…. If you have the faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.
MAY 29, 2016
We leave in two days!
Hmm. Maybe the exercise is helping. I felt physically better working at the store last night even after working all day at school too. My legs might be getting stronger.
I have another retail shift to work today. Then it is time for more trip prep.
I race home to practice setting up the 1-person orange tent in our yard.
Paul sits in a lawn chair next to my scattered supplies and a 5 x 7 size paper worth of instructions. It is an open book test for me. He is hands off, but there if I need him.
After the second time putting up the tent, I get inside and roll back the door flap.
“Take a picture.” I pose one knee up and chin on my knuckles.
I text the pic to Highway 2246 girls with the caption “This is for Plus Size Hiker Magazine” something that does not really exist.
Laughter emojis and hearts reply.
Semi confident, I secure the tent fabric into a tight little roll and place it on the dining room table along with other camping supplies. The dining room has turned into a staging area worthy of way longer than a week. It appears I could be gone for two months given the number of items in the room. I am having a hard time figuring out what I need versus what I can withstand carrying.
The doorbell rings.
It is Deb! She offers a bag full of treats for the hiking team. Cheez-whiz, crackers, nuts, Slim Jims, a question/answer book for the drive so we can get to know one another better, granola, and what I know is one of JoAnn’s favorite snacks: a big tub of peanut butter filled pretzels.
Deb holds a set of sealed envelopes. She says, “And these are reflection questions for the beginning, during and end of the journey. In the last envelope is a gift card for Cracker Barrel when you’re on your way home.”
Reflection questions? Cracker Barrel? You can always count on Deb. I wish she were going, but I know she will be cheering us on in spirit.
Deb says, “I shouldn’t interject my thoughts into your trip, but I’m doing it anyway.”
“Are you kidding? I am so glad. This is the perfect bag. Love the reflection questions idea too. And you know I would not say that unless I mean it.”
I add, “I will miss you.”
We pause. I ask, “Should we hug?”
She and I are not random huggers as a rule, but it does seem like the right time to do a farewell hug.
She nods, “Ok.”
On my porch, we do a quick hug and laugh at our awkwardness.
Her eyes say she is a little worried about our safety.
Me too. I look at her, “I will do my best to live through the experience.”
She replies, “You better.” And adds, “I want to hear all about it when you get back.”
I hesitate, “Hey. Um. You would help Paul get through the transition if I don’t make it, right?”
“Yes, I would.” She is my logical friend. I know she, together with my best friend could get Paul through the worst if the worst happens.
“About him,” Deb offers. “This is another stepping in where I shouldn’t thing.”
I nod. Go ahead.
“He’s been helping you prepare for the hike?”
I think I know where she is going. And, I’ve been thinking similar thoughts.
She confirms my guess, “Maybe helping you prepare is his way of providing. Some guys show love by trying to excel in a career but don’t know the first thing about how to do these types of supportive things.”
“I hear you. And it’s true.”
I sense she is concerned about having crossed a friendship boundary. “It’s ok. I’m glad you said it.”
MAY 30, 2016
Today is Memorial Day. I am thankful for a day off to pack and repack.
I spend 7 hours portioning and obsessing over what food to place in each of my gallon size clear Ziploc bags. There’s beef jerky, trail mix, pasta bags that just need water, fruit roll ups and more. I attempt to imagine what I will feel like eating on the trail. What will my body need or want?
I use a Sharpie to label daily allotment bags E, F, G, H in case anyone else uses A, B, C or 1, 2, 3. Then I add a Before bag and an After-Bonus bag. 6 bags should be enough!
Proud, I text pics of the finished bags to the team.
Courtney—US TOO! WORKING ON FOOD BAGS.
JoAnn—PACKING RIGHT NOW!
I direct text to Courtney —SHHH! AND NOW I’M MAKING SNAKE REPELLANT MOTH BALL BAGS!
Courtney—GOOD! THANK. GOD.
For better or worse, I’ve come up with a snake deterrent plan. With gloved hands, I put old fashioned moth balls into sandwich size Ziploc bags. I poked holes in the bags with my extremely sharp flip knife, then put them inside 2 sealed gallon size freezer bags.
There is a perfect small compartment in the bottom of my borrowed backpack where the snake repellant invention can stay during the day. Hopefully, we will not smell moth balls during the day since they are double bagged. At night I will pull out the smaller bags with their vent holes and drop them around our tents. In theory, it is a smell barrier. I make 6 snake repellant bags in total.
I try to sleep. This could be my last chance for good sleep for a few days.
In the morning may be my last good shower for a while.
My mind races about what it will be like to sleep outside in total darkness.
Paul is unsettled next to me. We take turns tossing and turning in our sheets. No one is reaching deep sleep tonight.
MAY 31, 2016
I sit at the kitchen table. Paul holds onto the kitchen peninsula with one hand while he packs his lunch bag with the other hand. His legs are unsteady.
“You can do this,” he says. “Recite the hike plan without looking at the papers.”
I manage to say the trail name twists and turns out loud. He gives me a satisfied head nod, “You’re ready.”
He leans in to give me a soft kiss that lingers a bit and a hug. Then he is off to work.
With only 2 hours remaining, I struggle to commit to how much to pack. What is vital? What can I leave behind?
I wear the hiking backpack and take a selfie in our bathroom mirror. I post the pic to Facebook with the caption “About to get real”.
My pack is too heavy. Maybe I could repack it after the first night? I need time to think, but I am out of time.
I grab two extra tote bags. One tote is for a change of clothes after this ordeal and the other is an empty bag so I can compare notes with others and lighten the backpack before the hike officially begins.
Courtney and Rachel are going to park in my garage. JoAnn is coming to pick us all up here.
The air outside is warm and still smells like spring. The grass is bright green and thick because we have had plenty of rain.
The boys are awake and curious. Their legs trot around like youthful horses in and out of the stable that happens to be their home.
At 9:40AM the young gals arrive.
Courtney says, “I’m not good at going in reverse.”
I ask, “Like reverse in a car?”
She says, “Yes.”
I remember what it was like to be a young driver. I back in Courtney’s SUV and make the keys accessible for Paul in case he needs to move it while we are gone.
10:00AM –On The Nose!
JoAnn drives her silver Toyota CRV up the hill to our house with windows rolled down and speakers belting out the song “Born to Be Wild”.
The street thumps to the song. We feel the vibration in our limbs. She is more than ready. She is pumped!
JoAnn hops out of the car, leaving the music turned up. We load our bags.
I ask our sons to take a picture of the four of us plus Flat Kevin by the car. We pose with pride and anticipation of the adventure that awaits.
I give Jacob and Ben hugs, a good long squeeze for each of them. They watch as I settle into the passenger seat and put on my seatbelt. They stand in the front yard and wave as we ladies hit the road with “Born to Be Wild” on repeat.
Courtney and Rachel get comfortable in the backseat. Hitting the highway, JoAnn turns down the music to give us her 4-1-1, “Let me know if anyone needs it cooler or warmer air, whatever, just say the word ladies.” Courtney likes it cool and that’s good with me too.
JoAnn says to me, “You’re designated navigator. I don’t like to listen to GPS telling us what to do all the time.” She hands me a small square piece of paper with directions on it. I read it. I understand the first set of directions, but later I will need to turn on my phone GPS with the sound off when directions get tricky.
The hum of the road surrounds us. JoAnn is a get after it type driver. We are on track to arrive by nightfall.
I encourage the girls to open the goodies from Deb, “Open the red bag.”
“Oos and ahhs” overcome the vehicle as they dig into the snack contents.
JoAnn says, “Pass me the peanut butter pretzels!” She eats half of one side of the pretzel bite with peanut butter then tosses the other pretzel bread only side into a cup. She is the healthiest and most fit 60-year-old I’ve ever known.
We begin flipping through the conversation starter books. Rachel says, “Pick a page number between 1 and 150.”
JoAnn picks 54. Rachel reads, “If you could select someone to be commemorated on a stamp, who would you pick?”
“Hmmm. I have to think about that one,” JoAnn says. “There’s so many great people to choose from.”
“Court?” Rachel asks.
“Ok. If you could spend time with anyone famous who would you like to meet and why?”
Courtney thinks, then says, “Probably Oprah and Gayle. That would be fun.” She adds, “When my mom asked why I want to go on this hike I told her I didn’t want to miss a chance to hang out with the Oprah and Gayle’s in my life. You two up front are like that to me with all your wisdom.”
JoAnn and I roar with giggles and in unison say, “Who gets to be Oprah and who gets to be Gayle?” I don’t think we ever decide. I add, “I am honored.”
“Glenna?” Rachel asks.
“If you could hang out with a president past or present who would you pick?”
“Mmm. That’s tough. One time I was at Mt. Vernon and felt all hot and bothered over George Washington. The jawline, the deep thoughts. It got me.”
“History is tough, though. There’s so much icky stuff that we don’t know or that I’m learning about the more I read,” I say not wanting to commit to one president.
We nod in agreement.
“Oh, the journey envelopes!” I point those out to the gals. There is a different envelope for each day of the trip.
“Do you gals want to open the ‘Beginning the Journey’ envelope from Deb?”
Everyone agrees we do. Inside the first envelope I read out loud:
“Beginning the Trip:
Off to see the Wizard. What an incredible journey! Dorothy (and Toto), the Scarecrow, the Lion and Tin Man. The Wizard of Oz is so many stories combined. One of adventure, trust, friendship, adversity and resiliency, not to mention finding one’s way in unfamiliar territory.
It is tempting to assign each of you a character. But as in life, we are never all one thing or another. We are never fully courageous or completely lacking discernment. We are comprised of all these characteristics in varying degrees at different times.”
Passengers look at one another. Eyebrows raise and “oos” are heard regarding that deep thought.
“So, as you follow the yellow brick Appalachian Trail, remember each of you has great courage, are wise, show tremendous compassion and have great capacity for insight and awareness to find within yourself.
Be cautious of the Wicked Witch. And May the Munchkins be with you!”
I write the answer to “what’s on my mind” on Facebook:
Calling all friends who have back country skills and equipment! I have an opportunity to hike part of the Appalachian Trail coming up very soon on a shoestring budget. I would welcome and take good care of any items you might allow me to borrow. Need: a less than 5 lb. 1-person tent, a trail worthy backpack, sleeping pad, lightweight sleeping bag. Plus, anything you know from experience might be helpful.
I click “post” then grab my son’s empty L.L. Bean backpack. I put a couple text books inside to add weight to the pack, lace up the stiff new Swiss hiking boots, and begin going up and down the hill outside my house. We leave this month. I’d better do anything I can to get my body ready. From the trail plan, I know that climbing hills is going to be a tough part of the experience.
Three times down and up my perfectly paved suburban sidewalk leads me to take a break. I sit on the porch with my love handles drinking water while out of breath. Then I begin the descent and climb again and again until I am certain Netflix calls my name to go back inside the house. Sweat is overrated.
MAY 7, 2016
Today is Saturday. I am at my second job. A beautiful spring day is outside through the window and beyond my grasp. I miss the boys.
My supervisor gave me a quarter raise above minimum wage last week like it was exuberant cause for celebration. I try to be grateful. I tell myself: this is a season in your life. Carry on. Having to clean bathrooms at the end of each shift when the body already aches is the most humbling. I have gagged more than once.
I convince myself that the small additional paycheck helps with groceries for two hungry teenage boys. They are worth it.
Some of the worst moments here are when people I knew from better employment years come into the store and eye me with questioning eyes or pity. They are in a rush on their way to a bridal shower or stopping by for luxury beach accessories on their way to Florida. They complain about trivial things like a broken nail or how on earth they could possibly pick a fine china place setting pattern from so many choices. Today a guy visiting the customer service desk asked me, “Didn’t you used to be my boss at…?”
“Yes,” I smiled and did not offer one bit of explanation.
I hustle upstairs to my locker on a ten-minute break in hopes of a text or sign of life outside the walls of me saying “Would you like a gift receipt?” and “Would you like to purchase the item of the month?” to every single customer. You never know when the next customer might be a Secret Shopper who will report back about our store performance to the general manager.
I unlock my phone to find texts from JoAnn. Yes! Texts on break breathe life into me.
She sent a picture of a picture.
JoAnn—THIS IS FLAT KEVIN! HE IS GOING WITH US!
Flat Kevin is a 2D image of JoAnn’s nephew. She cut the background away from a candid photo of Kevin and laminated the remaining shape of his body. He is tall with dark hair and a kind smile. I recognize the wide bright eyes that JoAnn and many in her family seem to have. She says Flat Kevin will fit into her backpack perfectly. I guesstimate he is about 5 inches tall from the text.
JoAnn fills me in about his story and why he is going. The real Kevin is 44 and the father of 6 children. His youngest is 3 years old. Kevin is fighting Renal Cancer. He has gone through a round of Interleukin so far. She tells me Kevin is living life as best he can right now. JoAnn is dedicating her hike to him. We will take a bunch of pictures with Flat Kevin during the hike so she can share those pictures with him after the trip.
My heart acknowledges his struggle. I have nothing left to internally complain about today. I text back my support for Flat Kevin on the trip and she continues with more news.
JoAnn—GUESS WHO ELSE IS GOING WITH US?!! DRUMROLL….
No idea. JoAnn knows I am on a work break, so she does not leave me in suspense.
JoAnn—COURTNEY!!!! AFTER GRADUATION SHE HAS A LITTLE BREAK WHERE THIS TRIP WILL FIT IN PERFECTLY.
So, she WAS interested in going. Cool. Courtney is a nice addition.
Courtney and I ran a Girls Circle® group for 5th grade girls together during the winter. Before the students learned our names, they called her the “blonde one” and me the “dark haired one”.
Courtney has an old soul in a 22-year-old body. She was a reliable partner. I enjoyed her occasional surprise over what some of the young girls had to say. One of my favorite moments was when the girls mentioned that the next day school was going to have “the talk” with them about puberty. Their parents had to sign a consent form for them to participate. They asked Courtney if we knew what this means. Courtney replied, “Yeah, Glenna and I went to that class a long time ago.” The girls burst into an exchange of giggles.
The retail break time clock is ticking.
A group text pops up.
Courtney—MY ROOMMATE RACHEL WANTS TO GO WITH US ALSO!
JoAnn—OH WONDERFUL! WE HAVE FOUR SEATS. THAT WORKS!
The car is getting crowded, but I do like even numbers on trips.
Courtney—GLENNA, RACHEL IS TO ME LIKE DEB IS TO YOU. WE COMPLEMENT ONE ANOTHER.
Oh wait. I recall some difficult stories with one of her classmates.
Glenna—RACHEL’S NOT THE “CRAZY ONE” IS SHE?
Gotta verify. I am too old for petty, jealous girl stuff.
Courtney—LOL. NO, RACHEL IS NOT THE CRAZY ONE, BUT WE ARE TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO TELL THE C.O.
I pause, then send a text to Courtney directly. I know that Courtney was involved in and valued her past experience in high school church youth groups, so this idea might go over ok.
Glenna—DO YOU WANT ADVICE ABOUT TELLING THE C.O.?
As a personal rule, I attempt not to give input without asking if people want advice first.
Glenna–BEFORE YOU TELL HER, PRAY FOR A GOOD TIME AND AN EASY PATH FOR COMMUNICATION. THEN HOPEFULLY A CONVERSATION WILL OCCUR NATURALLY, NOT FORCED.
I have been to the movie of dealing with a few Crazy Ones over the years. Jealousy filled and irrational relationships wear me out. I have found that God has a way of working out the crazy upfront when you take the time to ask. So, perhaps I will pray right now too.
Please help Courtney and Rachel tell the friend that they are going on a trip without her. Soften everyone’s hearts involved and allow there to be a peaceful exchange.
And please work out the crazy circumstances in my own life too.
Then I think about how even if Rachel is not the Crazy One, she is still an “unknown” for me. I hope she is not someone with a bad attitude. I do not like when there is a dud on a trip.
The time clock makes the punch back in sound.
MAY 8, 2016
Jacob hands me the Mommy Boot Camp notebook I made him. For the last month he has been completing household tasks along with preparing his body for basic training and working. The home version boot camp is not because I want him to clean or repair our house (a nice benefit), but because I want him to know how to do things when he is living on his own.
We tried to teach him life chores as he grew up, but he is a dismissive one. He often surprises you later that he was paying attention at all.
Mommy Boot Camp has been a bit like Karate Kid’s “Wax on. Wax off.” He has done laundry, yard work, made calls to get information, wrote paragraphs about the dangers of drinking and driving, cleaned the crevices of our 6 panel doors, reviewed articles about youth who made big mistakes while abroad, prayed, looked up helpful life Bible verses, swept, mowed the lawn, drove his brother to appointments, was left alone with a banana and condom (while also having conversations about the benefits of waiting), folded clothes, Googled various topics like how to reduce anxiety, wrote down the Serenity Prayer, did countless sit ups, pushups and more.
“Mom, I’ve learned and done everything you asked.” He continues, “Now I’d like a few weeks off to relax before I’m gone for most of the next 6 years.”
“Ok.” I hug him. My tall handsome boy smells faintly of manly cologne.
I go to a quiet spot in the house to let a few tears pass.
MAY 13, 2016
May 31st is 18 days from now. My mind is racing about all I need to prepare and what I need to learn before we depart.
I realize that I have never put up a tent by myself. Maybe I helped once or twice in the past by holding a tent pole for someone else while they did the real puzzle work.
Fortunately, there is YouTube and Google. I search for videos, articles and how to information about hiking the AT: what food to pack, how to select and put on a proper hiking backpack gear, how to protect yourself from the elements, how to keep bears and critters from your campsite, how to sleep in the deep woods at night (Eek! It is going to be DARK!).
Sounds like the most important things are to not leave food out to attract animals and to not be smelly yourself. And by smelly, I do not mean smell good or fragrant with normal wash products. It is important to have as little scent as possible.
Oh, and apparently people have trail names. You can have a special name just for the hiking experience. Given my recent life challenges, I could use a departure from reality. I ponder what my trail name will be.
News breaks that a man, age 49, was bitten through his tent by a bear while sleeping along the Appalachian Trail in the Smoky Mountains. Through his tent!?!
It was just two days ago that I felt peaceful that I probably will feel safe enough at night once I am inside a 1-person tent. The dark will remain outside. I will zip up at dusk and not come out until daylight. That was my solid plan.
And now I am thinking, bitten THROUGH his tent by a bear?! I yi yi. He was inside.
I group text the story to Courtney, Rachel and JoAnn.
JoAnn—THAT GUY PROBABLY HAD FOOD OR AN ODD SMELL IN HIS TENT.
JoAnn—ALSO, I’M BRINGING BEAR BELLS AND A BEAR BAG.
Courtney—I’LL GLADLY CARRY A BEAR BELL.
Rachel—DOES THE BEAR BELL ENCOURAGE THE BEARS TO STAY AWAY FROM US?
JoAnn—BEARS DON’T LIKE BEAR BELLS. AND AT NIGHT WE PUT ALL OUR FOOD IN A BEAR BAG AND SLING IT WITH A ROPE HIGH OVER A TREE BRANCH ABOUT 200 YARDS FROM CAMP. I’VE BEEN PRACTICING.
Rachel—OH, OF COURSE. BELLS, BEAR BAG, ROPE, GOT IT. THIS IS ALL NEW TO ME! CAN’T WAIT, LADIES!
JoAnn has been practicing. Good to hear.
JoAnn—IF YOU’RE GOING TO WEAR DEODORANT, MAKE SURE IT IS UNSCENTED. NOT EASY TO FIND, BUT THERE IS A BRAND CALLED TOM’S THAT MAKES UNSCENTED.
IF we are going to wear deodorant? I add to my shopping list:
I do not think I can give up deodorant. I also do not want any rodents or bears curious about me.
At an after-school club I tell co-worker Maria about the trip. I know she is an outdoor person. Maria had many adventures around the globe in her 20’s.
“I think you’ll love it,” Maria says. “And you need to read Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods.”
“Is it a book about the AT?”
“Yeah. You will learn a lot of tips.” She continues, “Like cotton is rotten.”
“You don’t want to wear anything cotton. Cotton stays damp and gross. You need to wear things that are synthetic. Synthetic materials dry fast.”
“Really?” I’d already been planning cool cotton attire and a couple of my favorite summer outfits. Do I own anything NOT cotton?
“Oh, yeah. Very important. No cotton.”
Once again, I am re-thinking what to bring and what to wear.
I stop at the Half-Price Bookstore. I already looked online to see that A Walk in the Woods is checked out of the library.
Ah-hah! Half-Price has a few copies. I use a bag of change to purchase a copy of the book plus a blank journal and head home. I want to keep thoughts and lists for the trip in one place.
I walk down the neighborhood hill and back up several times.
I am in bed reading while thinking I should still be cramming exercise into the day. My legs are sore. I wish I had more time to prepare.
My eyes enlarge. On page 6 of A Walk in the Woods, the author is preparing for his AT hike. Included in his prep is awareness that:
“…there is the little-known family of organisms called hantaviruses, which swarm in the micro-haze above the feces of mice and rats and are hovered into the human respiratory system by anyone unlucky enough to stick a breathing orifice near them—by lying down, say, on a sleeping platform over which infested mice have recently scampered….”
In YouTube videos I remember seeing occasional AT platform shelters in the woods where the above quote could be a problem if we sleep on one at night. No thank you. I vow to stay in my tent. Two, I need to add buffs or handkerchiefs to my packing list! I will cover my mouth, nose, ears and all orifices while sleeping.
In the back of my journal, I make a page for my packing list:
Buffs to cover face at night
Synthetic, quick dry clothing–No cotton!
Food –what kind of food?! (need to research)
1-person tent (need to find or borrow)
Some type of pillow (or use rolled up clothing at night?)
Travel toothpaste and brush
Other items TBD
I turn off the light and pull the covers over my head. I try to comprehend what pitch-black dark will be like out in the woods at night.
MAY 14, 2016
This is really JoAnn’s trip. I remind myself of that. She has been planning to go since September.
The timing fit and the boots fit, but the origins of this trip are hers. I vow to respect that.
JoAnn turned 60 in November. She was super busy around that time and so was I. It bothered me that I did not get to properly celebrate with her on or near her birthday. But I have an idea about how to have a celebration moment for her while on the AT.
I message her husband, Steve, on Facebook to ask what her favorite candy bar is. He replies Babe Ruth. Perfect.
I saw a Pinterest video recently about making a little cake of candy bars attached to a small round Styrofoam piece. I can pick up miniature Babe Ruth bars and a small floral Styrofoam half ball from Wal-Mart. Oh, and I guess glue would be best to get the wrapped bars to stick to the Styrofoam. I can pack the completed “cake” in a Ziploc bag with a birthday candle. It will be a sweet moment while on the trail to celebrate.
I read about the importance of minimal weight supplies on the trail. You carry everything on your back: tent, change of clothes, food, etc. It is best to be as light as possible. I think this small cake idea can be lightweight.
I do not want to wait to the last minute to make the cake, so I begin working on it. It takes a while for the candy to stick to the foam, so I upgrade to a strong epoxy tube of glue. Soon the cake takes shape.
I text a picture to Courtney and tell her the mini birthday celebration for JoAnn plan.
Courtney—LOVE IT! VERY SWEET IDEA.
Glenna—THE TUBE OF GLUE SAYS HIGHLY FLAMMABLE, SO WE’LL HAVE TO LIGHT THE CANDLE AND HAVE HER BLOW IT OUT QUICKLY.
Courtney—YES! NO EXPLOSIONS ON THE TRAIL. I’LL HELP YOU ON THIS.
I am beginning to call this trip Highway 2246 in honor of our decades. Two are in their 20’s, one is in her 40’s and one is 60 years old.
MAY 15, 2016
I am struggling overnight and this morning thinking about Jacob’s departure to basic training next week. Tomorrow he has a last briefing with his recruiter. I connect online with other military moms. Turns out a lot of them are crying too. Knowing there are other moms like me out there makes me feel somewhat more normal and not as alone.
Only 1% of young people join the military in the USA. No wonder I do not have any local friends going through the same thing at this moment. This is not as common as I thought. There are few brave young men and women who sign up to protect and defend our freedom.
MAY 16, 2016
Surprise! The recruiter said we get to keep Jacob around a little longer due to his emergency appendectomy recovery time. The USAF Surgeon General wants to give him an additional 90 days to heal. Now we wait for a new ship date.
This was a practice round.
I pause to adjust.
I think about it briefly, then decide I am still going on the AT.
A group text begins as often is now the case with the 4 women of Highway 2246.
Courtney—I’M LOOKING AT OUR HIKE PLAN. WE END AT A DIFFERENT PLACE THAN WE BEGIN. HOW DO WE GET BACK TO THE CAR?
JoAnn—PEOPLE HITCH HIKE ALL ALONG THE AT. THERE’S A LOT OF GOOD PEOPLE WHO WILL PICK US UP AND TAKE US BACK.
I receive a direct message from Courtney–&^%$? IS SHE SERIOUS?
JoAnn might be serious.
Or she might be joking. I do not know.
Texting takes a timeout as heart rates increase.
Then we read:
JoAnn—I’LL RESEARCH AND GET BACK TO YOU.
JoAnn—I FOUND A REGISTERED DRIVER. HE’S AGREED TO DRIVE US. AND HE HAD A LOT TO SAY. TALKED MY EAR OFF. SOME OF IT WAS HELPFUL.
Courtney—WHAT’S HIS NAME?
Glenna—SO HIS NAME IS DOUBLE D…
I do not finish.
JoAnn—LOL. DICK PROMISES TO BE ON TIME. HE’S AWARD WINNING IN HIS TRANSPORTATION AND AT GUIDANCE.
Rachel—WELL, WE CAN’T QUESTION DICK THEN.
Courtney does her own research. She texts a picture of Dick within minutes. I am impressed by her rapid fire online investigative skills. In the photo Dick has white hair, a white beard and is holding up an award.
Glenna—I FEEL SAFER ALREADY.
Not really. But I am going with the flow. Surely JoAnn speaking with someone in advance rather than hitch hiking is a good thing. He is “registered” whatever that means.
Courtney—DOES ANYONE KNOW THEIR TRAIL NAME YET?
JoAnn—I THINK I’M GOING TO BE SUNFLOJO.
The rest of us do not know yet. We have a little time to figure it out.
My mind wanders.
My heart is heavy. I need to de-burden, defragment, and cleanse my soul.
Fresh air will be good.
I hope to find the tallest mountain ridge and spend time with God. I thought the delay in Basic Training date would help me feel better, but there is so much more going on with our family. I have no words, but I feel the stress in the space that has opened up further in my mind.
MAY 17, 2016
Paul and I watch Appalachian Trail YouTube videos. There are a lot of them.
How to cook on the AT
How to pack for the AT
Let’s talk Food on the AT
How to prepare physical endurance for the AT which totally makes me feel like a slacker at this late date!
And my favorite title: Preparing for My Thru Hike So I Don’t Die.
I watch and re-watch How to Pee Outside along with other ladies’ guides to peeing in the woods. This is vital information. I eye my backyard wishing the neighbors did not live so close. I do not plan to practice before going (pun intended!). I will be ready when there is no other choice.
I have a backup plan just in case I cannot manage to go when it is time or if I must figure it out at night.
This girl will not squat over mystery grass in the dark! So, I bought a guy version portable urinal. It is lightweight and has a smallish opening with a lid. I am confident in this Plan B because when I was in China several years ago, I cut off the top of a Pepsi bottle, made it work, then dumped the pee in the hole in the floor for waste. That is a whole other story involving dress clothes that did not work well in that country. If you have ever been to China, then you know what I am talking about.
Paul and I watch one video and then watch another and another. In-between he gives me tips or encouragement.
He is getting into this. He prints out enlarged 8 ½ by 11 pages of each part of our hike plan. He walks me through each page with a different color highlighter to mark each turn on the connecting paths.
I share with him, “JoAnn has taken classes and she told me she has an official AT trail guide map, but I’m glad for the blown-up versions so I can anticipate the experience up close on the map a little in advance.”
He knows I am visual, and he appears to want me to come home if lost. I will have more landmark names in my head than I need thanks to him.
Paul says, “Let’s go over it again. You follow the trails and make the turns with your finger. Describe each turn. You flip the pages. Let’s make sure you’ve got this.”
I begin, “We hike the Lower Hawksbill Mountain Trail first. We will climb the mountain to see the view from the highest peak in the Shenandoah National Park. Then we take Salamander Trail down the mountain to connect with….”
We practice the whole thing late into the evening.
I am amazed how much energy he can put into helping me with something like this.
MAY 19, 2016
I am tired. The next payroll week looms as I wait for invoice payments to arrive this week.
Semi-facing the inevitable, I meet with a local career strategist, Dr. Angie Taylor.
Angie asks, “So how long have you been struggling with your finances?”
“Three years, maybe four.”
Angie states, “Glenna, you know the definition of insanity, right?”
“Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?”
“Right. The non-profit is like your baby. You don’t want to let go, but you’ve got to do something different. It sounds like your spouse’s earnings are not going to change and you’re not in a good position to sell the house.” She sighs, “If you have to answer right now, what do you do from here?”
Defeated I say, “Get another job or different part-time job so I can pay the mortgage on time.” What I do not say is that the paperwork and effort to change course, though, seems daunting.
“Alright, let’s talk about how to go about doing that.”
We brainstorm how I can make room in my schedule and obtain new sources of income. Resentment brews in my heart.
Angie is wise. I am grateful for her time, but why do I have to do this?!
MAY 21, 2016
I have begun to meet people to collect supplies. Today I meet with Amy K, who used to live and have outdoor adventures in Alaska.
“Here you go,” Amy K hands me a 45 Liter backpack. It has many pockets to discover. Best of all, it is red, my favorite color.
“Inside is a sleeping pad that you roll up and hook to the outside while hiking. You don’t have to blow into it at night. Open the valve and it will inflate on its own.”
“Wow,” I say.
She unzips a side pocket, “This is a little ring of flatware. And, I don’t know if you’ll want it, but this contraption becomes a chair if you fold it right. Sometimes a bit of back support is nice when resting in the woods.”
“I wish I could go,” I see the sincerity in Amy’s eyes. She is another person we know that has knee problems at the moment.
“Maybe next trip,” I say. “If this goes well for JoAnn, she plans to do many sections.”
“Yes, I hope so.” Amy and I hug. I leave grateful for the pack. It is perfect. I already feel one with it. It has compression straps which I know from videos will help distribute weight evenly.
I stop at other friends’ homes. The support and willingness to share has been greatly appreciated.
I return home to try out the growing pile of borrowed equipment in our dining room.
Paul is there looking through the boys’ closets. “This will fit you. And this will too,” He says.
He has a stack of shirts and shorts which are made of synthetic material.
“This is great. Thanks,” I think about the savings but am a bit sad that I’ll be wearing all boy clothes. I have stopped at a few thrift stores and not found any trail clothes that will work.
I share, “I’m a little concerned about creepy crawling things and would like to have pants on the main hiking days, but I’m not sure what pants will work.”
Paul thinks for a moment then takes my hand to our shared closet. “What about these?”
He holds up his old pair of Boy Scout pants. For a few years he was one of the leaders for Jacob’s Cub Scout group.
I laugh, “Let me try ‘em.”
My brain connects the outdoor pants with images I’ve seen in AT videos. The pant vents, cargo pockets and zippers make sense for the first time.
“Tah dah!” I spin around once and stretch in the bedroom. No seams rip. That’s a good sign.
“They fit well,” he observes.
That settles it. I toss my new-found clothes in the wash and then hang them to dry. I have pieces of clothing from each of my guys and none of it is cotton.
MAY 26, 2016
I wake up at 5am to walk the neighborhood hills wearing Amy K’s backpack for an hour.
In my early morning thoughts, I face that I haven’t cared much if I live or die in recent years.
Now, surviving the AT is fresh motivation. I want to both live through it and not hold back my group.
It feels good to want to live.
I see this quote in a devotion book while getting ready for work. I dwell on it for the day.
When we are no longer able to change a situation,
we are challenged to challenge ourselves.
–Viktor Frankl, survivor of 4 concentration camps
MAY 27, 2016
Courtney and Rachel stop by the non-profit office. They come to collect excess equipment that caring friends have said we can share.
This is the first time I get to meet Rachel.
Courtney walks into the room, “Whazz Uppp?” She has been working out this morning. Her hair is in a ponytail. She wears her favorite Cross-Fit t-shirt.
“Hi.” I am wading through end of the year student survey data. A bit of spring air wafted in when the girls opened the door.
“You must be Rachel.”
“Yes, I am.” Rachel is a tall brunette with a sweet smile.
I fan out little plastic bags with fabric inside. “These are buffs from Deb’s mom. She thought she would want them when she went through chemo, but she did not. They’re all brand new.”
Rachel says, “Ooo. There’s a bunch.”
Courtney says, “Tell Deb I’m grateful for these. Nothing is allowed to crawl in my nose while I sleep!”
I agree, “Same here.”
Rachel chooses a turquoise blue. “Look, Court, it matches this backpack.”
Perfect. JoAnn had dropped off a few of her family backpacks to choose from. The girls load up.
“Yes, we’ll have to color coordinate a little bit on the trail,” Courtney smiles. “We’re off to buy food for the trail next.”
“Oh yeah, it is hard to commit to food choices,” I say.
Rachel shares, “It’s like you have to be ok with the fact that what you pack could be your last meal or something.”
We chuckle. “I’m committed to get through this, ladies. Yet, I have some doubts.”
Courtney says, “I am right there with ya.”
I offer, “I bought snack size peanut butter tubs, crackers, organic marshmallows—yum, tried some—cashews, ginger chew candy, packs of noodles that we can cook quick on JoAnn’s stove. Oh, and beef jerky in a few flavors.”
Courtney says, “Jerky is life. I’m all about the jerky.”
“We’re gonna need protein,” Rachel says.
“I hope we don’t see any snakes,” Courtney offers.
We all agree. I type into my computer and say out loud, “How to repel snakes.”
Rachel says, “Research. Good idea.”
Not as many articles or tips come up as I hoped. “Hmmm.” I point at one short piece of information, “Looks like snakes do not like moth balls.”
“I don’t know much about moth balls,” Courtney says.
“Well, they are kind of toxic for humans,” I say. “I’ll put some thought into it, though. There might be a way to incorporate them safely into some type of snakes-stay-away-system.”
I walk the girls out to their car.
It is time for me to leave for the day too. I welcome the warm afternoon sun.
On the way home, I stop at Wal-Mart.
I walk around the camping aisles for general inspiration and stop at the knife case.
Jacob has asked me a few times to take some type of protection. I purchase a light weight yet menacing looking knife that flips open easily.
This metal will be clipped in my pocket during the trip because you just never know what might happen.
The twists and turns over varied terrain and elevation changes are listed as if the line dashes on the map are no big deal. Easy peasy.
23 MILES – IF all goes as planned.
MAY 04, 2016
I wait for the right moment. I pace from the kitchen to the laundry room to the family room.
More pacing. There is no right moment.
Paul rests on the couch. I eye him. After all these years, I remember the butterflies we shared when we pretended not to look at one another the first time we met in the Young Adult Sunday School class.
He had been a visiting college intern in his last semester. I was there that day because my campus minister challenged me to go back to my home church one last time before moving my membership officially to the church where I had been attending for months. Being there was me fulfilling a promise.
If I had my way, that day was just a formality. A box to check, then move on.
But someone caught my eye. Everything changed fast.
While dating, we celebrated our total opposite personalities—bragged about it even. I would say things like, “He likes a home to be organized.” Then he would say, “She likes a home to be clean. This should work out perfectly.”
Once married, simple differences like how to set up house overflowed into differences in how we view the world. Even though we see things somewhat similar, it became cumbersome to constantly translate the nuances. Over the years, we evolved from both wanting to prove a point when we tried to talk or argue to me agreeing with whatever most days. I grew tired of expressing, “We are saying the same thing.”
I still adore his broad shoulders. I like the way he smells like Lever 2000 soap–and sometimes after shave when we can afford it. I appreciate the way he nurtures and cares for our kids. The pictures of how lovingly he looked at both newborns are forever in my mind. He acts like he is going to be fine with Jacob leaving soon, but I am fairly sure he will struggle when departure day arrives.
I am both mad at him for 23 years of reasons and mad about him at the same time. Down deep, I love him in a way that is eternal no matter what. Our shared faith has been the foundation that did not crack although the metaphoric home built above the foundation is not as strong.
It is time.
“I need to talk with you about something.”
He hesitates, “Oh boy.”
I take a deep breath and tell him about the trip opportunity. Then I get serious.
“Look,” I say. “I’m dealing with a few things.”
“Ok,” he says.
“My brain is fried. I need this hike to take me out of my comfort zone. I need to get away. Like, deep into the woods away both mentally and physically—something I can’t believe I’m saying.”
He turns off the TV.
I continue, “I am incredibly sad. Sad because Jacob is leaving. I am in denial that Ben is old enough to go to high school. And I’m angry.” Pause, “Angry at you.”
He says nothing but listens with his temples pointed in my direction.
“I am mad because it seems like you never made a solid effort to get a better job when I switched to non-profit work. I could totally accept if you tried and failed, but not trying is hard for me to accept.”
Shoot. I said the word never. We agreed long ago not to use trigger words like ‘you never…’ or ‘you always….’
We are silent for about 30 seconds. He has not moved.
I go for the summary, “So, two main things: One, I’ve got to let go of this anger toward you. Going through the motions of being nice when I do not feel nice has worn me out. I need a break.”
I exhale. “Two, I am super sad because we have to let go of Jacob. He is so young.” My eyes become wet.
“Basic training means we are not going to be able to talk with him for weeks. Then there may be times where he deploys to fight a stupid war that most Americans do not seem to know is still happening. Technically this kid is joining during a time of war. This is not like moving to a college dorm. Signing up for active duty is a change much more abrupt and final feeling. This feels like a sacrifice. I’m struggling with why our son? And, why anyone’s son or daughter?”
Paul is either tuning in deep or blocking my words to protect his own feelings.
I sniff. My tears are a steady stream now. “Plus, I may have to let go of the organization that I worked all these years to develop. I love what I do. It does not seem fair. Worse, I find myself mad at God for not providing. We have had too many years of financial strain. I picture going on this trip, sitting on top of a mountain, throwing my dreams off the side while saying ‘Take it and do your will, Lord. Take it. Take it all. I cannot carry these burdens anymore.’”
I whisper, “If word from the mountaintop is that I am supposed to let it go, then I will. Someone else can lead. Or, we’ll close the doors.”
Then Paul looks at me for the first time, “Go.”
He has an understanding look on his face—not at all the look I expected. “Do what you need to do and have fun.”
I expected him to give me reasons why I should not go hiking given my lack of experience. No doubt, he would have multiple valid reasons.
I take a breath. “Ok.”
His kindness and acceptance are a terrifying miracle. Um, maybe you should talk me out of this, Babe.
“I’ll send you a text of the hiking plan. If you want to help me plan or gather things, I’m open to your ideas.” Long ago the man was in the Army National Guard. I know he has outdoor survival skills knowledge.
Later I tell the boys. Ben-Just-Ben shrugs, “Ok”. Jacob says he wishes he could go with me, but he is pumped about going to Texas soon.
I text JoAnn—I AM IN!
MAY 5, 2016
A group of us are going to celebrate Cinco de Mayo and our friend Deb’s birthday at the local Cancun restaurant.
After working professionally together for over a decade, Deb and I have accepted in recent years that we have become good friends.
I have not had a chance to tell her about the AT trip. It would be fantastic if Deb were going too. She would be wonderful addition to team camaraderie.
Last night and this morning, Paul and I began making a list of supplies needed. He also began giving me tips like, “Don’t set up your sleeping bag on a tree root. Look for a soft spot or spread leaves out underneath where you rest.” I have been thinking about details while still processing in my own head the fact that I am going at all. There is lots to do and not many days to prepare.
Deb, JoAnn and a social work intern, Courtney, are already seated at a long table when I arrive. There is room for other guests who will come and go as part of the birthday celebration. A boxed cake is on my end of the table.
We exchange happy birthday greetings and food orders arrive. We also celebrate that Courtney is about to graduate May 14 from Xavier University.
My mind quietly thinks about the AT trip while people joke and chat. I do not plan to discuss the trip at all today since this is a gathering for other reasons. I want to tell Deb on my own when I get a chance.
One of the silent things I ponder is that the cost of this trip is an issue. I can’t make purchases. We have no credit cards and the debit card is stretched to the penny each month. I consider who in my neighborhood and friend circle might allow me to borrow equipment.
Knowing where my mind might be, JoAnn interjects, “Hey Glenna. You’re going to need a good pair of hiking boots.”
Deb says, “For what?”
I am surprised. JoAnn must REALLY be over the top excited about this trip.
All eyes turn to me. I answer, “Well, within the last 24 hours I’ve agreed to go on an Appalachian Trail section hike with JoAnn. We’ll be in the Shenandoah National Park area for almost a week.”
I look at Deb. My raised eyebrows ask if she would like to go.
Reading my nonverbal cue, Deb says, “That sounds fun, but my knees could not do that.”
Courtney, though, looks more than intrigued by the idea. She asks about the dates and if other women can join the team. Is she interested in being part of this idea?
“Are there bears in that area?”
JoAnn answers Courtney, “Oh yes. We will have to put our food in a Bear Bag, then use a rope to throw the bag up and over a tree branch away from where we set up camp.”
My eyes widen.
“Snakes?” Courtney asks.
“Yes, some poisonous. Some not.”
I start to think that Courtney going on the trip could be good. She is young and probably could run for help if we need it.
Then an opportunity-to-help-look comes over Deb’s face. She says, “Boots! A few months ago, I stopped by a shoe outlet in Louisville. There was a $7.50 sale on Swiss hiking boots that were originally priced $110. I don’t hike. They were not my size, but I couldn’t resist knowing that someone I know surely will need them especially for that price! What size do you wear?”
I reply, “9.”
Deb says, “I had no idea why I couldn’t resist those boots. This must be why. I will go home tonight and let you know what size they are.”
The table oos and ahhs. “This may be divine,” JoAnn says.
Then Courtney offers, “My sister is into this kind of thing. She has hiked a lot and has all the equipment. I can ask her for advice.”
I will welcome all the advice and divine intervention I can get.
As we are in line to pay for our food Deb says to me, “This will be good for you to get away after Jacob goes.”
I nod, “Exactly.”
I receive a text from Deb with a picture of the boots—SIZE 9!
I have agreed to go on an Appalachian Trail section hike May 31 through June 4.
Sounds simple enough: take long walks, camp overnight, repeat 4-5 times, then go home. How hard could that be?
But I am 44 years old, overweight, stressed out because life is not going as I planned, hoped, or dreamed. AND, I have never gone pee or poo in the woods.
Never. Not once.
I am in research mode to prepare for the hike. So far, I read that an Appalachian Trail hiker carries 30-40 pounds of equipment on their back. I already have that much extra in fat that I carry around my waist and hips every single day. Is it possible that I can carry more than my own fat for nearly a week in the woods?
Neither friends nor family would describe me as an outdoor person. Once upon a time I was a Cub Scout Den Mom for 8 years for our two sons. I did not lead the outdoor activities. I outsourced what I did not want to do or what I had no clue how to do.
I asked other outdoorsy type parents to lead lessons that involved sweat. Or trails. Or fires. Or bugs, fishing, snakes…yeah, pretty much anything having to do with outside was outsourced. I was great at sending emails, keeping a schedule, carpooling, and leading a craft or two. I rocked soap carving and enjoyed taking 6-10 young kids to new places. Guess it is my turn to take a field trip. Yet this is exactly the kind of field trip I would have avoided as a Den Mom.
Cub Scout days are long gone. I hold onto contact information and scout files as if we could start back up at any time. I have a plastic bin filled with Pinewood Derby Car race supplies. Each year I think I will donate them to some younger mother but have not gotten around to it. There are extra car decals, paint, weights, glue, officially licensed Boy Scout of America wheels, a scale and graphite powder which I am not sure is legal in the BSA rules, but everyone used it on race day anyway.
Our children are on the cusp of being grown physically. I am 5’10. In the last year both sons have become over 6 feet tall. Somehow, I am now the shortest person in family pictures.
Jacob turned 18 years old a couple weeks ago. He graduated high school last summer at 17 because he was determined to serve as soon as possible in the United States Air Force. He wanted to clear his path to depart months ago, but the wait game has been challenging. We have taken no less than 5 trips to a Military Entrance Processing Station two hours away from our home. For months I have run back and forth to schools and doctors getting letters and documents together. Jacob finally has a date for Basic Military Training coming up May 24.
I feel sick and stressed inside. Is Jacob ready to be an adult? He is by far the child I have worked the hardest to support and coach along the way. My shy boy is becoming an adventurous man. What scares me most is his propensity to learn the hard way as a rule. When he was little the moment after I told him not to touch the hot stove, he proceeded to lay his hand flat on a burner. I am shocked by his no fear and eagerness to leave so soon. Older and wiser friends who have already been through this say I should be proud that he has the confidence to go. I try.
Last month Jacob had an emergency appendectomy. When he was recovering post-surgery, I considered it a privilege to stay overnight in the hospital with him. I stared at his sleeping face as the rain poured outside and the parking lot lights gently shone into his room. What a bookend moment it was. I thought about how the same month 18 years prior I stared at him for hours overnight in a plastic crib after he was born in the same hospital. Now he is departing soon for Texas and who-knows-where in the world after that. He is brave.
Then there is Ben-Just-Ben. He is our youngest, 14 years old. His real name is Benjamin, but he announced after coming home from kindergarten years ago that he is no longer the full name of Benjamin. With a small hand cutting motion he stated, “I am Ben just Ben from now on.” This guy, once the cuddliest child ever, is close to 6’2 tall and begins high school this year. High School?! Wow. One minute you are trying to keep the calendar straight for school age children. The next minute you grieve them leaving home.
I am a risk taker of sorts, but now it is our kids turn to take risks. No matter that them leaving is completely normal and healthy, it hurts. Down deep in my stomach and soul there is a grinding and twisting that I feel these days. I must figure out how to work through the tears of this life transition.
It does not help that other parts of my life are unstable. I run a tiny non-profit with 7 staff members. We teach positive coping and life skills to children in grades K through 12, and for parents of preschoolers. Being a small organization means I wear lots of hats. The pay is not great and sometimes the boss, aka me, simply does not get paid.
My reward is seeing children who once struggled in the classroom then learn new strategies and succeed. It is hard to imagine doing anything else because I love what we do so much. With new skills and knowledge people can make better choices and, in some cases, break negative cycles that have been passed down for generations.
The desire to build the non-profit began in 2005. I thought I heard clearly from God that this was what I was supposed to do. I was confident that if God put the dream in my heart that He would provide. Yet as some of my students say about other things: the struggle is real.
I adore my staff. I am so proud of the work they do. Most of them have spouses who are the main breadwinners. They do not seem to feel the same pain that I do trying to cover the mortgage and decide whether to buy groceries or pay the gas & electric bill.
My husband, Paul, is a loving, caring spouse and father, but striving to make a good salary has never been an actionable priority for him. We have been married 23 years. He agreed that he would seek a better job or salary when I left the corporate world and took on the non-profit, but to date the steps necessary to improve his pay have not happened.
No matter how much I say I believe in him, he will not believe in himself. He is an intelligent person. I admire his brain, but he is plagued by self-doubt, a touch of OCD and depression—in my unprofessional opinion. Basically, I am married to Eeyore. Loyal and loveable, lack of growth mindset, Eeyore.
Worse, his body is failing him. He is tired all the time. I am not the type of spouse that would say, “Get off the couch!”, but I am thinking it.
Especially due to finances, something must give. I am not sure what.
In addition to non-profit workshops, marketing, administrative duties, taxes, payroll, school activities, orthodontist appointments, plays, proms, sports, home duties like cleaning, oil changes, laundry, grocery shopping, etc., I also have a side retail job. I wish the retail money helped more than it does. I barely notice the tiny additional funds, but I do notice how much my feet hurt. My brain feels squeezed. Too much. This is all too much.
FLASHBACK: APRIL 5, 2016
I am in-between school day workshops and an evening parent workshop. I receive a text:
JoAnn–WOULD YOU LIKE TO MEET AT THE PUB RESTAURANT? I HAVE A LITTLE TIME BEFORE A GIG NEARBY.
Heck yes, I do! I love JoAnn. She is one of my favorite people on the planet. JoAnn is a high school social worker. We collaborate from time to time on projects and how best to serve students.
JoAnn is 5’2 tall. She is 17 years older than me, but in much better shape. She runs marathons and any 5K event she wants to around the city.
We connect well spiritually, and we laugh every time we are together. In the last few years, we call each other “soul sis”. Like me, she grew up in an environment with a functioning alcoholic father and hard-working mother. I sense we both work in the Urban Appalachian town where we do because it is a lot like coming home for both of us. The culture is familiar. We “get” the unwritten rules.
I arrive at The Pub. JoAnn has already portioned out half of her pot roast and mashed potatoes dinner onto a side plate for me. One, yum. Two, this is a good habit I have seen her do with food. She is a half eater. I am an eat the whole plate and may I have some more eater.
I ask, “What’s your gig tonight?”
“A compass reading class over at REI.”
That does not sound like social work continuing education to me.
“Tell me more,” I smile.
“I’m starting my AT adventure this summer,” she announces proudly.
I have no idea what REI is either, but start with, “What does AT stand for?”
“Appalachian Trail,” she says. “Oh, I love to hike.”
I have never heard of the AT, “How long is it?”
“The whole AT goes from Maine to Georgia.”
“Wow-“ How in the world?
She reads my face. “Oh honey, I’m not hiking the whole thing this year,” she laughs. “I’m doing a section hike as a recon mission to see if I can handle it. Then I might do more sections each year until I complete it. I have been planning and plotting this adventure since September. I have taken several classes to prepare too.”
Is there anything JoAnn can’t handle? Seriously.
“Who is going with you?”
Then I ask, “When are you going?” And more questions all the while thinking that maybe she should ask me if I want to go.
I do not dare interject that idea. Clearly, this is her thing. She has a plan.
Look at me. I feel the pinch of my too tight pants. I would not be a good hiking partner. I would literally weigh her down.
But…the thought of going sounds amazing.
My mind wanders. This could be the escape I need to be me-just-me for a week. I could be challenged away from my normal struggles. Lately I feel an ugly angry inside. On the outside most people may think all is well with our family, but the reality is painful. We live in a nice house that we no longer can afford. Our slow pay credit score makes me feel trapped. Moving is expensive. We have old cars that break down constantly. We are blessed with two amazing kids who each wear one pair of shoes for a year straight. Our water has been turned off a couple times and the boys knew when I rushed to scramble to get it turned back on.
JoAnn interrupts my thoughts, “Would you ever be interested in hiking sometime?”
I look at her. My head tilts, “Yes. If the opportunity comes up. Maybe after your recon mission success, then we can plan a different section hike sometime. Let me know how it goes.”
FLASH FORWARD: MAY 03, 2016
I’m driving to work. The cell phone rings. It’s JoAnn. I put her on speaker.
She says, “Crazy idea. Do NOT feel like you have to answer right now. Sleep on it at least one night….”
“My friend who was supposed to go on the AT hike with me hurt her back. There is no way she can carry the backpack required so she can’t go.”
There is something about the way JoAnn lovingly pronounces “AT” that I admire.
She continues, “Would you like to go on the trip? I have a mini camp stove and a bear bag already. I can text you a pic of our hiking plan so you know where we’ll be going….” She trails off. Pun intended.
Meanwhile, I am thinking, What in the world is a Bear Bag?
In three days, I will begin posting one chapter per week of my manuscript Surrender on the Trail.
I plan to have fun with this project. Hope you will have fun too!
If you want to help the process, here are three things you can do.
A) Subscribe to the blog by entering your email address via the top right side of the Home page. This guarantees that you receive an email once per chapter release.
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C) Share the chapter with people you think might enjoy the story. After the first week, I will include a fresh page link where chapters will be in numerical order in case you want to send someone one link regarding what has been shared so far.
Things are better for our family today than they were one year ago.
Or, today compared with the last seven years, seven years that got progressively worse until I thought my brain and heart might implode.
I felt fear typing the word “better”, but it is true.
And, thank people.
A key thing I learned especially the last three years was that help comes from the most unexpected places: complete strangers, acquaintances, neighbors, some friends, some family. There was a time when I would have refused help or tried to do it all my own.
I stopped being embarrassed of our mess and started saying yes.
Someone I trusted but did not know well sorted my jewelry and personal items. A team of painters from a church different from our own church came to our house for over a week, most that I did not know. Someone I barely knew out of town paid our electric at just the right time when I was debating the order and deadlines of bills. Grocery gift cards arrived. Encouragement came in the mail from both sisters (by blood and marriage) at just the right time every time. Someone ran a marathon to fundraise so that Hubby could get a mobile scooter. A friend spent 36 hours removing stubborn wallpaper at the condominium. One room had four layers! Eight women over 60 years old showed up to pack their cars with Rubbermaid containers to transport from garage to garage so that we could save time and money on moving day. This paragraph could be much longer with stories of miracle people showing up, but you get the idea.
One thing that rolled around in my head was that people do what they can when they can. I did not expect anyone to help. I think it is dangerous and mean to expect people to be there for you. For example, I am not a fan of Facebook chain posts that end with “and I think I know who will respond.” Yeah, no, at any given time, you do not know what someone is really experiencing or what they can make time for this minute or in this season of their life.
If you are going through a tough time, just be open without judgement. Say yes to those who emerge from the clouds. In addition, when you can, make sure you help others too. There are plenty of opportunities to be there for people when you can. Over the years, I have really enjoyed giving quietly when I was able. It was humbling to be on the receiving end. And, it was necessary to accept help. We would not have made it otherwise. Thank you to many.
When we have frustrating days now, I observe how quickly my mind thinks, “Thank You for my problems.” Right now involves acceptable water treading with a little space and capacity to roll with the waves. I feel the physical and mental stretch daily but nothing like recent years.
Last summer I was fortunate to visit Thorncrown Chapel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. The building is constructed with glass walls that provide a sanctuary in the woods.
While there, I thought about its openness to nature. I considered my openness to surrender.
Surrender means saying yes to God through the stress. Surrender says, “Sure you can sort these items in my bedroom. Seems like a personal place, but let’s go for it.” Surrender says, “Thank you for adopting my son to celebrate his high school graduation in ways that I would not have been able at that time to provide.” Surrender says, “Yes, please interview and find us the best realtor for our situation.”
Surrender is also the word that came to mind back in 2016 when I was out of shape and said yes to a near week long hike on the Appalachian Trail with a team of women.
I knew the ground was sliding under our family’s footing. Something was wrong. I thought I was losing my mind over our oldest son going to the military at 17 years old. Maybe if I ran away to hike and sleep outside, then I could get alone with God to work out my mixed up feelings.
However, there was more.
And, God was preparing me.
“Surrender on the Trail” became the title of the manuscript I wrote about our wild experience in the woods. Imagine four women committed to staying outside to maneuver rocks and mountains for 35 miles. Imagine getting lost in the rain at nightfall. Imagine tears and flies buzzing with an incredible 4,050 feet view above sea level.
I am thinking about publishing one chapter a week here on the blog. What do you think?
The manuscript has been complete and edited for a long time. Something in my heart does not feel like continuing to query publishers or literary agents right now. What if I make it available here?
People from 34 countries read this blog last year. What if I simply share?
If you have comments or ideas about this idea, please let me know.
Psalm 121:1a ~ I lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD….
When a baby comes along, one hears “Enjoy them, they grow so fast” on repeat.
I took mental pictures of our tiny babes, memory videos of their first steps, wrote down funny things they said, and worked as late as it took to pull off birthday surprises and holidays.
But almost no one tells you how fast your marriage will go. One thing I do recall someone say at our wedding, “Look around. You’ll never see this many people who love ya in one place again until your funeral.”
Well, that was encouraging. Eek.
I’ve considered lately how much I cannot remember about the years with Hubby in the way I can with the kids. While there are some thoughts to revisit, it is not as easy to find the rewind button or scene selection.
So, these days I take time to freeze the frame when we laugh at a show together, when he talks the boys through a decision or when he reassures me that I’m doing pretty well considering. I even capture the kindness when he shuffles away to give me alone or reading time. He knows I need the quiet to recharge.
No one tells you that there may be a season of marriage when you feel a ping of jealousy seeing random people much older than you walking around together at a mall or on the street.
I remind myself that everyone has unseen burdens. Life sprinkles the challenges out to folks.
Still. It can be difficult to play out your hand while not wanting the game to end.
So, we’ll capture in each day what we can. The mundane is no longer dull. The hurdles mean we are breathing. It is the life we get to live each day.
It is that day when I promise once again that next year I won’t be in town on Valentine’s Day. I will be with girlfriends or on a beach, on a mountain top, anywhere else doing something–anything–not so ordinary.
Valentine’s Day is a double whammy. It’s also my birthday. Growing up, I loved celebrating with red hearts, white paper lace, pink streamers, balloons and all things Valentine.
As an adult, I realized many people have jumbled emotions linked to February 14. Happy feelings, angry feelings, dread, anger and so forth.
Then I married someone who expresses love inversely to what I anticipated. Let’s just say his first romantic gift was a bright yellow personal alarm to wear on my waist so I could pull the cord for it to wail and screech if someone nefarious came too close to me on my college campus.
We’ve worked it out. It’s taken a lot of tears and years. I’ve learned that the antidote to my occasional sad feels is to have less expectations, ask for something specific if desired, support or help others.
These days, ALS-21 plus a Pandemic make it so Hubby can’t get out to shop, or walk much, or feel good for a full day. I am happy simply when his words are kind. I like thoughtful and kind. Lately, I’ve been quietly thanking the writers of Call The Midwife. Hubby really likes that show. I call it his daily empathy exercise. Women have been through so much and that binge worthy series does not shy away from hard topics.
Speaking of writers, my feel better about Valentine’s Day activity this year was to support authors I care about. I directed Hubby to my wish list and he placed the order. I was excited to open the packages.
Janine Rosche is an author who picked me up off the floor when I received a bad news phone call at a writer’s conference. She prayed with me. Then I found out she was looking for a certain agent to meet. I am thrilled to say they met indeed and are three books into a successful journey. I now have a trifecta of inspirational romance to read:
William Klein’s book was lost in our move so I needed a replacement copy. This is a timely fictional story about a painful border experience.
And Jessica Terry is a writer that cracks me up with her Instagram stories. Like me, she was a basketball player in her youth. We’ve never met. I appreciate her work ethic and passion. So, I soon will read:
Who would you like to support? Someone creative? An organization that does something you value? Church? Someone elderly or ill? Doing a little something for others could brighten your Valentine’s Day. Earlier in the week, I called a couple people who I hadn’t spoken with in a few years. It was a good time on old fashioned phone calls.
Frequently, I think of the verse Love One Another (John 15: 12). Loving others does not result in only one direction of good vibes even when that should be our intention. When you love others, the good feels return to fill your heart and strengthen the weave of the universe.
Still in town,
P.S. Hubby also visited the Shari’s Berries website. Winner. Yum.
There is “a lot of togetherness for families right now”, a friend said–knowing how people at home can get on one another’s nerves after nearly a year of social distancing.
I dream of hopping in the car and taking long drives. Drives that land me in other states, on a mountain or on a beach. The sound of ocean waves is high on my YouTube search list.
Our family is fortunate to have moved just in time to our condo where accessibility for Hubby is much better overall. Our youngest is attending college online this semester rather than returning to a dorm. It has been a comfort to know Son 2 is home when I mask up and go to work. If Hubby falls, Son 2 is here to help at least for now.
While things are far from perfect, I count blessings daily.
Hubby and I have opposite personalities. Often I either have a different viewpoint altogether or am mentally translating that we just said something similar in a different way. I usually recognize the style difference first while he argues his point. I wait, then eventually say, “we said the same thing” which he may or may not ever believe. This fact has worn me out for near 3 decades–long before ALS added to our mix.
I notice a lot of couples end up on opposite sides of the picket fence so I want to encourage those who end up as spouse, friend and caregiver. Caregiver is a twist of sour lemon, but you can carry on and survive. I even believe thriving is possible. Not there yet, but I’m considering what “thriving” might look like. Stay tuned.
Occasionally I have a little island moment epiphany. This week I was knocked over by the thought, “He’s still here.”
And, I’m glad.
I can still figure out how to hug him–awkward and on me to initiate, but it is possible. I can still ask his opinion about something. I can still find a moment to catch up about our sons. Once in a while something on TV makes him laugh, and that is my favorite few seconds of eye crinkling. Last night he was able to sit in a chair long enough to play a couple rounds of a board game. That was a win.
Once upon a time, back when I thought I was tough, when I believed wholeheartedly that life will be what you make it, when I never cried at movies or much of anything besides a broken heart, my future husband and I took a road trip.
He played his favorite songs through the car cassette player. “Listen to Sammy Kershaw,” he said. “If we are going to get married, then we have to promise never to let this happen.”
The song was Yard Sale. The lyrics played:
Cardboard sign says yard sale Real estate sign says sold Family picnic table Holds all that it can hold On the grass and on the sidewalk Well there must be half the town Ain’t it funny how a broken home Can bring the prices down
Oh they’re sortin through What’s left of you and me Paying yard sale prices For each golden memory Oh I never thought I’d ever live to see The way they’re sorting through What’s left you and me
You left two summer dresses In the backyard on the line A lady just brought them to me Says she thinks they’ll fit just fine Well there goes the baby’s wagon…
By the time the baby’s wagon is sold, my lips are quivering.
Tears. What the heck?
And ever since that 19 year old day, I joined in on his idea of divorce not being an option.
When Hubby was diagnosed in 2017 with ALS-21, soon could no longer work, and he had to crawl if stairs were involved, I saw the dim light arrive over the home we once were determined to grow old in together.
I knew we’d have to leave.
And I knew our very real children’s wagon was in the garage. Do our sons need it anymore? Uh, no. Did we love it and use it a lot? Yes. That wagon toured the neighborhood many days, helped with Halloween, Cub Scout popcorn sales, and gardening.
I have cried about leaving our home for weeks while keeping my body sorting, packing, dragging, etc. Moving out of a home you’ve lived in over 20 years is more of a feat than a project. Plus, when leaving is a “have to”, the work can be extra painful. My heart resisted while my body ran the metaphoric marathon.
Then I learned that a 5 year old is part of the new family who bought our house. Turned out, she would like to have the wagon.
Take that, ALS-21! You can not have our babies’ wagon!
And that made me feel good. The wagon will live on in our neighborhood for a little while longer.
We are 4 hours into condo life without overlap with the house. There is a peace in seeing Hubby get around much better here. My mind & tired body will settle into the peace soon I hope.
Speaking of marathons, next Sunday Lisa Zupan is running 26 miles for two causes. One of the reasons is to help purchase a scooter and car lift for Hubby. If you would like to donate, click here.