Rollercoaster Days

I rode my horse this afternoon while waiting for Ohboys 2 and 3 to be dropped off by the school bus.  The bus driver won't let them off the bus unless she sees someone from our family, so I've taken to riding while I wait.  What other kid gets picked up from the bus via horse?

My horse has been amazing lately.  Today, for the first time in years she decided that she was okay with riding close to the border between the yard and the road, a mass of dark overgrowth chock full of boogey monsters and unspeakable terror.  I've taken to putting pom-poms in her ears to block the noise, which seems to help her from jumping out of her skin but doesn't get us any closer to the bushes.  It's also really helpful if the older gentleman across the street (hidden behind these trees and bushes) isn't out weed-whipping or dragging things around his driveway.  I swear that man has spidey-senses and can tell as soon as I put my foot in the stirrup.  The street could have been completely quiet when I go to the barn, and as soon as I go out to ride, he pops up like a really loud mosquito you're not allowed to swat.  He's a nice man, but I know I've cussed him out in my brain more times than I can count.  Today I won some kind of "perfect conditions" lotto--all things were in my favor.  She did what I asked, even throwing in an automatic lead change as a bonus, until we both ran out of steam.

When I ride, littlest Ohboy sits in the yard with one of his beloved Angry Birds and the iPad, content to watch.  Or at least he's being patient enough to wait without complaining. That little guy is better to me than I deserve.  I always ask him if he wants to ride.  Usually he says no, today he said yes.  While we waited for the bus, I walked my mare around with little guy holding onto the front of my saddle.  He was happy; she was ready to be done with all of us and eat some grass.

As soon as the bus dropped off 2 and 3, they came squealing into the yard.  Ohboy 3 was mad because I would not drive him to the house (because I was still putting my horse stuff away), and he was not interested in walking to the house.  He was jumping and throwing fits, slamming his backpack into things.  I demanded (by counting to three) he ride the horse--poor horse--for four loops around the yard.  It settled him down enough so that by the time we finish he was no longer screaming, but humming to himself instead.  His feet touched the ground and he was okay for a few minutes until he realized that Ohboy 4 had the iPad and he wouldn't get a turn.  At the end of the yard, next to the path that runs up to our private road, I saw Ohboy 3 and 4 in a pathetic competition of who could throw themselves onto the ground and wail the hardest.  My horse was loose, but she was happy to eat the green grass, so I walked to them and tried to figure out what the problem was.  I stopped having workable solutions years ago.

I sent Ohboy 3 home with the iPad, and Ohboy 4 was reduced to random grunting in lieu of words.  The only thing that broke him out of his funk was asking if he'd like to give the horsey a treat.  He did!  Smiles abound!

When I reached the house, Ohboy 3 was famished.  I made them all popcorn for a treat, but it was not enough.  He wanted something else.  I was not fast enough and he laid down to sleep in his room.  I shouldn't have let him sleep, but I did for a little bit, anyway, because it was quiet.  He'd been this way all day, based on word from his first-grade teacher.

Teenage Ohboy (1) was playing video games in his room.  He was a couple days behind on his school work, and bolted from the house when I confronted him about it and confiscated his technology.  Fourteen is a miserable age, and I wonder if we will all survive it with even a sliver of sanity remaining.

Ohboy 2 had spelling homework.  He hates spelling (but loves writing, like his mama!), and he growled and kicked the cabinet the whole time.  They are only learning six words at a time, and except for transposing some of the letters, he's got this.  Spare me the drama.

The boys were all picking on each other, playing with toys they don't actually want to play with just to hear the other kid scream.  Mr. Ohboy had been gone for 11 hours today, with no sign of return.  The zen I had from riding was sucked from my soul, and I'm suddenly acutely missing Moe again, which is random.  I realize that, on some very basic level, he was the steady person in my life.  I could always count on him being the very same, all day every day, and always excited to see me and spend time with me.  He never hit me with a backpack or called me an idiot, not even once.

This will all pass.  Someday I'll be missing this.  Riiiiight?

Writers Gotta Write

My head felt crowded, jammed full of cotton instead of flickers of creativity.  My eyes were hot and burning, like the tear ducts had closed up shop for the evening.  This sickness was finally showing me who was boss.

All was quiet in the house--it felt safe, at least for the moment.  I turned off the lamp and crawled beneath the sheets.  My bedtime story was a podcast from fellow writer/blogger Jeff Goins.  Jeff and host Erik Fisher chatted for nearly an hour on how to BE what it is that you DO.  Of course, this was intriguing to me coming from Jeff because, although his might not be a household name, his passion and insight on this craft resonate.

I wasn't feeling well, and I admit that I slept through half of the podcast, waking up only when Mr. Ohboy stormed into the room and threw on the lights, not knowing or not caring I was asleep (his own personal battle with his work vehicle wasn't going well, watchout!).  Before I initially drifted off to sleep, though, Jeff stressed a point that has been tugging at me all day.

Writers write.  

Writers write everyday.

It's a difficult thing, to have someone's story unfolding in your mind and to keep it captive.  Maybe no one else on this planet cares about the story like I do, but to keep it inside, well, that's an injustice to the whole kaleidoscope of characters who are living and interacting in my imagination.  Their voices deserve to be heard as much as you and I.  My heart grows heavier each day that passes and they remain real people in much too small of a space.

That might be a hard thing for you to grasp, especially if you're the kind of person who has struggled to so much as write your name on a check post-high school.  You have passions likely so different from mine, which is the beauty of  being created as individuals.  I'm glad that some of you cannot rest until you've painted a landscape or mastered that concerto.  Words are my medium, and I'm still fumbling around with them like I'm all thumbs.... but I'll continue to try to make something from them each day until I can no longer string them together.

Writers write.

I've Been Everywhere, Man

Day 1 – Saturday, September 8, 2012

My husband set his phone alarm for 4 p.m. instead of a.m., so we were forced to jump into action when my step-dad called to check if we were awake at 4:15 a.m.  We left the house at about 4:45 a.m., only 15 minutes behind schedule.

We were able to sit by one another on the plane, and I leaned on my husband most of the time, sleeping.

We landed in Vegas at about 8:15 a.m.  Once we got our rental car, a grey Toyota Camry, we drove down the strip and ended up at the Stratosphere.  I wanted the boys to go to the top and see the view, as well as ride some rides, but tickets to the top were $18/person.  Yikes.  Instead, we opted for the buffet there.  I got three plates and a piece of chocolate cake, which blew the teenager's mind.  I explained to him that the first time I went to Vegas I was pregnant with his now three-year-old brother and had morning sickness, so I wasn’t very hungry then.  I needed to make up for that lost time. 

We decided to drive to the Bellagio to see how cool the inside was.  The Conservatory was full of flowers and hot air balloons, a bridge, and a carousel.  Then we left Vegas.  Sad face!

The Hoover Dam was 45 minutes away, and we walked to the midpoint to look at that.  It was 104 degrees out--super-hot!  I changed my shirt in the car in the parking lot, ninja-like, after having changed from jeans into shorts in the bathroom.  Much cooler. 

Early on, the teenager discovered he is really not a fan of heights, which is ironic, since half of the things we have planned to see during this trip revolve around extreme heights.  We also thought the girl who took our money for admission looked a lot like Velma from Scooby-Doo.  Jinkies.

From the Hoover Dam, we headed to the Grand Canyon.  A room had been reserved for us at the historic El Tovar hotel, which is right on the southern rim of the canyon.  We hiked for a little bit, then went to eat dinner at the Bright Angel restaurant, which was just down the path to the west.  The sun set as we were finishing up dinner, but, as it turns out, it wasn’t as pretty as any of us imagined it would be.

After dinner, we took the boy back to the room to let him relax, and the husband and I went to the piano bar of our hotel and got dessert (chocolate-mocha mouse in a chocolate taco with some weird green fruit/mint sauce for embellishment).  Our waiter was trying to do too many things at a time, and it took us FOREVER to get our food, bill, and etc., but finally we left our money with the girl at the bar and went back to the room.  On our way, we saw our waiter rushing down the hall, apparently fresh from delivering room service.  I bet he was frustrated, thinking we’d skipped out on our bill.

I did T-Tapp BWO+, then fell asleep reading a Kindle book.  An extremely busy day 1.

Day 2 – Sunday, September 9, 2012

I woke up around 6:20 a.m.  The husband had been up for an hour, waiting on a ledge on the south rim of the Grand Canyon for the sun to show itself.  While he and the teenager took turns showering, I put on my new trail running shoes and headed off to the east from where we were staying at the El Tovar hotel.  I’m not sure how far I ran…. I thought it was Grandeur Point at first, but I can’t find that on a map.  Maybe Yaki Point?  I estimate it was 1.5 miles to where I decided to turn back, making it a 3-mile trip that I, a non-runner, attempted at an elevation of over 6,000 feet.  No wonder I was panting like a dog, which I would try to disguise whenever I passed another tourist.  Not that any of them were running, but I still felt like I needed to pretend like I was a finely-tuned machine.

I wandered out to the ledge at whatever the point was where I turned back, and looked over the edge.  Quickly, I stepped back and returned to the path, thinking that with all of my running and the altitude that I could easily become dizzy and fall to my death, which would be such a silly and horrible way to go.

Part of the path wound inches from nothingness, just a small stone border.  Amazing and awful, all at the same time.

After getting cleaned up and checking out, we drove into town (Tusayan) to get fuel and breakfast.  Extra value meals were $8 at McDonalds and fuel was over $4.50 a gallon.  It’s expensive out here.

GPS told us to head back through the Grand Canyon National Park to head toward Bryce Canyon, so we did, pulling off a few times at overlooks and the Indian Watchtower.  I had been eyeing a book chronicling all of the deaths that had taken place in the Canyon throughout recorded history [Over the Edge:  Death in the Grand Canyon], despite the boys telling me that it was a sick/wrong thing to be interested in.  When they finally admitted that they would probably both read the book, as well, I gave in and bought it.  For the next four hours I read (and read aloud) all of the craziness that had occurred over the years.  When we arrived at Bryce Canyon, I was, needless to say, extremely paranoid of the guys stepping close to the edge. 

On our way to Bryce Canyon, we stopped for lunch in Kanab at this odd BBQ place that had all kinds of props for you to take photos with in the courtyard directly outside the restaurant.  The cook looked like Tommy Chong.  After our meal and exploring the courtyard, we went in the gift shop and looked around—the boys played a target shooting game they had in one of the side rooms.  Such a fun, weird place.

In Bryce Canyon, we stayed at Bryce Canyon Pines, which didn’t look like a whole lot from the outside, but they turned out to be very homey.  They upgraded us to a big room, though, which had three bedrooms, a kitchenette, two bathrooms, and a living room.  Not what I expected at all!  The teenager was thrilled to have his own room, which is the only time it would happen all trip long.

We went to Bryce Canyon for a little while, as I said earlier, just before sunset.  We hiked a trail down from Sunrise Point (elevation of about 8000 feet) down to where a trail was to lead us to a section called the Queen’s Gardens.  Supposedly it was only a .8-mile hike, but I’m pretty sure they were lying.  Climbing back up was pretty rough (especially after my 3-mile run this morning) and I felt dizzy.  Maybe I wasn’t cut out for hiking the mountains.

From there, we drove over to Sunset Point.  A rock formation jutted out (Inspiration Point??), and the husband climbed out to the edge for a dramatic photo.  I had to go out there with him, all the while talking to a lady sitting nearby about the Death in the Grand Canyon book I’d been reading.  Ironic.

We ate dinner at the restaurant directly under our room.  They had funny books to read while we waited, and their food was reasonable, considering everything out here is so expensive.

We are tired now, even though it is technically only 9 p.m.  Early end of day 2.

Day 3 – September 10, 2012

We woke up early in Bryce Canyon and tried to go do some laundry and get some coffee but the deadbolt on our door wouldn’t open.  When maintenance finally opened the door for us, we walked to the office to figure out where the laundry was (turns out it was down the road and to the left, in a Chevron station).  It was colder, 50, so we decided river rafting was probably not the best idea.  High temps of 63 and a guarantee to get wet sounded unbearably chilly.

We hit the road, bound for Salt Lake City, UT.  Somewhere on the road, the boy said he felt like he needed to throw up, and he did…. In a paper gift bag from something he purchased at the Grand Canyon.  We kept yelling at him to get out of the car, not to vomit in the rental car and incur more fees.  They made it a point of telling us we would be charged more if we left litter in the car, so I’m pretty sure that applies to vomit, as well.  Once he was done yakking on the side of the road, he tossed the bag out on the roadside, against our better judgment.  I’d like to see anyone convict us…..  Oddly enough, there wasn’t a trash can on the side of the road at that particular mountain pass.

We waded through an awful gauntlet of construction to grab a quick breakfast at a Burger King/gas station in Beaver, UT.  There was a jar next to the cash register that had those Livestrong-type bracelets screaming “I <3 Beaver”.  I wanted to buy one, but I didn’t.  I know, I’m classy. 

When I went to sign my receipt, the clerk handed me a pen with a flower taped to the end. 

“I like your pen.”  I commented.

“Yeah,”  She smiled.  “We do that so no one steals our pens.”

“I guess that if you see a trucker with a flower pen, you’ve caught him red-handed.”  I agreed. 

As we approached Salt Lake City, storms were apparent over the lake.  It seemed like our plans to swim might be hindered.  As we didn’t know where exactly to go to swim in the Salt Lake, anyway, we made our way to a Target to buy some towels and other things we realized we’d need.  This Target also had a Starbucks, which is something we hadn’t seen since leaving Las Vegas Saturday afternoon. 

A Google search led me to a site where people were recommending Antelope Island as the place to go if you wanted to swim in the Salt Lake.  As we paid admission and drove across the bridge, the lightning bolts struck the open water in front of us.  Super.  Even so, we saw people swimming and walking leisurely from the water toward the parking lot.

We stopped at the Visitor Center to try to buy ourselves some time.  It was raining, and as soon I opened the car door, the wind ripped it from my hands and threatened to blow all of our papers and trash out into the air.  The boys ran to the building, and I tried, but my feet were slipping and sliding around in my wet flip-flops.  Which was worse?  Falling flat on my face in the parking lot or electrocution? 

In a media room at the Visitor Center, we watched a movie about the island.  After the movie finished, the sun had magically and momentarily appeared, though another storm loomed on the other side of the island.  In a hurry, we drove down the hill to the beach and changed into our bathing suits before that next storm had a chance to reach us. 

The sand near the top of the beach was soft, then it became littered with sharp, flat pieces of rock that really hurt to walk on…. Then the sand packed down a bit, so it was easier to walk.  The beach was littered with brine flies and smelled.  The boy and I waded into the water (the husband didn’t, he only had shorts on) for quite a ways and decided just to lay down to see if we floated since the lake seemed very shallow and we didn’t want to have to run back to the car if it started lightning again.  The water was cold, but I immersed myself to my shoulders.  I floated without trying.  The boy tried, but he didn’t have any success, calling the Great Salt Lake a “sham”.  He also said he wasn’t fat enough to float.  Jerk.

I showered in a pay-shower (the first one I opened had a bunch of beetles crawling around in it.  Gross!), then walked out to find that the rental car was nowhere to be found.  Hardeharhar.  Annoyed, I sat down at a picnic bench overlooking the beach and waited for the pranksters to arrive with my deodorant and hair gel.

From Salt Lake, we traveled to Logan, UT, just so the teenager could say he’d visited his town.  We ate at Chick-Fil-A for dinner.  I’d never been to one before.  It was alright, not something I’d drive to another state for, though.

We drove and drove and drove until the husband was tired of driving.  We drove through mountains and lots of nothingness and open range.  We came to a section of road where cows were on either side of us and we had to go slowly through the middle of the herd.  I prayed that the cows wouldn’t dent the rental car, since I’d declined the optional insurance.  At one bend of road, the husband spotted a dark shape off to the right.  It was a moose, just grazing.  We tried to take photos of it, but it was just too dark.

The town of Alpine, WY, was where we decided to find a motel.  The first place we stopped, The Bull Moose Lodge, looked cool…. And empty…. But the guy at the bar inside growled “look at the sign!”  which said “No Vacancy”.  We ended up passing the last place in town, a motel called The Flying Saddle Resort.  Got a nice room for $138.  Glad we didn’t have to sleep in the car.

I did T-Tapp BWO+ and read a little bit before bed while the boys snored.  End of Day 3.

Day 4 – September 11, 2012

The husband woke up early to do laundry, and I got up with him so we could go get breakfast and try to make a plan (ha!) for the day.  We walked over to the restaurant at the Flying Saddle Resort, which had a nice breakfast buffet.  When the boy was done showering, he met us there.  While we ate, the waitress came over and struck up conversation, asking where we were from, etc.  The older couple at the table behind me overheard that we were from Michigan, and told us that they were from Alpena, in for a bike race a few weeks ago that had extended into a three-week vacation, and that they had a buddy around us who lived on a road that started with “Rose”.  We talked to them for a while, and then went back to check the laundry, which wasn’t dry.  The husband had to be creative to find extra quarters for another dry cycle—he, habitually, hadn’t checked the lint trap before starting the dryer the first time.

After clothes were dry, we set off from Alpine and headed towards Jackson Hole, and, ultimately Yellowstone.  We didn’t stop in Jackson Hole, just drove through, but the boys thought it looked like an interesting place, so maybe we’ll head back there tomorrow.  On our way towards our hotel, there was a herd of bison on the left shoulder of the road, hugged up to a wooden fence.  People had parked on both sides of the road to take photos and get closer, and the bison were not looking happy about it.  I saw a couple bison running or heading in the general direction of PEOPLE.  Welcome to Yellowstone.

There was a lot of road construction through town and the stretch between the Jackson Lodge and our cabin at the Flagg Ranch, making it a slow go. 

We finally made it to Flagg Ranch and went in to get info on the float tour and horseback riding.  All tours left from the Jackson Lodge, and we booked our float tour for the next day at 4:30 p.m., and horseback riding for Thursday morning at 8:00 a.m. 

It was too early to check in, so we headed into Yellowstone and made the drive to see Old Faithful.  Now, it’s been a while since I’ve been to Yellowstone, but I don’t remember having to drive so much to get to all of that stuff.  They said 17 miles to Old Faithful, but what I really think they meant was 117 miles.  The boy was complaining half the time about no bars for his iPod/phone….  Seriously considered throwing him to the bears a couple times there, if only there'd been bears around.

We made it to Old Faithful, finally, and I’d forgotten what most of the buildings looked like.  We’d missed the last eruption by 20 minutes, but another was expected at around 3:14 p.m.  We headed into the Old Faithful Cafeteria to get some lunch while we waited.  There was a table by the window so we could watch just in case it happened while we were still eating.  After lunch, we headed out to get a front-row seat and waited for Old Faithful to show up right on time, 3:14 p.m.  After that, we walked around that area, going to see some of the other neighboring geysers and odd things that are why I remember Yellowstone.   I noticed the boardwalks felt rickety.   We grabbed cappuccinos and chocolate chip cookies from a café outside the cafeteria and drove around to a few more areas.

The husband, after having inhaled fumes from all of these sulfuric attractions, looked at me and said, “I’m allergic to Sulfa, this probably isn’t the best idea.”  I tried to assure him that Sulfa and sulfur were not really the same thing, and he was likely not going to die.

We decided, after stopping to see the Paint Pots, to head back to the hotel and rest.  As it turns out, our room was a cabin (346) with two queen beds, no t.v., and no Internet.  I didn’t care about any of that because I haven’t been trying to connect to the Internet, just writing this journal everyday.  When I’m not writing just this little bit, I am reading a book on my Kindle until I pass out.  I’m tired, I don’t know about them!

The husband and I took a walk down to the river, behind our cabins.  I was hoping to see some wildlife, since all we saw in the park was a few fat crows.  Some other walkers pointed out a mule deer eating just at the tree-line and let us use their binoculars, but, other than that and a squirrel, nada.

We had dinner at the restaurant inside the lodge, then, and when we came back outside it was dark.  Very dark.  And cold.  I don’t think I packed warm enough clothes, so I might have to buy something before we do our float trip/horse ride. 

End of day 4.

Day 5 – September 12, 2012

We woke up and drove into Jackson Hole.  The wildfires that had been burning on the other side of the mountain were still smoking and helicopters were dumping water or chemicals via bucket all day.

We had a brunch (of sorts) at a place called The Teton Steakhouse.  It wasn’t very good (at least, not the salad bar), but it filled the empty spot.  Then we walked around to all of the tourist-y shops and bought some things for ourselves and for the boys at home.  I was jonesing for Starbucks, and we found the first one we’d come across in days inside an Albertson’s (grocery store) on the southern side of town.  Knowing we’d have a very far trip to get from here to Seattle, I also had the husband stop in K-mart so I could pick up some card games to play in the car.  We'd bought a Farkel dice game in one of the t-shirt shops, too.

Our “Wild & Scenic Float Trip” was slated for 4:30 p.m., and with the construction that ran off and on through town until we reached the entrance to Grand Teton National Park, we knew we’d need to leave town by 3 p.m. to make it back to the Jackson Lodge in time.   We made a detour at a museum on the side of a hill dedicated to natural art.  We didn’t have time to make it work paying the $12 admission, but we enjoyed the art in the lobby and parking lot, and bought a few things in the museum shop.  The boys found me a couple ghost story books about Yellowstone and Wyoming so I could read them out loud as we drove.

From Jackson Lodge, we loaded a big van towing our raft with three other couples (an older couple near us from London; a younger, more brash couple from Illinois; and an older couple from Arkansas.  We drove down to Deadman's Bar, and our float tour ended up at Moose Landing (the beginning of the park). 

Our raft guide was Jake, who was probably around my age or younger, with crazy suntan lines on his face from the sunglasses he wore during his tours.  The boys volunteered me to be the person who made sure Jake hit all of the safety points during our pre-float talk, so I had to initial things on a clipboard. 

On our trip, we saw probably six or seven bald eagles (flying and in the trees), an osprey, two beavers, ducks, Canadian geese, and a female moose grazing near the shore.  We passed a huge group of fly fishermen (and women) near the end of our trip, all waded into the sub-50-degree water with bare legs.  Brr!   The guide wondered if it was a Patagonia [outdoor gear supplier] funded event.

Our bus drove back to Jackson Lodge, then we drove back to Flagg Ranch, which seemed like it took forever and ever.  We then ate dinner at the lodge restaurant and the boy and I came back and got ready for bed while the husband did laundry so I could have clean underwear.  He’s a good guy.  It was super-dark out there.

End of day 5.

Day 6 – September 14, 2012

We woke up between 5 and 5:30 a.m. to check out of the Flagg Ranch and drive down to Jackson Lodge for our 8 a.m. horseback riding.  It was 21 degrees out, and we weren’t really prepared for that.  I bought a big brown sweatshirt in Jackson Hole yesterday to try to prepare for the mountain temps, but it was still chilly.  Road construction hadn’t begun for the day, so we managed to arrive at Jackson Lodge about 45 minutes earlier than we anticipated, enough time for us to eat at the breakfast buffet. 

The buffet itself was annoying because all of the workers (including waffle station girl and maybe omlette station girl) were standing around talking to each other instead of bringing us our bill, checking to see if we wanted something besides water to drink, etc.  But whatever, it was breakfast.

At 15 minutes to 8, we drove over to the corral and met the guides and horses.  They assigned a chestnut (quarter pony?) with a flaxen mane named Kenny G to the teenager, who they called Jogan and Hogan because someone had misspelled his name when making our reservation.  I had a bay mare named Molly Brown who liked to be up with the leader, so we were first in line behind her.  The husband was on a golden brown and cream paint gelding named Hunter, who was a massive horse.  Also in our group was the couple from London who we’d been with on the float trip the night before. 

Throughout  the ride, the wrangler kept turning and hanging off the side of the saddle to yell stories--like the one about how Signal Mountain got its name--to our group.  It looked painful, and with all the yelling, it wasn’t really shocking that we didn’t sneak up on anything but hikers on our ride.  It was still fun, and the trail, for the most part, seemed more tame than I recall from my last long ride on our local trail….

After our ride we got to feed the horses endless treats.  They sent the horses into a corral and the horses would turn and walk into a chute where we could get to them and hand them the treats.  Of course, they were all stretching their necks to reach us, and my horse, Molly, was threatening to kick Kenny G if he crowded her any closer.  

We returned to the lodge to get some coffee from the coffee bar, which took forever because the steamer was broken, but finally it worked.

From Jackson Lodge, we decided to drive back into Yellowstone to kill some time before our dinner plans.  We stopped by the West Thumb Geyser Basin, which was cool.  The husband also found me a few books on “Death in Yellowstone” and Search and Rescue missions.  We drove up a little further to the edge of Yellowstone Lake so the teenager could do his envelope for the day, then turned back to Jackson Hole.

I had made reservations for us at the Bar J Wrangler Chuckwagon in Wilson, just a few minutes outside of Jackson Hole.  We weren’t going to go there because we were going to head to Seattle instead, but Mom kind of talked me into making extra time for it.

Once we located the chuckwagon, we drove back into Jackson Hole to get a few things from the grocery store, then headed back for dinner.  The boy was trying to escape the entire time, but once the show started and he realized it was funny, not just singing, he became a quick fan.  He even stated that he wanted to bring his kids back there someday.

We left there at about 9:45 p.m. and headed toward Seattle, hoping to get some miles in before stopping for the night.  That idea didn’t last long because there was a bunch of 10% grades that made the miles slow, and driving in the dark with all of the wildlife isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  We drove through a town called Victor, ID (tiny town, but the first we’d seen, really).  We were about out of town and I spotted something that appeared to be hotel-like off to the right.  It turned out to be the Cowboy Roadhouse Lodge, which the clerk said was the last hotel for quite a while.  She rented us their last room, which felt nearly new and ran only about $90. 

We were all exhausted from the early start, and fell asleep quickly.  End of day 6.

Day 7 – September 14, 2012

Today we drove from Victor, ID, to Ritzville, WA.  I drove for about 50 miles on relatively flat land until we stopped at a rest stop and the husband hopped back in the driver’s seat.  The boy and I played card games and Farkel for a lot of the trip.   I read out loud to the husband some of the Yellowstone ghost stories from the book I’d bought, crying when I read the story about the grizzly bear, Wahb, who had roamed Yellowstone.  Sad bear.

There are apparently a lot of fires happening in western Montana, which we drove through, and the smoke was so thick it was difficult to see the mountains or much of anything.

Around Missoula, MT, we took a little detour over to Cabela’s and bought a few things (multi-tools for me & the husband and a hydration pack I can wear during my trail rides).

We stopped for the night in Ritzville, WA, and ate at what we thought was a Perkins, but had been renamed the Ritz Roadhouse or something.  There were a couple hotels at the exit, and the husband chose the Best Western because it was next to a Starbucks.  Blessed, blessed Starbucks.

It is much warmer here than it was in Wyoming, thankfully.

The time changes are really messing with us.  It’s only 9 p.m. here, I guess.  I don’t really know.  Regardless, I’m in my pajamas and ready to sleep.  End of day 7.

Day 8 – September 15, 2012

We left Ritzville, WA a little bit after 8 p.m., stopping by the Starbucks next door for a bit of caffeinated goodness we’d been missing for the past week.  The nephew called while we were driving, trying to figure out when we’d be arriving at their house in Everett, WA.  We had about a 3-hour-and-45-minute drive in front of us, which turned into more like a 4-hour-and-15-minute drive when the GPS took us 30 minutes too far north because it couldn’t find our street.  My niece, who is quite with child, was supposed to work at her job as a dispatcher for the local district, but she was excited to see us and called in to work for an itchy placenta.  Bonus points for her.

We finally arrived after 12:30 p.m., and sat around their kitchen table catching up while the baby napped.  After she woke up, we went to eat a late lunch at Blazing Onion Burgers, then headed into downtown Seattle.  We parked a couple blocks from Pike Place Market (for right about $30 for two hours of parking), but we got there just about the time that most of the vendors at the market were packing up their wares (we did get to see them toss some fish around, though).  After that, we walked over to the Great Wheel, the Ferris wheel on the pier.  The baby had never been on a ride of any kind and did really well.

A running joke between all of us was that my niece and nephew were developing awesome immune systems because the baby kept dropping her pacifier and they would pick it up (one time with my niece's bare foot, on the pier), shrug, and pop it in their mouth before handing it back to the baby.  My nephew would end up dropping a Starbucks salted caramel cake pop on the ground at the Armory (like a food court), think about it for a minute, then pop it in his mouth.  Dirty birdies.

My niece pointed out the blatant drug use happening in the park down near the water.  Indeed, the air reeked of weed and a couple druggies were shooting up in broad daylight.  Later, when we were walking back to the parking lot, we passed a group of men cowered in a doorway, looking around suspiciously, obviously in the middle of some shady activity.  Homeless people were urinating on the piles of garbage stacked at the edge of our parking lot.  Some stretches of sidewalk reeked of urine.  Grrrross. 

My nephew, niece, and the baby headed back home, taking the teenager back with them so we could have some time to explore the city ourselves.  The husband and I walked around after grabbing another cup of coffee from Starbucks, but we decided that we weren’t really comfortable in the city, so after about an hour we headed back to the house.  We were tired and went to bed.  End of day 8.

Day 9 – September 16, 2012

My niece made us a breakfast of French toast and bacon, and we sat around the table in their front room catching up on family news.  There was little syrup, so my nephew had to run out for some.

We headed over to my niece’s mom & dad’s house, as they were going to babysit the baby while we went to dinner at the Space Needle.  We had a few hours before our reservations, so we grabbed a quick lunch of McDonalds (blech!) before we headed downtown.  It was a toss-up between the Underground Tour and the EMP, but, in the end, we decided to go to the EMP (Experience Music Project), which was basically a Rock ‘n Roll museum with a section dedicated to Sci-Fi and Horror, as well.  They had a great big section dedicated to Nirvana, which I enjoyed most of all.  There was also a huge room with a giant screen where they played various music videos or concert clips.  There was a music lab room where you could experiment with keyboards, drums, turntables, etc., which was pretty cool, too. 

After EMP, we walked outside where there was a little fair going on.  They had a zip line ride, so the husband, myself, the teenager, and my nephew zip lined across the parking lot. 

We went inside a nearby building called The Armory, which had a food court.  Of course, there was a Starbucks, and we got  more coffee.  It was here that my nephew dropped his cake pop and tested the limits of the five-second rule.  There was an arcade/video game museum in there, too, where the teenager played some classic Nintendo/N64/Super Nintendo games while we were drinking our coffee.

From there, we were going to go through the Chihuly (blown glass) exhibit, but it wasn’t free and our reservations were within 30 minutes, so we just walked through the gift shop.

We ate dinner in the Space Needle.  The timing was perfect (6:30 p.m.), so we were able to see the view during the day, sunset, dusk, and dark.  The food was crazy expensive, but it was a great experience.  The teenager enjoyed seeing the notes come around to us on the windows from other people around the restaurant.  After we ate, we went up to the Observation Deck and got some photos (and some photo-bombed photos, thanks to the boy) before my niece had to leave to go into work for a couple of hours.

We picked up the baby from my niece’s parents and headed home.  My nephew turned on “The Other Guys” and I, of course, drifted in and out of sleep the whole time. 

End of Day 9.

Day 10 – September 17, 2012

The boy kept leaving his pocketknife out when he’d been asked not to by my nephew.  He had to do 21 push-ups to get it back from my nephew.

Our breakfast plans were to eat at the Maltby Café, I think it what it’s called.  My niece and nephew raved at how amazing their breakfast food was, and, based on how busy they were, it obviously was a popular place.  The three of us had various omelets, but my nephew had some kind of pancakes with berries and cream, which was very good despite being against my rule (no fruit in dessert-like foods).  I talked my nephew into a side of bacon, too, which was ah-ma-zing.  My niece was supposed to have an OB appointment that would have made it impossible for her to eat breakfast with us, but she was able to cancel her appointment and re-join us for her French toast. 

We brought the boy, my niece, and the baby back to the house.  The husband, my nephew, and I took the dogs to the park to play in the water.  I had to return a call from a potential doula client wile we were there, but then I sat down on the bank and watched the dogs play fetch and chase ducks.  While we were there, a lady with a dog came over the hill and asked “Are your dogs nice?”  My nephew assured her they were, and when his dogs ran over towards her dog, her dog turned tail and ran away.  Kind of funny.  She never returned, so hopefully she found her dog.

Then we went back home because my nephew needed to get ready for family pictures.  We packed up our extra clothing and souvenirs, and the husband boxed it up and shipped it for a mere $80.  Whatever.

We left my nephew, niece, their baby, and the dogs at around 4:30 p.m. and headed towards Mt. Rainier after an oh-so-filling dinner at Burger King.  Traffic was rough, being rush-hour, and the sun set before we made it to the mountain tonight.  We ended up stopping at the Nisqually Lodge in Ashford, WA, just outside the national park, so we can visit the mountain in the morning before we head down toward Portland to catch our flight home.   The crusty gentleman at the counter gave the husband keys to lock and unlock the lobby doors if he needed to go out to the car to keep critters from roaming the hotel.

The boys were happy.  There was good wifi and they were able to watch the series premiere of “Revolution” while stretched out on their beds.

End of Day 10.

Day 11 (and some of 12) – September 18 (and 19), 2012

The hotel had a tiny continental breakfast (bagels, danishes, fruit, coffee, and hot chocolate), but it’s the first that we’ve seen in many hotels.  I was also surprised that it was painted baby blue, as it had just looked like a wooden building when we pulled in last night.  

After packing up and cleaning up, we drove into Mt. Rainier National Park.  This, maybe, was my favorite park of all because it was so green, thick with huge, fragrant pine trees that would trickle down to the rocky beds of the rivers not yet full from coming run-off.  The light would filter through the trees as our car negotiated the terrain.  It all looked very much like scenery straight out of the Twilight Saga, though the teenager was irritated that THAT is what I saw when I looked out the window.  In truth, though, the books were mostly based in northwest Washington, so we weren’t that far off.

We drove through the park, stopping here and there to take pictures of the waterfalls and the summit off in the distance.  We eventually ended up in Paradise, where we walked up the path a little ways to see what the Chinook helicopter that was flying around was doing.  It turns out they were moving boulders from one area of the mountain to another using the helicopter.  I stopped in the ParadiseInn to use the restroom and browse the gift shop, and found a few things there to buy, including a book by a female climbing ranger that satisfied my “Death in the National Parks” theme I’ve had going all trip long.  (The book is “Pickets and Dead Men” by Bree Loewen).

It was time to make our way to Portland for our return flight back to reality.

On our way down, I thought we might be able to see Mount St. Helens, but unfortunately it was too smoky or we were just too far off.  Boo.

We boarded our plane headed to Vegas just fine.  But then we waited.  And waited.  The pilot told us that they were waiting for something to reboot.  When it didn’t reboot, we had to return back to the gate to try it again.  When it still didn’t reboot, they had to have someone replace the part.  We took off two hours late.  Half of my fellow passengers had been drinking prior to boarding and, at this point, were loud and obnoxious.  I was annoyed by all of them and just wanted to be alone.

Our planed landed at McCarran at 10:25, five minutes before our connecting flight was supposed to take off.  We stepped  off the plane and into a sea of people waiting.  The boarding passes said we were leaving from the gate we had just walked out of from our Portland flight, so the husband walked up to the counter and asked where we were supposed to go.  The agent at the counter told us our flight had been delayed until 2:15 a.m., rather than 10:30 p.m.  Uuuugh.

You would think a layover in Vegas would be fun, but the only thing open after 11 was a Burger King, which didn’t sound very good at all.  We took turns wandering the terminals and laying down along the hallways until we were able to board, about 1:30 a.m.

We landed in Detroit about four hours later, approximately 8:45 a.m. EST.

I can’t believe our Wild West adventure is over, after so much talking and planning.  More reflection--and pictures--later, but for now, this is way too much.

Waiting In the Wings

Several weeks ago, just after losing Moe, I had to step over this to leave the barn.  I keep forgetting to post it, but I think it was a small reminder that there is beauty to be found even in the suckiest of circumstances.

First

The sun had not quite peeked its head above the horizon, painting the edges of the trees, the barn, everything, with a hint of gold.  We were mostly alone,  save for the others who were turning out horses or tacking up--and my dad, who was documenting it all with a gigantic camcorder that looked like it had been swiped out of the back of a news van.

Nervously, I tried maneuvering Moe through the movements of the dressage test we'd been practicing all week.  We screeched to a halt where "X" might have been, had the wing of a jump standard not been hogging the space.  A pretentious salute, and off we bounced on our way over to "K", where we trotted a lop-sided circle.  Overnight, a storm had turned the arena into a soupy mess, dotted with pond-sized puddles.  Besides not wanting Moe to slip, I'd just bathed him and, for now, his legs were white.  He was more than happy not to get his feet wet, too.   All of this dodging of bodies of water and jumps made round circles hexagon-ish and straight lines squiggles.  Worse yet, I'd been forced to give up my beloved riding crop and learn how to ride wearing spurs instead.  

To up the difficulty a notch, out trudged one of the handful of trainers at the barn, a disheveled and quirky brunette, with her bay Arab gelding.  I thought it was impossible, but somehow she created just enough open space to lunge her horse near the center of the arena.

“Hey, look!” She bellowed, tipping her head in my direction as her dark horse spun around her, “it's 'desert donkeys' on parade!”

Ah, yes.  Desert donkeys.  Our horses were the only two Arabians in the group of horses entered to compete in the combined training event that day.  Not that there was anything wrong with that, except that there was everything wrong with that.  Our horses didn't move the same way the Thoroughbreds and Warmbloods did, and they weren't built to jump high and tight.  Not to mention that Moe had been mostly trained by myself, and I knew the other horses were show horses and been-there-done-that school mounts.  We were the longest of shots, but those were odds we were familiar with.

Too soon, the bell signaling my dressage test time jingled and the two of us recounted a week's worth of drilling.  Letters, transitions, circles, and changes of direction.  Near the end, I lost a stirrup during a canter circle and tried to pretend like I was totally cool with that (I wasn't).  The judge wasn't fooled, and let me know in my test notes that we'd looked a little stiff during that part.  Well, duh!

We had time to kill in between dressage and the cross-country phase, where we'd be in the farm's back pasture jumping rustic-looking jumps and teeny-tiny ditches.  I changed from my forest green hunt jacket and white blouse into something a little more sporty--a coral polo shirt I'd bought at a local horse show.  If I looked prepared for what was to come, it was a small miracle.  I was literally shaking in my boots.  

There was no trainer to give me any pointers as I set off to warm up over the single jumps in the open area preceding the cross-country start line.  My pace was wrong.  Moe was taking off before I was ready, leaving me playing catch-up somewhere in the air.  Or I was attempting to jump the jumps before Moe was ready, and....  it was a mess.  One ill-timed jump too many sent me off-kilter, dangling off the side of the saddle by a single rein and my left ring finger.  I landed on my feet, but knew something was wrong.  I'd broken my finger, no doubt about it.

Our cross-country trip was dismal.  We racked up refusals at nearly every obstacle, which surprised me as our lessons earlier in the week over the same jumps had been uneventful and confident.  Our refusals didn't disqualify us, but we were clearly no longer in contention, between time penalties and countless other deductions.  I'd stopped caring.  My finger was swelling inside of my glove.

Determined to finish, I shrugged back into my hunt jacket, and pasted on a smile for the final phase:  Stadium jumping.  In stadium, we'd be jumping obstacles we'd never jumped before, and trying to do it quickly and without plowing through them.  Face-to-face, those jumps loomed larger than Moe or I were used to, right around three feet high.  The first jump, a strange-looking intertwined contraption called a Swedish oxer, gave Moe reason for pause.  Literally.  It was, by far, the most intimidating jump we'd ever approached.  I couldn't even be mad at him for screeching up to it--I would have done the same thing, if I was in his hooves.  We circled around to approach again, and made it over.

Jump two seemed simple enough, a box with a single red rail.  The Red Rail of Doom turned out to be very, very scary.  Like, boogey-man scary.  So scary, in fact, we found ourselves disqualified from competition after two more refusals.  However, because it was a "fun event", we were allowed to continue the rest of the jumping course, with mixed success.  Moe nearly ran me into the standard of a jump with oddly-slanted jump rails, then proceeded to knock the whole thing down on attempt number two.  At the end of our round, there was polite clapping and murmurs.  Desert donkey on parade.  Nothin' to see here!

As quickly as I could manage, I tucked Moe away in his temporary stall for the night.  My finger was throbbing.  I needed medical attention, I was sure.

It was Sunday, and my father had come to see me at the event in between church services.  Fulfilling his show of support, he'd already headed back for the evening service, leaving my sister and her husband as my responsible parties, the lucky ones forced to chauffeur me up the road to the After-Hours Urgent Care.

The Urgent Care was quiet, with no trace of any of my fellow riders--because, apparently, they all knew what they were doing.  A nurse ushered the three of us back to a open room full of gurneys, then whisked a curtain around us, blocking our view of the beds all around.

"The doctor will be right with you."  She promised, half-heartedly.  Even she knew that she was probably lying.

Several minutes later, shuffling footsteps on the other side of the curtain indicated we had company.  The doctor was right with someone, after all, but he chose my new neighbor first.

"So, Mr. Smith....."  He began, loud enough for us to hear.  "How exactly does one cook turtle?"

A crackly but energetic voice replied with no hesitation, "Oh, you can make soup....  You can fricassee it...."

My new neighbor had a chunk of turtle lodged securely in his throat.  I bit down on my tongue to keep from laughing out loud as I met my brother-in-law's look of amusement.  Suddenly my problems didn't seem so large, but my eyes more than likely did.  All these years later, I struggle to remember the finer details of that day, the show, my injury--but we have never forgotten eavesdropping on Mr. Turtle Soup giving cooking pointers to the doctor.

Moe remembered it all, though.  After that event, each time we visited a certain riding trail that reminded him of the cross-country course, his ears would prick forward, and he would prance, ready to take his turn on course one more time.  And, wouldn't you know, he always came in first place.

Blocked

This endless blank screen is paralyzing.

This silence is suffocating.

At the end of the day once again, and I haven't opened this gift.

A terrible waste.