Blind Lady Gets Sh*t Done, November-December: Finishing Strong

01 Friday Jan 2021

Posted by blindbeader in Blind Lady Gets Sh*t Done

Tags

cleaning, learning lessons, personal, reflection

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After an incredibly exhausting October, where sleep was elusive and the thought of warm blankets and books I couldn’t concentrate on seemed more appealing than doing stuff around the house, it seems that the last two months of the year put me back together again. We didn’t have to worry about washing dishes by hand, or putting off washing dishes by hand. I could just do my job, go running, spend some time on my exercise bike, and yes… get sh*t done!

November: Puppy Dogs and Plumbing Problems

Ben’s puppy, Wyatt, comes to visit for a few days. He and Jenny get along like a house on fire – they start each day with enthusiastic greetings, wrestle and play, have a nap, and then regroup for more tug wars – not always with things that are appropriate. More than once we have to take Jenny’s stuffed pink pig away from them… and six weeks later we’re still finding strands of destroyed tug rope in various nooks and crannies of the living room… or (also likely) they’ve re-materialized after Wolfie has balled them up and turned them into her own kitty toys. Wyatt and the kitties co-exist quite nicely, staying out of each other’s way, or firmly asserting boundaries if avoidance is impossible. Unfortunately, both Wyatt and Jenny come down with Kennel Cough, and the puppy party must end unceremoniously.

Once a year I have a plumbing company come in and do a check of the plumbing and furnace. This year, I get told – again – that the whole house pretty much needs to be re-plumbed. Oh, and the furnace needs replacing too. And can we add a humidifier to your new furnace? Why yes yes you can… when the furnace gets replaced. But thanks so much for showing me how to disconnect the plumbing for the old dishwasher that’s going to be hauled away in just a few days!

I go out for a run on a Sunday morning, and come home to find a coughing, mopey dog, and a brand new thermostat on the wall. We realized with Daylight Savings Time that there’s no quick and easy way for me to adjust the temperature settings, or the time. This new thermostat can be operated like a traditional thermostat or through Smart technology, which means that for the first time in my life I can independently program a thermostat! It’s a BIG deal to me, even as it feels like a small thing. Oh, and if there’s ever a reason to open up that wall, we need to watch out for sharp objects – there’s a handheld hole saw that got dropped down there (I’m writing this so that no one can say they didn’t know!)

The brand new dishwasher we’ve waited six weeks for finally arrives on a cold Friday – the same day I realize the snow rake isn’t designed to be used by short people, or blind people… either that or my house is too tall. The massive dishwasher box blocks the pantry door for a day or two, but we’re eating takeout this weekend – skipping the dishes, as we do. The installation, however, doesn’t go as smoothly as the delivery. I hear nothing until 5:00 PM Sunday (the day of the appointment we booked six weeks ago), at which point I’m told that they can’t install today and will be able to reschedule for Tuesday. I decline the offer, and call my friend Keith, who comes by both Sunday and Monday night (due to missing parts) and gives us a crash course on dishwasher installation. I don’t think I could do an entire installation, or explain how it’s done, but I know more than I used to… The first load of dishes that runs through is so quiet that I find myself regularly walking into the kitchen to make sure there’s not a problem. Thankfully, there is no problem, and our dishes get REALLY clean, and we have more time to enjoy the holidays.

December: An Unusual Christmas

It’s proving to be a holiday season unlike any other we have ever experienced. The provincial government has imposed restrictions so that people cannot mix and mingle over the holidays. I take the opportunity to add a few touches to my personal spaces. I completely de-clutter my work space/beading table and even create a couple pieces for the holidays. The old, ratty mat by the back door is replaced with a shiny new one. And the music room receives some TLC in the form of new curtains. I think I need to spend more time there in the coming year.

So, it is just my partner and I for Christmas. In some ways I am glad to miss the hustle and bustle, and in others I miss the mingling. We enjoy Mandarin oranges and chocolate treats. Christmas dinner turns out to be disappointing – the turkey breast we bought turned out to be sandwich meat… Oops! But Keith and his family save Christmas by delivering an emergency supply of prime rib and mashed potatoes and little green balls of death (brussel sprouts) that I normally don’t like but turned out YUMMY! Even though we couldn’t have Christmas dinner all together, I feel blessed to have friends who, over the years, have come to my rescue in ways big and small.

During my time off from work, we alternate between resting and relaxing, and doing things about the house. We decide to be strategic, starting in the kitchen, and working our way towards the other end of the house. It’s not all done, it’s not all perfect, but the kitchen is reorganized and way less cluttered. The caddy, the portable counter-top unit that every single person who has ever been to my house has bumped their hip on at least once, has now been relocated into the living room. Wolfie is not a fan of this new development, because now she can’t hang out in the kitchen and meow at us. And she seems to show no interest in hanging out in the living room and meowing at us. I don’t think I’ll understand that little gray fluffball…

A Few Reflections

When I started this journey of making my house my home, I did so with the hope to make my place both somewhere I would want to live and a place that I could be proud of. I had no illusions that my house would ever become a show place – I’m not the best housekeeper in the world, and my place is old and kinda beat up – but I wanted to have people come over and not worry so much about whether they were politely avoiding comments about the state of it. I’m not sure if I’ve succeeded to this end – looking back I realize I’ve ebbed and flowed in drive and motivation – sometimes with great bursts of productivity and sometimes trying to stop myself from drowning in inertia. I’ve kept a plant alive for almost a year – something that a friend who is no longer with us would be super proud of if she could see it. Perhaps Happy Plant is a lot like me – sometimes bursting forward and sometimes quietly growing in incremental ways.

A succulent plant in a pot. There are no flowers on the plant, but it is very green and growing taller.

I’ve done a lot of things myself this year, and a lot more with other people either assisting or directing. Maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to do everything myself. Maybe, just maybe, there are times to rest in the little things, where small pleasures and small victories are the important ones. This year, like for so many others, hasn’t been the year that I have expected. I have experienced great joy, Wolfie has come home! I have experienced sadness with the loss of friends. I’ve done things I never thought I would do, like actually sort of want to barbecue, or cut the grass. I’m not terrified to go into any part of my home, which honestly was a really big thing for me earlier this year. Maybe, that’s enough. Maybe the symbolic burning of things – like the dishwasher box and the papers I sorted earlier this year – is a way to clear out the old feelings of shame and expectation I’ve carried for so many years.

2021 will also look different – I won’t be running Boston like I thought I would. I don’t know all of what it will bring – I hope it will bring joy and love and peace. All I know is that, as much as it’s up to me, I’ll do what I can to continue this journey of home improvement, and to work on the things within myself that need to shift. I’ve got a few things on the go for 2021 already. My hope is to write more, to have some fun with the writing process, and I have some ideas that I’m excited to share. As I am writing this, I realize that maybe I got what I needed out of 2020 – it’s taken a lot, but given me much as well that I can carry into 2021. Who knows? Maybe in a year, I’ll look back at 2020 and realize that without it, 2021 wouldn’t be the year it will be. So let’s look forward, clinging to hope, doing what we can, wherever we are, and, above all, be kind to ourselves and each other. When it comes time, my home will be ready.

The Day the Music Died

31 Thursday Jan 2019

Posted by blindbeader in blindness

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Tags

music, personal, reflection

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I used to say that music was in my blood…

Until it bled me dry.

I used to sing. A lot. All the time. In the car, at home, with friends… I’d literally get together with people – those I knew and those I didn’t – to do nothing but sing. I practiced singing – I had to work at it – when I was alone, just so I could perform better. Whether or not I could hit the notes, I’d try and try and try again – probably to the dismay of my long-suffering parents, particularly when I couldn’t quite reach the high notes. I fronted bands, sang karaoke, provided background vocals. From the time I was about twelve, you’d find me gathered around the piano at summer camp with my friends, or walking down whatever hallway singing songs I liked – and every now and then songs I couldn’t stand but couldn’t get out of my head. During free periods in high school – when I didn’t have homework to do – I’d sit on a bench in the hallways and play my guitar, because of course it came with me to school even on days I didn’t have guitar class. I wrote music, for those times when merely speaking words wasn’t enough and I had to express my fear, faith, anger, pain, hope, or what I thought was love. When I was sixteen, I taught myself the guitar, scraping raw the fingers on my left hand and making it impossible to read braille for months. I fell back in love with the piano in Bible college because there were too many guitarists and no one else would play the piano. Between classes at that Bible college, I’d sneak into the chapel for a few moments of solace, where the music from that old out-of-tune upright would mingle with my voice, echoing slightly in the empty room. I’m glad I didn’t know until years later that people would sometimes sneak in and listen. I would have stopped playing if I’d known.

I used to say music was in my blood…

Until it bled me dry.

I remember the exact moment when I made the decision to step back from performing – even though I didn’t realize that decision would remain steadfast for over a decade. I was standing in a church in La Crete, Alberta, singing a song while combating a terrible cold. My voice was hoarse, and I was thrilled that no one I knew – beyond my Bible school classmates – could hear me like this (and maybe not even them). I remember thinking “No one knows me beyond the fact that I can sing and play… I can’t do this anymore.”

Over the next few months – that eventually turned into nearly twelve years – I jammed a few times with classmates, played alone on that old upright in the chapel, but I don’t remember singing and playing publicly much after that. I did karaoke with friends once or twice over the years, but that felt awkward to me. I jammed a handful of times with friends on the piano I insisted Ben and I buy when we bought our house, but the house was never filled with music the way we hoped it would be. I played a piano here and there, wrote a song a couple people I trusted heard and liked (eight years after that church service in La Crete), and made some noncommittal noises about joining a friend any time he asked or cajoled or badgered me to go for a jam (he always asked again)… But I was done, burned out, had nothing… Music had let me down. It had taken me in and spit me out and I wasn’t ready for the merry-go-round again.

I used to say that music was in my blood…

Until it bled me dry.

I haven’t written a complete song in over three years. And before that, I hadn’t written one in seven. It’s not that I had nothing to say – in fact, I’ve had a lot to say – but I feared what I would say, what I would have to acknowledge to myself if no one else. And I felt that I could never find the time and space to explore new musical frontiers without feeling the unintentional pressure to perform by those around me. That’s another reason I have been extremely reluctant to sing publicly. My vocal “gift” is not raw talent. I literally had to teach myself to sing. When I was young, I loved to sing but couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. When I started buying tapes and CDs, I’d play them for hours, pitching my voice to match the artists – first country, then pop/rock – and somehow, magically, I could sort of sing. And people responded to that. I soaked up the attention, and in many ways it was a great thing.

Until it wasn’t.

Until I became known as the girl who sang with conviction and passion (if not technical perfection) and could maybe accompany you or front your band. And then it was an obligation, not a joy. I’ve silenced my voice for over a decade, because I knew on some intrinsic level that if I didn’t, I’d spend years playing and singing songs I didn’t feel, or writing songs I could perform for no one but myself, or writing “performable” songs that would steal a piece of my soul. And I’d hate it. That’s why I have been extremely reluctant to sing in churches or karaoke bars, to play at functions, or even to write. Because one such event always always leads to another.

Over Christmas, I visited my parents. There’s an annual tradition my Dad attends – a Christmas morning brunch with a bunch of folks who may or may not have somewhere to go for the holiday. After we’d had our fill of food and coffee, we all headed in to the living room for some caroling. My Dad performs a solo every year – Six White Boomers – and his friend with the guitar didn’t know the song. I offered to get her a key to play in, and somehow – with shaking hands and an unpracticed ear – ended up accompanying Dad on the whole song. No one made a big deal when I handed the guitar back, leaned back on the couch, and sang along with the others on the next song.

I loved it.

Because it wasn’t about me.

I was part of a collective, not a show monkey being paraded in front of a group of people. And that one experience told me that it was time to steady my hands and hold the music again. It paved the way for a solo New Year’s Eve – just me and a guitar and a seriously out-of-tune upright – opened the door to bleeding fingertips and aching wrists and a voice I didn’t realize I had.

Even so, after so much reflection and work and a few tears, I started to wonder
if music was really in my blood, or if I was just kidding myself. Of course my skills are rusty. Of course I need to practice. It’s been so long since I sat down and wrote that I forgot the process (for the record, there is no “process” beyond sitting and writing). Of course I have things I want to say… But does music coarse through my veins? Do I need it like my morning coffee, or a hard run, or a good night’s sleep?

Absolutely, yes!

I used to say that music was in my blood…

And I’ll start saying it again.

Because it is.

With a Little Help from my Friends

09 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by blindbeader in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

changes, friendship, personal, reflection, support

A few days ago, I saw a video posted online of a guide dog user being denied entry to a well-known New York club. Not only did their friends stand in the gap for them, trying to advocate and to explain that their friend had a right to be there, but also physically going into the club and making the manager address the issue.

At the time, I commented about the true sense of friendship between these three.
“And her friends refused to take it lying down. They refused to allow the manager to ignore the issue, they made him flat-out say that he didn’t care about the law and would discriminate anyway.
I want allies like this.
Allies who will stand in the gap when I say with a sigh that feels like a scream – because of someone’s actions TOWARD ME – “I’m sorry for ruining your night.””
And as I thought about it, I realized that, in fact, I do have friends and allies like this.

Just today, I discovered a post I wrote that puts into words what true friends are.
“Good friends are those who will talk to you about anything, talk to you about nothing, listen to you, cry with you, laugh with you, let you forget your troubles for awhile, tell you the truth even if you don’t want to hear it, visit you in the hospital, stand in line at the pharmacy with you, dance with you, laugh at your bad jokes, drive you home in a snowstorm, encourage you to try new things, accept you as you are.
I truly have great friends.”

A shoulder to Lean On

A few months ago, I went through a pretty unpleasant experience. In many ways, I felt like my brain and my body had betrayed me in ways they never had before, and I struggled to make sense of it all. From some pretty surprising corners, both new and old friends reached out and listened as I sorted through my feelings and my reactions to what happened. Their attentiveness and occasional “checking in!”s made a ton of difference at a time where almost nothing in my life made sense. When, after a few weeks, I was still struggling, those same friends cheered me on as I reached out for professional assistance. They made that time in my life – which was the beginning of a journey of serious and life-changing self-discovery – a lot easier to confront.

And, sometimes, friends do not have any idea that they’ve been a lifeline. When my employer sent out the weekly newsletter featuring a marathon runner with a disability, I reached out to her and said hello. We talked about what we had in common – disability, running, dislike of Nicholas Sparks books – for most of that day. What she doesn’t know is how talking about those things helped keep me together on a day where I was emotionally struggling, probably harder than I ever have. It causes me to stop and wonder… how often do we support our friends without even realizing it? In those moments where the struggle is not so obvious, how often do we unknowingly step into that space, lend a hand, and lift our friend up?

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I’ve had many groups of friends over the course of my life. Some friendships formed through proximity (school, work), others through common interests, and others through shared beliefs or lived experiences. Some have remained generally constant, while others have ebbed and flowed over the years. When life has taken us different directions, some have quietly faded into the background while a painful few have been quickly cut off at the roots. As I’m going through a pretty prolonged and complicated period of self-discovery, I’m fascinated at how some friends and I are growing closer, and viewing life through similar lenses – sometimes after long absences from each other’s lives – while others who were much closer to me when I thought, talked, and believed a certain way have faded into the background. For the most part, I really do think there’s a lot of truth to that quote about friends being for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Sometimes, it’s painful and fascinating to learn which friends are in your life for what period of time.

Hands and Feet

I’m just going to come out and say it. Sometimes, adulting sucks. There’s big stuff – like moving, starting a family, getting a new job, experiencing illness or loss… you get the idea. Friends are regularly present for such events – and if they can’t be, their absence adds pain (sometimes more pain) to those big life experiences.

But friends show up in the little ways, too. It’s boring to buy groceries and go to the post office and clean your house. Sometimes, though, you can reconnect with friends and neighbors just by doing those adult things. Just last week, Ben and I ran into a neighbor and friend in the produce store we’ve been shopping at for years. We chatted and reconnected just while waiting in line. Sometimes, a friend who works in my office building will ask me if I’m going to a certain area she’s going anyway – sometimes I am – and we end up shopping or mailing packages and chatting about life. Another will join me on a run – seeming to pick those days where I REALLY don’t wanna! – and keep pushing for me to work hard and do well.

“I Want What’s Best for You… but I Love you As you Are”

I am truly blessed to have some of the most honest friends in the world. Sometimes that means telling me some uncomfortable truths about myself – especially if I ask directly. Sometimes I get told when I’m being too demanding; other times I’m reminded that I’m overloading a friend with my own emotional baggage. As painful as these conversations are sometimes, I’m glad that friends love me enough to tell me these things before they fester into resentment and anger.

And while it’s so important for friends to love us for who we are – and I am blessed to have friends who love me for me – they also cheer us on when we expand our horizons. When I first told one friend that I was thinking about signing up for a half-marathon on my upcoming trip, the first thing she said was “do it!” Sometimes you need a friend to talk you through a situation – finding all the angles, asking questions for you to consider – and other times you need a friend to just give you the push to go for it. I’m blessed to have friends who can – and do – do both.

I Could Go On… but What About You?

There are so many other things that make good friends, but these have affected me most deeply lately. If you recognize yourself in this post, thanks for being my friend; if you don’t, this in no way diminishes my love for you or how much I value our friendship.

What about you? What makes a good friend? Have you had an experience where a friend appeared from an unexpected place, or supported you without even knowing it?

Tell me about it in the comments below!

2017: The Year of Self-Discovery

01 Monday Jan 2018

Posted by blindbeader in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2017, life lessons, reflection, writing

I LOVE self-reflection. It’s sometimes painful, sometimes astounding, frequently necessary.
I described 2015 as the year all the bad stuff happened, and 2016 as the year of the marathon (where I pushed myself to my physical and emotional and financial limits) 2017 was the year that gave me room to breathe, to reflect, to learn more about myself. Some amazing people entered my life, some amazing people faded from it, and we welcomed new human and feline loved ones from some unexpected corners. I experienced life more freely – the beautiful and the painful, the exciting and the frustrating. My current (and long-fought-for) employment went from a term contract to a permanent one, my hands have created some pretty beaded things (that people actually wanted to buy!), I got a tattoo, I’ve gone on an amazing road trip, begun plans for another one, read some books that made me think… and wrote. A Lot.

Now that I’ve wrung in the new year with friends new and old, continued our new New Year’s Eve tradition of a bitterly cold backyard fire, and contemplated drinking gallons of coffee on an equally frigit New Year’s Day, here are the posts that have made the rounds from the Life unscripted blog.

Stretching and Growing

By far, I had the most fun writing this post. But if you’re not interested, that’s OK.

This year seems to be the year of attitude adjustments.

It also seemed to be the year where I’m trying to figure out how I can best advocate for myself without alienating my loved ones.

I’m pretty proud of this post, where I talk about succeeding and failing on my own merits.

So… Next Year?

I’m already super excited for 2018! Many of you have reached out in comment sections, through twitter, by email and through other social media to tell me what this blog means to you. You are all the reason I write.

Those of you who wrote me privately and told me you enjoyed my Epic Road Trip of Awesome series? Fear not! I’ll be blogging my 2018 road trip series as it happens!

The book reviews will be returning on the last day of each month; some readers have asked if I will review more than books about blind people. The answer is… maybe. I read a lot of books, and if I reviewed them all, I’d have no time to write anything else. I’m choosing to write reviews primarily regarding books with blind characters because there’s so much mystery and “other”ness surrounding blindness; I not only want to point out how an author or editor could do better, but also to thank writers for providing food for thought or nuance to their portrayals.

As for anything else… what would you, my readers, like to see? I plan on asking more questions as I continue to grow as a woman, an advocate, and a writer. So if there’s a topic you’d like me to touch on or explore, please let me know!

However 2017 has treated you, I’m glad you’ve chosen to share it with me. I wish you all kinds of great things for 2018!

Where I’m going and Where I’ve Been

03 Friday Nov 2017

Posted by blindbeader in Epic Road Trip of Awesome, The Intrepid Journey 2018

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Tags

journey, personal, reflection, road trip, travel

Two months ago today, I wrote a blog post just hours after returning from a road trip that changed me deeply. I came face to face with myself, and it wasn’t always a pretty picture. That trip made me grow up in ways I never thought I needed, and it created new dreams, presented once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, and strengthened relationships.
let’s look back a little bit, shall we?

The Bare Facts

Total trip distance: 5449 km (at minimum, detours make this hard to calculate)
Total Traveling Time: 64.5 hours
Tanks of gas: 16
Times we pitched our tent: 5
Times we changed our itinerary: 5 major trip changes
Places we missed out on: 2 (Mount St. Helen’s itself, Garnet)
Once-in-a-life-time experiences: Countless, but two stand out (Sleeping under the stars, and Old Faithful)
Number of inside jokes: Too many to count
Catch phrases: “A bucket of chili!”, “twenty Minutes to Bozeman”, and a bunch more
Regrets: For me, that the trip was so fast that we never got to settle in, and missed out on some cool experiences; others may have different feelings

Why did I Write about My Vacation?

I created the previous blog posts through a combination of memory, audio recordings I made at the time, facebook posts, text messages, photos, and, where applicable, speaking with the others involved. In particular, the exhausted monologues of day 1, Day 5, and day 7 provided great jumping off points for me to tell my story. All impressions are my own, or are impressions or thoughts that have been directly expressed to me by those who went through them. Many of you have thanked me for writing this blog series about our trip, warts and missteps and all, and for that you have my gratitude. It would’ve been very easy to sugar-coat things, to paint this amazing trip in the rosy glow of remembrance, to put all of us in the most positive light possible. But it wouldn’t have been raw and real and authentic, and it certainly wouldn’t have been this road trip. I took great pains to describe feelings and conflicts and impressions as accurately as I could, with greatest emphasis on my own reactions and feelings. Others’ words, actions or attitudes may have coloured my reactions or thoughts, but I am only responsible for how I respond to them.
As to why I wrote this? It’s a remembrance, to the person I was before and the person I’m becoming. I don’t want to lose sight of either incarnation of her.

What’s Happened Since

In the weeks following our journey, fire devastated huge swaths of area we had previously covered. Oregon’s I-84 was closed in portions we had traveled less than a week earlier due to the Eagle Creek Fire, which is still burning two months later. Over a million acres of Montana land have been scorched by multiple wildfires that have devastated land, property, and air quality; even now, some roads have just recently reopened. If we had taken the same trip even a week later – or if we take it in the future – it would look and feel and smell completely different than it did on our journey. I feel like we were given a gift, some of the last glimpses of this unspoiled land before it all burned away.

As for the four of us personally, we’ve all had to go back to “real life” (to our jobs and our homes and our countries), but flashes of the Epic Road trip of Awesome still linger and pop out and unbidden moments. The roof bag is still stuffed with camping gear, my toiletry bag is already stocked for my next adventure, and the T-shirts I bought in Montana are among my personal favourites. We temporarily misplaced the bag from the Montana Gift Corral containing the plaque and bracelet, and I frantically messaged them when we couldn’t find it to see if we’d left it behind somewhere and maybe someone had turned it in. When the answer was “no”, I considered re-purchasing the items, but shipping to Canada would’ve been prohibitively expensive. Sarah found it in her duffel bag a few weeks later, and you can now frequently find me wearing the bracelet she and Ben found for me. I was right about how it fit, though; I’ve started to dub it the “boomerang bracelet” because I’ve lost it so many times and always gotten it back. It, like so much of this trip, must have been meant to be.

So…. Now What?

If you follow me on social media, you’ll know this bit. That dream of traveling around Montana has started to form concrete dimmensions. I hadn’t even unpacked my backpack before I sat down and spent hours researching ways to get from Alberta to Montana by bus (hint: you can’t do it). I researched planes and trains and started looking into accommodations. The idea gripped me so fiercely that Ben and I agreed that we’d forego our original plans for next summer so I could take this trip in the fall (he’s planning a different excursion of his own). I’ve spent hours on travel sites, configuring itineraries, changing plans, mentally organizing it in my head on nights when I can’t sleep. When my current job went from a temporary contract to a permanent one a month ago, I felt safe enough to book my train ride into Montana, and extending the planned itinerary from two weeks to three. It’s getting real now, not this abstract “someday” concept anymore.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be back in Montana in September, 2018. Not only will I be touring Montana, but my trip will branch out into Washington State, Wyoming, and Colorado. I will be on my own, carrying nothing but a backpack on my back and a guide dog’s harness in my left hand. I’ll be looking straight into the future, doing things that – if I think too hard – I might talk myself out of because they’re new or unpracticed and a little scary.

Maybe I will rediscover my “brave.”

If you’ve ever supported the work of this blog, please consider buying me a coffee and help make this trip possible.

In Bozeman, I bought a black T-shirt that feels so very soft to the touch. On the front of it is a phrase that is apt, and I close with it now.

The mountains are calling.

I must go.

The Epic Road trip of Awesome Day 9: Going Home

31 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by blindbeader in Epic Road Trip of Awesome

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Tags

Home, Montana, personal, reflection, road trip, travel

Sunday, September 3, 2017

I am pulled from my sleep by a combination of factors – my need to use the washroom, Ben’s snoring beside me, and Jenny’s whimpering beside the bed (indicating she has similar needs to my own). I try and be as quiet as possible when slipping through Sarah and Dwight’s room to the washroom. It’s not easy; any time you try and be quiet, you make so much noise you might as well not have bothered. I want to hang out in their room for a while, because it’s nice and cool, while ours is a veritable sauna.
I quickly feed Jenny while I’m making noise anyway and take her downstairs to answer nature’s call. Another hotel guest has a dog with her. This dog is either on a flexi-lead or is not leashed at all. Jenny just wants to get down to business, but three times this dog tries to interfere, and three times the dog’s owner tries to call her dog back to her. I’m too tired to chew her out for her dog’s horrible recall, since my dog’s not on duty at the moment anyway, and I go back upstairs to wait for the others to wake up.
It’s 9:00 before we clean up our garbage and load most of our unnecessary items into the trunk of the car. We make our way to the hotel restaurant, where I am asked (for the second time in three days) if Jenny is “my” service dog. I smile and say yes, and the four of us are seated, ordering our coffee and juice (thanks, Dwight, for being odd man out). We consult the menu, and I order Idaho trout with potatoes and toast.
As soon as we place our order, we talk about the trip home. The plan has been to make a stop in Radium Hot Springs, but I think all of us are tired and just want to take the shortest distance home. We’ll have to visit Radium another time.
Over our breakfast – including big cubes of potatoes – We reminisce over the past days and think about what we’ll do with our day off tomorrow. We drink more coffee and Dwight drinks more juice, and we mentally prepare ourselves to hit the road again.
Once our breakfast bill has been paid, we swing by the gift shop. I find another T-shirt (my fourth this trip, if anyone’s counting). It’s blue with a picture of the Montana state flag, and it says “Montana – My Happy Place” across the front. I can’t resist.
We leave the unopened alcohol in the room, with a note for the cleaning staff to help themselves when they’re not on-duty, do one more pass-through to make sure there’s no more garbage unaccounted for, and pick up our backpacks and trek downstairs to check out of the Izaak Walton Inn. We’re told that the highway through West Glacier National Park is closed due to wildfires in the area; this would have been the route we would have gone to get to Radium. We’re glad we didn’t have our hearts set on it today.
We load our backpacks into the trunk of the car and then find one of the refurbished train cars to take pictures of each of us wearing the communal jacket. We laugh at the absurdity of it all, this small leather jacket being worn by four people, and are grateful for one more memory to carry home with us.
We get back to the car and Ben runs inside again, bringing the two propane bottles we purchased earlier in the week – one full, one empty. We can’t take them with us across the border, so the hotel staff might as well get some use out of them.
Ben gets into the passenger seat, while Sarah takes the wheel. Jenny’s not limping anymore, so the frequent massaging seems to have made her more comfortable. There’s so much leg room now that there’s no food in the car that we can reconfigure the other bags so that all four of us can enjoy it.
Sarah starts the car, and we head north toward home.

Izaak Walton Inn – Edmonton, Alberta
Distance: 432 miles (695 km)
Travel time: 8 hours (including stops)

We plan on getting gas in St. mary, but the driver in front of us is driving unnecessarily aggressively. Ben marvels that this driver’s car has Alberta plates (proof that Alberta has the worst drivers), then he and Ben exchange words at the gas station. I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s times like this I am glad I don’t drive and don’t have to deal with it.

Our tank full of gasoline, we continue to drive north. I reflect on this week, and realize I’m not the same person I was when we loaded up the car nine days ago, and that’s a good thing. I ask Ben and Sarah about their experiences, how they feel, what they experienced. They also admit they’re not the same individuals either, and their relationship with each other (and with me) has strengthened and changed in unexpected ways. Dwight agrees and thanks us for inviting him along. We thank him for providing some much-needed perspective and levity; without him, we may have self-destructed as a group.

I ask the others about their favourite experiences (Little Bighorn and Yellowstone being most popular) and most memorable stop for food (The “zen Wendy’s” and KJ’s Truck Stop prove unforgetable). Who has the worst drivers? Alberta, hands down. Favorite wildlife sighting? The boldness of the wildlife in Idaho was incredible, but Wyoming has some amazing natural beauty.

We cross the border into Canada, and are instantly struck with the irony that we’ve spent the past several days with friendly people. The border officer is noticeably abrupt, and fellow travelers we encounter at the Canadian rest stop are likewise pushy – so much for Canadian friendliness!

We stop by the Nanton Candy Store to indulge our individual sweet tooth. We’ve been in the store for a couple of minutes when the store owner approaches me and takes me aside. I have a feeling of dread that he’s going to ask me to take Jenny outside, but he surprises me with his respect and discretion. he makes it abundantly clear that I am absolutely welcome in his store accompanied by my service dog, but he tells me he has an employee with severe allergies and asks me to be considerate of that. Our conversation is so discrete that even my traveling companions have no idea it ever took place. I used to often wonder what I would do in a situation like this – where a very real severe allergy is present – and now I know: treat this man and his shop with the respect he just showed me. I pick out a Jones soda and pay with some of our leftover American money, then walk outside to wait for the others.

We top up on gas in nanton as well, and this leg of our journey feels so very long. Home is within striking distance, REALLY, but we still have hours to drive.

Sarah puts on some of her music as a sound track, since Ben’s music is repeating the same songs over and over and over again. Dwight, Ben and I dose now and then, sometimes asking questions about the bands or vocalists we’re hearing.

Traffic crawls through Calgary, and it starts to rain as we top up the tank for the last time in Innisfail. We stop at Peter’s Drive Inn just outside of Red Deer and order big burgers and milkshakes. The sun peaks through the clouds as we hit the Edmonton city limits, and a sense of deep sadness fills the car. We’re home! But we don’t want this epic road trip of awesome to end. Ben toys with the idea of just driving around Edmonton for another couple of hours, holding the magic in this little Nissan for as long as we can. But this trip needs to end sometime…

We pull up in front of our house and divest Hoshi of all of her extra baggage. Everyone grabs their own backpack or duffel bag, and only Sarah removes her sleeping gear from the roof bag. Our kitties greet us noisily, and it’s like we’ve never been gone. We invite Sarah to stay for coffee, and she eagerly accepts. We put Pink Floyd on the record player and just soak in the music; too many words would devalue the experience. It’s hard to believe it’s all over.

But soon enough, Sarah picks up her duffel bag and takes off for home. Ben, Dwight and I are all exhausted, and turn in early.

But for me, it’s not over.

Not really.

Life Unscripted

~ Living Life as I see it… or Don't

Tag Archives: reflection

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