Now For The Best: Rocky Mountain Solstice

 Summer solstice of course. I wouldn’t want to be here for the other one.

We planned a 5 day trip to get north. We routed through Flagstaff, 4 Corners, Cortez, and Durango for the first day. It was familiar territory, fairly uneventful, little worth shooting since we’d been there, done that, several times. What we did note is that is was 210 miles to Tuba City, and a bit over two hours from there to Red Mesa. We'll need to remember that for October 14th since those are our plans for the seeing the annular eclipse, between motel reservations and setting up to see/shoot. It will mean a very early rise to be set up by 8 AM, planning for significant traffic.

An early rise was what we needed to make Estes Park the next day. The alarm was set for 4, when it was still black out. Reloading the car took till 5:30, giving us blue sky but no sun. Still we could see where we were going, scenery and animals. The trip was spectacular on both counts. No sooner had we gotten clear of town than there were elk grazing along the roadside. Females, no racks, no calves, several sightings. They were fairly close to the road, not enough to mandate a slow down, but had we not been in a hurry, or on a highway, close enough to shoot in better light. A bit further was a bull elk with a couple does, and while the light was cooperating better their distance wasn’t. Still, a sighting is a sighting.

So were the many chipmunks, a pair of marmots playing right at road’s edge, a cluster of deer with three fawns among them, and a single moose we passed as we rounded a curve, munching right next to the highway with no place to pull over and a sheriff’s vehicle on our tail for the last 20 miles. Both Steve and I thought some idiot had placed a statue of a moose right along the road in the middle of nowhere… until her jaw moved. And zoom, we were past.

The animals were a bonus. The day was all about scenery. It was all mountain roads, sharp turns, high passes, waterfalls and rushing rivers. The passes were pretty high. We made notes of which there were, writing down names, and height where given or to be looked up later. Steve let me know at least one was over 11,000 feet. With our recent cardiac issues, we kept the finger stall blood O2 monitor in the front of the car for easy access. We both did well, an indication that we might give serious thought to trying Trail Ridge Road after all on the following day. Our last visit I’d cut the trip short much lower, though still almost 10,000 feet.

This day was also about routing and last minute changes. We’d put in a stop at his Mom’s grave in Montrose in the morning, with photos and roses, then originally planned on taking 133 east and following the Crystal River where his sister Sylvia’s ashes were scattered per her request years before on a previous trip. There were other roads involved of course. But as I’d been doing the planning weeks earlier we found out that 133 was closed due to a bridge washout. So a different route got chosen… until two days before we left. They had put in a temporary bridge, no 70 mile detour (or so) was needed, and we didn’t have to skip it entirely, along with Steve’s favorite mountain, Mt. Soprus. The sudden change back meant there were a few details missed in the trip plan and a few wrong turns were made. Most were corrected in less than a mile.  

On the day Syl’s ashes were scattered, the Crystal River was a placid, blue mountain stream. On the repeat visit it was a roaring tossing white and brown monster. This last winter had been high in snow fall and even now remains relatively high in rainfall through the area. We got the unexpected bonus of seeing rapids and waterfalls. Fortunately for those of us with cameras, there were lots of places to pull over and stretch our legs, collecting photos and videos.

We did manage a bit of freeway travel, via I 70 which currently is in terrible shape, but elected to get off on the east side of Idaho Springs and head north via more mountain roads, behind the front range. It’s about 70  miles from there to Estes Park. Or three-plus hours, but we decided it was a better choice on this trip than Denver at rush hour. Of course it wasn’t a single highway going north. It changed numbers every few miles, a bit more than every little town on the way. We even had a detour getting into Estes Park, which resulted in a charming chat with a fellow in a little town which turned out to be a mere collection of mountain cabins on either side of a long winding road. No gas stations, no stores, no place to ask for information, except for one fellow out on his afternoon stroll. But it all worked out. That route was our moose sighting, and the turnoff for that “town” lost us our official rear escort. Being the solstice gave us plenty of daylight to take all the various roads through all the mountains, most of which were actually in better shape than the freeway we'd been on.

It did turn out to be a bit later than hoped before we hit our motel for the next two nights, so we inquired about any local pizza take-out options. Following a recommendation, we found out that they only take orders in person or online. Since both of us are reluctant to plug into motel wifi, it meant a trip. Just a little more driving! While it was only  about a quarter mile, it was on the canyon road with no cross streets to give a sense of how far there was yet to go, and only two buildings along the way among all the motels and condos and a light sprinkling of small businesses had displayed any address numbers. Frustrating! And right then I was something less than in the mood for that kind of nonsense. Once I found the place, I sat in the lobby (at least they had seating) for half an hour. The place was deafening! It sounded like a raucous party was going on, and people kept walking in and turning the corner to the room where the noise was coming from without stopping at the front like one does waiting to be seated. The place officially closes at 8. I arrived at 7:30 and left with our  dinner (and breakfast, lunch, dinner, and next breakfast!) in hand after 8 while people were still arriving.

I asked for a large pizza (without a menu) as the plan was to eat supper, put the rest in the mini-fridge in our room and bring it with us into the park before 5 in the morning so we could get in without bothering with the timed entry permit system. “Large” turned into a 17” square pizza cut into 9 pieces. Two-thirds of one one piece made supper with the super thick crust tossed. The middle crustless  piece made breakfast and lunch on its own. Once I saw the box I asked them for a bag as well, so the leftovers could go in the mini fridge. That box never would! In the end, I packed our future meals (until we couldn't take any more) in our own supply of gallon zipper bags, each getting its own shelf. The last pieces got tossed. Don’t even begin to ask what that pizza cost!

Thursday was about touring the Park. We set our alarm for 4 AM and were on the road in half an hour. Unlike our end of summer visit last year, our permitless entry was blessed by skies which were lightening by the time we had passed the entry to Bear Lake Road, so we could see the scenery as we passed it, not just white lines in a winding world of black. The mountain tops had streamers of fog descending down their sides after last night’s wet weather. We’re not sure how much it rained, though we’d watched clouds build in the early evening and had water on the car in the morning. Like yesterday, the tallest mountains had some snow left on them, particularly on their  north sides. They’d make beautiful pictures, if there were just more light.  TV weather had talked about a high pressure system stuck in place while the eastern half of the country was getting hot wet weather with a generous sprinkling of twisters. Expect late day rain, and again, and….

As before, our first stop was Bear Lake, furthest and highest on that road. No color in the sky, but that orange lake last fall was a blue moon event, if that. My camera wasn’t cooperating with the light unless I was shooting in video, so that’s most of what I did in the morning. There was too much light to trigger the flash so the camera left the shutter open longer, with everything blurry. Not my choice. I’ll have to figure out how to remedy that. Luckily there were an abundance of small rushing streams all over, all much larger than any previous visit, so the video feature had a lot to record. I did a bit of hiking, nothing strenuous, though more than Steve would venture, but he happily sat in the car with the dog, windows open, gorging on fresh mountain air, watching people and chipmunks, fog rolling down the mountains, and getting every shot in with his camera that he could from the car.

He was the one who spotted two bull elk with huge racks in velvet lounging in the shade of thick pine trees along the road to Sprague Lake. There was no way to get close enough to shoot them there, but around the corner was a pullout. Another family was out and pointing cameras at them from that direction so we stopped too. Several others did as well, one set advancing on the elk until we admonished them to stop. We didn’t want either to lose our opportunity to get our pictures nor their possible injury from upset elk. From this direction we could see there were actually 4 of the large bull elk, friendly with each other for now, enjoying their shade but making photography challenging. All is sure to change come fall.

Sprague Lake was where I’d managed to convince Steve to take a short hike. Just over a hundred feet at most from the car was a bridge over the pond below the beaver dam where in all previous visits some trout resided. These were spectacular with orange fins and backs. Unfortunately the heavy amount of water still rushing through had deposited a large amount if silt in the small pond, leaving most of it with a water depth of under two inches. No trout. Lots of disappointment.

We tried Upper Beaver Meadows road, a site of past elk herd sightings. Its is notorious for its lack of upkeep, and this last winter hadn’t improved it. (We discussed this with a ranger later. The lack of upkeep is intentional, discouraging tourists for the safety of the elk.) As soon after the first turn as possible we found a wide spot to turn around in and go back. Next we tried the alluvial fan site. Even without any animals for all the people there, it’s still good photography because both of us love dead trees. That particular spot has a selection of still-standing pines which have a bright orange-brown and soft grey combination of colors, making them extra striking against the now blue sky. One old snag, minus all branches and hollowing out from the top, has picked up a patina of green on its north side as well. I've been shooting it for years now.

From there it was Trail Ridge Road. We had expectations of the possibility of reaching the store at the top. We did make it to the point beyond the 2 mile high sign with a restroom building and a great overlook of the main valley way below, known as Horseshoe Park. It is typically the first place they close for winter and the last one they open. It is still below the tree line, but not by much. We’d passed snow on our way up, had expansive views of the burn scar from a couple years back, but decided before going any further, we’d check our blood oxygen levels. Both of us still felt fine, but we let the monitor make our decision. Since we both were in the 80s, we decided to turn back. It’s not a place to take those chances.

On the way down we decided to check in on Hidden Valley. Somehow it’s always been a disappointment to us. I’m not sure what we’re hoping for there, but it never delivers. Perhaps if we were hikers?

We were feeling disappointed by then on the whole anyway, with the lack of animals thus far. I suggested it was the permit entry system that was messing everything up. We had to get there before the animals were active if we were to see the whole Bear Lake corridor, and we got into the rest of the park late enough that most of the animals had gone to find shade and hide. We had actually seen one new to us for this park, though common in Minnesota: a wild turkey. It was walking through a meadow, lit from the back  so its wattle showed up red against black. Still….

It was time to start heading beck to the motel. We could return to the park after 2 PM without a permit to see who/what was moving before sunset if we wanted. (Would it rain again? Clouds were building faster than yesterday.) This time we’d head out 34, very much under construction, instead of 36, see if the mountain sheep were coming down to the salt lick, maybe. No mountain sheep, but three elk out in the meadow, working their way across, one a bull with a fairly decent rack. Since the salt lick was now one of three ponds where a tiny lone pond had been before, there was also a moose, a young male. We speculated it might be the grown calf we’d seen the year before with its mom in a thicket about a mile away. Anyway, lots of photos were taken, perhaps one or two worthy of the effort, before we gave it up for the day and headed back to our room. Naps had been earned.

Starting With The Worst First

The trip is over. We've arrived north.  Tired, sore, verging on cranky and trying not to be. Yesterday's last leg was brutal. Ironically, it was also the shortest leg, unless you count the day we were only inside "The Park" - Rocky Mountain National Park of course. But it was the night before which did us in before our last leg.

First, we started out sleep deprived, after a string of days sleep deprived. Our first morning it was rush-rush, get it all done and git! Our second  morning was wake to dark skies and load the car to leave the first minute we could see the road so we wouldn't miss the scenery on the way. We were in Colorado now! The third morning's sleep, and fourth, both were spoiled by the new "Permitless Entry" system. You had to enter the park before 5AM, meaning not just getting into the long lineup caused by construction at the other entrance, but getting past it before 5, or you weren't allowed to get in the entire east part of the park for the day, unless you'd scheduled your exact 2-hour entry window months ahead. Good luck!  As for the rest of the park, it was in before nine or after 2, and you were free to go wherever... except the best parts of course, which was why we got up so early.

We could have slept later the next day, but we were staying with cousins we both dearly love, but see less than once every few years. We'd arrived late, stayed up late talking, and still gotten up early because now it was a habit. Even though they were sleeping in. We stayed for a couple hours after breakfast, but had to head down the road to the next motel.

That was the real culprit! It was the Airport Super 8 in Lincoln, Nebraska. We got there at a reasonable time, looking forward to a good snooze before heading out, no clock pushing us. Apparently the hotel didn't care how much we needed a good snooze.

I had carefully made reservations for a handicap accessible room. The view inside the front door wasn't promising. It is a three story motel. From the front desk there is a perfect view of the breakfast room... down about 8 stairs. There is another view of the next floor of rooms... up about 8 stairs, with another flight past those heading up farther than I could see to the third. There was no floor with rooms leading off past the desk at the same level I entered through those automatic sliding doors. But hey, they had 2 handicap parking spots outside the front door!

There was a line to check in, of course, but not an issue. In the process I had time to look around and hope like hell they had an elevator. 

Nope.

What they did have was an outside door on the east end of the building that was low enough that you could walk in without stairs. It needed your key card for security of course, but I've seen that before. The "handicap wing" was right inside there, and had a wheelchair on each room number plate in case you had a question about its suitability. Of course, you had to get to the room first. That meant putting your key in the opener, and somehow pull open the 90+ pound door of ordinary width so you and your luggage could squeeze through before it closed and squeezed you in. No handicap touch plates, no wide door. What it really meant was that no individual person with disability issues who was traveling alone could possibly get inside the motel. At least there was a ramp from the two handicap parking spots at that end of the building and around the corner to get down to the door. What you did with it from there was your problem.

I have a few suggestions. 

But I happen to like my personal freedom.

Presuming you arrived at your room,  successfully opened it, and fought your way through the pressure of its door closer with your luggage, you still had to do so fast enough that it wouldn't  scrape you in the process of keeping anybody following you inside from achieving their goal. Steve got scraped (sorry, dear) and that was with help. Or what was supposed to be help anyway.  He sat down while I made the next 7 trips in. Actually I lost count, but it felt like that many.

Still, we made ourselves comfortable, pretty much. It worked for us until bedtime. Experience had taught me to pull out the severely tucked in bedding before trying to climb in or you'd be trapped in a cocoon not of your choosing till morning. Especially since the bed was so close to the wall you had to ease in sideways, perfect posture and sucking your belly in so get all the way up to the pillow end. 

Or should I say "pillows end"? What's with the multitude of tiny pillows on motel beds these days? What sales team is so effective that they can convince hotel staff all over the country that a bunch of little pillows slipping out from under your head and through your arms leads to a restful night's sleep? They are never the right thickness either. One is too few. Two, even if you could wrangle them, is too many. On a bed for two people they left us 3 pillows.

Seriously, WHO THE HELL'S IDIOT NEPHEW IS ALLOWED TO MAKE THESE DECISIONS? ("Hey, Honey, let's let young Ralphie order the pillows, he can't possibly screw that up too, can he?")

The only decision worse than the quality and number of pillows was the height of the bed. The side near the wall was as high as my navel. Just exactly which disability is well served by having to climb up that high into that bed? A speech impediment? (If you wanted to answer in the affirmative on that one please explain how, exactly,  it would be served.) As if to show how embarrassed they were by having that side so ridiculously high, the other side of the bed was only up to my pubic bone.

That's right: THE BED  SLANTED!

If I got into the uphill side, which I did first, being "my side" of the bed, I was fighting the demand that I roll downhill to the other side of the bed. On my shoulders, the pressure to remain in place was, to say the least, excruciating. In order to get out of the bed, it took a combination of rolling and climbing uphill, then figuring out how to twist to the side so I could slither along the wall to clear the bed entirely.

Need I mention that having the dog there at the same time needlessly complicated things? That is the single thing I can't blame the motel staff for. She's there every night. It's not normally an issue. This just wasn't normal.

I accepted Steve's offer to switch sides with me. It was a much easier climb in  at the lower side, and sleep finally became possible without fear of rolling or the need for climbing out. It did help that by then Steve had gotten in the bed and weight on the other side helped balance things somewhat. Not perfect, but improved at least, enough so that I'm pretty sure I managed three or four hours sleep by morning. 

Perfect for the next day's driving! It was the first time in many years I had to drive through rain so thick I temporarily lost sight of the white road lane stripes. The best part of the worst part of the trip was that Paul was waiting for us with Strawberry Shortcake for supper!

Good News? Time Will Tell... and Addendum

I'm taking a breather for a bit. Nearly everything is packed, most things have been checked off the list, and the car will be loaded this evening, the fridge cleared out and washed, with only the last minute items left for the morning. For example, I'll set out about 8 No Pest Strips around the house to kill invading critters while we're gone. (I find  those so much more humane than sticky traps, with the unfortunate tendency to trap a newly hatch family of tiny lizards which we'd so much rather have around, just outside. Those traps stopped their use here the day we came home to a cluster of tiny skeletons!)

The newest house key is at the Fire Department for emergency entry. There's been an oil change, and a tire check. Those who need to be notified have been. Motel reservations are made, including two nights in Estes Park to enable wee hours entry without the hassle of getting a timed entry permit. Our oddball sleep schedules these days make that early rise feasible.  We even have back our preferred route through mid Colorado because the road which was washed out, 133, the one with "only" a 90-or-so mile detour to see what we wanted, has gotten its temporary road put in. Today, as it happens, was the striping and opening. We'll be on it Wednesday.

That's just a tiny smattering of what's on the 4-page list. A couple new ones popped up, starting with my cardiologist appointment this morning, and a return visit there to get my pacemaker checked just about as soon as I finish this, triple proof it, and post it. 

That morning appointment didn't go exactly as planned, starting with lasting 2 hours in a very crowded, SRO office. I was the one continuing to be ushered from room to room, consultation to consultation. I kept raising questions and they were (are) very aware of my time crunch. That's while they called the pacemaker guy to see if I could be fit in sometime before closing even though he'd not been scheduled at all for this location today.

My initial expectations were that the EKG would show everything perfectly normal. Of course it did, since I didn't feel anything happening. while it was being taken. The next expectation was I'd be walking out with a cardiac monitor. Nope. We were well into the teaching phase of setting me up for it, learning how it worked and how to care for it, when I asked whether where they wanted it attached would sit right over the pacemaker, and if that would be a problem?

Screeching stop! "Does _____ know you have a pacemaker?" I certainly hope so because it was done through this clinic. She left for another consult, returned to ask what my brand was, and I told here. Another consult, and the person consulted came back in herself. An explanation was due. 

There would be no wearable heart monitor. The good news (we hope - it's conditional) is I won't need one. My particular pacemaker already monitors my heart activity, and their office already follows it. The conditional part, the part nobody had explained to me, is the recorded activity only covers about 3 minutes at any time. And only when I'm within 10 feet. That means it sits on my headboard. The flashing lights occasionally wake me up. Those are very random times, other than being at night. If I wish it to register the weird activity, I have to get to the device on the bed, push a certain button, and do it within 3 minutes of the event so the Doc gets to see it.  

If I get irregular activity when I'm driving, or at the club, grocery shopping, etc., it may as well not have happened for all the Doc knows. 

First thing I did when I got back from the cardiologist was to unpack the plug-in parts from where they were to ride the whole trip in the car's hatch, and repack them into my carry-on so I can plug them in each night. And remember to repack them in the morning! That will allow me about 2 or three hours of being awake in the motels each day and cross my fingers it happens then. So far it's still happening each day, but always at different times.

It's pretty weird sitting around hoping for bad news on demand, because bad news will be good news.

Meanwhile I'm sending a letter to my northern cardiologist, explaining the situation. Might they wish to reschedule my appointment for a bit later?  Also in the letter was my full page 2 column medical history answering all the other questions they need for their updated-after-8-years file on me, plus written permission to leave me voicemail because I don't talk on the phone and drive... any more. It's illegal in too many states now. Finally, written permission, signed, to coordinate with my AZ clinic. This one knows the same thing and who will be contacting them. I figure the signature, etc., can be faxed, or scanned and emailed.

Time to go back to the clinic. I'll likely be off-line till we get north. I don't trust motel wi-fi privacy. Meanwhile we'll soon see how both Steve and I react to 10,000 foot altitude these days. Yee-hawwww!

*    *    *    *    *

2nd visit:

I took the plug-in parts for the monitor for my pacemaker. They were in a zipper bag so nothing went missing. The first thing my tech said was it was a good idea to bring them in. Second thing was that I didn't need to pay attention to pushing the button within 3 minutes. Everything is downloaded, and the three minutes is just how long it takes to transmit the info to whatever machine receives it. Other than that he ignored them. So why exactly was it good that I brought them?

Then he fiddles with dial and windows in his equipment. The pacemaker is functioning perfectly. I'm not, exactly. Now he had proof. 11 days ago it located one kind of problem. This afternoon it located another. They have names. I wrote them down, for later study, like after the trip is over and I trust my wifi again. Apparently I'm having PVCs and SVTs, and  yes, he found one set exactly when I said I was feeling it, as in just before leaving to go back to the office. (Here I thought it wasn't going to be recorded.)

He went to fetch my NP, who immediately upon entering the room, in reference to their now having an actual record of what I said was happening, informed me I wasn't crazy.

I suggested she pause a little before offering that kind of blanket statement. After all, I could be crazy in some way or another that won't show up on her kind of machines.

Bottom line is I'm getting two new meds. First is Metoprolol, the very same med that both Steve and I have been taken off of due to slowing our pulse rates too far. I was reassured that now I have the pacemaker it's fully capable of keeping my pulse high enough. Too high is the problem, and the skips I feel in my pulse are actually where the heart tries to correct itself. But the med also affects the blood pressure. Mine in the office was a breezy 110 over 70. No point in dropping it further, especially when driving through mountains. So she also prescribed my regular BP meds but at half the dose. 

That's a tinny complication, since I travel with meds in small bags. Each little bag has one "serving" of my pills, either the morning ones or the nighttime ones. The bags are labled. None are in their bottles any more. I have to go through them, find the old ones, either cut them in half and return them to the bottle in another location, or replace then with the half dose ones. Of course I have to identify them first. They're in the nighttime bags, and every single pill in those bags is white. Either large oval white or small round white. Just when I thought I was packed, right?

As soon as I got to the car I called my pharmacy, letting them know, with apologies, that I absolutely positively needed them tonight because we're heading out hours before they open tomorrow. And of course they have shorter summer hours, so it comes right in the middle of scheduled car packing. Oh well.

Bad Timing

It's not enough to be getting ready for a road trip. Now what I thought I'd gotten fixed long term is proving how temporary that fix was.

Most of you who know me know I have a history of A-fib. It caused me to retire early, since I'd never pass my next DOT physical to qualify for driving professionally. Luckily it all blew up the exact month I finally qualified for Medicare. Meds worked, until I started reacting badly to them. Then a different med plus blood thinners, followed by cardiac ablation surgery to reset the rhythm properly. It's more complex than that, but it worked. Follow that with a pacemaker and a Watchman to prevent blood clots forming in the heart by sealing off the little chamber where it could pool during bad rhythm episodes, should they recur.

Well, they just did.

I'm one of the people who can feel when the rhythm is disrupted. Beats are skipped and I know when it happens. It's been slowly building up: once, then months later again, another long pause before the next time. At that frequency, I've been ignoring it. Suddenly this last week it's been daily, out of the blue. The first time adrenaline triggered it, while Steve and I were watching a TV movie which did a terrific job of sucking you in for an ongoing dangerous situation. We decided to just turn the movie off and erase it from the DVR. The next times didn't need that trigger. I put in a call to my cardiologist's office, letting them know what was happening, informing them we were on a very short timeline before leaving the state for the summer, and I needed help before we left.

That call was yesterday. This morning I got a call back with an appointment and a preliminary plan. I'll go in for an EKG to start. I reminded them this is (still) intermittent and an EKG might not show anything. They at least need me to do that so the insurance company will recognize there is a valid reason for upcoming expenses. They will also fit me up with a wearable heart monitor which reports to an online recorder so they can tell what's going on and when. I'll get it the day before we leave.

I asked then what? Do I mail it back to the office from Minnesota? I've worn two different kinds of those monitors back before the surgeries, and apparently the technology is still changing. This one comes with a mailing kit when, once finished, goes back to the manufacturer. 

Their final question was did I have a cardiologist in MN? Well, I did, and the clinic is still there, attached to the local hospital. I looked it up. I can call them, let them know I'll be arriving in need of services, and see if they still have my records from 10 years ago and if my doc is still there. I'll have advice from my coardiologist here as to how soon I should try to make an appointment for there before I leave their office. I hope to also have a prescription for one of the meds that works for what's going on that I haven't taken since the Watchman went in. We'll also discuss whether I might have to go back on blood thinners, considering the Watchman stopped my need for them. Any prescription would have to be filled that same day, or be on paper and dropped at the northern pharmacy where I get my summer refills each year.

Good thing much is already packed for the trip!

Watch Out For The Idiots!

This is part of a daily mantra I hear from Steve as I leave the house. It includes "I love you" and "Be safe" as well. We both know about the idiots out there, the ones behind the wheel. Yesterday was a day in point. I was backing out of my parking spot at the rec center. In summer it's always one under a solar panel canopy for the shade, despite a longer hike to the club. I looked of course, then eased the back out to about 4 feet past the row of cars, when suddenly a white car whooshed past me instead of stopping. Had I not caught him as I was continuing to check windows and mirrors I would have been in an accident. 

I do heed Steve's good wishes.

I've been noticing more cars pulling that "trick" in parking lots recently. It can be at the rec center or the grocery store. There's an abundance of idiots, more than I've noticed before. They often blow the 4-way stop at the corner. Some speed down our 25 mph street at over 40. But so far I've been lucky.

Not everybody has gotten away with it.

When I was leaving the center today, I walked out just after a major accident. You might wonder how a parking lot incident can be a major accident. Apparently one of them has been speeding through the lane between the rows of cars like it was the street, and not limited to 30 mph  either. I noticed people from all over that parking lot (it was just filling up for somebody's big party inside and I passed the set-up on my way out) heading towards the wreckage. A smaller grey car was missing most of it's front and who knows what else as it was in pieces strewn over the pavement in a line about as long as our living-dining room is. A closer look showed the airbags deployed. 

A white SUV was a bit past it, sitting in an area where three other cars might have parked. It hadn't filled up yet because there were still a couple shady spots available. Now it wouldn't fill up for likely hours. I heard discussion that it also lost some of it's pieces, but also that it had been temporarily airborne!

HOLY SHIT!

While I returned to the car to retrieve my camera I started hearing a pair of sirens. Two county sheriff cars were heading there, and just before I stopped taking pictures a large paramedic truck pulled in. It was getting a bit crowded, and somebody was going to need my parking space. It was time to get home before some other idiot went by.

After all, I'd promised Steve on my way out the door that I'd watch out for them. And that I loved him too.

"Helpful" ... Right?

I have a big project in mind, Nevermind what it is, except it's in glass and it's very elaborate in my mind.  I've been mentally designing it for over a month now, but putting off the actual start except for putting it on paper, then copying it in different sizes, until today. This is a far cry from the mostly straight cutting lines I've been doing so far.

I had to get the glass saw back together from its last cleaning, but one has to lift the motor-with-saw off the large bin holding water to clean it after every use. Replacing it hadn't been done right. I gave it a try or seven. I have gotten it exactly right on a few occasions, but needed help on several others. There is a trick to it. Somebody in the club had to know what that was. I didn't.The person who, up to today, was the only one in the club who could do it properly, didn't get in until an hour after his usual time, and my attempts while waiting didn't do the job. 

I found things to do in the meantime. 

Once he arrived he agreeably went straight to the saw to reseat the motor. Except it didn't work for him either. Not even his 5th try. One he managed to get it in place, he immediately removed it again to see how this  time was different, and 3 more failed attempts ensued. Eventually after several of those, he managed to figure out that there is a part on the bottom that has to fit in a slot to lock it in place, and the wrong angle kept it out of the slot. It had to slide in place on a curve, but not that much of a curve, nor that little.

So now we both know. We also know that the cord can get in the way so it has to be held to the side. Once I finished my sawing for the day, and cleaned the base out, I reseated it on only my second try. I consider that a victory.

Did I get any further in my project? Well, does a total failure of concept count?  I guess I'm a little further on the learning curve, right?

The first fail was in following the marker lines on the glass. The marker is supposed to be permanent but the water the saw needs washes it away and you have no clue where you're supposed to go next. They (he and his wife, our top glass people) had a remedy for that: Vaseline! Great! I wiped it on each of my glass pieces and started the saw. The lines to follow lasted about a half inch of progress longer than before. My project - just this piece of it - has 8 pieces to cut and connect. They curve and zig and zag. After working on two of them I decided a whole re-think is in order.

I explained my issue (besides some lack of skill) to our glass-working couple, and this time she came up with a solution. It works in another glass club, putting one's drawn design into a machine which copies it onto a piece of red vinyl with a sticky back. You can cut the vinyl, stick it on your glass and saw around non-moving, non-disappearing lines. Well, so long as your glass isn't the same shade of red, of course.

But I'm not a member of that club so I can't use their equipment. Membership would involve a fee, their required number of training hours (whatever I think I know they don't care: they train or else), and volunteer hours before using their facility. Not gonna do it.

But... I could put tape on one side of my glass, draw my pattern (much simplified) onto the tape in place, and cut ( exacto knife?) the tape into the form to saw. Or I might just leave some of the tape in place with the excess there to hold it down better while I saw. I don't know if I need special tape to do that, or if masking or duct tape would work. I'll do small test runs.  On the plus side, I do know how to get tape "stickum"  off of glass or anything else. It's just like getting bubblegum out of hair. You need oil. Peanut butter works on hair. Skin oil works well enough on glass so long as you didn't just wash your nose or forehead. Since the glass is always cleaned before any next steps with a soft toothbrush in soapy water, removing the oil isn't an issue.

What I do know to be an issue is getting cuts that don't make divots in the glass every time I turn the piece to get a different angle or curve. I don't think there is an easy cure for that besides wasting glass.

Sighhhh.....

Planning For The Eclipse

I/we missed the last one. We'd been camping in Wyoming close to 9,000 feet high in the Bridger-Teton National Forest for a what was to have been a week, which already had been an unexpected problem due to the cold nights in a tent. I wound up sleeping in the car with the heat on. Back that up: I had to erect the tent since Steve couldn't do more than minimal work, and with my knees that meant bending over from the waist to the ground to pound in stakes. I wound up in a Utah hospital after breathing issues bad enough that we totally abandoned the camp and its larger contents to the park service and high-tailed it out of there. A group of kayakers helped with the flurry of stuffing personal stuff into the car as fast as possible while I stood by the car and gave directions between gasps.  So on the day itself we "saw" the eclipse from  Sun City. Meaning that the best we got was 2/3 of the sun left. Nothing near like totality. In fact hardly noticeable unless you knew to look for it.

Later medical workups discovered a ruptured diaphragm, not altitude sickness nor Valley Fever, was the culprit for my breathing issues. They do not repair those. They just tell you not to completely fill the stomach, since that pushes sideways into the liver which pushes the liver up through that hole and into the lung space. Whee! I will always wonder if staking the tent that way was the cause.

This one won't be totality either. It's an annular eclipse. This time the moon is farther away from the earth and only blocks most of the sun, so if you're in the right place at the right 4-minute window you'll have a black center with a white ring around it. Still pretty cool, but not instant night. It happens October 14th. Yes, that's this fall.

One of the places on its path this time is Four Corners. For those unfamiliar, that's where Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico join, the only spot in the US where four states meet in one spot. We've stopped there before, both Steve and I, at various times in our lives. He still has a photo of himself spanking his little brother in four states at once. Together, we sometimes stop there on our treks north. It's paid admission now, a Navajo park so our National Parks Pass doesn't get us in. But the made-on-the-spot fry bread sold there is worth it.

Nice as that is, we presume that space will be absolutely packed. So our aim is to get to Red Mesa, AZ. We'll have to get up by 5AM and get in the car in a half hour. We're not leaving from Sun City to do it, since it's a morning eclipse. We'll head up as far as Tuba City the night before, two hours away from Red Mesa. That's the closest place that still had reservations open this far ahead. Normally it's still two hours away but I'm planning on a whole lot of others trying to do the same thing, likely starting either from Page or Flagstaff, so I'm adding in an extra hour for travel and locating a spot to park and set up chairs.

The hotel room I've reserved has 2 queen beds. Either we'll have separate beds, or share one and the other can hold two more. I'm hoping for somebody to come with us. Invitations have gone out but we'll have to see what's going on at the time. The place offers breakfast, but waiting for that would make us miss the eclipse, so pack food and/or eat later. If we arrive early enough in the afternoon we can see the Navajo Code Talkers Museum about a block away. I might even head through a pair of favorite spots on the drive up, Sunset Crater and Wupatki, free for us like all National Parks and Monuments. We each bought the seniors' passes while they were still $10. (Last I saw they were $80.)

The path of the eclipse runs through Utah, and down through Albuquerque, one of the few large cities actually on the path of the eclipse. It also is a day's drive from here, and we have a favorite motel there. But it's more miles and less scenery, and I have no idea where fry bread might be found, one of the additional perks of our chosen route. 

Like all eclipses, we'll need eye protection as well as camera protection. I didn't even know that was a "thing" for cameras. I still have one set of the paper "glasses" from our first attempt in Wyoming, unused. I also have some sets of those black plastic sunglasses for inside your regular glasses the eye doctors hand out after the eye drops to open them wide so they can see to the back. I have all summer to check whether those work for an eclipse, or locate more of the paper kind with their black windows. I'm pretty sure they'd work for the camera lens since they're much larger. Fastening them in place there, well, again there's time to figure that out. We'll probably try to remember to pack tape. And fresh batteries! And of course, tripods!

Self Entitled

This started with a morning trip to the local post office to get change of address forms for summer vacation. After a significant wait in line, since they aren't staffed like they are in December,  I was shooed away. I had to do it online. No more cards. Online only. And they charge for the privilege of not cutting down more trees for their forms. Go figure. It's a whopping $1.10, so keep your credit card handy.

After a stint at the club, I went home and started looking for the proper forms. It can be tricky. And boy oh boy, don't make any typos. They are flatly unforgiving of those. But after a while I finally muddled through, got my confirmation number which I wrote down where important info like that goes, and called it an accomplishment.

A bit later Steve woke up, and I encouraged him to do what I'd done, promising him whatever help he needed. It was immediately frustrating. He couldn't find any forms for what he needed. It turned out he needed to Google the name of the form before USPS to get access to the proper form. There were other stumbles along the way, some of which I'd already made and knew exactly what to fix. When he got to the end, he got his email with his confirmation number, again duly noted. However, unlike my email, he also got instructions to go the post office in person with a barcode and two forms of photo ID to verify he was himself and had authorization to forward his own mail. So... after kicking me out, they're making him come in?

He couldn't get a photo of the barcode and couldn't bring his laptop, so I took a shot of it and off we went. Frustration levels were extremely high at that point, so I reminded him that the PO was a block from MacDonald's and it was past both our lunchtimes. Off we went!

The parking lot was much fuller than this morning. Even though Steve is walking much better these days, I hoped that there was more than the one person like in the morning waiting on customers in the afternoon. He did too. It was while we were waiting in line for one of now two postal workers that the fun began. 

First, a petite woman had a huge canvas sack of mail plus spillover, large envelopes each full of what looked to be multiple half inch thick reports, not all sealed so we saw inside, but all heading to the same place. Over more than 10 minutes, up on the scale they were piled, while those of us watching waited for the entire stack to tumble and scatter. Oops, she forgot some special number that gave her a cheaper rate, so off to the car for it she went, thus going from being the fun to missing the real "fun".

This time it started in the front of the line. A man started chiding the woman now in front of him for going around him for first place in the line. He'd been waiting for a while to get to the head of the line. She wasn't going to budge. After all, she was busy, had important places to go after mailing out her packages. (That's an actual excuse these days? So who didn't have better places to be?) She started rudely arguing with the man she'd passed in the line, various ways of insisting she was more important... because she was more important. No "I'm sorry for butting in", no "Do you mind if...?", just something finally about he'd just been standing there (behind another woman in line in front of him) so she went ahead. I guess he'd been doing the current version of social distancing, maintaining a foot of space to the next person, but  she took it as privilege.

The window opened up and she went over. We were left to comment on her behavior, while she made loud nasty comments back while also dealing with her task.  Some of them implied threats, like how dangerous it could be these days to get people angry. She was so out there that we just shrugged at each other, probably mentally wondering if she was a "Karen",  and declared her to be self entitled. In the process we in line bonded slightly, eventually going our separate ways. 

Our way was to lunch, right after Steve's address change ID was accepted. An email was waiting for him at home making it official.

Oh, I bypassed the MacDonald's when Steve got his standard choice there, and hit the Arby's next door for my lunch, I wanted to try one of the bourbon BBQ sandwiches. Yum! Except, really: did they have to put pickles in it?