No News Is…Well…No News

So what do you do while waiting for the pathology on a biopsy to be done?  Sounds like this could be an intro to a joke, but I could not come up with one, but others have, so here is one I thought was humorous…

Five doctors went duck hunting one day. Included in the group were a GP, a pediatrician, a psychiatrist, a surgeon and a pathologist.

After a time, a bird came winging overhead. The first to react was the GP who raised his shotgun, but then hesitated.

"I'm not quite sure it's a duck," he said, "I think that I will have to get a second opinion." And of course by that time, the bird was long gone.

Another bird appeared in the sky thereafter. This time, the pediatrician drew a bead on it. He too, however, was unsure if it was really a duck in his sights and besides, it might have babies. "I'll have to do some more investigations," he muttered, as the creature made good its escape.

Next to spy a bird flying was the sharp-eyed psychiatrist. Shotgun shouldered, he was more certain of his intended prey's identity. "Now, I know it's a duck, but does it know it's a duck?" The fortunate bird disappeared while the fellow wrestled with this dilemma.

Finally, a fourth fowl sped past and this time the surgeon's weapon pointed skywards. BOOM!! The surgeon lowered his smoking gun and turned nonchalantly to the pathologist beside him. "Go see if that was a duck, will you?"

So this helps me understand some of the jobs of the doctors I met at the hospital.  The pathologist does all the work figuring out what is causing things to happen (tissue diagnosis), kind of like a crime scene investigator.  So whatever was seen in the MRI that was concerning, a piece of it was taken (the biopsy) and the pathologist determines what it is, so it can be dealt with.  So we wait.

So what has happened that I haven’t shared with you yet?  The news that hasn’t made the news yet, if you will.  Are you ready?  We sold the “doghouse!”  If you have not been paying attention, the doghouse refers to our 5^th wheel trailer we bought to travel with the dogs.  It gave us plenty of room not to trip over one another while moving about inside it and gave us plenty of storage for traveling, including all the dog stuff, so it became known as the doghouse…not because it is where I would spend my time when my welcome was warn out around Miki.  That would be called Hell!  Just teasing Mik.

So yes, the doghouse is gone, to a lovely older couple from Junction City, KS.  The back story is, a couple of months ago now, we both came to the conclusion that our priorities have changed.  We have not made any attempt to try and find seasonal work at a national park, which we thought we might.  We have not been on the road for extended periods of time, which we thought we might.  And there are things we enjoy being “home” for that have made our traveling less extensive at this point.  Miki continues to enjoy her energy work with her clients and I enjoy being retired, which interprets to playing golf and anything else whenever I want.  When I put it that way, I sound like a bratty baby…but I guess I am good with that.

So how do you sell a 38’ home on wheels?  You look to the internet for clues.  I looked around for comparable trailers, prices, and other helpful pieces, like would I consider delivering it to the new owners?  So the waters were tested on Craigslist, since I knew not what I was doing.  It is pretty basic and not hard to list it with some photos, inside and out.  This was all done the week prior to Miki’s admittance into the hospital.

In my selling research (Craigslist and eBay), it became apparent I was not the only one trying to unload an RV.  There were pages and pages of others doing the same thing, so why would anyone want mine over another’s?  I was burrowing in for the long haul.  The first day we checked into the hospital, I got a call from a couple from Kansas, inquiring about our trailer, this is less than a week after I posted the ad on Craigslist.  I excused myself from the hospital room and went into the hallway to be alone, except for the patient monitors beeping and chirping about.  So I found myself on a gurney at the end of the hall, talking fiberglass, pin weight, and slide outs.  Remember, that morning brought us an MRI that got the doctors all excited, we were hurried off (sort of) to a hospital, and now I have turned into a salesman doing business on the 4^th floor of a hospital.  I am torn in two directions because I want to be with Miki as she settles into room 427 and yet I never thought I would get a serious buyer on the other end of my phone, let alone in less than a week.  They were coming to KC in a couple of days and would like to see it.  Fine.

The next day I get a call from the interested party from Kansas.  They were on their way to KC to see two other trailers they saw on Craigslist and wanted to see the trailer if it could be arranged.  I happened to be at home from the hospital tending to the dogs when I received the call.  They were 30 minutes out and while I wet my pants, I gave them directions to the house.

Now what I haven’t told you yet, is the trailer has been covered up since last November after we put it to bed, following our last trip.  It is parked next to the house in a somewhat tight spot that Miki has always helped me get in and out of.  Directing me, so as to not back over the fence, scrape the house, or take out our gas meter.  I am not going to relate this situation to those people that have been caught up in desperate times, when they exhibit superhuman qualities like strength to lift an automobile off of some poor sap that didn’t correctly support his car on jacks to start with, but what I did in 30 minutes to prepare my RV for showing was pretty impressive.  If to no one else, then to ME!

I climbed up on the trailer’s roof, after unbuckling the cover straps, thinking please don’t let me fall, only to become Miki’s next door neighbor in the hospital.  I threw off the cover to the side.  Hooked up the trailer to the truck.  Gingerly pulled it out without destroying the fence.  Parked it in the driveway and set it up for showing, just as they arrived.  Despite the fact I looked as though I’d just showered with my clothes on, I gave them the tour and then left them alone for a few minutes to marvel over our doghouse and snuck in to put on some fresh deodorant.  They seemed genuinely interested, but soon left to go see the other trailers on their list.

I showered and headed back to the hospital, as Miki has no clue what has just transpired.  She thinks I just went home to do dog stuff.  Shortly after arriving back at the hospital and bringing Miki up to speed, I get a phone call from my new Kansas friends and they make us an offer…we do the car sales “dance” for a minute…we come to an agreed price and we are soon to be doghouse-less.

They want to come back and get it Friday (it is now Wednesday…keep up) and they will wire the money to our bank.  Thursday morning I get a call from the new owners.  We get the money transfer details squared away and they are on their way to pick it up.  It is THURSDAY…I thought they were coming FRIDAY.  That is a 24 hour difference for me to get it ready, the stuff we are keeping out of it, and dig up the stuff we take out of it for the winter back into it.  Some of you remember my wife Miki, she is in the hospital.  I should be there with her!  But instead, I leave in the afternoon to head home and make this final.

I get home and say goodbye to the doghouse, just as the Kansans pull up with their big Dodge dually.  Since they have owned a 5^th wheel before, we hook it up, go over some operational trailer things and functions, bring the slide outs in, and raise the jacks that hold it off the ground. They rise as far as they will go (putting the weight on the truck) and they are still resting on the plastic blocks on the ground.  In other words, it is not ready to pull away, since the legs still have weight on the ground.  I start envisioning all kinds of things, like it being left in my driveway!  Cooler heads prevailed (his head actually) and he slowly pulls forward, as the jacks slide off of the plastic blocks they were sitting on and the weight now is totally on the trailer.  If you have no clue what was just described, all you need to know is…crisis averted!  I throw the plastic blocks in the belly of the trailer and the doghouse is off to it’s new home.  It’s funny, as many obstacles as the trailer threw in front of me, there is a small part of me that will miss that behemoth.

So after juggling trailer sales with hospital visits, I was able to settle down and focus on Miki.  I would not have chosen to have done it that way, but to have sold that thing in a few short days with the tons of other trailers available, we both feel very lucky and relieved that it is over and done with.  So the plan now is actually the original plan for traveling after retirement, which was to put our motorcycles in our trailer (an enclosed trailer we purchased a few years ago for this purpose), along with whatever other “toys” we want to travel with, and hit the road.

The real wait on the results has us just doing what we have been doing for the last two weeks.  Visiting with friends, emailing/blogging, napping, and yesterday we got out and took Miki’s wheelchair for a trial run.  Physical therapy wanted her to have one for being out and about, where walking would not be the best option, although she is very capable of doing just that.  It saved her energy and she was able to do errands for a couple of hours before crashing.  And I found out there is a learning curve for being the “motor” behind the wheelchair.  We hit Home Depot and we were able to get out of there without bringing down a single display.  I figured if we did I needed a backup plan.  The plan was to leave Miki sitting in the chair while I walked away, looking as if I didn’t know what that loud sound was coming from the next aisle over.  Genius, right?  Don’t ever underestimate a good backup plan.

The last attempt at passing the time was playing a little Cribbage last night.  I figured with her mind being a little foggy from the meds, I might stand a chance of winning (even though that has nothing to do with it).  That girl had winning cards from the get-go.  Double runs of 4, double runs of 5, pegging like crazy.  I did not get skunked, but it came pretty darn close.  I was glad for her to finish me off so we could go to bed.  Should have taken her get a Powerball ticket first!

At the beginning, I thought about saying “no news is good news,” but that really doesn’t fit here.  Having had this week at home, it was like time off for good behavior.  We kind of had a “normal” week, but that is not really normal right now.  And as each day has passed, I seem to be feeling the ominousness or gravity of meeting with the doctor when we will get the results of the biopsy from Miki’s left lung.  In Miki’s mind, she’s already on the road to recovery, but…. 

Oops, I almost went into the “what ifs.”  Not going there.  At least consciously. 

Hopefully the wait will be over at the beginning of next week.  We will find the culprit of Miki’s mystery and decide how to get after it.  If I hadn’t been busy taking care of Miki this week, it would have been a much longer week and the “what if” door could have been opened.  Miki has been putting out her daily drug tainted manifestos, so her time has not been idle.  Keep a good thought until no news becomes news.

My Zen from Home:   
Watch a sunrise.  The week Miki was in the hospital, I woke up early every morning (I know that is a stretch for some of you to believe), got my cereal, and watched the sunrise come up over the pond in the park behind our house.  There is a fountain in the middle, with bright colored sculptures of 3 kids playing in the park, sitting just above the water’s surface.  As the sun rises, the streams of water shooting upwards from the fountain and its spray become backlit, intensifying its brilliance.  And if I was really lucky, the heavy moisture hanging in the air would also take advantage of the light and give it that angelic, heavenly glow as the light streams through the tree branches in our backyard.  How can you not have good thoughts when watching a sunrise, even if your eyes aren’t quite all the way open yet!

My State of Preparedness

Four and one half days under our belt, since we left the protective custody of the hospital.  Oh what a 4 and ½ day difference can make.  As the “caregiver” in this story, when we arrived home, I began doing whatever I felt was the right thing to do for and with Miki as we settled into “Centerpoint East.”  Not quite the professional atmosphere and this caregiver thought about being the “care-take-a-wayer” a few times.  I told Miki that since she had taken care of me for the last three decades (man we are getting older) that I certainly didn’t mind taking my turn now.

I got ice packs ready and refilled the ice trays, changed the sheets on the bed (you don’t realize how big a deal that was!), did the wash for both clothes and dishes, sort of cleaned house before people dropped by, delivered meals (from the appropriate carryout restaurant as needed…it was needed a lot), and came whenever called like a good man servant.  Sounds like what she had done for me for 32 years.  The only difference I could find, was that her brain and body had some drugs prescription medications running amuck in her system, making her either equivalent to a 15 year old girl (no offense if you are a 15 year old girl, I think) or a 98 year old woman (no offense 98 year old women) who is hard of hearing and still knows how to do it better than me…whatever it is.  With that said, and before she starts hating on me, she is on some chemicals that would alter anyone’s space time continuum, including Albert’s (Einstein) and Stephen’s (Hawkings).  I hate to admit it, but I was enjoying waiting on her, hand and foot and I probably will never admit that out loud to you in person or her…our little secret. 

Pain management, seemed as though it would be manageable.  She started out with 4 medications and a couple of pooping helpers, since those pain meds seem to tell the body to “hang on” to whatever goes in her mouth (that is almost another story, but not for me).  So there is one that is taken every 8 hours and another that is every 4.  Some at morning and/or bedtime, others as needed. Two on the list, she was not given scripts for and another she could take one of or two of depending on her (me).  As she was now on her “take home” pain meds by now, it was apparent that she should not and would not have any control of these bottles of bliss and I became the head of the Pain Department.  Quite the responsibility, especially one day when I was redoing the chart on the fridge I keep track of the meds with, when I erased all the info without making a copy first.  Sounds bad, but after 14 hours and a trip to the ER, I had it all figured out again…teasing!…or am I?  Either way, she is still alive and mostly out of pain most of the time.  And an ice bag does wonders for her, kind of like what a band aide does for a second grade boy’s finger when they touch a second grade girl by accident…again…teasing.  The ice bag really did bring some speedy relief to the warm beers I would nurse while monitoring her meds…teasing again!...or am I?  We seem to have a good plan in place, as long as you don’t mind getting up 2 or 3 times in the wee morning hours of some other universe, then finding your way back to slumberland.  Now at this point, those of you with children are probably not quite on the pity wagon for me as I may show signs of weakness as a parent.  And that is my point.  Not having kids has diminished my growth of super human powers to deal with numerous nightly interruptions, taking care of another humans being’s every whim, or getting along on next to no sleep.  But I am retired, which means I have all the time in the world.  I don’t’ usually sit still long, for better or worse.  And, I happen to love and adore this drugged up, bossy, dry mouthed, extraordinarily animated, fast talking woman.  It gives me piloerection…look it up (a word of the day from Nurse Nickey, one of the many great ones Miki had).  So at this point in time, I am no pharmaceutical sevant, but I am confident I can read a prescription bottle correctly about 85% of the time!

Our (my) biggest challenge so far since she was set free from Centerpoint, has been managing time.  The girl is an insatiable e-mailer.  Enough read…enough said!  (Just teasing honey!)  Her email file sizes rival high quality digital photos.  But you know what, she loves it, it serves a purpose, and if you get tired of reading after the first 8 pages, you can always save it for a rainy day.  I hear that is what Noah did!  (Sorry for poor humor insertion…I do handle the medications and I hear they can be absorbed by the skin.)  Part of this challenge is getting her to stop doing what she has loved, seeing the people that stop by and visiting with those who call.  And for me, trying to regulate this activity is more easily argued than it is difficult to enforce.  She has seen the light (or some hallucination) after hitting the wall of exhaustion at the end of two long days of great fun and socializing.  But the realization that she needs to come first above what she feels are the needs of her friends and family has sunk in.  Together, we will see that she is our number one priority and all that will accompany that to a fast and speedy recovery from whatever it is that is messing with her.

I would not be painting the whole picture, if I did not include the fact that this, my part in this partnership on this journey, has not been all bubble gum and balloons.  As I have indicated before, those of you who have been through difficulties like this or in other aspects of your relationships, professions, or personal issues, everything is relative.  This may not end up being the huge nightmare we would like to steer clear of, in which case, I (we) have already experienced some life changing moments in the short time we have been in this medical spotlight.  I have seen Miki in ways (some good, some not so attractive) that I have not seen in the last 32 years…and there have been some good ones.  I am sure she has been surprised by some of my actions (some good, some not so attractive) as well, but we both have our eye on the end goal.  And that is a healthy, happy, joyful soul, we know as Miki.

My Zen from Home:  It is the little things in life that make a big difference.  Books have been written about these little things and little things, can be a relative thing.  Today, a little thing to you and me, was a monumental thing to Miki.  I believe she let most of her email recipients aware of this triumphant action…she pooped!  Medications can do that to a person…stop them up like a cork in a bottle.  As more of her friends had “just the thing” for it, she got closer and closer to taking care of business on her own.  I can’t help but think that the idea of coffee in some place other than a coffee cup got things moving in the right direction for her.  She was so excited when the curse was broken, she saved it for me to see.  That is something I would do to her, but never thought she would share with me.  But it is the little things in life that make a big difference, so be thankful...and sometimes the not so little…it had been 5 days!

Embarking on a New Journey Without Leaving Town

What do you get when you cross a strong willed, “git r done” girl and a life-altering hurdle?  I’m not sure either, but with Miki as the “git r done” piece of this riddle, it will surely be positive and end in joy.

I’ve written about leaving town since retirement became our full time job 3 years ago, but this particular journey started without us leaving at all.  It began with ever increasing pain in Miki’s right leg, lower back, and an MRI (that insurance denied…twice) that has lead us down this path that follows.  This journey will be seen from my perspective, describing the pain, courage, joy, and other adjectives of life.

I am painfully aware that this experience has unfortunately played out over and over for what may seem like eternity and for millions of husbands, wives, sons, daughters, relatives, friends, and enemies.  But this time it is new and fresh and unique, because it is our experience. 

In The Beginning

During her trip to North Carolina, the first domino was tipped that put us on the highway back to Blue Springs, where she endured literally lying with the dogs in the back of the car for a 13 hour trip home.  Having consulted with our primary care physician and having an MRI denied twice by insurance, an approved X-ray that was not helpful in the least (approved), a trip to the ER following an exponentially painful weekend began a string of “it was meant to be” events, that in a matter of hours she had the needed MRI that held the key to her pain, was pre-admitted to Centerpoint Hospital, and was surrounded by an extraordinary group of caregivers, including a neurosurgeon, that was like a dog after a bone trying to find the best path to her recovery.  What a Monday!

We don’t recall the “C” word ever being uttered as different scenarios were discussed, but there were masses and shadows on the MRI and biopsies to discuss.  Assuming it was SOP (standard operating procedure), it was the elephant in the room that was quietly waiting its turn.  As I write this, we still have no definitive identification of the cells in question, but for me it looms on the horizon.

As I’ve lived with Miki for the last 32 years, it became apparent early on that she had a high tolerance for pain and it wasn’t because she was living with me (ha…beat you to it!).  When she called me early one morning before I flew out to help drive her home from North Carolina, I heard and felt a sense of desperation in her voice, I had never sensed before.  She called in search of relief for the cramping in her leg that was so painful.  Her sleep depravation was palatable and I sat on the other end of the phone as helpless as I have ever felt.  When was the last time you told someone, that sounded like they were hanging by a thread, that “it would be alright,” and it worked?  Exactly.  That experience should have prepared me for the weekend before this journey picked up speed. 

The weekend before we landed at Centerpoint and having been denied twice for an MRI (have I mentioned that already!?!), and seeing the desperation in her limp, I heard her on the phone to our insurance company pleading between sobs for permission to grant the MRI.  Their denial was placed on some third party guy in a cube, following a guideline that didn’t see the “drop foot” she felt, beginning to show from the loss of control through the pinched nerve to her right foot.  In comparison to some people and their personal struggles and the constant, insufferable pain they must face, this may not be in the same ballpark.  But in Miki’s ballpark, this was a struggle like she had never encountered.

As our stay in the hospital was ramping up, we were surrounded by a neurosurgeon, an oncologist, a nurse practitioner, day and night shift nurses, support staff (from cleaning to transporting), and hospital volunteers, all of which we would have taken home and made part of our family.  These folks surrounded us with comfort and care, easing us into a new set of circumstances that have still not come into full view.  On the flip side, leaving the safety net of that hospital room and the people that walked through the door, proved to be a challenge all in it’s own.

During this last week since the events above have unfolded, there were many memorable moments, but a few stand out for me.  I told Miki one day, after she had asked repeatedly if I was okay, because I was being more quiet than normal, that I had made a conscience decision to let some of my reactions go that would normally follow one of her requests, comments, or verbalizing an idea.  Not that every reply out of my mouth is meant to be “smart” or funny, or that her decisions should be any less than what I am thinking.  But it became apparent that even though we were going through this journey together, this was about her, not me, and I should be able to live with whatever she does or says.  I have an opinion that I may want heard, but hers is the one that counts.  Those little battles are not important as long as she wins this war.  She has become number one this week, in a way that I was not sure I could support, but like I said, this is not about me.

Another memorable moment happened the day we came home from the hospital, while waiting for pathology to earn their keep.  As I was either driving to or from the hospital, a number of times I could feel my eyes watering up.  It was not enough to squeeze out a tear or two, but enough to wonder, “What the heck is going on?”  I was not particularly sad or anticipating the worst with Miki, but I came to the conclusion that it was the “unknowns” wandering around in my head.  Where would this lead?  How long will we be in limbo waiting for answers?  Why are we not devastated at the prospect of this discovery?  I knew the time would come when the tears would flow and the weird muscular contortions that come with uncontrollable sobbing would finds their way onto my face.   The tipping point came when I didn’t have to “take care of business” at the hospital and the seriousness of Miki’s pain and trying to find her joy would come together.  Her attitude and outlook have kept us afloat since the initial report on the MRI…until we were home and I read her this entry while she was resting in bed.  She always reads and edits my blog before I post it.  I knew it was going to be difficult this time, as she requested I read what I had written so far to her.  I had no idea what I had stored away inside since her painful plea on the phone one morning that came from a small cabin in the Smokey Mountains.  My own words triggered a release of fear, anxiety, and helplessness that had been stewing ever since.  With that out, I am ready for the next round.

Finally, as we prepared to leave the 4^th floor of the hospital, where Miki was taken care of and supported, the relationship was about to be severed and we would be on our own.  The responsibility of monitoring her medications, keeping a positive face, and having all the answers or access to them, were now squarely on us.  The instantaneous effect if an IV was now a 30 minute wait to see if it was the right dose.  Instead of a fresh smile coming through the door to take her vitals, she was stuck with my unshaven face with a sleepy grin.  And any answer she could get me to conjure up for a question she had, came from a career of answering physical science questions from middle schoolers, who pretty much believe whatever comes out of your mouth.  Can you sense the intrepidation yet?

There were more good times on the 4^th floor in room 427 than bad.  Miki had more tears of happiness than pain.  And I was fortunate enough to not have been included in a long day of girl talk mixed with dark chocolate.  Sharing is not a priority on Mars (Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus reference…I guess if I have to explain it, I shouldn’t have written it!).

Miki is strong, which makes us strong.  She is optimistic, which makes us optimistic, and she is sure of a joyful outcome, which makes me happy.

My Zen from HOME:  During the 5 day stay at the Centerpoint Spa and Trauma Center (my name for it, not theirs), I learned there were so many people running around doing a specific job and if they didn’t, it could topple the whole organization (sort of).  As we met the volunteers that “stop by” to bring a newspaper or the employees that clean the rooms, Miki would have their life story by the time the door hit them on the way out.  So many fun pictures came out of their wallets or shared from their phones, good stories of survival, or well wishes from a former stranger.  Like little ants running around in a seemingly random pattern, each is important and makes the whole successful.  I always new as a teacher, that all the jobs that make a school run are equally as important as the next.  No matter what you do for a living, there is always someone else depending on what you do.  You don’t have to join the army to Be All You Can Be.

Canada Part II: What Really Goes On, May 2013

Welcome back.  I guess I did not sicken you enough with my previous "flowery" Zen and you are back for more.  Okay then, good for me, here we go.

Since most of understanding anything that went on up here in Canada meant that you had to be here, the rest of my relating this trip to you will come in the form of what went on inside my head when I was either sleeping, eating, reading, working, or in a boat fishing 3 to 5 hours at a time.  This means that these thoughts may seem incoherent and I may never be invited back!

Disclaimer…Some of you may be offended by the nature of the content that follows…therefore, you’ve been warned.  Look away from the screen at anytime you feel is inappropriate.  This is a self-regulating blog.  Don't point the finger at me later for what you choose to read now.  (How can you not read ahead now, with that challenge?)

If you have been with a group of people (in this case, 8 guys…men’s men…studs in their own minds) for an extended period of time, in close quarters, with no escaping, things happen, things are said, and sometimes things happen and a gem comes forth.  Some are sweet, some would be at the other end of the spectrum.  Some will be explained, some will not, and some will be explained for cash only.  I’ve learned that when males are together, it doesn’t take long for maturity levels to decline, innuendo to fly, and that is when great shit happens.  This may be too much to imagine for you or maybe you just had to be here, but to me, these were some awesome moments from Fiart Island, May 2013.  Things happen on islands all across the Canadian Shield like this, or do they?  These are some things that happened on our island.

Our Anniversary:  Miki and I celebrated our 31^st anniversary together on May 29th, separately this year.  I don’t believe it is the first time, but for whatever reason, I mentally celebrated it more than I have before.  I thought about Miki and us between casting, between fishing spots, between stories sprinkled with bullshit, and between staring at my cards during cribbage, among all other waking moments of that day (and all other days too!).  It is strange not seeing her since we have been together the majority of time outside our classrooms since we met.  I miss her very much and can’t wait to see her, but I will miss those playing card substitutes.

Water:  Unless you buy it and bring it in, there is nothing to drink but water here.  My first trip here, around 10 years ago or so, we drank Labatts Canadian beer…like it was water.  Since then, my better judgment has lead me to drink water as my choice of hydration.  Normally the lake water is boiled and added to tea or a drink mix, but this year I brought a backpacking water filter, just because.  Now, I don’t know if this water only cleanse that I have self induced is responsible for my higher volume of urination or the “I pee freely” effect that has it’s visitors (mainly males I presume), peeing anywhere outdoors deemed appropriate, to help preserve the septic system, but it has certainly had a freeing affect.  

These are some things that were said over, and over, and over, and over again.

- “Sometimes you get the beaver and sometimes the beaver gets you.”

- “Now you’re just making shit up!”

- “The difference between diarrhea and the shits…diarrhea is when you get to the bathroom 

   on time and the shits is when you don’t.”   After listening to Greg fart it up one evening, we

   all agreed he had the shits.

- Retirement spending…  Greg:  “You gotta watch what you spend in retirement.”  Rodney:  “I watch Carol spend my money and she watches me spend hers.”

- “Getting our rocks off the bottom”

- “We got a hundred yards further than last year!”

Good Morning!:  It didn't take me long to realize I needed to travel with ear plugs, being the light sleeper I am.  So what kind of day do you think I was gonna have when the first sound that greeted my ears after removing my ear plugs from the overnight snore ensemble, was a fart that thundered out from an un-named corner bedroom.  I literally took both plugs out at the same time and like the simultaneous flash of light with a clap of thunder…the air vibrated with such anger that I thought the source would yelp like a dog.  That is no way to greet the day.  Then I thought, "find the positive"…it took awhile, but I came up with…at least it didn’t happen any closer than it did!  I could have been hurt.

A Bedtime Story:  We had great food interspersed with fishing, “board meetings,” a few (thousands) games of cribbage, and some spectacular sunset watching.  The one common thread each day that made this trip so enjoyable was the laughter.  We relived great stories and jokes and one night before going to bed, Rodney read to us from the book, “Small Gas Engines…How to repair and maintain them.” (which just happened to be sitting on a table between two recliners.  It was one of those rare and spontaneous moments when nothing inappropriate was said or done (just thought)…and on the surface, nothing particularly funny was said (just thought).  But it wasn’t more than a few sentences before I couldn’t see due to the tears in my eyes and uncontrollable laughter began.  It was one of those, you had to be there moments, I will never forget.  But it was shared with 7 other guys that know the exact same experience.  If you could imagine listening to how a 2 or 4 stroke engine works combined with the sophomoric humor and immaturity of an 8th grader, you might be getting a glimpse inside my head (kind of scary, I know).

Asstronomy 101:  One afternoon we were setting up a telescope (like most cabins in the middle of the north woods, miles from civilization), figuring out how it works, so we could use it to view the moon one night.  We had it almost horizontal, viewing a neighboring island to see it’s magnification, when out of nowhere a foreign body came into view that reminded the 3 of us setting it up, of the planet Uranus (pronounced the elementary student way…”Ur-anus”).  As we turned our attention from the viewfinder to see what had eclipsed our view of the island, we were shocked to have discovered it really was an anus!  Not “Ur’s,” but Greg’s anus and the rings that accompanied it.  It just so happened that His-anus came into alignment with the Fiart Island Observatory, a once in a lifetime occurrence (we hope).  The only discovery in addition to this rare and shocking site was the discovery of the two small moons that appeared to be orbiting this planetary mystery, the cousin to Uranus...named Greganus (not to be confused with Greg Louganis the Olympic diver).

Sounds of the Night:  Sure there are the stereotypical sounds you may assume go with being out in nature, away from civilization, on a lake, surrounded by forests.  Like the loon’s haunting calls in the evening that echo across the lake or the faint sounds of rushing water from Hammerhead Falls.  But the sounds I am referring to are the ones that slowly build like a steam locomotive preparing to leave the station.  First comes the heavy breathing.  Rightly so, for the hard work that is accomplished each day, both in and out of the boats!  That is followed by the inevitable, deep-throated snort, that if it doesn’t wake the snorer up, will only daisy chain onto a full blown snore-a-thon.  On those rare occasions when you have multiple gifted snorers, a symphony of snorts, blurts, smacks, and other guttural throaty sounds, temporarily fill the cabin (it is hard to spell snoring sounds, but I think you get the idea).  I won’t point fingers or name names, but we have some gifted folks on this island.  One night before putting my baton down from directing this talented group (not literally of course), three were snoring and accompanying them was someone’s heavy breathing.  At the crescendo of the piece being performed, someone farted to punctuate the third movement (pun intended) and in a pitch black cabin, in the north woods of Canada, I laughed out loud, put my ear plugs in and went to sleep. 

This last one I am taking the time to partially explain, due to the lack of maturity you might infer from anyone using the words “jack off”…

"Jacking off the crib":  You might imagine the two words, “jack off,” would bring howling laughter to middle school boys in the back of any classroom before class starts, but those two words nearly brought tears of laughter to 8 grown men (well, maybe grown boys) as they worked on raising and stabilizing the dock.  With a bit of background information, you might not think as poorly of us as you are already might.  Once the crib (mentioned above) was in place, we literally used a jack to raise the middle of the dock to rest it on top of the new crib.  The jack was set on rocks within the new crib to raise the walkway between the existing cribs.  In the planning stages and throughout the process itself, when giving directions and asking questions, “jacking off” was used innocently and necessarily so many times and each one more humorous that the one before.  I would be laughing so hard, tears became common place.  Each reference started innocently, yet was degraded almost instantly to a level of hilarity that I will remember forever.  I guess you can take the boy out of junior high, but you can’t take the junior high out of the boy.

Along that same line of thought (sorry, one more)…one morning at breakfast, the previous paragraph had just been relived (again) and another conversation had just finished about the sweet Gherkins (pickles) we had left in the cupboard, when someone began a comment with…”Sweet jerkin,’” by mistake and I almost blew my drink through my nose!

I will finish with some photos from the 15 days on and off the island.

Weighing in before loading the plane for our flight out.

Fiart Island.  You can see the red roof of the cabin on the right end.

Harvesting 6' logs for a future crib.

My friend was lucky and was given a reprieve to grow
a little more.  We shall meet again.

Rodney's birthday!  Who would have thought a Hooter's Birthday card
would arrive in the mail...on his birthday no less and end up on the cake?

Lunch!  Nuff said!

Jeff, boning up on his Assrtonomy notes before class.

Shore lunch.  MMmm  Mmm!

Fat and sassy hooligans after a shore lunch.  The boats moved a bit
slower on the way home.  Don't mean anything by that...just sayin'.

Jeff learns the camera trick of holding the fish with an out
stretched arm, as close to the camera as he can, to make the
fish appear larger than it really is.  Who knew that Northern
was only 6" long.  Good catch, Northern Slayer!

This just doesn't look right.  You would think an owner
would show a little restraint.

A fitting final farewell.

My Zen from the North Woods:  I started to wonder these last two weeks, why is it, that in general, guys feel relatively free to share bodily sounds and smells (those are the only senses I care to cover) with other guys and not feel exceptionally embarrassed about it.  Was it our junior high gym teachers that instilled this equality in us as young men...okay...young boys?  As far as I know, most women would not display this behavior written about above, if on an island and in close quarters with no escape.  I am not privy to the ways and whys of the female in this arena and at the same time, I am glad they appear to not have these behaviors (at least most of them).  I am assuming it has to do with balance.  If Miki did some of the things I do and we did them together around friends...we may not have those friends very long.  So think about what you do around others.  Appropriate or not, is there some kind of balance around that makes you tolerable?

Canada Part I: Back to Paradise, May 2013

Forgive me bloggernauts, for I have not blogged.  It has been a little over 3 months since my last posting.  So much for confessing my traveling sins or pretending I know what I am trying to mimic, but I have broken the Missouri border once again.  The blog is up and running for a few days to let you know I am heading north to Fiart Island, on Donald Lake, in Ontario, Canada.  To go to school on where this is and what I am doing here, visit the Walliebloggin’ archive (on the right side of the blog site) and look for Canada Part I, under the month of September 2011.  What I am most looking forward to is The North Star.  Astronomy be damned.  This north star is not a star at all, but a good old fashioned outhouse.  It has a view worth the 19 hours it takes me to reach it.  No better view for taking care of business.  And of course you leave the door open!

The North Star

The view...

Sample of the decor.

Jeff, my roomy, taking care of business...pondering
lures, Walleye hiding places, ways to get this photo...

If I were to post our daily activities on this trip as I have other trips, there would almost be no point after the first day or two to continue, due to the Ground Hog effect (like in the movie).  For the Cliff Notes version, it goes like this.  We awaken to the smell of breakfast wafting over the partitions that separate our bunks, prepared by Chef Ron and his trusty assistant Phil.  This varies from pancakes, to bacon and egg breakfast sandwiches on fresh rolls, to egg and sausage casserole, to French toast or whatever strikes Ron’s fancy (and you don’t ever knowingly want to strike his fancy or you could go hungry). 

Here we worship at the alter at the Temple of the Walleye.  Good eats!

After a good portion of storytelling, intermixed with a fair amount of laughter and questionable truths, thoughts turn to what color spinner will your worm rig have today.  Will you use a skinhead on that jig or a bee fart (or was that beef heart?), minnows or worms?  Walleye fishing is the reason for so many wives, families, and friends left behind in our respective hometowns, as we get farther and farther north to the Canadian border.  For about 4-5 hours each morning, 3 boats and 8 fishermen (for some of us that label is used loosely) take off from the dock in search of Walleye, which have been elusive this year.  To sustain these men’s men, each boat is to bring back two fish for lunch.  So far, so good.  But (knock on the new wooden cribbage board) we have not wanted for anything at the conclusion of each lunch, other than the daily board meeting (nap and downtime).

Shhhh!...Board Meeting in progress.

Once re-energized, the flotilla heads back out to resume search, as each boat goes about their spontaneous gut feelings as to where the fish must be now (since they weren't where we thought they were before).  For many of these guys, they have been coming up here for so many years, that they have their favorite spots or old stand-bys where they have been successful before.  But for me, I am pretty must lost if I am out of sight of the dock and every rocky shore looks like a spot I would hang out if I was a Walleye.  But this time around, new places are being explored and tested.  Evidently the word is out that the boys of Fiart are back.  And as Ron found, among the Walleye and Northern Pike, a Lake Trout of significant proportions (26 incher) can be found when you least expect it.  After an approximate 8 hour work day, we filter back to the cabin, where dinner is what you make of it.  Leftovers, sandwiches, and/or cereal complete another day of perfection.

Evening entertainment

This particular group that visits this Canadian Shield oasis, also doubles as a work detail.  Many of the more physical, maintenance endeavors are tackled by Greg’s group of rag-tag, retired old farts (the youngest being me...I know, right?).  It is an amazing accomplishment that all of us fly out that flew in together!   This time, the main dock has sagged and our focus is dock stabilization by adding a new crib below the center of the dock.  A crib is a Lincoln Log type box that is constructed of logs with metal rods in each of the 4 corners to hold it together.  Once it is floated in place, it is sunk by filling it with large rocks to hold it down and becomes the support for the dock.  The “L” shaped dock did not have the support in the long side of the “L” it required over time and has sagged to walking on water status (literally). 

Dock with dip...or was that dips on dock?  Not important.
Formulating a plan in the works...sshhh.

On the fourth day, we created a crib.  We skipped the daily board meeting after lunch and began construction from 4 and 1/2 foot logs.  These were harvested from downed trees on the island.  And after much hauling, measurement, drilling, beating on, prying, and more measurement and drilling, it went together to make one fine crib.  It was the Canadian version of “Pimp My Crib” (for those of you that are cable TV watchers).  Thanks to ancient Egyptian modes of transporting heavy objects without Cummins diesel engines or sky cranes, we used leftover logs to “roll” (and that terms is also used loosely) the crib to the waters edge, where with some persuasion it was floated to it’s new and permanent location.  There, it was weighted down to its final resting place.  That description does not describe the time, hard work, scratching heads, more prying and beating efforts that made it happen…you had to be there!  If you could cross King Tut and the Three Stooges and reproduce 8 of them, you could imagine the Keystone Cops-like activity it took to get the crib to the water’s edge, floating, and sunk.

The weather prolonged the crib construction, but there is always a plan B.  More fishing, board meetings, and cribbage are the rule, but ultimately the crib is completed and walking on the dock does not mean your feet may get wet. Cribbage is the mainstay during darkness, inclement weather, and in general…anytime you were not in the boat fishing.  The inclement part arrived on day 5 and for some reason, better judgment has determined we hunker down indoors for a while.  There is a cribbage game going most of the time and sometimes two at once.  I don’t know if the attraction to the game is the skill (or luck) innate to us fishermen or the 3 decks of sophisticated playing cards available to use, compliments of the Hooters Calendar Girls.

New improved dock without dip (or dips on it!).

It would appear that we were playing "Strip Cribbage," but what appears
to be the losing card player is merely a tad warm (as I sit in my long
sleeved shirt, with two t-shirts underneath,...I know how to play
strip cribbage...I mean dress for comfort).

A drone's view of the Man Cave within the cabin.

This brings you to the end of Part I.  Good eating has begun, fun has been established, and work is being accomplished between the two.

My Zen from the North Woods:  I am not sure if I could have imagined this before my first trip to Fiart Island, but imagine sitting on a sloping slab of granite, as small ripples of water wash up to shore below your feet.  A cool Canadian breeze freshens the warmth of your skin as it is bathed in sunshine.  The only real sounds that seems to be between you and civilization are the calls of a pair of loons, whose haunting notes echo far from down the lake, yet sound as if they are within a stones throw.  That is one of my "happy places" recently added under the file name, "As Needed."  Ignore the over dramatic use of adjectives, adverbs, or any other parts of flowery speech I am gagging you with and think of what your "happy place" is when you need it.  Do you have one?

One more sunset, just because I can.  Same horizon, different day.

It's a Miracle!

What does "A Christmas Carol," the picture below, any agreement across the isle in Washington D.C., and me refinishing the hardwood floors upstairs have in common?  They all would involve a miracle.  The miracle I want to bring to your attention on this bonus posting from Walliebloggin' has to do with the Blizzard (how appropriate with the weather in K.C. recently).

The Blizzard I am referencing in this photo comes to you via Dairy Queen.  Not just any Dairy Queen, but the one in Ellis, Kansas.  My new shrine to miracles on the plains is in the form of a Dairy Queen/Subway/gas station.  At approximately 12:21 P.M. this afternoon, on the way home from Colorado, we stopped for a treat break (to Miki that would mean me stopping for a pee break).  After ordering the usual...a Snickers Blizzard for me and a Butterfinger for Miki... the prophet behind the counter handed us two of the most spectacularly concocted dairy delights EVER.  To be specific, all Blizzards are created almost equally the same, but these were (to use a recently popular term) GINORMOUS.  Both of ours extended towards the heavens an extra two inches above the rim of the Chalice from which it was served (I am not squeezing on the cup to make this happen).

Those of you that frequent DQ know it is quite the coup if your server puts in a tad too much dairy delight, which ends up overflowing its container after the mixing of the preferred candy.  And it is almost a sin if your server slights you by not getting the cup full to the brim, but to get divinely waylaid like this in the middle of Kansas, wreaks of miracle-ness.

A miracle is the absence of explanation or from a highly respected source, Wikipedia... an event attributed to divine intervention.  I would get all Biblical on you, but I don't want to spotlight my knowledge on the subject and take away from the importance of the event itself.  

After sitting in awe for the first few miles down the road, I spent the rest of our 4 hours on the road contemplating what happened after ingesting my miracle and I came up with no explanation, which coincides with the first definition of a miracle at the start of the previous paragraph, other than DQ-vine intervention.  I thought maybe this should be brought to the attention of the Vatican, but no one is in charge at the moment.  So after admiring its appearance, we enjoyed it's calories, and it will be with us for the rest of our lives.

My Zen from the Road:  Miracles...you never know when they will happen, where they will come from, or what form they will take.  But when your miracle finds you, appreciate it for what it is.

Fun Was Had By All

Our day today began like we left off yesterday.  We have the pictures to prove it.  The picture on the left was yesterday afternoon as the lifts were getting ready to shut down for the day.  The picture on the right was this morning shortly before the lifts opened.  Deja what?

Just when I thought I had seen it all (on a ski slope), after yesterdays skier in shorts sighting, just minutes ago (about 6:00 mtn. time) we saw from our condo window, two young men in swimming trunks running about 50 yards through the snow, up towards the ski slope and back to what we can only assume was their hot tub.  I believe this marks the official beginning of Spring Break.  It can only get better from here!

Some of you know about a sickness I have, that involves the enjoyment of cutting grass (as long as I am riding).  I found myself attracted to the snow machines here that come out at 5:00 sharp like robots, every evening to groom the ski trails.  At a younger age, I could have thrown it all away to come be a snowcat operator or "groomer".  Driving back and forth (or up and down the mountain in this case), but instead of cutting grass you are driving your machine that pulls something akin to a rototiller over the snow to smooth it out and leaving these nice little grooves in the snow, as if someone had just combed it.  These are the runs that Miki and I like to ski on.  The one with the moguls...suicide bumps...no!  The groomers work all night.  And from a distance, driving down the road, all you see are these lights in the darkness...very "Close Encounters of the Third Kind"-ish.

My dream machine at work.

What caught my attention the most today was not the constant flurries that kept us company all day or the more than normal "stretchers" being slid down the mountain by the ski patrol.  It was the large number of little kids on the mountain.  Mostly in ski school.  They were so entertaining to watch for a number of reasons.  First, they are so close to the ground, they look like Weebles.  The littlest ones you will see with harnesses on them and reins leading back to mom or dad.  But the funniest thing we saw today was a little one in a group of about 5, with their instructor.  The first little one was turning to start down the slope, when out of nowhere he face plants right into the snow for no apparent reason.  It was like those fainting goats on YouTube.  Seconds later, the kid rolled over and popped up looking like a snowman, ready to go.

As we get ready to head home tomorrow, I will miss looking out the window each morning to see what the weather has brought for us.  I will miss the beauty of the mountains from high above and the snowflakes falling gently to the ground.  I will miss the occasional freak show on the slopes and off.  And finally, I will miss the fireplace that remained unused during our stay, due to Miki and her hot flashes.  I was lucky not to have come down with pneumonia.  Raise your glasses and toast with me until next time...Here's to the cold outside and to the heat within... Miki.



My Zen from the Road:  We met many people on the lifts this week both young and old and in between.  All here for the same reason.  The young lady from Louisiana visiting her boyfriend, the young man taking a year off of school taking pictures of skiers for a local photography store, a couple of retired buddies giving each other shit all the way up the lift putting Miki in tears of laughter, and a pair of older ladies (older meaning older than us) that talked nonstop up the lift of all the adventures they have coming up.  From mountain biking in Moab, to overseas travel, they were some busy women.  Being active and having fun while an occasional face plant in the snow is priceless.  Well you can put a price on getting and staying here, but the priceless part is the active fun.  Be Active (and try to have fun doing it)!