Tag: #WomenWriters

CHAPTER TEN

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards1 Comment

CHAPTER TEN

Do you not know? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends

of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and His understanding

no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and

increases the power of the weak.

Isaiah 40:28-29

If necessary, I can convince myself that quitting is the right choice.

Alone time and contemplation in silence could do me good.

I can accept that this adventure may happen differently than I expected, right?

Releasing anger and cleansing my heart can be accomplished in multiple ways.

A man, a woman, and their adorable black lab puppy traipse down the hill. 

“Hi,” they say.

Thin and hip in fresh Lands’ End gear, they continue, “There two young ladies near the top who told us to tell you that you’re getting close to them. Keep going. They will wait for you.”

SunFloJo responds. I hear nothing of their conversation and focus my efforts on each painful step over the ascending rocks.

“Yes, Big Meadow is just up there,” they point straight up with their cute dog bouncing around them.

One foot. Next foot. Hold on. Pull. Climb. Repeat.

There they are! Sunshine and Stalker C sit on a huge rock above us. The rock is below campground level. I see the edge of a literal meadow with wispy tall grass above their shoulders.

I peel the borrowed red backpack off my shoulders and place it on the ground next to their rock. Boy, if Amy could see me now. I imagine her thinking of us this week. She survived hiking in Alaska with this backpack, but I might have to call it done here in Virginia. This is not working for me. Today was supposed to be the easy day. How could I possibly survive a day harder than this one?! Tonight we sleep in a camp with other people around. Tomorrow night we will be in the deep woods. Alone. Just the four of us.

I cannot speak yet. Exhaustion vibrates throughout my body. I feel somewhat relieved that Sunshine & Stalker C look tired too. Their packs are on the ground. We push back our sweaty hair and drink water.

We see a marked campsite not far from us. The number 52 is posted on a stake. Someone has their tent ready for the night and a hammock fastened between two trees.

If I quit, then I will miss seeing Rapidan Camp during the hike tomorrow. This thought makes me sad. I was looking forward to seeing the historic site where President Hoover used to frequent in the days before Camp David existed.

I am not; however, looking forward to sleeping in the woods in the middle of nowhere after the history tour. There is a rule on the trail map that says: 

“The area within 0.5 miles of Rapidan Camp is closed to campers.

No one may set up a tent near the historic site.”

Our plan tomorrow is to hike a mile past Rapidan at day’s end and then pitch tents. SunFloJo has read about a fire ring that exists somewhere beyond Hoover’s place. Experienced hikers told her that it is easy to miss because the trees are so thick in that area. We will have to watch for it carefully.

Darn. I will miss that scary totally out in the woods all night long feeling, I think mostly with sarcasm.

And then I think, I will miss my hiking friends and worry about them if they are figuring out how to stay safe in the dark without me. How could I miss that part of the adventure?

SunFloJo sets down her pack. As chipper as ever with her pink bandana around her head she says, “You gals hang here. I am going to walk up and find the registration spot.” 

The 60-year-old scales the last 30 feet of the mountain top as if it is nothing but a stroll.

Stalker C says, “I don’t know how she does it.”

“Me neither,” I muster out loud while still breathing hard.

Sunshine Rat looks toward the hammock and campsite sign then says, “I wouldn’t mind having a spot in the 50’s.”

We nod. No one wants to walk further.

A thick stone-grey colored caterpillar type insect is crawling on our rock. Stalker C and I are mesmerized by the purple goo emerging from its body. We agree not to touch it. Hopefully, it will not touch us either.

I cannot bear to move away from the goo. My body is stiffening up like the Tin Man needing an oil can.

Sunshine watches two brothers fly on bikes over the ridge above us. They ride straight down the rocks into the nearly dry creek bed. They are impressive and daring.

SunFloJo ambles down the hill to bring us news, “We’re going to campsite 9.”

9?!  9 is 43 campsites away from 52.

We wince at the number, but the short rest has helped a little. The girls stand up and head the correct direction.

I put on the backpack and whisper to SunFloJo as we scale the last climb of the day, “I might need to stay here for the rest of the week. If I do, you must promise me you three will go on. You’ve got this. I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, honey, if we don’t make it through. It’s ok. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I will be safe here on my own. Really. You know I can use the time to reflect even if I’m hanging out quietly at a campsite. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t finish the recon mission. You have to promise me that you’ll go on…even if I don’t.”

SunFloJo takes this in. I see her brain churn as we finally reach level ground. Right now, we have got to get across blacktop, through all the parked campers and RVs. Houses on wheels? Genius.

My feet limp along the pavement. My trekking poles are almost too heavy to carry at this point. I tell SunFloJo, “I’ll sleep on it and see how I feel in the morning, but it is a possibility that I remain. I can read or whatever. There’s more than one way for me to find my center on this trip.”

Finally, we reach Campsite 9. It is open and airy compared to the first night. Tall grass surrounds the site, but there is no narrow-weeded path to walk through. I am thankful. It feels less critter filled although as soon as I have that thought, I immediately hear a father and son next door at Campsite 8 talking about how a bear walked right by their tent last night. 

Then a deer walks up to greet us. Of course. Hello, Rosemary Spirit.

I remember Sunshine’s wisdom from earlier in the trip: “We are in the Wild and the Wild is in us.”

“What’s that?” Stalker C asks about a metal box on legs next to our campsite.

“It is a bear box,” SunFloJo answers.

I’ve never seen one before. It is approximately four by three feet wide and about two feet up off the ground. Food and extras can go in there overnight. The box lightens our load and helps us have less concerns.

Then I realize there is a camp bathroom. Glorious. I leave my pack and go check it out. Running water boosts my gratitude.

Back at the campsite I look for a soft mossy area to pitch my tent. My body does not want to bend, but I manage to stake the tent and use the strings to make it more secure from wind. I place the moth ball bags at the foot and head of my tent. I place a few bags around the girls’ tent.

I free my feet and put on flip flops. The air around my toes feels so good. I reapply bug spray to my ankles, neck, and elbows. 

SunFloJo also frees her feet.  She is sitting on her yellow sleep pad next to a tree and sorting items in her bag. She pulls off socks and reaches for her Crocs. I notice behind her is a beautiful view of the steep valley we climbed out of today. 

“SunFlo, get out Flat Kevin! This is a great picture spot.”

SunFloJo poses proudly with Flat Kevin. I snap the pic with the view in the background.

I observe, “He never complains.”

She adds, “He is wonderful to have on the trail with us. I will show him these pictures when I get back. He’ll love it.”

SunFloJo calls to the group, “I hear there’s a tap room with food up at the lodge. Do you want to go?” 

Still dirty and sweaty, we are all in! She said food!

This is the first time I feel somewhat hungry today. I may not be up to eating much, but at least I feel like attempting to eat.

We walk the narrow path in our flip flops and crocs toward the lodge. It is uphill and I try not to be bothered by that fact. Ouch, my legs ache.

The Big Meadow Tap Room is in the basement of the lodge. I take the steep stairs down one foot at a time sideways. We arrive to find quaint wood walls, wood floors and red checkered tablecloths. This would be a good location for a movie scene. I pause to look through the back windows to see a wonderful view of the mountains as the sun begins to set. 

I know my body needs the fuel, but I cannot manage to eat much. The heat, pain and exhaustion have gotten to me. Also, I have minimal cash to get through the week. I anticipated mostly non-spending days. 

I split a personal sized margherita pizza with Sunshine. Stalker C and SunFloJo split an order of wings. We down lots of water from glass Mason Jars. No one speaks much. Maybe our bodies are still fathoming the endurance required today.

I notice lines of dirt on each person’s face and arms. 

Stalker C says, “I seriously did not think we would ever get to the top of that last hill.”

We all agree. It was brutal.

When a few young male hikers walk into the tap room, Stalker C snickers at Sunshine, “Well, you may meet someone on this trip after all.”

SunFloJo and I exchange looks.

Sunshine shares that one of her relatives said the trip might be good for “meeting people” because neither of them have found a nice young man to settle down with yet during college.

“Oh my,” I chuckle.

“Well, we have something new to work on besides surviving,” SunFloJo says.

It feels good to rest and laugh.

When we pass the community laundry and bathroom building, we see a sign that says:

SHOWER

$1.25 for

5.25 minutes

None of us anticipated a shower opportunity by this point in the week. We gather our hygiene items. 

Sunshine giggles, “Five twenty-five for one twenty-five.”

I marvel at my less than a sandwich size Ziploc bag of bathing supplies. I stocked up on miniature items at the REI store for such an occasion. I have a floss size box of camping soap that includes soap made of tiny paper sheets inside. I have a toothbrush that folds and a tiny tube of toothpaste. 

SunFloJo has even smaller versions of these items because she pre-packed everything into even smaller plastic bags. Her toothpaste is the paste alone inside a 1inch-by-1inch bag. Her soap papers are also in a tiny bag. She tossed the container before the trip. Every ounce of weight matters. I observe, and I learn. The nine months of planning she did was valuable.

I brought plenty of quarters. I shower twice because an extra rinse is required to get camping soap out of my thick hair. Now I have fewer quarters which mean less weight. And I used the two feet by two feet ultra-absorbent towel to dry my body. It reminds me of the ShamWow cloth I use to clean the stainless-steel fridge door at home. 

Anything that I can justify not carrying around I am going to trash. This pains me because it will cost money to replace some items. But if I can figure out how to keep going on this trip by lightening my load, I will. For example, I toss my worn underwear in the garbage. So long, undies!

I feel somewhat better after food and a shower. Tired, but better. I sit on a picnic table contemplating my ability to hike status while my ankles and back throb.

SunFloJo asks, “Whatcha thinking?”

“I am thinking that I may be getting my second wind. If we are able to rest tonight and if I’m able to leave some stuff here, then maybe I could go on. I wonder if the lodge rents storage lockers or something?”

“Yes, lighten your pack. Good idea.”

“And maybe I’ll take you up on the shoe swap? What do you think? I don’t want your feet to suffer.”

“No, I bet I will be fine in your shoes. I think the wide toe front design of my shoe is what you need with all these hills and rocks.”

That makes sense. “Ok, let’s see how I feel in the morning.”

“Ok. Yay, girl!”

SunFloJo treats us to s’mores over the fire. A camp store the size of a closet had the fixings of chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. I personally cannot manage to eat any. Normally I love that stuff. This fact reminds me that this is a special kind of tired. Who turns down chocolate otherwise? 

At 9pm we walk to brush our teeth in the concrete block bathroom across from campsite 9.  SunFlo asks if Stalker C or I would like some Benadryl. It feels like she is some type of pusher meeting us in the bathroom with her tiny bag of pink pills.

Um, yes please. The idea of sleeping whether I want to or not sounds fabulous, and I know that will help me get through the first uncomfortable hours on the ground. The three of us partake. Sunshine doesn’t need any. She can sleep anywhere which Stalker C attests is true.

I unzip and crawl into my one-person tent happily knowing that rest will come. Sleep will help me no longer feel the pain in my feet and legs. And there is a chance I might be able to continue the journey on foot tomorrow. We shall see. 

Crickets sing their tune. I smell grass all around me that will be damp from dew before the night is done. I pray for the wisdom to know if I am physically and mentally able to continue the trail. I pray that God will let me know what the safest plan is. Should I carry on or should I camp right here for the next few days? 

I pray for family and friends back home. I pray that Paul is ok. I don’t have a phone to tell him that I’m alright. He doesn’t expect to hear from me until Saturday. I do sense him with me, and I hope he feels my telepathy greetings. He may be pointing right now to a place on the map and saying to Ben, “Mom is here tonight.”

I fall asleep praying.

JUNE 2, 2016

TIME UNKNOWN

Mostly it is still dark in my tent, but I peek to see that light is coming. I feel something against my cheek through the nylon. I hear and feel a slither on the outside wall next to my head. It is a different sound than the sniff and scurry I heard the night before.

%^&!@!  Ineffective moth balls!

I am not unzipping the tent. No one has said it is morning. Benadryl is my friend.

Trying to be away from the outer wall, I roll over and attempt to ignore the familiar sharp pains in my back. Parts of me feel rested. I will snooze as long as possible. 

Slithery thing, please go away.

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© Copyright 2016 Surrender On The Trail – Glenna S. Edwards Thanks for reading or listening. Check back next Sunday for CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CHAPTER SIX

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards1 Comment

SURRENDER ON THE TRAIL

CHAPTER SIX

When I am afraid,
I put my trust in you.
Psalm 56:3

8:15PM

When we arrive at our campsite, I am surprised. Beyond our parking spot, all I see is waist high grass and trees. It does not look like a camping spot to me.

Of course, what do I really know about camping?   

SunFloJo points to the 1-foot-wide path that leads to a sign with our reserved spot number 1A1. 

That is where we are going to sleep? In there? Inside all that green stuff? Oh dear.

I grab my 3.5 lb. tent sack; ultra-lightweight sleeping bag and the few things I may need overnight like one of the last of two Pepsi cans from the cooler. I mentally prepare to let go of life conveniences. We sleep at a campsite tonight. Tomorrow morning we begin the trail.

We walk down the narrow path. I try not to think about what is lurking in the tall weeds near my ankles.  

The clearing for site 1A1 is small. We discover there is already a tent in that location. I notice that tent’s spot is on top of soft earth compared to the rest of the area.

We do not see a person. They appear to be inside for the night. We can see a lantern and the shadow of a book. 

Down the path from us I see a big family size tent by the post in the ground that reads 1A3. Their tent is a big orange ball, out of place inside the soft green forest.

We set up near the fire pit and picnic table. There are many gnarly root systems and not much space for our 3 tents. We are either setting up in 1A1 with the mystery human, or the area we are in is 1A2. But I do not see a sign for that number.

Paul suggested before I left that even though I have learned to set up my own shelter, it would go faster if we ladies give each other a hand steadying the poles. Set up one tent, then the next and so forth. Seemed like a good idea.  

The younger gals are already a team because they plan to share a 2-person tent. They get to work pulling out their supplies.

I notice SunFloJo has the exact same brand of 1-person tent as I do. I ask if she wants to take turns helping each other with the poles. “Oh no, I’m fine,” She says busy and very into the solo process. 

Note to self: I have got to remember that part of this trip for SunFloJo is about doing things on her own.

So, I set up my tent alone while eyeing every leaf and blade of grass for potential creatures. It is a few simple steps. I stake in the ends into the ground hoping the sides do not collapse on me overnight. I consider the extra cord staking. It is not supposed to be windy tonight, so I skip it. 

I look over to SunFloJo who is already done. She calls her tent “the womb”. She looks forward to getting in there. I do not feel the same. Proud of her progress, she moves on to the task of starting a fire. She goes to get a lighter from the car.

I dig out my snake and rodent repellent plan, then place bags of moth balls at the head and foot of my tent. I place a bag behind the girls’ tents because I promised Stalker C that I would. I wonder if SunFloJo would mind me messing with nature in this way, but I am not going to ask.

Stalker C and Sunshine Rat giggle at themselves. They just about have their 2-person tent together.

I turn my eyes to the deep woods side of camp wondering what is in there. Then lo and behold I see a deer climb the forest hill and walk right up to our camp. It is a large doe with zero fear of us. She looks elderly.

Not wanting to make sudden movements, I whisper toward the girls’ tent, “Stalker C! It’s Rosemary.”

Stalker C and Sunshine emerge carefully from their tent to the awe of Rosemary’s presence. Night is setting in. We could not be happier with our visitor. It is too dark to see our smiles, but I feel the shared energy.

SunFloJo makes it back just in time, “Aw, Stalker C, you got your wish. How about that. Your sweet grandmother is thinking of you.”

“She is,” Stalker C chokes up.

Rosemary the deer leaves gracefully as if to say, “Just stopping by. Have fun.” We settle into the joy of our brief visitor.

We search for sticks to roast hot dogs. From the limited supply of what we can see, we choose sticks that are a bit soft. Sunshine opens a little Rubbermaid container of onions. I like onions usually, but the smell tonight turns my stomach. No thank you.

Sunshine and I try to roast the first dog. It slips right off the stick into the fire. Yuck.

We fashion the flimsy sticks to hold the dogs better. Night is here. We are going to eat most of these hot dogs half raw. I am sure of it. 

Finding our headlamps, the party continues. No one wants to wander into the woods to find better sticks. We make the best of our cooking limitations.

The smell of the fire combines with the crunch of old leaves on the ground and the smell of fresh spring leaves above us.

SunFloJo is happy with her hot dog and one beer.

I take one bite of my dog. That is good enough dinner for me.

Sunshine enjoys her dog with onion, “Mmm.”

Stalker C drizzles a ketchup packet along her bun.

Soaking in the experience, Sunshine announces, “We’re in the Wild and the Wild is in us.”

Well said. We toast to that.

A gallon size Ziploc bag is opened to collect smelly items. Any food or trash will go back into the car. 

I sense this might be the birthday moment I am looking for. And I do not want to carry anything into the woods unless I absolutely need it for survival tomorrow.

The small lamp goes dim inside our 1A1 neighbor’s tent as I jog to the vehicle to grab the mini Babe Ruth cake and candles.

Stalker C knows about the flammable glue. When I return, I see acknowledgement in her eyes under the headlamp. She is ready to put out the fire or deal with an explosion if needed.

Darkness surrounds us and sleep calls to our internal clocks.

I light the candle, “SunFloJo.”

She turns my way. I say, “I didn’t get to celebrate your birthday properly this year so tonight we are celebrating you and your dream to begin hiking the AT. Happy Birthday! Many wonderful adventures await!”

SunFloJo tilts her headlamp toward the crafty cake, “Oh, I love it!”

She clasps her hands. SunFloJo makes a wish and blows out the candle. “This is so cute.  Babe Ruth is my favorite candy bar. Let’s eat dessert right now.” She rips open a candy bar and puts it in her mouth. We begin to do the same.

I see SunFloJo make a yuck face. “It tastes like…”

She continues, “Glue!”

Oh, no.

The girls laugh.

SunFloJo reaches for the garbage Ziploc bag that quickly turns into the garbage and spit bag.

“Awful!”

I whisper, “I’m sorry!”

But we all think it is funny–even me reluctantly.

Oops. I ruined that adorable candy bar cake with glue somehow seeping to the nougat through the wrappers. Fortunately, SunFloJo has more to drink to wash out the terrible taste.

We gather the things going to the car and shove them into the hatch.

It is time. We are going to have to pee before bed. 

The girls are not up for finding a spot in the weeds.

SunFloJo says, “Wanna go out on the pavement? We can turn off the headlamps.”

There is a collective sigh. That is the best option for tonight. No going back home now.

We line up about 5 feet apart along the parking lot and turn off our lights. 

I think carefully about how to squat and not get my pants or feet wet. It is time to put into practice the lessons I have learned from YouTube.

Urine flows in unison. We snicker in the dark.

Then pants are pulled up. 

Someone says, “Alright ladies.” Headlamps turn on. We observe 4 lines of pee streaming downhill.   

Stepping over our success, we traipse down the path back to camp. Time to climb into our tents as the triumphant four that we are.

We whisper good night. I inspect the brush and leaves outside my tent near where my head will be.

I take a deep breath. I am going in. The tent opening is short. I stoop to crawl into the doorway. 

Zipped inside the tent, I remember and am glad that I used unscented deodorant today. I do not want to have any curious smells in here that animals would want to investigate.

Hmmm.

It is lonely inside the tent.

And dark.

And tight.

It is just my body and mere inches to the nylon material around me.

Not much space.

My body wiggles in an attempt to be comfortable. Ouch to the left. Ouch to the right. There is no avoiding the rough ground beneath me.

I turn back on my headlamp. I try to read. I attempt the same sentence several times. Not happening. 

I close the book. I peek at the plastic urinal near my feet that I brought just in case.

I move the tent zipper pulls so that they are lined up at the top of the tent, not the bottom. Nothing is getting in here with me if I can help it!

Being tall there is no way to sit up well in my 1-person tent. When I attempt to sit up, then I feel like the whole thing is going to fall apart.

The girls in their 2-person tent about 8 feet to my left are talking softly. I can visualize their attempt to get settled also. 

It is getting more and more quiet outside in the night air. A new sound emerges from SunFloJo’s tent about 4 feet to my right. She is sawing logs. I recall that she did a sleep study last year for snoring. No CPAP machine available out here in the wild. Good, maybe the sound will keep animals away. Or will it invite them to investigate the sound?!

The girls become silent. Good for them.

I toy with hanging the headlamp from the top of the tent, but it falls on my head.

The worn-out sleep pad is not helpful. I twist, turn, and repeat.

Cutting through the quiet I hear Stalker C call out, “Surrender?!”

I hesitate, then say, “Yeah?”

“Is there still a hot dog in the fire pit?”

I pause to consider the question.

I think about the last time I saw the fire pit. SunFloJo and I kicked the ash around to kill the fire before bed. I do not recall seeing any remains of the first slippery hot dog that fell.

A responsible big sister type person would get out of her tent and go check the ashes. That is not me tonight. There is no way I am getting out of this tent in the dark.

I send my voice in their direction, “It burned up in the fire.” It must have, right?

Silence. Through the nothingness I hear her concern.

I add, “I promise.”

Stalker C says, “Thank you.”

I really really really hope I am telling the truth. I did not see the hot dog. It must have burned. Surely.

My heart races thinking about how many videos talked about being odor and food free at camp. Our one vital task was to put everything smelly into the car tonight. One task! And now I lay here questioning everything: every crumb, every move we made setting up camp. Were we careful?

The girls softly giggle and talk again. They probably are discussing the hopefully burned up hot dog.

Then from beyond the girls’ tent I hear a new voice. 

The person resting on the softest terrain in 1A1 sounds like a “he”. 

Words sail out from the mystery tent that was set up before we arrived. 

He says into the night, “Shuuutttt Uuuuuupppp.”

If you’d like to listen to the Audio Version or support this creative work, click here for my Podcast SURRENDER ON THE TRAIL.

© Copyright 2016 Surrender On The Trail – Glenna S. Edwards

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CHAPTER THREE

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards1 Comment

SURRENDER ON THE TRAIL

CHAPTER THREE

I looked at the mountains, and they were quaking,

all the hills were swaying.

Jeremiah 4:24

MAY 6, 2016

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!

Who?

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.

Whew. Good.

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.

Courtney—YES, PLEASE.

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.

Dear God,

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.

[pause]

And please work out the crazy circumstances in my own life too.

Thank you.

Amen

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

NOON

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.

1:00PM

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.

Courtney—OH MY!

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?

Good question.

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:

  • Unscented deodorant

I do not think I can give up deodorant. I also do not want any rodents or bears curious about me. 

4:30PM 

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.”

“Huh?”

“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.

5:30PM

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. 

6:00PM

I walk down the neighborhood hill and back up several times. 

9:00PM

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….”

What?!

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!
  • Bug spray
  • Food –what kind of food?! (need to research)
  • 1-person tent (need to find or borrow)
  • Sleeping bag
  • Some type of pillow (or use rolled up clothing at night?)
  • Advil/Tylenol
  • Magic boots
  • Socks
  • Unscented deodorant
  • Travel toothpaste and brush
  • Hair ties
  • compass
  • 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.           

Glenna—GOOD. THANKS!

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

12:00PM

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.

6:00PM

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.

8:00PM

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.

Rachel—OH GOOD. 

Courtney—WHAT’S HIS NAME?

JoAnn—DICK.

Pause.

Glenna—SERIOUSLY?

JoAnn—DICK RICHARD

Pause.

Glenna—SO HIS NAME IS DOUBLE D…

I do not finish.

Courtney–MUAHHHHH

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. 

JoAnn—THAT’S DICK!

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.

10:00PM

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.

If you’d like to listen to the Audio Version or support this creative work, click here for my podcast chapters.

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© Copyright 2016 Surrender On The Trail – Glenna S. Edwards

Thanks for reading or listening. Check back next Sunday for CHAPTER FOUR.

Highway 2246 is almost on the road!

Valentine Antidote

Published on by Glenna S. EdwardsLeave a comment

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.

But Not The Baby’s Wagon

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards1 Comment

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.

God bless you through the many chapters of life.

Love,

Glenna

Goodbye, House.

Have fun, Wagon!

Uber Stress

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards

There was no calming my heartbeat. Blood rushed through my body. My back and head hurt. I was scared.

It took me 3 weeks to set up Uber on my phone. I knew how to use Uber as a passenger. I did not know how to be a driver. The app is so simple that I was confused. I watched driver YouTube videos and tutorials, uploaded my car related documents, but understood little. I gathered that in order to learn, I must go do.

I told Hubby Saturday evening that I was off to try my best. We are in the 10 day financial crunch period of the month so this gal’s gotta make extra dough.

Seemed like there is not much trip action for drivers in Kentucky so I nervously headed toward Ohio to a sketch neighborhood that showed fares available on the map. Gotta rip the band-aid off, I told myself.

Suddenly the phone beeped while I was still in Kentucky. I had a trip request. I pushed “accept”.

The app directed me to Bonefish Grill. I looked for a human, then realized I was there for a food pickup.

Ooohhh.

Inside the building, I felt the little kick in the stomach that sometimes comes when I see couples out having fun. Couples without wheelchairs everywhere.

Aside from that soon squelched jealousy, I wanted to scream, “This is my first time with Uber!”

So many thoughts.

Servers brought the food bag. I hoped it was all in there. I glanced at the number of containers, but I am not familiar with that restaurant’s food.

Off I went 10 miles to find house numbers in the dark.

A nonchalant woman took the food after I called her.

8 dollars earned. Was that enough of a trial run or should I continue?

I see a “$5 bonus for 3 series” trip on the map. I am not far away so I head that direction thinking, What type of person needs 3 back to back trips? Will this be a grandma who needs to run a few errands? At 930pm?

Shows how clueless I am. That was simply an enticement to stay in an area and do multiple trips.

Which was fine, bonus either way. My first passenger was named the same as my best friend’s daughter. That gave me comfort. She was a sweetheart too.

At one point, I felt lonely on top of my newbie anxiety. Then inbetween trips, I received a text from my bestie seeing if I was out giving Uber Driver a go. It meant a lot to be checked on and she reminded me of Joshua 1:9 at the very moment I had made $19.19.

Then our 17yo texted at 11:30pm to ask, “Everything ok?” before he went to bed. That warmed my soul.

I stopped around midnight with 5 total trips and 45 dollars. Thank you to Madeline and Autumn who tipped. I can’t figure out if there is a way to say thanks through the app.

That is all I could handle on a first go. No matter how I tried to be calm, I couldn’t manage to be relaxed in this new arena yet.

I’ll keep my car clean and try to pick up more this week.

For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9

The In-between

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards

Welcome to the in-between weekend.

  • Christmas lights are hit or miss now.
  • It is hard to remember today’s date.
  • New Years is coming.

I’ve heard some grumbling and sadness around town.

Maybe you are a Have-Not who listened to The-Haves talk about expensive gifts received.

Perhaps you just heard, “but we’ll always be friends” as he shared he is serious about a new relationship.

It’s not even break up season yet. You were blindsided.

Or your mini vacay to-do list is not close to done.

Did you use all the energy you had to cope during a time of grief?

Fear not.

To the person who needs to hear this today, you are valued exactly as you are.

You matter.

Order and routine will be restored.

It’s ok to take a nap.

Embrace what is and give it to God. Allow the feelings to pass through your body so you can move on. If you fight emotions, the pain lasts longer.

As for that to-do list, tackle something manageable first.

This is a good time to pray, praise, rest, connect to your source.

Reset for 2020.

Remember there is a time for everything. Don’t beat yourself up in this short window.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-11 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time.

How may I pray for you? Dm me with prayer requests for the new year.

Love,

Glenna

2 Free Gifts

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards2 Comments

“I have no gifts to bring parum pum pum pum...”

I feel the Little Drummer Boy’s pain in this season of life.

You may not have material items to give others, but there are free gifts you can give to friends and family during the holidays and throughout the year.

1. CLEAN SOMETHING. Recently in borrowed work space someone said, “Oh, we are not going to sweep. It was already a mess when we got here.” That comment made me feel sad. Aside from the fact that sweeping is on our checklist, I believe in leaving places better than they were whenever possible. The broom and dust pan stood in the corner. I collected debris in 5 minutes. No one may notice, but I know that caring for someone’s space is an act of love and appreciation.

Deposit positive energy. At someone’s home, you can do dishes without making a fuss or be the person who collects discarded wrapping paper. If the trash can is full, then take the bag outside. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Just do the deed that alleviates someone else’s stress.

2. GIVE QUIETLY. Long ago someone told me about how a visiting family member was helpful but then offered a whiny soliloquy about how they mopped the floor and how they ran a load of laundry. Listen, no one wants to hear about the dust bunnies you cleared or the obstacles you faced when searching for the perfect gift. Have a funny story? Then maybe share. Or ask yourself, is your intention to draw light to show how you should be noticed for your efforts? If so, then no. Hush.

Do you volunteer at church? Then do it with grace. People need the peace that can be found in church rather than the distraction of a grumpy volunteer.

Did you just clean your house for guests? Are you exhausted because cleaning was way overdue? Then check yourself before opening the front door. Don’t greet people with your stress. People need your warm welcoming smile.

Just do or not do…quietly.

We could talk about being present for others. We could talk about self-care and doing less around the holidays. We could talk about the Mary and Martha story in the Bible. As much as we hail Mary for simply being with Jesus, there’s a place for Martha in the story too.

An able bodied someone can help others in the spirit of love and kindness without any need of accolades. With ALS in our home, I often find myself silently thanking God that I have legs that can climb stairs and a body that can bend to pick up things. I don’t say that out loud to Hubby, but I do lift my thanks to my Higher Power. Quiet gratitude renews my spirit even in the moments when my body wears out for the day.

Martha might not be mentioned in Luke 10 if she gave quietly.

Be a stealth Bible Martha.

And please take out the trash & recycling–quietly.

Love,

Glenna

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Discipline, Fear & a side of #MeToo

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards2 Comments

I resent that she was right.

She made a tsk, tsk sound and shook her head, “If you leave this job, you will never make that kind of money again.”

That was December 2007. I have yet to prove my mother wrong.

My career field path has been mental health, then leave for money in the corporate world, miss my first loves of mental health and writing, and then go back to mental health. Hubby was supposed to grow his career so I could work in my passion areas, but that didn’t evolve as we hoped, and his body failed. Our plan fell apart. Now we regroup.

I enjoy my current job working with families and children. It is hard work but manageable. When I saw a job posting last week back in corporate, I asked Hubby if he thought I should dive back in for the cash. He texted, “We can ponder and talk about it, but I’d hate for you to sell your soul again.”

He knows me. My skills could adapt. It is my heart that would struggle. I am curious, though, what that paycheck would be like in the #MeToo era.

I used to tell my mom some of the male shenanigans and how few women were at my old job. She would say things like, “Just take the money. You can ignore them.”

This came from a mom who once jumped out of her car in traffic to yell at a man for being a man (and for cutting her off). I begged her to get back in the car. I saw rage in her eyes that was way more about the way men treated her over the years than a driving violation. She felt trapped by men who had no more education, sometimes less, than she did.

My biggest challenges in the business job were not about overlooking some of the men’s words and behavior. What I struggled with most was knowing how capable I was of playing by their rules. That’s taken time for me to reflect and realize. The truth was I could assimilate. I scared myself. I ignored too much.

At my core, I am no Daisy from The Great Gatsby. I am not made to be Reba McEntire’s “Fancy”.

Back then, I read the books Play Like A Man, Win Like A Woman and Hardball For Women (now in its third edition) thankful that the authors could give me insight.

The long days were exhausting to navigate, but in my mind I played the Kenny Rogers song “The Gambler” to cope:

You gotta know when to hold ’em.

Know when to fold ’em.

Know when to walk away.

Know when to run…

Practical issues were tough. I had a hard time figuring out how to pay for things necessary to pull off a high level job. Childcare, for example, was expensive. Keeping a clean home with two little ones was impossible; the life size Rubik’s Cube fierce. I learned after leaving that the guy hired to take my place was paid near double what I was paid for the same job.

That part of my journey shows up in my manuscript Martha’s Daughter. The book is fiction with a dose of experience. You read about main character Amy’s childhood secrets at home and school, how she overcomes the cultural lies around her as she matures in adulthood, and how she assesses true love. Will she learn to speak her truth beyond the days of Barbies and mud pies to her days in Corporate America?

I think there is still a lot to unpack about the #MeToo movement. My book takes the reader from the 1970’s/80’s to present day. Imagine a female Forrest Gump, or better, Jenny’s story if anyone bothered to ask her. My favorite part of the book are the Developmental Assets and caring adults that save my character. That is the crossroads where my love of mental health and writing meet.

Think about what women have been through in five decades. Think about the undertones, the unspoken, the rules. Think about how much isn’t obvious. Consider the frustration.

I cheered this year when the Today Show normalized motherhood and women at work. Multiple hosts needed time off for their children and everyone appeared to pitch in and be happy for one another. Savannah, Hoda, Jenna, Dylan, Sheinelle, thank you and the team around you for your fresh example.

I’ve spent too much of my life feeling fearful for various reasons. Right now is the worst.

The Thanksgiving break has been helpful for me to notice my thoughts. I paid attention to my constant worry that something in the house or car might break, that we’ve got to get out of this home before it is impossible for Hubby to crawl up the stairs, or blah, blah, blah, fill-in-the-blank fear after fear.

This weekend I had my first pet sitter side job. Being in someone else’s home energy rebooted me to believe that I can move on to a new energy, a new day, a new place. I do not want to dwell in the fear. It’s time to reset.

Beginning today I am all about discipline over fear. My goal is to get our house back to sell-ready. I want o-u-t! I want to be in a situation that is affordable. I want us to thrive above ALS. This situation will not consume us. I will fight for a win.

I am going to clean, straighten, pack, look for a new realtor, seek financial advice, and persevere.

I have learned so much about discipline with sweat over every penny this year. It’s time to take that discipline further into a new situation. We will pray, turn over the worry daily, and triumph.

Bring on the V8 Energy drink. It’s time to climb further up the mountain.

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…for God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of self-discipline.

2 Timothy 1:7

One Less Thing

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards

I realized my self-talk whispers “ok, one more thing” over and over each time a new daily challenge arrives. This came to my attention when suddenly I experienced a fifteen minute window where I soaked in the joy of One-Less-Thing instead.

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My car dashboard mirrors my life with its scattered warnings. The tire maintenance light is forever “on”. I’ve had 5 nail punctured tires over 5 months.

The service engine light greets me each morning. The oil change guy hooked up a gadget reader to tell me the light is nothing to worry about, but I wonder. The brake light won’t go out even when the emergency brake is released. I stopped looking up what the other lights mean in the manual.

The dashboard reminds me of the running narrative in my mind. It goes something like this: I’m still sick. Stress is not helping me get well. Drop the kid off at school. Go to work. Repeat. My voice refuses to come back. The cat puked. -One more thing. I need to make dinner. Sweep the house. Keep trying to sell the house. Clean the bathroom. Move the laundry. I really should write a letter or send a care package to our deployed son. What just fell off the house?! -One more thing. If you sit down, you’ll fall asleep. Get up. Give Hubby the light weight fork because it is easier for him to manage. Position his shoes in a way that will help him be less likely to fall. Move his phone to his next location so he is not thrown off balance by carrying something when he travels inside the house. Help the remaining kid with college applications. I need to go to Lowe’s. Heavy duty caulk. A new vacuum bag. Take out the trash and recycling. Prepare for presentations at work. Who do I need to call back? Have I followed through on all work tasks? Scoop litter box. Check personal email to see if anyone has responded to my manuscript query letters. Send more queries. Do we have gas in both cars? Pay bills in a way that hopefully does not cause an overdraft. It’s going to be close again this month. Is Hubby breathing? Is the cat breathing? I really need to make a vet appointment. -One more thing. There are other people I want to check in with. I text them. There are other people I would like to be there for. My capacity is too narrow. I can’t believe he hasn’t been able to work for a year. We need some mobility equipment. That will have to wait. The kid needs an eye appointment. -One more thing. I can’t make that work financially. How many hours of sleep can I get if I go to sleep right this minute? Why can’t I fall asleep? And so forth.

I try not to complain out loud. “Just keep swimming” as Dory says. But seriously, if there is a Santa out there who wants to buy our house so we can leave and start over, that would be GREAT.

Today I uprooted this tree growing into our fence and felt delighted by the image. Yes, we are ready to be uprooted.

In an attempt to make extra cash, I placed an ad to be a Pet Sitter. I can squeeze in dog walking and more cat litter scooping. I can love on animals and give neighbors peace of mind. The first response? Someone needs help with a cat until they get out of jail in February. So many thoughts. Bless their heart. Sigh….

One day I will not feel so stuck. I visualize selling a manuscript and being in an affordable and accessible home. One day I’ll be in the land of all three. I have learned hard lessons. I can do better.

This week our youngest got a job. Go kid! And he broke my heart by saying, “You won’t have to worry about Christmas, Mom, ’cause I’ll be able to buy my own presents.” The sentiment is good. The reality hurts.

A new job means he needs new pants. We make a plan to go to the store Wednesday. I secretly stress about how to afford the pants, but I think we can make it work. I don’t want him to know how close we are cutting it.

On Tuesday evening I drag my work bag into the house as the guys say, “We have a surprise.”

There on the kitchen table are new pants one day early. Hubby even used a coupon. In my book, that’s hot. Hubby had a decent afternoon and they worked together. I hear that the wheelchair got stuck in the JCPenny door, and they figured that out too.

In the moment, I physically felt something fall off the to-do list. One. Less. Thing. This felt magical. I soaked in the joy for fifteen intentional minutes. I smiled in my own home. This surprise felt so good!

This was a glimpse that things can be better. Will be better. I will trust the process.

To all those who struggle, I send you a giant cyber hug. You can do this. We can do this. Deep, slow breaths.

And now I must go.

The cat puked.

Love,

Glenna