Well we’ve hit the river twice so far and the vibe couldn’t be more different from last year. Yesterday we put into Lake MacDonald and reinforced the skills we had learned- paddle techniques, wet exits even rolling. Pretty much everyone nailed at least one roll- even me. We played two quick games of Sharks and Minnows, had lunch of coldcuts and fruit then it was back into the boats to paddle down the creek. It was a mellow afternoon and a good thing too. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. The gentle rock of my boat on the water nearly sent me to sleep at one point.
It was a sweet day watching everyone get back on the water. For most it’s been a year, for others, a couple. Some campers were doing FD for a third time. It was Tails’ 6th camp this year alone. When he’s done this summer, the blind camper will have 14 FD camps under his belt.
We had just popped out of the suburbans. Time to unload and dress!
My boat. They call me Scoop. Everyone at camp gets a nickname from the moment they arrive. In FD 1 we didn’t know real names until we were back at home and the email list was distributed. This time we take it amongst ourselves to learn everyone’s real name on Day 1.
My new womens Immersion drysuit fom NRS. Looking forward to testing it this week. It’s a Medium (I’m 120, 5’6″). Feels a bit big but the staffers say it’s the right size for me.
‘Burping’ the suit to get all of the air out. It’s kind of cool feeling like a giant ballon that’s deflating.
Time for the wet suit where you roll over and pull your sprayskirt. This technique will be used a lot by me this week.
But I did get my Eskimo roll!
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Brad Ludden, the man who started it all is on the far left. Without his desire to share the river with cancer survivors none of us would be here this week.
So far so good. The awkwardness from the first First Descents camp last summer is gone. I know what to expect. Also, I’m not so scared anymore; maybe because I spread my disclaimer around: I’m not a ‘group hug’ person. I tell this to everyone around the campfire tonight. Our first act of ‘mushy’. Up until this point it’s been exciting and comfortable. We grabbed our gear, sized up our boats, had some grub (spaghetti and meatballs with sorbet for dessert) and sat around getting acquainted. DING DING DING. Sharing time. Gather round the firepit. Must we really make everyone go around and say what they feel will be different this second time around? How about we just introduce ourselves and tell a funny story? Or talk to the person next to us then share with the group something we learned about him? We did that as a listening exercise in acting class once.
Here we go- FD changed one woman’s life, another said she didn’t think she’d make it to her 35th birthday much less be here for her third FD camp. Don’t misunderstand me, I enjoy hearing everyone’s tale. They are testimonies to inner strength and our ability to perservere. It’s just that I’d rather sit quietly and listen.
I don’t ‘share’ to share and I hate crying in front of ANYONE. I’m not about to change that because I’m in an environment where everyone can relate, empathize and encourage each other to surpass their expectations and inhibitions. I give great anecdotes, jokes and insight. Talk of feelings occurs in the one on one conversations…maybe.
We have about 12 campers and almost the same number of staffers. So Konvict says “what you get out of this camp is what you put in” as he glances over to me. Was that on purpose? I’m 100 positive he’s right but that doesn’t make me more apt to sing Kumbaya. I’m more like a guy when it comes to vulnerablity. I just don’t dig it. My psyche tells me it’s not safe and I’ve adapted.
Like a puma going for its prey, my parents would see an opening and take it on a regular basis when I was growing up. Some – many- comments were downrght cruel. My dad would pick on us at dinner. Maybe it was a game to him. Which kid could he crush emotionally tonight? Maybe he had no clue what he was doing. Often my brother would get so upset his lower lip would tremble as he held back tears. Then it was go time for Dad as he dealt the final verbal blow to send my sibling wailing down the hallway and into his room. You learn to be tough when life’s like that. You don’t want to be next.
So do I make my goal for FD2- learn to be vulnerable and discover deeper connections? Or just to become a better kayaker?
I totally understand why more women than men take advantage of the FD program. I wouldn’t say men are ‘afraid’ of the emotions but they are definitely not comfortable putting them out there for strangers. Even ones that will share your space for five days and offer you a T rescue. That’s me too. At least for now I know those around won’t take the lack of mush as a sign of indifference or disdain like they did last year.
I did a stupid thing. I sat up on top of the Cliff Lodge and pretended it was like I was back in high school where I could stretch out on a lounge chair, flip through a Cosmo and soak up the sun. Less than an hour later my upper thighs are on fire. Even my chest got fried despite the SPF 50 I slapped on. I needed this morning of chill. I blew up at Ryan, and Sage was hitting the back of my leg in response to the anger. I snapped her up and forcefully plopped her on my bed, making her cry. All hell was swirling. I feel like I can’t get in front of the 8 ball. Ever since Punta Cana I’ve been playing catch up without success. Looking ahead 10 days I’ll be back home and can breathe again. I will do nothing but hunt for a new laptop, write and climb. Maybe kayak too. I don’t see me pulling a C to C on account of the ATV crushing my ribs but at least I can paddle.
I wonder if I’m doing the right thing going on another First Descents trip; not because I’m taking advantage of the offering- an all-expense paid whitewater kayak adventure on the Flathead River in Glacier National Forest- but because I may not be welcome. That ‘chat’ I had with Whitney (one of the FD organizers) questioning whether FD was the right place for me really rattled my ego. Like a breakup from a guy when I thought things were going well, I thought, “Huh?” I wouldn’t have signed up for a second camp if I didn’t get something out of the camp last year. It was my feedback. It’s got to be. Perhaps they’re used to only hearing raves. Who would say anything negative when they get it for free? But I was critical- like I always am- not in a bad way or so I thought- but I offered up some constructive feedback that a company looking to forever improve should want to hear. I’m guessing they took it as me attacking their program; which I wasn’t. I explained that of course I had an amazing time why else would I want to attend again? My sole gripe was that I felt forced to bond and share emotions. I just wanted to meet new friends (who have something in common) and learn to kayak. I wasn’t looking for therapy.
This is the first year in 11 that FD will host camps for 2nd timers. The first year- just get them down the river. Young cancer survivors testing their determination and living in the moment instead of dwelling on cancer. Many were introduced to something they never in their life thought they would be doing. Now, the second year- turn them into kayakers. The staff is excited about the new offering and so am I. To start up where I left off. Physically, not emotionally. To hone in more time on the river. But I may be entering hostile waters…and Konvict is our leader again. History. It may not be a good thing in this case. It was his job last year to force bonds and make us all share with those nightly campfire chats and I’m pretty sure he told Whitney that I often checked out. She called and we talked. She said that maybe this time around I should tell everyone that I’m an introvert when it comes to sharing emotions so no one takes it personally. I’m more nervous about the group stuff than I am about the paddling. Gulp.
Not that I was looking for a new pet but you couldn’t dismiss the crowd mounting in the parking lot outside of PetSmart off of 1830 S. 389 W. There were all these people and dogs and my curiosity got the best of me. You can sum up in one word the Super Pet Adoption going on this weekend, “Awwwww”.
It started yesterday afternoon under several tents and continues through tomorrow. Don’t think “all the good ones are taken”. With about 500 pets, if you’re in the market for a new companion, there are still so many cool friends that need homes.
It was cold, blustery and sometimes snowing yesterday. The dogs were going nuts barking and circling their kennels. I thought, “Don’t you know, Dog, you have a better shot at adoption if you’re quiet?” Some dogs, however, uncaninely knew how to milk it. Had I not already had a senior dog I’d be smitten and wind up with not only a new dog but a cat too.
More than 20 Utah shelters and rescue groups brought out their dogs and cats.
When the gates close tomorrow at 4.pm. the hope is to beat the adoption numbers from last year- 108 cats and 248 dogs had found new families.
Cats are inside and dogs outside. Volunteers abound to walk and play with the pets all day. They also cleaned cages/kennels, filled food/water dishes, and rescued my sweater which fell out of my backpack while I was taking photos.
Talk about saving time, energy and gas. If I wanted a new animal, this event is the best way for you to see as many homeless pets as possible in one place. If you are even thinking about a new member of the family, head down to the Adoption. It goes until 7 p.m. tonight and 4 p.m. tomorrow. If you miss it this weekend, there will be another in September.
How do you accept death? Life, that’s easy. You look forward to seeds sprouting, grass turning green, a new baby’s wail. But how do you face death without this huge ache and dread in your gut? Maybe it’s different when you’re the one about to go – after you’ve lived 90 years. But I’m telling you now, I’m scared of the pain and unending sorrow that will meet me when a parent dies. No matter how angry and awful parts of my childhood are remembered to be, my mom and dad are my best friends. I call them every other day just to chat and catch up. They get on my case for choices I’ve made, I hang up on them, we chuckle, we plan visits. Who will I call ‘just to call?’ Who will make me feel that no matter what I do, who I do, how I feel, where I am, I have someone I can count on, someone who has my back, someone who still loves me? Only parents do that. They may pull the silent treatment or hold a grudge but in the end the wall comes down. Without them, I’m alone. I’m raw. I’m unprotected. Left to make decisions without their voice in my head; no one to try to make proud of me.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, my parents cancelled their trip to Europe, got in a car and drove 12 hours to the hospital to be there for my surgery 10 days later. They would have been here immediately but I made them wait. No one else but a parent does that for you without asking. They just know it’s what you need.
I want to scream, “Don’t die! You can’t die! Live forever, please?!” But I can’t because it wouldn’t do any good.
My dad’s cousin died last night. I called Dad to see how he was doing. He sounded just like he always does. Upbeat, sarcastic, active. He told me they’re waiting for a guy to show up to measure the backyard for a putting green. Then he said, “and then there were two.” Referring to the fact that only he and his cousin Joseph were the last of his line (ignoring of course that both of them have children and grandchildren). He’s not thinking legacy. He’s thinking time left. Me too. I wish I could pick his brain about death, dying, life, how he sees those, how he faces them, what he wants in the end and what he dreams about. But I can’t. Not because he doesn’t want to talk about it but because I’d be reduced to a blubbering mess. I don’t want them to think they have to do something to make me feel better. We have nothing to resolve, no words left unsaid. But maybe I feel like that kind of conversation could be closure in the future; something to look back on and smile warmly inside? But I’m not strong enough to start that chat.
Maybe I’m afraid to see how scared they really are; or how they’re not scared at all? Maybe I’m just afraid of not being steady. I cried making the speech at my best friend’s wedding reception. She caught it on tape. I’m still mortified by that moment.
How do you tell someone living how much you love them and how much you’ll hurt when they’re gone? You expect them to say something like- “I’m not dead yet” and then you feel like an ass. I hate myself right now because they’re here, they’re not gone yet and I’m grieving when I should be celebrating; when I should be embracing whatever time they are here. My mom is 70-something (she’d kill me if I revealed the number), my dad, 82. This year we are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary in Club Med Punta Cana. Last September, I had them running, er, walking all over Epcot, Hollywood Studios, Universal and the Magic Kingdom during a week in Orlando with Sage. People live to 100 these days, right? And if anyone can do it these tech-savvy jetsetters can.
Sometimes I think I’d like to go first and then there’d be no suffering, no emptiness, no pain 100 times worse than a boyfriend ditching you. I’m selfish but not that selfish. My parents don’t deserve to feel what I’m terrified to feel. Neither does Sage. She needs her parents for her own eternity and I would never want her to want to die before me. I just have to grasp that what will evolve is part of life; inescapable, tragic and tearful. That we did all we could do- are doing all that we can- for this temporal existence and nothing was missed.
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