Author: Fine Yesterday - WTF

Platelets!

I donated blood a couple of days ago. Once the bloodletting was complete, I did my obligatory time at the cookie and juice table. Per standard protocol, I was temporarily incarcerated by the snack lady.

This particular volunteer was so enthusiastic about human blood, I was fairly certain she was part vampire. And platelets! Oh, what there was to learn about platelets. She held me hostage for about twenty minutes educating me about platelets. Apparently, they’re important because of their short shelf life, and how frequently they’re needed by cancer patients, particularly children with leukemia.

She asked why I donated. It’s funny how a well-timed, simple question can bring intense memories to the fore. Certain events can be resurrected and remembered like they happened yesterday. Why do I donate? Because my son nearly bled out following a near-fatal car accident. Because I watched him visibly come back to life as the doctors filled his depleted veins with bags of blood. Bags of blood that were filled by people like me. Like you.

I kind of hate doing it. It’s hard to spend thirty minutes or so, wide awake, lying down. I’m not crazy about the needle stick, either. Plus, bags of blood are a little gross. The colorful wrap you get to sport all day is kind of cool, though … a badge of honor. I usually pick pink. I think a lot about Justin as I recline, squeezing the stress ball every ten seconds. The dull ache in my arm is nothing compared to what he went through that day.

So, I’ll keep donating every couple of months. It’s not every day you get to do something that may save someone’s life. And hey … go platelets! The snack lady says so.

#MeToo

I was thirteen years old when a blue-eyed boy with golden curls stole from me what should have been mine to give. He was nineteen years old.

There wasn’t any remorse. In fact, he tried again. But that time, I saw him coming. I fought, and he wasn’t able to hurt me a second time. I didn’t tell anyone what happened, not a soul, for a very long time. When I did tell, I didn’t find relief. And I didn’t talk about it again for many, many years. It is a scar that is deep, and it is ugly. It will always be a part of me.

#MeToo is important. The abuse of power needs to stop. But #MeToo is a double-edged sword. Every time I see those words, I physically recoil. A gut punch. I am a member of a sisterhood that I don’t want to be a part of. I wish the sisterhood didn’t exist. What I appreciate about the message, though, is that it is growing. It’s loud. Insistent. It’s not hidden behind fear. Perhaps the next person in power will understand that he could lose that power, lose everything, if it is leveraged to manipulate.

I Googled the blue-eyed boy a few years ago. He died in a motor vehicle accident on February 4, 1996. I’m not proud to say I felt no sorrow. He was a bad guy. More anger than I wanted to hold on to had accumulated over the years. “He got what was coming to him”, I thought. “He won’t hurt anyone again.” I’m not proud of that response, either. The innocent girl I was would have possessed more compassion. But the innocence? He took that from me, too.

#MeToo

A wild retirement ride …

I turn 55 next year. All of a sudden, my future plans seem not so distant. I’m ready to construct the foundation for what I hope is going to be a wild retirement ride. So I made a list. The list had two columns: “what makes you feel good?” and “what makes you feel bad?”. Walking outside with a good camera feels good. Playing games on my phone feels bad. Yoga feels good. Drinking too much wine feels bad. Hiking feels good. To become immersed in the comment section of a political Facebook post feels bad. And so on. To do more of the former and less of the latter will, inch by inch, get me closer to my goals. It will bring me closer to being the person I want to be.

Travel, write, photograph, repeat.

That’s what I want retirement to look like. To do this, I need to be financially sound. I need to be healthy; to be able to move my body with ease. I need to be strong; to be able to hoist my kayak and make good use of my hiking boots. Balance, strength, and stamina came without effort in my twenties, thirties, and forties. The fifties? Not so much. It’s gonna take some work.

So, I tackled the feel bad line item “too much TV” this week. Often, I don’t fully engage in a program when it is on. It’s just background noise. A distraction. So I approached “too much TV” in the same way I approached my list. What feels good? What feels bad? “This is Us” feels good. “Real Housewives of Orange County” feels bad. So I pulled up the Scheduled tab On Demand, and started deleting. Instead of “The Voice”, I will prepare a good meal. Instead of “Chicago Fire”, I will go to a yoga class. Instead of “Below Deck”, I will go photograph some fall color. I’ll call a friend. I’ll explore an idea by writing about it. I’ll investigate some local hikes and lace up my hiking boots. The possibilities are endless.

Do more of what feels good. Do less of what feels bad. Now, this is something I can get behind.

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Extreme Adventure … 99 Days

Let the countdown begin. There is something special about being less than one hundred days from the start of an epic adventure; for me, it marks the beginning of active anticipation. Chile, Torres del Paine, Antarctica, and finally, a return to Argentina. This expedition is sure to inspire abundant awe and wonder, and I feel a tightening in my gut. Butterflies. A grin that will likely last for months.

When I first discovered this particular itinerary for Antarctica, I resolved to see the continent as described on Natural Habitat Adventure’s website: by sailboat. Our small group of seven will fly from Punta Arenas, Chile, to an airstrip on King George Island on the Antarctic Peninsula. From there, we board the S/V Australis. I’ll spend the next two weeks aboard, with six other audacious travelers and five experienced crew. We’ll see penguins and seals and whales and albatrosses. We’ll see immense sculptures of blue and white ice. We’ll kayak in survival suits, and spend up to three nights camping in tents on the ice. I’ll cross the Drake Passage, which has been described as the world’s most unforgettable sea crossing. Did I mention we’ll be in a sailboat?

The Physical Rating of this journey is “Extreme Adventure”. As is typical for me, I am a little bit afraid, and a whole lotta excited.

Before we leave for Antarctica, I’m going to spend a couple of days in Patagonia, hiking and horseback riding among the Paine Massif. The inn where I’m staying faces an unobstructed view of the Torres del Paine granite peaks. I’ve seen photos of this grand range, and felt immediately, spiritually connected. I cannot begin to imagine what it will feel like to stand before it.

Ninety-nine days. Continent number six … here I come!

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#nathab #naturalhabitatadventures #rioserrano #chile #patagonia #antarctica

Won’t you be lonely?

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I’ve imagined what my plan to travel North America will look like. I will take my home with me and traverse the paths less traveled. I will wind through the country on iconic roads, like the Blue Ridge Parkway and Route 66. I’ll hike in Banff and see the northern lights in Yellowknife. I’ll try to visit every national park and monument; Acadia, Pinnacles … Rocky Mountains. Maybe I’ll go horseback riding in the Dakota Badlands or photograph the White Sands National Monument in New Mexico.

I had a friend ask, “But won’t you be lonely?”

Maybe. Today, I see this as a solo adventure. It’s a little bit scary, traveling alone. The unfamiliar puts a heaviness in my step; a reluctance in my ability to move forward. But the rewards of pushing through that trepidation are great. I feel more open to starting a conversation with a stranger who sometimes becomes a friend. Those conversations have steered me to sublime places only the locals know. On a cool morning, I can fully absorb the stillness, with birdsong adding musicality to the peaceful silence. I can read, uninterrupted. I can go whichever direction I feel the pull.

So I’m afraid, and yes, I might occasionally be lonely. But like so many times before, I have a bold inner voice that insistently pushes … just go. Just. Go. And that inner voice has never let me down.

Free …

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I had dinner with some friends the other night, and we talked about the difference between our professional lives and how we truly see ourselves. The four of us; three in IT and one in Finance, spend our days with data. With numbers. We configure. We test. We document. But none of these friends seem to be defined by those systematic, methodical tasks. So I asked them, “How would you describe the ‘real’ you in one word?” One labeled herself a hippie, the second, an explorer. In my mind, I was a mountaineer. One simply said, “Free”.

It’s no wonder I’m drawn to these women.

So many of us spend our days doing things that are such a departure from who we really are. I spent some time thinking about my response. A mountaineer. But that single word didn’t fully describe how I want to develop over this next part of my life. I feel most alive when I am in the process of capturing moments … the beauty in the curve of a leaf, the rich scent of a grove of cedars, the melodic sound of a mountain stream. To photograph and write about my experiences makes them a part of me. I want to be outside. Always outside. Wildlife, new places, different cultures … I’m voracious. Intrepid. A wannabe gypsy.

I spent a recent lunch hour browsing Class B motor homes. Downsizing is a big part of my master plan to evolve into … me. It’s going to take some patience to get there. I need to balance responsible saving with spending that supports my travel addiction. I need to clear out my garage, my closets, my drawers. I need to work out a budget. I need to figure out that Social Security sweet spot. I need to stay healthy and strong. So today, I’m a business analyst. But tomorrow …………..

Half crazy?

It’s been three years since I ran my last half marathon. That year, I ran three. Next year, I am going to celebrate my double-nickel birthday by running again. My fourteenth half. My first since they reconfigured my foot.

I thought I had lost my mojo.

But a friend’s recent first race inspired me. She looked so bright and shiny … and happy when she told me about the event. It brought back so many memories of miles, blisters, camaraderie, and my favorite post-run beverage, chocolate milk. Recently, I heard about a race series that runs through the national parks … Zion, Yellowstone, Grand Tetons. And Yosemite! Memories of Yosemite run deep. My family camped there when I was a child, and I can still conjure up that musty smell of our army-green tent that I loved to poke when it rained. My first backpacking trip; standing atop Half Dome.

So I registered for Yosemite, got back on my treadmill, and started to run. I had forgotten the rhythmic Zen of running. I had forgotten how gratifying it was to sweat your hair wet. But this week, I remembered. The voices of former coaches and running partners echoed … lean forward … shorten your strides … quick feet. I’ve got some work to do, and I have 225 days to do it. This week, I started with 30 minutes. One third jogging, two thirds, a quick walk.

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Fifty-five. I hope to get a PR. And I’m gonna wear a tiara.

 

Sky shapes

July 23, 2017: Recent medical circumstances dictated that I, as a person close to me said, “CHILL THE F$*# OUT”, and rest. I’ve spent the last several years full-tilt and pedal to the metal, trying like hell to outrun the dark. So rest, I did. On my hammock, on my porch swing, on my anti-gravity chair. At the spa and at the nail parlor. I ate tomatoes fresh from my garden. I smelled cedar from the giants that stand sentinel over my deck, and sweet lavender as I watered. I played photographer to a reluctant, on-guard spider.

I’m finally getting out of my doctor-imposed purgatory tonight to go to a concert at my local winery. I have to say it will be delightful to get out, but I haven’t hated this hiatus.

This afternoon, I had my anti-gravity chair on full-on recline mode, staring at the blue, blue sky, spotting cloud shapes. I saw a bunny, a turkey, an arrow, and I even identified a sky penis. I listened to nearby summer sounds … playful juncos flitting by, the wind softly rustling through the trees, a fairly bad band (at least at this distance) playing at the brewery down the hill, the staccato tch-tch-tch of an old-fashioned sprinkler, and the distinctive buzz of my beloved fighter pilot hummingbirds. What I realized is that I haven’t actually noticed any of this in a good long while.

I think I may embrace this slower pace. So, if you’re looking for me, you can find me on my deck, lying on my back, looking for naughty shapes in the sky.

The Enchanted Isles, Galápagos Islands

March 5, 2017: The Galápagos Islands, or “Enchanted Isles” as they are known, are, indeed, enchanted. Magical, mystical, magnificent. I’ve heard this from other travelers to this corner of the world, but until you step foot on the Islands, you simply cannot understand the depth of that truth.

Our days were full … often we hiked or snorkeled before breakfast, then headed back to the sailboat for a delicious meal. On those days, we’d leave early to enjoy the sunrise from one idyllic location or another. The morning light against the rocks, interesting cloud formations, and the crimson sun rising against the horizon absolutely took our breath away. After our morning feast, we’d change our clothes to suit the next adventure … hiking, kayaking, or snorkeling. We had two to three adventures in the morning, and two to three in the afternoon. Every single stop had unique characteristics … it could be mammals, reptiles, geological landscape, or fish that we had not yet seen. Every color of the rainbow shone brightly in the diverse wildlife.

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Our group of thirteen, plus two top-notch guides, gelled quickly. We laughed, enjoyed happy hour together, and supported each other. We stargazed. Oh, how awe-inspiring the constellations were. The stars shine so brightly here! It’s been years since I’ve seen the Milky Way. One night, we convinced our guide to play his guitar. We certainly let him down in the singing department, but his delicate strumming was the perfect accompaniment. Watching the night sky was always a highlight, and the perfect way to celebrate each unforgettable day.

The camaraderie between the group started on day one, when one of our group overslept. Our guide, who bears a striking resemblance to our former president, went to check on him. He knocked on his door. No response. He knocked harder. No response. He went in to his room and called out. No response. He leaned in close and firmly said, “PAUL!” Startled, Paul had two fleeting thoughts. “Where in the world am I?!” And, “Why is President Obama waking me up?” When asked how deeply his ear plugs were inserted in to his ear canal, heresponded, “They were touching.” We collectively knew, at that moment, that the trip was bound to have a good bit of humor. This proved true as the week went on.

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On this trip, we traveled by plane, canoes, a panga (a.k.a., a dinghy), buses, and a spectacular sailboat. We were transported to and fro, and never missed a beat. We had a four-hour delay in Quito that could have gone badly, but instead, we took advantage of the extra time to visit an interesting museum, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to accept the dare to eat a barbecued beetle larvae. When in Rome!

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Now, we’re at the beautiful hosteria, Rincon de Puembo, waiting for our red-eye flight home. The time went much, much too fast. Fortunately, I’ve already booked my next adventure … sailing with six other intrepid travelers to Antarctica!, so the traveling fever will be kept at bay for now. Galapagos … el viaje de la vidas. Salud!

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