young, handsome man.
It was true, the Spaniard was a handsome man. His dark hair curled about the nap of his neck and his voice was rich and deep. His eyes were expressive of all that he felt and this was enough to make any woman fall in love with him, which many women were, this the old woman could see. But these were not the only things that attracted the old woman to him, for there were many handsome men walking around the face of the earth and her heart had been dead for a long time, until now. Now, it was not only his physical beauty that attracted her, what she saw over a period of time was his great intelligence and his great sensitivity. These were his valuable things and even his cruelty, yes, his quick anger, could not spoil what he had been gifted with, these were the qualities that she watched day by day and grew to love.
Early in the fall it became known that the little Spaniard would return to Spain. This seemed far off but made sense to the old woman who was herself planning a return to her own people. "He will be happier," she thought, "although I will miss him."
As the school year progressed all of his students grew to love him more, although he became more frequently unhappy and there were bad days with him as well as good.
Once during the year the Spanish class met in the park for games and a picnic. There the young people played soccer. At this the little Spaniard was very good. He took off his shoes and ran in his naked feet. He ran very fast. The old woman had heard of this game but had never seen it played. She sat under a big tree with some other women. They spoke part English and part Spanish with each other. When one young man came running in from the field to rest, sweat poured from his body and he gasped for air. "You look just like an animal." the old woman had spoken to him in Spanish. The man had not understood the words. She then watched the little Spaniard run and felt sad to think that someday she would see him no more. She wondered more at herself for feeling this. Why would nature play a trick on her now, when she was a shriveled up old woman that even a blind man would not want. Some days she felt very angry over this and could only hope that the love in her heart would not show on her face, the love she had , unwillingly, for the Spaniard.
Finally the end of Spring came and the beginning of summer. All the young students were tired from school and this was especially true of the old woman. She understood enough of her language now to go back to her people unashamed that she had lived so many years in America.
There was only one sadness in her life and it cut through her with a pain that she would never have imagined possible, this pain was the handsome little Spaniard.
"Surely I will not say goodbye to him or I may cry" she thought. "And then everyone will wonder at an old woman wanting a young man." Never had life seemed so cruel. She worked quietly in her garden as she thought. She plucked the last dead buds off her rose bush and tossed them to the ground. This rosebush was her favorite, the flowers were a deep pink and they had a strong aroma. She snipped off five stems that had multiple blossoms and filled a blue china vase with them. "They never last," she spoke aloud to a white cat that played with the petals as they fell from the branch. "The pedals drop off and make a terrible mess, but the fresh ones are always beautiful." She carried the vase into the house and shut the door.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
THE INDIAN RESERVATION
Kit Carson was a German Jew
Married a squaw, had children two
When she died, he married again
Eight more children by a Mexican.
As a youth he had been a run away
At sixteen or seventeen, some would say.
He didn't want a stable life
He wanted excitement, full of strife.
Kit Carson rode across the land
Killed many an Indian by his hand.
Many an Indian tried to kill him
Those were the times, that was the whim.
Kit Carson lived by trapping fir
Many a man had felt that lure.
When the fir trade became so scarce
The trappers went looking for another place.
Many men knew the trails and ways
Of tribes of Indians and where they lay.
Many a man had squaw for wife
And children too, they had brought to life.
All Must live and find a way
The Military was in it's day.
The men had knowledge that it could use
The Indian problem to defuse.
There was the need, a man must provide
Against the tribes they began to ride.
The plan being clear the Indians must die
The plan being clear the Indians would hide.
But men like Carson were cunning and new
They knew how to conquer though being few.
They not only knew where the Indian lived,
They knew exactly where the Indian hid.
They would kill the braves, collect the tribe
To the reservation, dead and alive.
Confined forever from that day on
In that which was known as the Indian Reservation.
Married a squaw, had children two
When she died, he married again
Eight more children by a Mexican.
As a youth he had been a run away
At sixteen or seventeen, some would say.
He didn't want a stable life
He wanted excitement, full of strife.
Kit Carson rode across the land
Killed many an Indian by his hand.
Many an Indian tried to kill him
Those were the times, that was the whim.
Kit Carson lived by trapping fir
Many a man had felt that lure.
When the fir trade became so scarce
The trappers went looking for another place.
Many men knew the trails and ways
Of tribes of Indians and where they lay.
Many a man had squaw for wife
And children too, they had brought to life.
All Must live and find a way
The Military was in it's day.
The men had knowledge that it could use
The Indian problem to defuse.
There was the need, a man must provide
Against the tribes they began to ride.
The plan being clear the Indians must die
The plan being clear the Indians would hide.
But men like Carson were cunning and new
They knew how to conquer though being few.
They not only knew where the Indian lived,
They knew exactly where the Indian hid.
They would kill the braves, collect the tribe
To the reservation, dead and alive.
Confined forever from that day on
In that which was known as the Indian Reservation.
THE WILDS OF INDIAN TERRITORY
In the history of our country
Is a story of exploration
By a people newly emigrant
Ignorant of land and species.
Across the prairies and the Rockies
Along the waterways beside them
Watched by people of great multitude
Old, with ancient understanding
Watched the people newly emigrant.
Out of greed and want and wonder
Began this early expedition
To be known and be recorded
By a president known as Jefferson.
Sent explorers to the mountains
To the valleys and the rivers
To know plants-the vegetation
To know animals prolific.
Natives too were mighty curious
Never seeing white or black man
And desirous of ammunition
To take buffalo the easier
And make their homes more prosperous.
So this gentleman, this Jefferson
Third president of our nation
Roamed himself, child of the woodlands,
Roamed himself, child of plantations.
Child of the Virginia Piedmont.
Lover of nature and of all things natural
Wrote out the declaration
"That all men are created equal."
So this Thomas sent his secretary
To the wilds of Indian territory.
First to train him in the sciences.
Lewis studied plants and animals
And celestial navigation.
Lewis himself had been a soldier
And chose his friend and army captain,
A staid and steady one, a loyal one.
All through lifetime Clark was for him.
Named his first son after Lewis,
Meriwether Lewis Clark the chosen.
Took his friend on expedition
Took his friend on "The Discovery."
Listen to these ancient histories
Of the Indians and their nations
On this continent so sacred-
First to know the sacred mountains
First to know the sacred rivers
The first to hunt the first to gather
To plant the bean, squash corn and sunflower
To dig the roots and use the herbs here
For their health and for their pleasure.
Imagine endless generation
Loving earth and sky and water
Loving animal and kinsman
Before the foreign ships had landed
With the earliest invaders.
Vikings first before the Spanish
Then the Spanish, French and English.
Who were these with rifle ready,
Who were these with canon loaded,
To the people of the ancient
No beginning and no ending?
Is a story of exploration
By a people newly emigrant
Ignorant of land and species.
Across the prairies and the Rockies
Along the waterways beside them
Watched by people of great multitude
Old, with ancient understanding
Watched the people newly emigrant.
Out of greed and want and wonder
Began this early expedition
To be known and be recorded
By a president known as Jefferson.
Sent explorers to the mountains
To the valleys and the rivers
To know plants-the vegetation
To know animals prolific.
Natives too were mighty curious
Never seeing white or black man
And desirous of ammunition
To take buffalo the easier
And make their homes more prosperous.
So this gentleman, this Jefferson
Third president of our nation
Roamed himself, child of the woodlands,
Roamed himself, child of plantations.
Child of the Virginia Piedmont.
Lover of nature and of all things natural
Wrote out the declaration
"That all men are created equal."
So this Thomas sent his secretary
To the wilds of Indian territory.
First to train him in the sciences.
Lewis studied plants and animals
And celestial navigation.
Lewis himself had been a soldier
And chose his friend and army captain,
A staid and steady one, a loyal one.
All through lifetime Clark was for him.
Named his first son after Lewis,
Meriwether Lewis Clark the chosen.
Took his friend on expedition
Took his friend on "The Discovery."
Listen to these ancient histories
Of the Indians and their nations
On this continent so sacred-
First to know the sacred mountains
First to know the sacred rivers
The first to hunt the first to gather
To plant the bean, squash corn and sunflower
To dig the roots and use the herbs here
For their health and for their pleasure.
Imagine endless generation
Loving earth and sky and water
Loving animal and kinsman
Before the foreign ships had landed
With the earliest invaders.
Vikings first before the Spanish
Then the Spanish, French and English.
Who were these with rifle ready,
Who were these with canon loaded,
To the people of the ancient
No beginning and no ending?
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
ROOM 1 Orchid
The Dementia Stories
Orchid sat on the edge of the bed...staring. Her feet were resting on the side of her bed. She shared the room. Sometimes she shared the room with someone that she knew and other times with a stranger. This afternoon she knew the woman that lay asleep on the double bed across from hers.
Orchid was a small size 8. She wore the same button up cotton blouses with a brown jacket to cover and polyester slacks. She stood 5'3" and was quick of movement, busy. A pleasent woman, well bred and polite with a kind smile and soft brown eyes that met a person but then would drift away.
She lowered her feet to the floor. She wore bare feet in her black leather slip on shoes. She lifted herself off the bed, onto the floor and walked across the bedroom floor, passed Violia's bed and went on into the bathroom. About two inches of water covered the bedroom floor and the same amount flooded the bathroom. She walked back to her bed, sat down again and lifted her feet up. She slipped off her shoes and set them on her dresser drawers. They were dry and her feet and ankles were dry as well as her pant legs. She lay down on her bed with her head on the pillow and covered up with a pretty knitted afghan and closed her eyes.
When Orchid received a phone call from a friend or relative, she was eager to talk. She would arise from a seemingly deep sleep and converse with avid attention and response.
During the days and evenings, Orchid was active with "cleaning". She would go to the lunch room, in the area where the fridge, cupboards and sink were located. And the big 33 gal. plastic trash, full from the latest meal would be taken out and transported to her closet or someone elses- along with the broom and the dust pan. She would constantly be moving....moving....until bedtime. Then she would sleep. Either in her bed or sitting up in the T.V. room with her eyes closed and arms folded across her chest.
ROOM 2 Iris
The Dementia Stories
ROOM 2 Iris
Iris sat at the dinner table with the usual three women that she ate with at every meal. Feeling ill. Her eyes had a glazed and strange look, as if she wasn't in the natural world. She couldn't focus, her head hurt. She stared. The head caregiver came over to the table and spoke to her softly. She slipped a pair of dark glasses over her eyes. The women at the table were very disturbed by Iris's behavior. And the server, also.
She couldn't stand up or speak but she knew or thought that she knew that it was not her illness that made her feel sick but the medication that her brother put on her. Medication that was in round patches that she found on her arms or on her back. She thought that her brother was trying to murder her. He is killing me, he is killing me, she thought to herself. Then she lost consciousness.
She woke in her bed. She didn't know how she got there.
Iris sat at the dinner table with the usual three women that she ate with at every meal. Feeling ill. Her eyes had a glazed and strange look, as if she wasn't in the natural world. She couldn't focus, her head hurt. She stared. The head caregiver came over to the table and spoke to her softly. She slipped a pair of dark glasses over her eyes. The women at the table were very disturbed by Iris's behavior. And the server, also.
She couldn't stand up or speak but she knew or thought that she knew that it was not her illness that made her feel sick but the medication that her brother put on her. Medication that was in round patches that she found on her arms or on her back. She thought that her brother was trying to murder her. He is killing me, he is killing me, she thought to herself. Then she lost consciousness.
She woke in her bed. She didn't know how she got there.
ROOM 3 Madrone
The Dementia Stories
ROOM 3 Madrone
Madrone didn't know where he was. He was praying.
He was a small man who was neatly dressed and clean. He wore a cap with US NAVY embroidered across the bill.
He wandered from room to room and down the hallways. He wasn't sure where his room was and when someone showed him, he wouldn't go in his room, except in the middle of the night. And then he would not sleep in his bed, he would sleep in his soft recliner and he would not remove his clothes but would sleep with his clothes on and his shoes. After several weeks he began to recognize his new friends and the caregivers that had been taking care of him. He started to crack jokes and smile and demand more milk-always more milk.
Madrone didn't know where he was. He was praying.
He was a small man who was neatly dressed and clean. He wore a cap with US NAVY embroidered across the bill.
He wandered from room to room and down the hallways. He wasn't sure where his room was and when someone showed him, he wouldn't go in his room, except in the middle of the night. And then he would not sleep in his bed, he would sleep in his soft recliner and he would not remove his clothes but would sleep with his clothes on and his shoes. After several weeks he began to recognize his new friends and the caregivers that had been taking care of him. He started to crack jokes and smile and demand more milk-always more milk.
ROOM 4 Spruce
The Dementia Stories
ROOM 5 Spruce
Spruce lay on the bed in his cotton briefs, wrapped up in the top sheet. Listening to the radio. Listening to a talk show on the radio.
It was evening, the sun had set. It was a balmy September night and the window was half opened. He was trying to watch for changes in himself. The Dr. had said that there would be changes in his condition.
These people here were very far gone. Very sick. He didn't see that he was like any one of them. At the dinner table there really wasn't anyone he could carry on a conversation with. He was polite. Some evenings he just couldn't go to dinner. He just couldn't. He would stay in his room and have dinner brought to him. Some nights he would refuse his medicine.
He woke up. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was hot. He was laying in the parking lot of the facility, naked. Several people were standing over him, one was slipping his cotton briefs over his feet and ankles and then cotton slacks. "Come on, Spruce, you are going to be fine, let me help you up".
Spruce lay on the bed in his cotton briefs, wrapped up in the top sheet. Listening to the radio. Listening to a talk show on the radio.
It was evening, the sun had set. It was a balmy September night and the window was half opened. He was trying to watch for changes in himself. The Dr. had said that there would be changes in his condition.
These people here were very far gone. Very sick. He didn't see that he was like any one of them. At the dinner table there really wasn't anyone he could carry on a conversation with. He was polite. Some evenings he just couldn't go to dinner. He just couldn't. He would stay in his room and have dinner brought to him. Some nights he would refuse his medicine.
He woke up. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was hot. He was laying in the parking lot of the facility, naked. Several people were standing over him, one was slipping his cotton briefs over his feet and ankles and then cotton slacks. "Come on, Spruce, you are going to be fine, let me help you up".
ROOM 5 Lily
ROOM 6 Lily
Lily lay on her bed.
88 years old and doing well on her Aricept. She'd been out with her family to a meal the day before and was enjoying the memory.
Her day was routine. She would wake about 6a and wait for a caregiver to help her sit up, then stand up to her walker. She could walk to the toilet with the help of the walker but needed help sitting and changing her depends, which she wore as a precaution. She was continent. She had to be dressed. She would only be dressed in the same pants and the same top. The same sweater, never a different one. Duplicates hung in her closet. She knew. Her clothes had to be washed after bed time and returned by morning. She knew the duplicates and wouldn't wear them. She would instruct her caregiver to put her bed socks back into the drawer "because they get lost in the wash." " Also put my nighty back too," she would insist.
Then it was time to go to the diner and as soon as she pushed her walker out into the hall she knew her way and said good-bye to her caregiver. She would move like a little box turtle to her place at breakfast. She would find her place, need help sitting down and need help being pushed in at the table. All this would exhaust her and she would rest til' lunch in which the same routine would tax her. Some afternoons she would attend the entertainment in the main hall but more times than not she would stay in her room and have thoughts that the Aricept no doubt made possible. Every object must be exactly placed for Lily to be comfortable. Her pillows must be placed just so-her sheet pulled up to her chin, just so far and the blanket with afghan next-just so. Arranged, just so or she couldn't rest. "No, that is not right," she would say. "There, there, I think that is right.
She had a dream one night, that she and her husband were curled up in each other's arms. She felt wonderful, remembering.
Lily lay on her bed.
88 years old and doing well on her Aricept. She'd been out with her family to a meal the day before and was enjoying the memory.
Her day was routine. She would wake about 6a and wait for a caregiver to help her sit up, then stand up to her walker. She could walk to the toilet with the help of the walker but needed help sitting and changing her depends, which she wore as a precaution. She was continent. She had to be dressed. She would only be dressed in the same pants and the same top. The same sweater, never a different one. Duplicates hung in her closet. She knew. Her clothes had to be washed after bed time and returned by morning. She knew the duplicates and wouldn't wear them. She would instruct her caregiver to put her bed socks back into the drawer "because they get lost in the wash." " Also put my nighty back too," she would insist.
Then it was time to go to the diner and as soon as she pushed her walker out into the hall she knew her way and said good-bye to her caregiver. She would move like a little box turtle to her place at breakfast. She would find her place, need help sitting down and need help being pushed in at the table. All this would exhaust her and she would rest til' lunch in which the same routine would tax her. Some afternoons she would attend the entertainment in the main hall but more times than not she would stay in her room and have thoughts that the Aricept no doubt made possible. Every object must be exactly placed for Lily to be comfortable. Her pillows must be placed just so-her sheet pulled up to her chin, just so far and the blanket with afghan next-just so. Arranged, just so or she couldn't rest. "No, that is not right," she would say. "There, there, I think that is right.
She had a dream one night, that she and her husband were curled up in each other's arms. She felt wonderful, remembering.
ROOM 6 Willow
The Dementia Stories
ROOM 7 Willow
*
*
Willow sat in the chair that was next to the T.V. He was emaciated. He looked like an old balloon that had been blown up and after a time had deflated. He just sat there quietly. "I don't know where I am," he said.
*
He said this again to a caregiver as she walked into the room.
*
"I know where you are," she said matter of factly. "I know who you are and where you are. You are safe. I am taking care of you. And I love you."
*
He looked tired, defeated and resigned.
*
"I don't know where I am."
*
*
Willow sat in the chair that was next to the T.V. He was emaciated. He looked like an old balloon that had been blown up and after a time had deflated. He just sat there quietly. "I don't know where I am," he said.
*
He said this again to a caregiver as she walked into the room.
*
"I know where you are," she said matter of factly. "I know who you are and where you are. You are safe. I am taking care of you. And I love you."
*
He looked tired, defeated and resigned.
*
"I don't know where I am."
Sunday, November 16, 2014
ROOM 7 Blossom
The Dementia Stories
She was aimlessly wondering around her bedroom. Not looking for anything, just moving around. The caregiver opening the bedroom door, made eye contact with her and smiling, said "hello".
*
"Oh, hello," Blossom said. "I thought I was alone. Is there anyone else here. I mean, here, anywhere?"
*
"Why yes. Everyone is listening to music. Would you like to listen to some music? Everyone is in the main hall. Would you like to be with them?"
*
"Why yes I would," Blossom said. There were tears in her eyes and she looked frightened. "I thought that I might be the only one.......................here."
*
"Lets go to the bathroom,"the caregiver took Blossom to the bathroom, slipped her depends and polyester slacks down, Blossom sat down on the toilet. She was "dirty" and her blouse was wet and needed changing. The kind person that cared for her changed these wet and dirty clothes and put her in a warm clean outfit. When she was ready to go, they walked, arm in arm down several halls to the place where most of the other residences were congregated. The feeling of aloneness was gone and being with others gave a sense of humanity.
*
"Would you like to sit here Blossom?" "Would you like some punch and a cookie?"
She was aimlessly wondering around her bedroom. Not looking for anything, just moving around. The caregiver opening the bedroom door, made eye contact with her and smiling, said "hello".
*
"Oh, hello," Blossom said. "I thought I was alone. Is there anyone else here. I mean, here, anywhere?"
*
"Why yes. Everyone is listening to music. Would you like to listen to some music? Everyone is in the main hall. Would you like to be with them?"
*
"Why yes I would," Blossom said. There were tears in her eyes and she looked frightened. "I thought that I might be the only one.......................here."
*
"Lets go to the bathroom,"the caregiver took Blossom to the bathroom, slipped her depends and polyester slacks down, Blossom sat down on the toilet. She was "dirty" and her blouse was wet and needed changing. The kind person that cared for her changed these wet and dirty clothes and put her in a warm clean outfit. When she was ready to go, they walked, arm in arm down several halls to the place where most of the other residences were congregated. The feeling of aloneness was gone and being with others gave a sense of humanity.
*
"Would you like to sit here Blossom?" "Would you like some punch and a cookie?"
Friday, October 31, 2014
MOUNTAIN JOURNAL 22 DAYS in 2008
 |
| MOUNTAIN JOURNAL 22 DAYS |
AUGUST 10
 | |
| my Olivia |
 | |
| Sherman's tent |
Camped at Millers 535 and woke up with the dawn. I must have fallen asleep at 10p and did not hear my night alarm go off. I putzed around-got my supplies in my tent and arranged them. I wore my woolens last night. This morning cut one of my plastic rolls and covered the tent for to retain body heat. Washed myself, brushed teeth and washed my socks out in the left over water. I guessed 8a and when I looked at my clock it was 8 past 8. My view is of a field or swamp. There is a dry creek full of big black rocks. Some horsewomen said the last time they rode by, it was running high and fast. I wonder when that was.
There are yellow, white and purple wildflowers and something with red berries. Chip monks and birds, dogs and horses. PM I pack up and hike to Clackamas Spring.
What a work day! I think that I will stay here-no more moving. I realize that my pack is too heavy to hike the trail.
This morning I was up before the birds-so waited for them to get up. I went to Clackamas Lake Campgrounds and got water. Walked back to the trail point. It didn't take me long without my heavy pack. I fixed pea soup and rinsed out socks and clothes in the lake. Took my bucket and soaked bark.
The noon was hot so I sat by the lake. I watched ducks and low and behold there was a huckleberry bush growing right in front of me. I picked moss off of the branches of the trees near by
and took my machete to the bark. I need to wash the tent tomorrow. First the tent and then the rain cover.
The following day I rinsed the tent and rain cover and canvas ground cover. I washed a bunch of clothes and the sun dried them.
I am very nearly out of water.
A couple came by my site and enjoyed the beauty of the spring. They had me take pictures of them, they really knew how to pose.
I was warm this morning when I awoke. Maybe the plastic cover or maybe just the temperature. I will get water tomorrow. I invented a 'stone stove,' an arrangement of stones around a candle so the pan can sit over the flame. I had nice warm soup for breakfast. My campsite feels so clean...what a gift this is, this being outside in the creation.
Thursday 14, 2008
It is almost 10a 9:45 to be exact. How lazy I am.
The camp is clean. The sun is shinning. I have three more weeks in this beauty.
I had a nightmare last night, old people, in a dark place-they hadn't had their pants changed for days, maybe weeks. Those poor old people.
I moved my camp to a big, fallen tree, lower in the forest so I have ultimate privacy. The ground under my tent is soft and it seems warmer. I may have more of a chance to see wild life. The work of beavers teeth are on the trees but I have seen no beavers yet. The dragon flies are aggressive.
I took a short, 30 minute hike south on the PCT. Still saw signs of man-an old service road with orange ties around certain trees to mark them for harvest is my guess.
AUGUST 15 (nineteen more days on the trail)
+ camped on the lake by a spring, close to fresh water at the campground.
- brought too much stuff to carry, so I couldn't hike the PCT
RULE 1 stay in bed until the sun heats up the tent. bring bowl of water in the tent and strip and wash up. feel good about yourself, start the day clean! pour wash water into 5 gal. bucket with soap and wash dirty clothes. brush teeth make tea measure out nuts and fruit for the day reconstitute bean soup for breakfast. I am starting my day out very tidy!! I will take a picture of my space then the tent then the site.
I think that it would be fun to make a kit for the little kids. Back pack/mummy bag/canteen/wind-up lantern/back packing tent/goodies-candy bars, nuts, fruit and coco maybe apple juice to reconstitute/a writing and drawing journal and pen/lots of pens and coloured pencils to draw with.
PM of the fifteenth
Just met Ningia Tortoise down by the spring. He has a little pen-like instrument that kills Giardia. One liter in 90 seconds he says. A solar operated thing. (later I find it is laser when I purchase one)
He is camping where I camped the past few nights. He suggested peanut butter, pasta and garlic and olive oil. He has been on the trail sence April. Started on the Cal/Mex border.
AUGUST 16
I think I will pack up and make toward Timothy Lake.
This is my pack arrangement-top of pack I have my tent then clothes, small heavy stuff, night clothes, books then food then sleeping bag. (when I did hike I took no books, wore one pair of shorts and packed long pants and four blouses, wore one blouse and tied a wool sweater around my hips. Left all small heavy stuff under trees and behind rocks, but that came two years after). I changed my mind about Timothy Lake and stayed put. I cleaned my campsite. I found a new spring closer to my campsite and built a table of sorts, stacking wood. It is beautiful here. Lots of water.
AUGUST 17 SUNDAY
Yesterday was hot! I imagine it boiling in the Willamette Valley. Last night I slept in my halter top and shorts. It was still and warm. I wanted it to rain. I heard a thunder storm in the distance. I listened to the sounds of the forest. I heard a deep voice, an animal's voice, going deeper and deeper into the forest. I saw the rear of a big deer butt running away from me. She saw me first. WATER 1 gal. per day. NUTS 1 cup per day. DRIED FRUIT .5 cup per day. OATMEAL .5 cup per day. MILK 1 or 2 cups per. day. 4 dried figs for vit B6 and magnesium.
Last night I had a significant dream that I remember and that had to do with my real life. In one dream I worked in a restaurant. There was a lot of machinery that I kept making mistakes in using. And I was slow, I couldn't keep up with the work. I'd get preoccupied with the machinery and couldn't get to the customers. I couldn't do the work anymore.
The next dream I was with a group of women and there were men in the dream too, and sometimes a school bus with children. There was a friendly dog too. And a patriotic ceremony where certain women got up and went through a ritual-much like saluting the flag. I said, "Who are those women?" and someone said, "That is what this gathering is about, to honor those women." In my mind, it was about gardening. I thought, because of my interest, I am in the wrong place again, among people that are interested in what I am interested in, but the whole event is about something more, something more than gardening. And I don't belong here. And I will be more careful from here on out.
I think that it is going to be a hot one again. Sunday, how quiet it is. No riders circling Millers Rd. A thunderstorm is threatening so maybe that is why it is 5:29p. I woke,did my chores, washed my hair and self, washed and rinsed my clothes and poured the dirty water over bathroom places to wash out any smell. I hiked up to the intersection of the trails and met two hikers who were there. A man and a woman. He called his woman Cruiser and we talked about food on the trail and the experiences that they had had. They were hiking the PCT for the first time, starting from the California/Mexican border but were Easterners starting from Boston. They had been on the trail for four months, destination Canada. About 30ish, a real cute couple. They talked a lot about how it was a 'green tunnel' coming from Mt. Jefferson. How Mt. Jefferson still had snow on the trail, but was easy to find. (He kept lathering tortillas with peanut butter). They didn't think much about nutrients or calories. They averaged 20 miles per day and said that they started out doing 12 miles a day at the beginning. She said that she grew up hiking the North Carolina trails and just knew she wanted to hike this one. Both had hiked the appalachian trail and they were proud of it!
His trail name was 'Reason'. He was a software professional and she worked for art galleries, having a B.A. degree. They told me that they had stayed in many Trail Angel's homes and that at one place in California the trail angels serviced up to 50 hikers at a time.
They said that they had two experiences with bears. One was just walking along and one while they were cooking dinner. Two bears sat and watched them for a while and then started to circle and they were forced to scare it away. I forgot to asked how. They had a lot to say about bears, too much to write. They actually talked quite a lot. We said our goodbyes at 2:15p. They said that the food that they carried had to equal 100 cal. per oz, and that they only carried four days food at a time.
I never ran into a horse rider to give Olivia's phone number to. Tomorrow I will get a message to the kids that I am fine and happy.
MONDAY AUGUST 18 16 more days on the trail
I am almost out of drinking water. Yesterday afternoon the thunder and lightening began and lasted til this morning. I opened up my rain cover for more light. I will go out for water, just for something to do. I tried to make my tent more water friendly-spread one of my plastic sheets across the entrance and lifted the rain cover with sticks and bungee cords. Went to the spring for a bucket of water. Then I went to the campground for drinking water. I found a tent pin on the ground and brought it back to add to Sherman's collection. Rain beginning again. I hear the traffic on 57 and the horsemen talking, the creaking of the trees, the shatter of the chip monks, yelling. I brew some green tea.
Thru-hikers just pass by about 5:06p "I hiked with them past Donners Pass and they went on. (I heard them say) 150 miles in four days. I liked hiking with them, even though I didn't hike with them a long time."
Last night I dreamt about Carl and Laurie. We were dancing and laughing with old friends. Really having a merry time-they were young. Of course I was young too.
TUESDAY AUGUST 19 15 more days on the trail
I came to the forest to be healed. The trees, water and sky took my sickness away. The wildlife too, conspire to make me well.
I want to market a product by the name of FOREST CAKE.
The weather is windy and dry, but not warm enough.
About 1:13p I went up at the intersection of trails and waited until 4:30 to connect with a horse rider to get an o.k. message to Olivia. No rider. At about 1:45 John came walking out of the woods, a very nice man, just spending a week hiking, he had spent the night at Warm Springs River and said that it was beautiful. Around two-ish GQ came out of the forest. An Israeli that started from the California/Mexico border in April. He told me that about 500 start there and half that make it to Canada. He had a flippant attitude about water safety. He made some remark about running the water through a bandana. A bit later a perky young yuppy hiking from Ashland, spoke briefly. She was all business, said her name was Rachel. Very nice, just on her way. She seemed afraid to me, but that was just an impression. I dreamt last night about oatmeal with raisins, nuts, and milk. I have this meal and I wondered that I wouldn't dream about stuffed turkey instead.
WEDNESDAY AUGUST 20 14 more days on the trail
The rain has not let up. It started about 5p yesterday. It is now 10:09a. I had a nice breakfast of milk, fruit and nuts. I am reading the book of Acts. I am glad that the Bible is sustaining.
I dreamt that I was camping and I woke up and someone with a lot of 'stuff' that he had brought in a van was all over the ground around my campsite. His name was Eric. There were two women in the dream. All three were wealthy.
11:45 the weather breaks. I take care of business-tidy up-wash my breakfast dish. Hike up for drinking water. Find a small scull off the trail and bring it back to camp. (Later I take it into the taxidermy on Foster in Portland and the taxidermist tells me that it is a fawn. The hole in the the scull is not a bullet hole but a hole made from a cougar's tooth.) I make some tea. Raining again 12:14. Just enough time to take care of things. Lunch is .5 cup dried fruit nuts and seeds. Back to Saul of Tarsus, his baptism in Damascus.
THURSDAY AUGUST 21
Last night was a silhouette show on the sides of the tent. There must have a full moon, the light was bright like the headlights of a car. The wind blew through the trees and the sound of the swaying trees was sublime. By morning all was calm, pretty much chilly though, no sun, sometimes a sprinkle. The hikers are back out on the trail, trying to make time, bundled up in rain gear. I hear them or see them when I go outside my tent.
I got up-went outside, moved my clothes line and made it out of bungee cords farther away from camp. Started a shelter out of thick branches against a fallen tree. Came back in the tent. Chilly. A bird landed on the tent. I take my machete and bang it on the floor of the tent. I would like to have a big green salad, a thick slice of flax seed bread with heaps of butter and a glass of apricot juice. YUM! Next year I need to pack B vitamins. The sun is honestly trying.....but I feel chilled to the bone. I must have been awake a long time last night.
FRIDAY AUGUST 22
Well, the sun is not doing a good job warming up. Ate breakfast and am drinking my tea. I am gathering the things in the tent into the backpack so I can tip the tent up and clean it out. I am considering leaving the heavy things hidden in the brush here and hiking on to Warm Springs River. I took a long walk around Clackamas Lake. It was a nice walk, I walked through Joe Graham's horse camp and over to the Old Ranger Station and visited with the Ranger a long time about the history of the place and got a brochure. He told me to go to the horse camp and the camp hosts there go back to town every night and they could call Olivia. The little white truck with '2000 trails' on it. The Ranger said that it was 36 degrees this morning. The fire in the wood stove was still warm in the station. It was about 2:30p
My pack is still too heavy to hike 8 miles. But I wonder what it is like to walk a 'green tunnel.'
The forest was gorgeous today. The weather warmed up. I spread my sleeping bag over the limb of a tree to dry it out. No wonder I felt chilled. 36 degrees-wow!
SATURDAY AUGUST 23
Last night was really cold. I struggled all night against it. Even though I had my woolen long johns, sport pant, woolen sweater and leather jacket. I was still cold all night. It just went through me. I think I will get up and work on my shelter to warm up. When the sun heats my tent I will bathe then.
I can't believe that the kids found me today. It was a miracle and a surprise and a relief. Olivia brought me candy, lettuce, apples and bananas, washys, gum, toilet paper, cola, crackers, pens. She is a good daughter to bring me good things and they are a blessing to come and find me. It was so good to see little Charlie, too. And Sherman, who loves the outdoors and was wearing a superman hat, whose S probably really stands for 'son-in-law'.
I had just washed out Sherman's tent, clipped the tent on the frame, tipped it on it's side. I sat on a log drinking hot tea and then I heard, "Mom, mom." There was Olivia coming off the trail to me. Those kids just headed out to the woods to find me because they were afraid of the storm. "I called the Ranger and tried to get him to find you, but he said if you didn't come back on the date you planned, he would look for you then." I showed them a beautiful spot by the lake I had found. There were trees chewed down by the beavers and huckleberries were fat and ready to eat. We spent the afternoon together, then they left. Sherman had to work that evening. What a good time!
I have been thinking a lot about Kimmie and how that little girl loves the woods.l How she took me to the woods by her house out there in Fern Ridge that day and we had a fun time. I guess she will be six years old come September and as much as I have tried I have not spent much time with that little girl-my grand daughter.
SUNDAY AUGUST 24
I feel kind of punk today. Well, I am disappointed that I didn't get to hike.
MONDAY AUGUST 25
The soft fingers of the rain woke me. At daylight I fixed a quart of milk with 1 tea. sugar, drank down two cups and poured .5 cup oatmeal into my vessel, set aside. Ate a red apple that Olivia brought me.
I spread a sheet of plastic between the tent and rain cover and another over my sleeping bag, so I was warm last night. I will wait for the sun to shine. I built a stone stove, but it was so damp and wet that I decided to make a stick fire and kept it going a lot of the day. I brought a warm rock in the tent from the fire and it is heating my back and was warming my feet. It is great.
TUESDAY 26
seven more days on the trail
It feels and looks like a warmer day. The sun is peaking in the bottom of my tent and it is only a little after 8a. I am going to work on a bigger stone stove and move my table to a different place. Bring stones up from the spring.
In the early evening two men came to my camp to say that they were PCT hikers. In a demanding tone, I might add. They had been hiking all day and were just exhausted. One had little bottles of water hanging all over him like tree ornaments. I felt sorry for them but I wasn't sharing my camp with two strange men. "Well," said the young one, "it looks like you have THE camp!" I think they thought that I was a Trail Angel, and was there just for them. (Well, I thought, I made it, go make your own.) They continued down the trail.
WEDNESDAY 27 6 more days on the trail
I am wishing that this camping experience would end. It is raining again today. We will see what the day brings......
THURSDAY 28
This morning was still and dry. I got up early, built a morning fire. I got busy cleaning my camp. Emptied the tent, spread things out to dry. I did a lot of hard work. Got more water from the spring and drinking water from the campground.
I cooked oatmeal with raisins, nuts and pumpkin seeds and milk and had a deliciously cooked breakfast. It will be one meal a day now til the Youngs come for me. I am fine, it will be o.k. There seem to be more hikers on the trail. Last night a loud mouth bunch came by about dark. They shined a light by my tent. They walked all over the forest, up Miller's trail and along the POT. Finally they moved on.
All the folks have been quiet souls up to now. Quiet, gentle souls.
I finally was able to dry out my sleeping bag over the hot rocks of my morning fire. I had a wonderful day today. I laid in the sun on my plastic sun deck. My plastic sheet. The sun was wonderful. The riders are out on the trails. Lots of them today.
IT IS NOW FRIDAY AUGUST 29 four more days on the trail. Unless they come today, which would be nice.
A hiker just walked by me tent this am. Which felt very scary. What a rude person.
I sat up at the trail head and met four hikers. Sweet Pea and Tourist, two gals that started from Olallie Lake. A couple, man and woman were headed south to the Warm Springs River and had a Basset Hound and a Golden Lab on a leash. (Tree girl is now Huckleberrieblue)
The day was warm and green and windy and wonderful. I walked around the lake again and walked back up to the trail head and lay down on a fallen tree and watched the branches of the tall pines wave in the wind. A helicopter flu low and I saw an Eagle and smaller birds-the forest is full of birds. The Woodpeckers were busy today and I hadn't noticed them much before. I saw a lot of little orange butterflies. I am not sure they are monarchs. I spoke to horsemen riding on the trail and a woman walking with two small children from the Clackamas camp ground. The horses went around and around today, one group after another. I walked by the old Ranger building and there were a lot of tourest for him to talk to. I took photos of Clackamas Meadow and finished off my raisins and only have pumpkin seeds left. Those and oatmeal and dried milk and tea.
SATURDAY AUGUST 30
This morning was spent washing out clothes and keeping the fire burning. I let the fire go out and the air and wind was cold although the day was sunny. Before starting another fire I chopped wood until I got tired and stacked it in my log table. I had a wonderful day! I just poured water on the fire and covered it with dirt. I brought in a hot rock and it is wrapped in muslin and I am resting on it as I write this journal. When I dug my fire pit a few days ago, I dug it about 8 inches deep and two feet in diameter. It is oblong shaped and rocks line the sides and edges with openings at each end for vent.
No one bothered me today, thank goodness. They kept to their own business, what ever it was. Hikers kept straight on the trail. I kept thinking about Colin Fletcher and how he liked to go it alone. I don't think that he was the PCT hiker type. Maybe I don't know enough about thru-hiking. I know that he is a great inspiration for many hikers, including myself, just a solitary camper.
Well, it is only 5:33p but I am bushed.
Huckleberrieblue signs off for the day!
Thursday, October 30, 2014
THE VIOLIN
The
women lived alone in the house with her two children. In the evenings
the house was very dark. Her life had been difficult and she was no
longer young. She had been married many times and had given birth to
many children. Two of her children were still young.
There was only one thing in their lives that brought them happiness and that was her beautiful violin. She kept it in a case, safely wrapped in a black silk scarf.
When she gently lifted the violin from the case, the black scarf slid from the violin to the floor.
She
would say to the children, "you must treat a beautiful instrument with
care. Do not break the rosin and do not touch the strings of the bow."
Then she would raise the violin and draw the bow across the strings of
the instrument.
The woman appeared very beautiful and strange as she played the violin. The children believed that the music caused the shadows to dance on the walls.
The boy would take the black silk scarf and toss it up into the air. It would extend across the dark room like a great, black shadow.
There was only one thing in their lives that brought them happiness and that was her beautiful violin. She kept it in a case, safely wrapped in a black silk scarf.
When she gently lifted the violin from the case, the black scarf slid from the violin to the floor.
She
would say to the children, "you must treat a beautiful instrument with
care. Do not break the rosin and do not touch the strings of the bow."
Then she would raise the violin and draw the bow across the strings of
the instrument.The woman appeared very beautiful and strange as she played the violin. The children believed that the music caused the shadows to dance on the walls.
The boy would take the black silk scarf and toss it up into the air. It would extend across the dark room like a great, black shadow.
THE BROKEN PROMISE
The
Oregon sky made a small, round canopy over the snow-capped mountains.
The puffy clouds, each of a different value, layered the sky and
emphasized the heaviness of the atmosphere that afternoon. The flowing
rivers, the cascading water-falls, the torrents that bathe the meadows,
and the ice-covered lakes combine with the animal creation to make up that wild, untamed geography that is Oregon.
*
The woman stood by the kitchen window and viewed this vast wilderness with her mind's eye. Hiking over trails through the summer forests, the woman thought of the wild flowers and berries that she had picked during adventures with her husband. Winter, spring, summer and fall, this was Oregon and if there was poverty it was not in its rich scenery and natural resources.
*
Suddenly overcome with extreme exhaustion, the woman carried her heavy body from the kitchen to the next room. The room was practically empty except for an over stuffed chair where the woman now sank. The walls and linoleum were yellowed from age and neglect. A naked light bulb hung from the high ceiling. It was an eerie light that filled this room. The cold glare gave the impression of traveling out toward some undetermined destination, but was actually entrapped by the surrounding walls. If there was poverty in Oregon, it could be found in this room.
*
In reality the woman was young, although her hair was streaked with grey and there was a look in her eye of a fire gone out, of a certain resignation which made her appear older than her years. She thanked heaven that her other child was asleep. She felt the still lump of a baby beneath her heartbeat. She looked toward the window; all was December fog and snow had begun to drift down in gentle, white flakes. She closed her eyes and wished that she could hibernate.
*
The young man was beautiful. His clear skin was like a child's skin. His yellow hair thick and unruly. His pale blue eyes were child-like. He had been working in an orchard all morning, but the snow had driven him out. He did love the orchard and during every one of it's seasons, he would work. This particular season he was pruning, which he had been doing since late October and would continue until February, when the sap would begin to run. After this, he wold cultivate and spray. And when the little fruits would form so delicately on the branches, he would thin them out so that the fruit could grow big and be spacious for picking. Then the summer would come and it would be the time to irrigate.
*
The season of pruning he liked because it was quiet work and he got extra time off, like today, on account of the weather. Many days he worked in the orchard alone, which he loved. He liked to irrigate for the same reasons. After starting the water flow he could lay back under a tree and read and sleep and wait for the water to nourish the thirsty trees. This was a quiet man who loved the rich earth and all of it's return. As he drove home the snow lay momentarily on the windshield and formed a white crust at the edges.
*
It is true that the man was poor. He loved the orchard, but the orchard gave back little money for it's care. The man did not see himself as poor, although he knew he had no money. No, the man thought himself rich. He had his life, which he had nearly lost in a senseless war, but, he did not want to think of that now. The snow helped cool his memory. He was home. In a land that his grandparents had helped settle nearly one hundred years ago. He had a wife and a child and another child was on the way.
*
On this day he had been paid the meager amount that fed and sheltered his family with a bit more than usual. This he planned to give his wife, so that she could add to the little things she was sewing for their baby. Every little garment she made by hand, folded carefully and placed in the bottom most drawer of her dresser.
*
Yes, he imagined this scene as he drove his old truck along the road. The streets were slick. He felt freezing cold as he pulled up in front of the old white house. Up to the knees, his jeans were covered with thick mud. His wife would scrape the mud clear, before washing them. This he took for granted, along with 4 a.m. breakfasts. Life in the orchard began early and a man became hungry too soon. She would pack him a huge lunch box full of good things to eat, to his liking. These things he accepted from her without much thought as to what her life was day by day. But neither could she imagine his.
*
He parked the truck, opened the door and slid out into an even colder environment. He would be happy to rid himself of his wet clothes. He would have his wife draw him a hot bath.
*
With this pleasant thought in mind he opened the gate, walked up the walk and entered the warm, if barren, living room. It was dark, but the adjoining room was white from the glare of a bare light. In the corner of the room sat his wife, asleep, heavy with child.
*
She slowly opened her eyes and looked silently at her young husband and tried to give a smile but felt the flat expression appearing over her face. He seemed quite happy and energetic. This made her feel more like the hibernating bear that she imagined.
*
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the handful of bills that he had been paid just that afternoon. "There's extra for the baby," he said.
*
She looked into his pale blue eyes. She could not say what she had been told early that morning. She could not say, "Our baby is dead."
The woman stood by the kitchen window and viewed this vast wilderness with her mind's eye. Hiking over trails through the summer forests, the woman thought of the wild flowers and berries that she had picked during adventures with her husband. Winter, spring, summer and fall, this was Oregon and if there was poverty it was not in its rich scenery and natural resources.
*
Suddenly overcome with extreme exhaustion, the woman carried her heavy body from the kitchen to the next room. The room was practically empty except for an over stuffed chair where the woman now sank. The walls and linoleum were yellowed from age and neglect. A naked light bulb hung from the high ceiling. It was an eerie light that filled this room. The cold glare gave the impression of traveling out toward some undetermined destination, but was actually entrapped by the surrounding walls. If there was poverty in Oregon, it could be found in this room.
*
In reality the woman was young, although her hair was streaked with grey and there was a look in her eye of a fire gone out, of a certain resignation which made her appear older than her years. She thanked heaven that her other child was asleep. She felt the still lump of a baby beneath her heartbeat. She looked toward the window; all was December fog and snow had begun to drift down in gentle, white flakes. She closed her eyes and wished that she could hibernate.
*
The young man was beautiful. His clear skin was like a child's skin. His yellow hair thick and unruly. His pale blue eyes were child-like. He had been working in an orchard all morning, but the snow had driven him out. He did love the orchard and during every one of it's seasons, he would work. This particular season he was pruning, which he had been doing since late October and would continue until February, when the sap would begin to run. After this, he wold cultivate and spray. And when the little fruits would form so delicately on the branches, he would thin them out so that the fruit could grow big and be spacious for picking. Then the summer would come and it would be the time to irrigate.
*
The season of pruning he liked because it was quiet work and he got extra time off, like today, on account of the weather. Many days he worked in the orchard alone, which he loved. He liked to irrigate for the same reasons. After starting the water flow he could lay back under a tree and read and sleep and wait for the water to nourish the thirsty trees. This was a quiet man who loved the rich earth and all of it's return. As he drove home the snow lay momentarily on the windshield and formed a white crust at the edges.
*
It is true that the man was poor. He loved the orchard, but the orchard gave back little money for it's care. The man did not see himself as poor, although he knew he had no money. No, the man thought himself rich. He had his life, which he had nearly lost in a senseless war, but, he did not want to think of that now. The snow helped cool his memory. He was home. In a land that his grandparents had helped settle nearly one hundred years ago. He had a wife and a child and another child was on the way.
*
On this day he had been paid the meager amount that fed and sheltered his family with a bit more than usual. This he planned to give his wife, so that she could add to the little things she was sewing for their baby. Every little garment she made by hand, folded carefully and placed in the bottom most drawer of her dresser.
*
Yes, he imagined this scene as he drove his old truck along the road. The streets were slick. He felt freezing cold as he pulled up in front of the old white house. Up to the knees, his jeans were covered with thick mud. His wife would scrape the mud clear, before washing them. This he took for granted, along with 4 a.m. breakfasts. Life in the orchard began early and a man became hungry too soon. She would pack him a huge lunch box full of good things to eat, to his liking. These things he accepted from her without much thought as to what her life was day by day. But neither could she imagine his.
*
He parked the truck, opened the door and slid out into an even colder environment. He would be happy to rid himself of his wet clothes. He would have his wife draw him a hot bath.
*
With this pleasant thought in mind he opened the gate, walked up the walk and entered the warm, if barren, living room. It was dark, but the adjoining room was white from the glare of a bare light. In the corner of the room sat his wife, asleep, heavy with child.
*
She slowly opened her eyes and looked silently at her young husband and tried to give a smile but felt the flat expression appearing over her face. He seemed quite happy and energetic. This made her feel more like the hibernating bear that she imagined.
*
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the handful of bills that he had been paid just that afternoon. "There's extra for the baby," he said.
*
She looked into his pale blue eyes. She could not say what she had been told early that morning. She could not say, "Our baby is dead."
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