Greeley, Colorado, Spring 1992
Late morning, it was a cloudless warm day when we left Greeley, Colorado for a day trip to Boulder, about an hour away by car. My husband Jon, daughter Madeleine (nearly 3), and I (eight months pregnant) often sought respite from the town with “wide streets and narrow minds,” by venturing to nearby towns Fort Collins, Denver, and Boulder. When we lived there in 1992, there was one coffeehouse in all of Greeley, population 65,000. So we fled to Boulder – we called it “civilization” --about once a month.
My husband, historian and college professor, did research in the library at the University of Colorado he could not do at his place of employment, the University of Northern Colorado. Melanie and I meanwhile researched bookstores and coffeehouses on the mall on Boulder’s main street. She adored all the rocks and bronzed animals to climb on the center mall. Boulder’s mall is a small kid and parent paradise.
Our lovely sunny day came to an abrupt end at around 6pm when the storm clouds gathered, and it started to rain. Dave was out of the library by then so we hopped in the car to head back to Greeley. Sometime before the highway out of Boulder met the I-25, the rain turned to snow. By this time, it was also dark.
Big heavy flakes fell rapidly and the traffic on the freeway was already slowing. Ignorant of how fast a snow storm can dump in Colorado in the spring, we entered the on ramp to I-25 and drove north, right into the eye of the storm. Pretty soon the snow was coming down in clumps and accumulating around us, shortening visibility to about 20 feet. Cars in front of us were slowing to 25-30 mph and we began to have trouble with traction and visibility. We had been driving for less than an hour and by then there were probably ten or twelve inches on the ground. Cars began to get stuck and were littering the emergency lanes on the freeway. Several tow trucks were attempting to help stranded cars, and we passed one of them in the ditch on the right.
Finally we reached a point where the cars in front of us in both lanes could go no further so we likewise came to a halt. I watched a car in front of us drive through the ditch to the frontage road successfully, so suggested to Jon that we try the same. Since I had more experience driving in snow, I took my pregnant belly and plopped it behind the wheel of our 1989 Chevy Cavalier. Madeleine, recently toilet-trained, now had to pee (and so did I, of course!). I gunned it and drove straight into the ditch, only to stick there like a marshmallow on a graham cracker. Lots of wheel-spinning, no movement.
So there we were, stuck in a ditch in a snowstorm, snow up to the door panels, with no jackets for any of us -- much less hats, mittens or boots. We had a blanket to wrap Madeleine in, a vestige of my Midwestern upbringing. We also had a shovel, a rope, and flares. What to do with them in this situation? Not much. Without a cell phone we could not even call a tow truck (like there was still one available, and state patrol officers were pretty busy by now!)
We chose not to spend the night in the car – we heard news reports the next day that several hundred people did. Instead we decided to walk the frontage road as far as we could to find a phone and call someone in Greeley to pick us up. Wrapping Madeleine up in the blanket, Jon carried her and we trudged up to the frontage road. We didn’t walk 100 feet before a van pulled over to ask us if we needed help. A Good Samaritan family that lived nearby saw what was happening and went trolling for storm victims along the frontage road. They told us they’d bring us back to their trailer, and didn’t appear to look like mass murderers, so we hopped in.
We got inside the trailer only to discover that the power was out. Ten adults and six kids in a trailer with one toilet and no lights. This was going to be a long night. Our hosts brought out all the blankets and pillows they owned. Sleeping on the floor eight months pregnant was not ideal, but it sure beat sleeping in the car in a ditch in a snowstorm. To Madeleine it was all just one big adventure… sleepover! There were five other kids to be fascinated by and she got to sleep on the floor!
Next morning it was another bright sunny day. So Jon went with the man of the house, Bill, to rescue our car. I stayed behind with Madeleine drinking carrot juice and white bread toast while the remaining guests sorted out how they were getting to their homes.
Before I had my first sip of carrot juice, my hostess, asked me if I was “saved.” Upon learning that I and my family members were Jewish, she proceeded to explain how that meant that I would “rot in hell” if I didn’t accept Jesus as my personal lord and savior. Being a diplomatic sort who did not want to offend my host in such a situation, I responded with nods and facial expressions of concern and curiosity.
It was a difficult situation at best, and I wondered what Madeleine thought of this display of religiosity. Somehow she does not remember this whole adventure, however, so I doubt it had much impact. Her dad returned before too long, thankfully! Car mostly intact except for the brake line which suffered under the towing chain’s abrasion.
We got back to Greeley by noon, thankful to be alive and living in faculty apartments with running water and electricity, orange shag carpets and all.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Troubled Waters
Victoria BC, Summer 2007
Tidal currents broke against wind-driven waves where the Straits of Juan de Fuca meet the waters of north Puget Sound. Our motor sailing trip took four of us through rough waters on our way to and from Victoria, but these waters were different: gurgling and whirlpools surrounding totally flat places. I had never seen water like this and I was riveted.
Our sails carried us along but the primary mover was the tide. We were riding it eastward and making 11.6 knots at one point, as measured by a hand-held GPS. For a 26' MacGregor, that's fast. When we hit some of the wind-driven waves the boat was tossed about a bit, but we held our course. The wind died as we rounded into the strait that took us to Friday Harbor, so we started up the motor again. Before we left the "weird waters" we were treated to some seal sightings.
One was playing with some seagulls. Perhaps they were sharing some fish? We saw a few more seal heads pop through the flat waters, then a flick of a whale's tail – white, it appeared at ten o'clock and three hundred yards. Dolphins swam off our starboard bow for a few seconds, and then disappeared under the water.
One of our passengers missed most of the wildlife, however, choosing to spend most of the trip below deck. Whether out of fear or boredom we may never know, but as soon as we left the dock in Victoria, Anne curled up in the fetal position in the forward berth and only came out for a few minutes in our nine hour voyage. She did come out for dinner when we hit Friday Harbor, but went back below again when we boarded again for the trip to La Conner.
The trip for her was a challenge from the start. Anne has struggled for the past several years with drug and alcohol addictions, bipolar and OCD diagnoses as well. She has attempted to take her own life several times with overdoses of various kinds, ending up in the hospital for three months at one stretch. Her outward appearance belies her inner turmoil. She looks weary. I'd thought a sailing trip through the San Juan Islands would be the antidote to her obsessions and compulsions, drawing her outside of herself with the outdoors. It was not to be. The challenges of the trip were too much for her fragile state. The waiting, using the "head" to pee, the rough seas, the hours on the boat were not to her liking at all. Even the wildlife did not hold much draw.
It was challenging to be with someone who cannot connect with nature. Sailing can also be hard work, and is not always pretty. Our skipper (also my domestic partner) and I snapped at each other in a tense moment . . . and there are some tense moments in rough waters. Wind changes and tide changes can happen in seconds, so the required changes in sheeting and ballast can force some quick decisions and movement around the boat. (Macgregors, by the way, have water in the hull for ballast – instead of a metal keel -- which can be filled and emptied according to need.) Main sheet raising and reefing, jib sheet moves when we tack, and jibe all require crew movement in and around the cockpit. Then there are the anxious seconds of wondering if the boat will turn successfully in the desired direction. Sometimes, we fail...the wind shifted direction, the current changed. We do it again. This time, success!
The adrenaline rush of the tack and jibe movements, raising and lowering sails, and checking for wind, depth, compass direction are also what make sailing so exciting. Wrong moves can cost time, comfort, and even your life if you capsize in rough water. Correct moves produce the satisfaction of movement in the "right" direction. Like sailing, helping someone through turbulent times is risky. If they make it through, they might be grateful at some point later, or maybe not…If they don't make it, they might just blame you for their fall overboard, or you might have to live with the guilt of a miscalculated tack or jibe.
We made it back late that night to La Conner. After a hair-raising trip through the notorious Deception Pass in total darkness, we motored effortlessly into the Swinomish Channel and under the arches of lights on the bridge. When we docked I gave our skipper a triumphant hug of congratulations and gratitude for getting us home safe.
Anne stood next to my daughter Emma and said, "I wish I hadn't come." From another passenger I would have been deeply been hurt by that comment. But I understood that in her state of mind, that was probably true. The skipper, my daughter and I all felt bad for Anne, and wished there was some way to reach her, to tell her that we made it and all was well. But for Anne, the rough waters didn't end when she stepped onto the dock.
Tidal currents broke against wind-driven waves where the Straits of Juan de Fuca meet the waters of north Puget Sound. Our motor sailing trip took four of us through rough waters on our way to and from Victoria, but these waters were different: gurgling and whirlpools surrounding totally flat places. I had never seen water like this and I was riveted.
Our sails carried us along but the primary mover was the tide. We were riding it eastward and making 11.6 knots at one point, as measured by a hand-held GPS. For a 26' MacGregor, that's fast. When we hit some of the wind-driven waves the boat was tossed about a bit, but we held our course. The wind died as we rounded into the strait that took us to Friday Harbor, so we started up the motor again. Before we left the "weird waters" we were treated to some seal sightings.
One was playing with some seagulls. Perhaps they were sharing some fish? We saw a few more seal heads pop through the flat waters, then a flick of a whale's tail – white, it appeared at ten o'clock and three hundred yards. Dolphins swam off our starboard bow for a few seconds, and then disappeared under the water.
One of our passengers missed most of the wildlife, however, choosing to spend most of the trip below deck. Whether out of fear or boredom we may never know, but as soon as we left the dock in Victoria, Anne curled up in the fetal position in the forward berth and only came out for a few minutes in our nine hour voyage. She did come out for dinner when we hit Friday Harbor, but went back below again when we boarded again for the trip to La Conner.
The trip for her was a challenge from the start. Anne has struggled for the past several years with drug and alcohol addictions, bipolar and OCD diagnoses as well. She has attempted to take her own life several times with overdoses of various kinds, ending up in the hospital for three months at one stretch. Her outward appearance belies her inner turmoil. She looks weary. I'd thought a sailing trip through the San Juan Islands would be the antidote to her obsessions and compulsions, drawing her outside of herself with the outdoors. It was not to be. The challenges of the trip were too much for her fragile state. The waiting, using the "head" to pee, the rough seas, the hours on the boat were not to her liking at all. Even the wildlife did not hold much draw.
It was challenging to be with someone who cannot connect with nature. Sailing can also be hard work, and is not always pretty. Our skipper (also my domestic partner) and I snapped at each other in a tense moment . . . and there are some tense moments in rough waters. Wind changes and tide changes can happen in seconds, so the required changes in sheeting and ballast can force some quick decisions and movement around the boat. (Macgregors, by the way, have water in the hull for ballast – instead of a metal keel -- which can be filled and emptied according to need.) Main sheet raising and reefing, jib sheet moves when we tack, and jibe all require crew movement in and around the cockpit. Then there are the anxious seconds of wondering if the boat will turn successfully in the desired direction. Sometimes, we fail...the wind shifted direction, the current changed. We do it again. This time, success!
The adrenaline rush of the tack and jibe movements, raising and lowering sails, and checking for wind, depth, compass direction are also what make sailing so exciting. Wrong moves can cost time, comfort, and even your life if you capsize in rough water. Correct moves produce the satisfaction of movement in the "right" direction. Like sailing, helping someone through turbulent times is risky. If they make it through, they might be grateful at some point later, or maybe not…If they don't make it, they might just blame you for their fall overboard, or you might have to live with the guilt of a miscalculated tack or jibe.
We made it back late that night to La Conner. After a hair-raising trip through the notorious Deception Pass in total darkness, we motored effortlessly into the Swinomish Channel and under the arches of lights on the bridge. When we docked I gave our skipper a triumphant hug of congratulations and gratitude for getting us home safe.
Anne stood next to my daughter Emma and said, "I wish I hadn't come." From another passenger I would have been deeply been hurt by that comment. But I understood that in her state of mind, that was probably true. The skipper, my daughter and I all felt bad for Anne, and wished there was some way to reach her, to tell her that we made it and all was well. But for Anne, the rough waters didn't end when she stepped onto the dock.
Road Trip to Utah
August, 2007
While the trees are starting to turn, another natural phenomenon is occurring all over North America. Our highways are filled with stuffed-to-the-gills cars traveling to colleges and universities in a great scattering and gathering of young people. I just recently completed one such trip with my oldest daughter to the college of her choice. She is attending the University of Utah in their ballet program, hoping to become a professional dancer. Her father is worried that she will end up in Las Vegas dancing with poles…but she has other plans, for the time being.
She has studied classical ballet for over ten years, including several workshops and summer programs in other cities. So when she said she wanted to study ballet in college I was not surprised. Whether or not she can make a livable wage upon graduation seems almost irrelevant -- such is her passion for dancing.
As we packed up the car we both realized that in doing so we were finalizing her break with home, friends, family, and the familiarity of her home state, Oregon. As exciting as it was to travel to Utah and experience a whole new state, new friends, etc., there is a bittersweet quality to leaving home that many college-bound young people experience. Madeleine let herself feel that, but by the time we were on I-84 heading east, she was focused on the road ahead.
Our first day passed quickly, traveling through the Hood River Valley and Columbia Gorge before lunch. As we reached Pendleton, we were getting a bit antsy, so took a walk around the town. Pendleton definitely has a Western feel, much more so than Portland. It also has a depressing feel of a town on its way down. In spite of the world famous rodeo, the Pendleton Round-up, it does not have the vitality that you see it in a thriving town. We managed to find a drive-up coffee and tea hut on the way out of town, and got back on the I-84.
The next few hours were spent looking at the Wallowas, listening to Regina Spektor, and napping. By nightfall we reached Boise, and fell exhausted into our Motel 6 bed. I for one was too tired to notice that we were right next to the airport. If it kept Madeleine awake, she was too tired to say so the next morning. We found a coffee stand, fueled up the car as well, and headed south to Utah. Southern Idaho passed by quickly, and we high-fived at the Utah border.
At lunch time we pulled off the road in a town which shall remain nameless. I say this with compassion, because the people who live there clearly don’t need anyone badmouthing their town. It’s bad enough as it is… I suspect that a meatpacking plant nearby is the main reason for all the flies and partly the reason for the bad attitudes.
The café where we stopped – briefly -- for the worst tuna sandwich I’ve ever had in over forty years, was called “Sally’s” (name changed to protect the innocent!). As we walked through the door it was apparent that the quality of the food was not the reason people in this town congregate at Sally’s. From the looks of the clientele as we walked in, newcomers are relatively scarce, and not necessarily welcome.
Madeleine and I slid into a booth, reluctantly. (I’d worn white shorts rather unwisely that day.) We looked at the menu in desperation, wondering whether it was too late to get up and go to Subway. But by then embarrassment took over our good sense and we decided to stay, in spite of the flies that – some alive, some dead – covered the window sill and all around us in the booth. (You want flies with that?)
Our waitress, who was refreshingly adorable and intelligent-looking, came to take our order, with some apparent reluctance. Her died-black hair would have marked her an “emo” under other circumstances. Her movie star eyes and smile made me wonder how the “h” she ended up there. She was probably not over twenty, so perhaps grew up there. As we left my mothering instincts wanted to tell her to “get out before it’s too late.” But I do have two teenaged daughters, and have learned to keep these thoughts to myself.
On the road again, we began to see mountain peaks off to the right and left, with the elevation gain accordingly increasing. Madeleine’s boredom by this point caused her to take lots of cheesy in the car photos including the obligatory tongue-hangers which will never see the light of day. The photo of Madeleine’s legs on the dash, however, is a keeper.
When we arrived we had to find our motel in Salt Lake City – one which I booked over the internet because it was convenient, looked inhabitable from the photos, and was – cheap. So when we finally found it we were a bit disappointed to learn that our “boutique hotel” was actually just a redecorated old motel, complete with broken soda machine and an ice machine next to our room…
The tempurpedic beds, cozy décor, and continental breakfast almost made up for it. Bagels and cream cheese, decent coffee, orange juice and fresh fruit made our mornings there more welcome. The roach that I smashed on the back of the bathroom door, well let’s just not tell Madeleine about that, okay?
We got to her dormitory without a hitch on the next day, move-in day for Freshmen. I have to say that it was the most organized and efficient move we’ve done. Of course having a total of three suitcases, a laundry basket and a Rubbermaid tub made it slightly easier than moving a five or six room household, which I’ve done several times.
The line to get her dorm key and hall pass was long, but they provided cold drinks and good cheer to greet the students and their parents on the sidelines. Many of us nodded at each other in acknowledgement that we were proud parents, delivering our babies to the college of their choice.
Seeing my daughter sit for the first time on her dorm bed was another Kodak moment. There’s nothing starker than an empty dorm room. And the look on her face had some anxiety, for sure. After all, she’d been used to her own cozy room with a queen-sized bed and her own bathroom. Actually I think the intention of architects of university dormitories is to make the students want to leave so they will go to class and maybe even to the library. And it works, to some extent. Otherwise no one would live in those places!
Well it has been almost three weeks since Madeleine’s move-in day and I’ve received several phone calls and a couple emails. So far she is enjoying her classes and getting along well with her roommate. She is finding friends and writing essays in between her dancing, job hunting, and socializing. Madeleine may not be “grown up” yet, but her life is unfolding as it should.
While the trees are starting to turn, another natural phenomenon is occurring all over North America. Our highways are filled with stuffed-to-the-gills cars traveling to colleges and universities in a great scattering and gathering of young people. I just recently completed one such trip with my oldest daughter to the college of her choice. She is attending the University of Utah in their ballet program, hoping to become a professional dancer. Her father is worried that she will end up in Las Vegas dancing with poles…but she has other plans, for the time being.
She has studied classical ballet for over ten years, including several workshops and summer programs in other cities. So when she said she wanted to study ballet in college I was not surprised. Whether or not she can make a livable wage upon graduation seems almost irrelevant -- such is her passion for dancing.
As we packed up the car we both realized that in doing so we were finalizing her break with home, friends, family, and the familiarity of her home state, Oregon. As exciting as it was to travel to Utah and experience a whole new state, new friends, etc., there is a bittersweet quality to leaving home that many college-bound young people experience. Madeleine let herself feel that, but by the time we were on I-84 heading east, she was focused on the road ahead.
Our first day passed quickly, traveling through the Hood River Valley and Columbia Gorge before lunch. As we reached Pendleton, we were getting a bit antsy, so took a walk around the town. Pendleton definitely has a Western feel, much more so than Portland. It also has a depressing feel of a town on its way down. In spite of the world famous rodeo, the Pendleton Round-up, it does not have the vitality that you see it in a thriving town. We managed to find a drive-up coffee and tea hut on the way out of town, and got back on the I-84.
The next few hours were spent looking at the Wallowas, listening to Regina Spektor, and napping. By nightfall we reached Boise, and fell exhausted into our Motel 6 bed. I for one was too tired to notice that we were right next to the airport. If it kept Madeleine awake, she was too tired to say so the next morning. We found a coffee stand, fueled up the car as well, and headed south to Utah. Southern Idaho passed by quickly, and we high-fived at the Utah border.
At lunch time we pulled off the road in a town which shall remain nameless. I say this with compassion, because the people who live there clearly don’t need anyone badmouthing their town. It’s bad enough as it is… I suspect that a meatpacking plant nearby is the main reason for all the flies and partly the reason for the bad attitudes.
The café where we stopped – briefly -- for the worst tuna sandwich I’ve ever had in over forty years, was called “Sally’s” (name changed to protect the innocent!). As we walked through the door it was apparent that the quality of the food was not the reason people in this town congregate at Sally’s. From the looks of the clientele as we walked in, newcomers are relatively scarce, and not necessarily welcome.
Madeleine and I slid into a booth, reluctantly. (I’d worn white shorts rather unwisely that day.) We looked at the menu in desperation, wondering whether it was too late to get up and go to Subway. But by then embarrassment took over our good sense and we decided to stay, in spite of the flies that – some alive, some dead – covered the window sill and all around us in the booth. (You want flies with that?)
Our waitress, who was refreshingly adorable and intelligent-looking, came to take our order, with some apparent reluctance. Her died-black hair would have marked her an “emo” under other circumstances. Her movie star eyes and smile made me wonder how the “h” she ended up there. She was probably not over twenty, so perhaps grew up there. As we left my mothering instincts wanted to tell her to “get out before it’s too late.” But I do have two teenaged daughters, and have learned to keep these thoughts to myself.
On the road again, we began to see mountain peaks off to the right and left, with the elevation gain accordingly increasing. Madeleine’s boredom by this point caused her to take lots of cheesy in the car photos including the obligatory tongue-hangers which will never see the light of day. The photo of Madeleine’s legs on the dash, however, is a keeper.
When we arrived we had to find our motel in Salt Lake City – one which I booked over the internet because it was convenient, looked inhabitable from the photos, and was – cheap. So when we finally found it we were a bit disappointed to learn that our “boutique hotel” was actually just a redecorated old motel, complete with broken soda machine and an ice machine next to our room…
The tempurpedic beds, cozy décor, and continental breakfast almost made up for it. Bagels and cream cheese, decent coffee, orange juice and fresh fruit made our mornings there more welcome. The roach that I smashed on the back of the bathroom door, well let’s just not tell Madeleine about that, okay?
We got to her dormitory without a hitch on the next day, move-in day for Freshmen. I have to say that it was the most organized and efficient move we’ve done. Of course having a total of three suitcases, a laundry basket and a Rubbermaid tub made it slightly easier than moving a five or six room household, which I’ve done several times.
The line to get her dorm key and hall pass was long, but they provided cold drinks and good cheer to greet the students and their parents on the sidelines. Many of us nodded at each other in acknowledgement that we were proud parents, delivering our babies to the college of their choice.
Seeing my daughter sit for the first time on her dorm bed was another Kodak moment. There’s nothing starker than an empty dorm room. And the look on her face had some anxiety, for sure. After all, she’d been used to her own cozy room with a queen-sized bed and her own bathroom. Actually I think the intention of architects of university dormitories is to make the students want to leave so they will go to class and maybe even to the library. And it works, to some extent. Otherwise no one would live in those places!
Well it has been almost three weeks since Madeleine’s move-in day and I’ve received several phone calls and a couple emails. So far she is enjoying her classes and getting along well with her roommate. She is finding friends and writing essays in between her dancing, job hunting, and socializing. Madeleine may not be “grown up” yet, but her life is unfolding as it should.
Monday, January 29, 2007
camano island
The tides come and go here very gently in Port Susan Bay. We live over a portion of Puget Sound that is fairly unique. It has tides, yes, but the bay is protected to the West by Camano Island, so it has less wind. Also the tidal river from Triangle Cove creates a gentle rift between the tide and the fresh water from the cove. It is fascinating to watch the currents collide, the tidal river recedes when the tide is high and when the tide is low, the currents from the river reappear.
When it was very cold last week the fresh water froze on top of the tides (because salt water is heavier), and you could see the tide ebb and flow beneath it. The ice formations varied with how far out they froze. On the beach there were large crystal formations which were constantly crackling and reforming, whereas farther out over the water it was clearer and smoother, and you could see through the ice where the tide was at.
When it was very cold last week the fresh water froze on top of the tides (because salt water is heavier), and you could see the tide ebb and flow beneath it. The ice formations varied with how far out they froze. On the beach there were large crystal formations which were constantly crackling and reforming, whereas farther out over the water it was clearer and smoother, and you could see through the ice where the tide was at.
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