This Is It Then

I've dodged a couple of bullets over the past week.  The first one was my back.  Woke up one morning with it aching all down one side.  For no apparent reason.  Because I was keeping a low profile, remember?  Not doing anything during which I could hurt myself.  It wasn't until several days later when I threatened my back with a visit to the chiropractor that it stopped hurting.  Bullet #1.

Same day as the aching back I was convinced I had blown the rotator cuff in my left arm.  Having blown the one in my right arm, I knew what it felt like. Aching, throbbing pain.  Unable to life it to the side without the help of my other arm.  Lying in bed at night and not knowing where to put it.  Out came the bag of frozen peas and the exercise bands.  A week later it feels right as rain.  Whew!  Bullet #2.

Bullet #3 I wasn't even aware I was dodging.  I've spent the past week not knowing if I'm excited, nervous, hungry or sick.  Queasy stomach, light headed, massive heat waves -- not hot flashes...trust me, I know the difference.  Figured it was just nerves setting in.  But the thought of getting on a plane feeling like that was less than appealing.  Today, the day before lift-off, I feel fine.  Had it been nerves, I think today would be the worst.  So now I'm thinking I had a little touch of something which has miraculously disappeared.  Whew!

Final bullet -- the wart.  While I don't think the freezing has killed it, at least it doesn't hurt anymore.  Well not more than it did before the freezing anyway.

And so I'm ready to go.  Oh I'm not packed just yet, but hey, how long does it take to stuff a T-shirt and an extra pair of socks and underwear into a backpack.  The house is clean, the beds are changed, the towels are freshly laundered.  I've figured out why I clean before I travel -- burns off energy but doesn't require fine motor skills.  No way would I have been able to cut glass this week.

In reality my Camino starts with my first step out my door.  But before I take that first "official step" in France I will have traveled by car, boat, plane and train.  I've got Steven Martin and John Candy beat by one.  People ask why I'm doing this "pilgrimage."  I understand it's a major topic of conversation on the Camino itself.  Definitely not for religious reasons.  I think my standard answer will be, "Ask me when I'm done."  Because I don't really know why, other than I feel drawn to it.  I'm leaving behind reading material and my IPod because I want to be present and "in the moment."  So I'm just going to let the universe be my guide and "enlighten" me as to my purpose.

Maybe in the end it will just be a nice long walk.

Go Short Or Go Home

I have short hair.  Correction -- I HAD short hair.  Now I have really really really short hair.  The only time I've been shorter than this was during one of those head shave fund raisers for Cops for Cancer.  Went down to about a quarter inch all over.  And loved it.  Love love loved it.  Discovered that I have a good shaped head for the bald look.  With the exception of a huge scar on the back of my head that was the result of an ill thought out snowmobile misadventure.  Let me put it this way -- never ride sitting backwards on a snowmobile sans helmet whilst towing a toboggan across a frozen lake in the dark.  You don't realize you've hit an ice fishing hole until you've landed on your head.

So here is my new Camino "do."  The best parts of going this short?...

...save time getting ready
...shorter showers
...bye-bye hat head
...when it's hot, I'm cool
...eliminates the wind blown look
...the feel of rain on my scalp


But the very best part?  All of my hair care products fit into the palm of my hand.  And that, my friends, is worth its weight in gold.

'Cause you know on this trip, it's all about the weight.


Book Review:  Odd that the next book I read following the tale of Maud with Alzheimer's in Elizabeth is Missing is about Ben with Alzheimer's in Stars Go Blue.  Both authors captured the frustration of the afflicted and their caregivers alike and both had well crafted stories beyond the disease.  I preferred the first, perhaps for no other reason than it was the first of the two.

Pardon My Franish

Well I did it -- finished my Spanish language program.  I did each of the thirty lessons twice and I'm almost half way through reviewing them again.  The good thing is that the review lessons seem soooo easy now; the bad thing is that these thirty lessons are only Level I of IV.  But the library doesn't carry the more advanced CD's and I wasn't going to pay the big bucks to buy them.

So I would say I have a basic rudimentary start -- I can eat and drink, follow directions and greet someone morning, afternoon or night   I can tell time (in 15 minute increments) and count to 999.  I know the 5 W's, although in Spanish they are 3 Q's, 1 D and 1 P.  I can come and go, speak and tell, buy and pay, study and learn, wait, help, and live.  If something is excellent, interesting or too much, I can say that too.  And lots of stuff in between.

In Spanish, V's sound like B's, two LL's sound like Y, H makes no sound at all, and I still can't figure out what they hell they're doing with the letter G. Add an Ai, Ee, or O sound to the end of any word and you're pretty much guaranteed it will make some sort of sense.

And when all else fails, and I don't know the word, I throw in the French equivalent.  Sometimes I don't even remember if the word I'm using is Spanish or French.  I have a new found appreciation for anyone who can speak multiple languages.  How do they keep it all straight in their brain?

Bottom line?  I'm heading to Spain having made the effort to attempt to be able to communicate in the native language and I'm sure I'll pick up some more along the way.  And when that doesn't work?  The universality of smiling and hand gestures goes a long way.

But I will never ever ever simply resort to TALKING LOUDER.


Book Review:  Read this book and I'm pretty sure you will know what it feels like inside the brain of a person suffering Alzheimer's.  Told in first person by 82 year old Maud, the novel goes back and forth from the present as Maud struggles to figure out what happened to her friend, Elizabeth, to the distant past as Maud recollects the disappearance of her sister, Sukey.  Emma Healey paints the most thoroughly believable picture of this disease that I have ever read.  And it broke my heart.  Highly recommended.

This May Have Been A Mistake

I procrastinate, I admit it.  This time it may come back to bite me.  No, not in the ass.  In the foot.

Famous last words from my doctor -- "Shell, if something hurts for a month, get it looked at."  He uttered these words after I'd put up with years of pain from an injured rotator cuff.  So did I take his words to heart?  No, I did not.

Back in May I developed a sore spot on the bottom of my foot.  Attributed it to using the foot, clad in inappropriate-for-the-task footwear, to push the shovel into the ground while turning my veggie garden. Then the sore spot got hard and I figured it was a callus.  Several times over the summer I thought, "I really should get this looked at."  But did I?  No, I did not.  When I was at the doctor in July for a routine prescription refill I thought, "I really should ask about that sore spot on my foot."  But did I?  No, I did not. 'Cause it wasn't bothering me that day.

This past week it started getting really sore and it's right on a pressure point on the ball of my foot.  "Hmmm," I thought, "maybe I should get this looked at before I attempt to walk 800 km on it across varied terrain."  And I actually followed up on that thought.  Toodled off to see the doc and he confirmed what I'd been fearing all along -- wart.  Plantar wart.  Very hard to get rid, he says.  But as it's a virus it will go away on his own.  No time frame for that though.

But, if I wanted, he could freeze it with some liquid nitrogen, may help to kill the cells.  When he assured me it would leave no hole in my foot I decided to go for it.  I've had liquid nitrogen and it stings a bit towards the end of the treatment.  But, holy shit, the pain a few minutes afterwards is intense.  I was standing at the reception desk making an appointment for round two when the burning set in.  OMG!  This freakin' hurts.  With a sly smile the doctor tossed me a packet of Advil Liqui-Gels.  Gee, thanks.

And now it hurts more than ever to walk on.  Of course I did the research on cryotherapy for warts after the treatment.  Most require one to four treatments with one to three weeks in between.  I have time for two with three days in between.  The pain can last three days and healing takes seven to fourteen days.  I've got seven days after my second treatment. When I got to the part about blisters and pus and infection I stopped reading. Now only time will tell if my biggest mistake was waiting to have it treated.

Or that I opted to have it treated at all.

The Devil Is In The Details

It's harder than ya think, chucking your life aside for a couple of months. There are still things that have to be attended to even if you're not there to attend to them.  Requires lots of planning ahead and running around like the proverbial headless chicken.  So how can it be that I'm sitting here, feet up, enjoying a nice cervesa fria?  It's because I've drained my head of the copious amount of flotsam that has been floating about on my brain waves. Yup, I took some time today and made lists.

I've currently got four on the go, each one a living document that can be added to when things creep into my head space.  Better on the paper than risk loosing it in the nether regions of my brain.  Because I'm at that age where I forget shit really fast.  Until I close my eyes to go to sleep.  Then everything I've forgotten during the day is suddenly front and centre.  The two big lists are the Between Now and Then List and the Just Before I Leave List.  There's also the Stuff To Buy List and the Have To Do Out Of Town List.  

I'm fairly certain there's nothing left to do for the actual trip itself.  I've bought my travel insurance.  I have Euros.  I've checked ferry and bus schedules for getting to the airport (living on an island adds a whole other component to the travel experience.)  I've checked train schedules at the other end.  I've even done the advance research on how to get from Spain to Italy and back to France for my little side journey when I've finished my Camino.  The not knowing what travel dates I'll need to book on the other side makes that an exercise in extreme frustration.  But at least I have some idea which airlines fly where in Europe and some approximate dates.

So basically I could load up my pack and leave tomorrow.  Except for all the stuff on those four lists.  Stuff like buy dog food.  Pay all bills in advance. Clean the bird cage.  Mow the lawn.  Go over shit with the kid.  The kid...she's almost 20 but I seriously doubt she's ever turned on the dishwasher.  Or shoved a flea pill down the dog's throat, because she won't even take it in a piece of cheese -- the dog, not the kid.

And then there's the ever popular clean the house.  Why is it when we go away for any amount of time we feel compelled to clean the house?  The very same house that we don't feel compelled to clean when we're home and living in it?  One of life's great mysteries.  But I'll do it all the same.  And the satisfaction of crossing things off those lists?  Priceless.

Now I just have to keep an eye on that damned volcano.          

Keeping A Low Profile

Love the practice or hate it, I'm down to counting sleeps until the big day.  I was doing a little googling, trying to find the origin of counting sleeps but all that kept coming up was stuff about counting sheep.  Although I did happen onto one parental web site that had a long, long thread by people getting really pissed off with the whole notion of adults using the concept of counting sleeps.  Surely there are more important things in life to get pissed off about. How about war?  Genocide?  Ebola outbreaks?  No, for these folks it was the childless, immature act of using the number of sleeps to calculate the time until an event.  But if you really think about it, counting the number of times you will sleep before something happens is the most accurate way to do it.  If you count days, do you count the day you leave, or the day you're on when you start?  See what I'm saying...there are a couple of grey areas.  Counting sleeps is precise.  Except, I suppose, if you're an insomniac and can't sleep. Then you're really screwed on all counts and you're probably just going to be tired and bitchy by the time the big day arrives anyway.

All this to say -- THIRTEEN MORE SLEEPS!

And because I'm getting down to it, I've decided it's time to start keeping a low profile.  You know, so I don't do anything stupid that will prevent me from even starting out on this adventure.  For example...

The other day I was on the downhill portion of a hike with the kid and a rare for these parts thunder and lightning storm hit.  "Do you die if you get hit by lightning?" she wanted to know.  "Depends."  Good succinct answer, mom. "Probably mess you up for while," she surmised.  "Yeah, a good long while." Happy to report we made it down without getting hit by lightning.  I was more concerned with turning an ankle on the steeper, loose gravel portions. 'Cause that would be my luck.

Then there was that foray into the garden to pick some ripe tomatoes.  The fence around the garden is only knee high so it's an easy step up and over. Coming back out you have to step over and then down as the garden is raised.  And apparently flip flops are not appropriate footwear for this type of activity.  I caught the toe of one foot on the fence and did a twisting slow motion face plant to the ground.  My first thought was, "please don't let me have wrecked my flip flops."  Hey, I have my priorities -- they were the $80 pair of Vionics that I bought for the Camino after all.  My second thought was, "please don't let me have broken my toes."  Third, "or wrecked my back." Thankfully, nothing that a little ice for the swelling and bruising didn't cure. But close...oh, so close.

Until I walked full tilt face first into a cupboard door.  I've nearly done it a million times -- it's an upper cupboard door in the kitchen that is right beside the doorway into the hall.  If the cupboard door is open, it blocks part of the doorway.  I had taken something out of the cupboard and was going to put it right back so left the door open.  Then I got distracted and decided I needed something in another room and walked -- wham -- face first into it.  After staggering about until I regained my bearings I felt around to make sure that my glasses were intact and that they hadn't permanently embedded themselves into my face.  Lucky on both counts.

But by now I'm thinking my luck bank could be running low.  No more hikes for me, just incline treadmill workouts in the safety of my basement.  And I'm retiring the flip flops in favour of supportive, secure running shoes when doing all other things.  I'm looking both way before I cross the street, always on the green.  I no longer run with scissors or drink expired milk.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go put the finishing touches on my tin foil hat.


Book Review:  That Night is the story of two people imprisoned for a murder they claim they did not commit.  The narrative is very fluid going back and forth from the present when they are released to the events leading up to the murder and their time in jail.  Chevy Stevens nicely captures the nasty bullying milieu of teenage girls.  Probably the best of the four novels she's written.  But I wasn't overly jazzed by the ending.  Oh well.

My Biggest Fear

I live in a rural area.  Deer and racoons invade my garden and bird feeders on a nightly basis. There is an eagle that perches in a tree down the road at the dairy farm who dines regularly on unsuspecting kittens who have ventured too far from the barns.  I cut down my last remaining apple tree after the bears ripped it limb from limb.  A mama bear and two cubs have been spotted regularly in the trails where I hike.  There have been recent sightings of a cougar in the area as well.  One listens to the warnings and takes the requisite precautions.  I talk out loud when approaching blind corners in the bush; I turn around frequently to check for sneaky cats.  But afraid?  Nope, not the slightest. Okay, snakes...I don't like running into snakes.

But the the thing that makes me shudder, that makes me want to run screaming in the other direction doesn't slither like a snake.  It's smaller than a bear and stealthier than a cougar.  It has no fear and will bring all its friends when the attack begins.  I'm talking bedbugs.  I live in fear of getting infested when I'm on my Camino.  It's not so much the bites that I'm worried about, although they can look pretty hideous.  It's disinfecting all my gear.  I mean, once they're in a down sleeping bag how does one get rid of them? And once they're in one thing, they're in everything.  I picture myself sitting naked on a sunny hilltop with my pack and all its contents in a garbage bag trying to roast the things to death.

Being a conscientious pilgrim I decided I better do so some research into how to prevent an infestation.  Seems like prevention should be easier than elimination.  Apparently not.  The most common advice in the Camino forums was to pack a sheet that had previously been soaked in a chemical called permathrin and put this down on the mattress.  Don't know as I like the idea of sleeping every night in a chemical cocoon.  

So I've decided to approach this as I'm doing every other aspect of this trip -- I'm playing it by ear.  I know the signs to look for and if I get even a hint that bedbugs are lurking, I'll be hightailing it to another place to spend the night. And if that doesn't work?  

Well, look for me sitting naked on a sunny hilltop.

Book Review:  I was really looking forward to reading Bird Box, the debut novel by Josh Malerman.  It was being touted as the most horrifying novel to emerge in recent years.  Hmmm...horrifying?  Not so much.  I thought it was sort of a cross between Cormac McCarthy's The Road and Richard Matheson's I Am Legend.  Good read but depressing in that end of the world sort of way.  

Knocked off another early Michael Connelly novel.  The Last Coyote is #4 in the Harry Bosch series.  One of his better efforts, I think.  Good solid mystery.

Every now and then I like to read some non-fiction, mostly true crime (go figure).  But it has to be well written.  No Anne Rule for me.  Under the Bridge by Rebecca Godfrey is an account of the murder of Reena Virk in Victoria in 1997.  I found it particularly compelling given that it happened here on Vancouver Island and I've met and worked with some of the prosecutors and the pathologist.  But I wondered why some of the names of the guilty were changed, especially when they are readily available in any news account on the internet.     

UGH! UGH! UGH!!!

Yes, this is my fist.  (And it's not that easy taking a selfie of your fist...trust me...or go ahead, try it.)  Yesterday I was putting it through my computer. Then my phone.  Today I'm putting it through Blogger.  Because silly me, I actually thought I'd just be able to access my blog on my phone and write my posts while I'm away.  I mean I can post on Facebook from my phone.  I can send e-mails on my phone.  Why not a blog post?  But first we need to backtrack a day...

It's 3:00 a.m. and I'm lying in bed.  No one is e-mailing me at 3:00 a.m.  No one is posting anything new on Facebook at 3:00 a.m.  Okay, I'll google shit. But how many times can you google Johnny Depp at 3:00 a.m. and expect to learn anything new?  Oh right, I need to google How to blog from your phone.  And lo and behold, of course there are a couple of ways to do it.  Via e-mail or by simply downloading the Blogger app.  Piece of cake.  I fall asleep confident in the fact that I will soon be blogging from the Camino.

Not so fast.

Later the same morning...I'm back on the wikiHow site and going through the steps to e-mail the blog posts.  Just have to change my blog settings to add an e-mail...but first I'll open a new gmail account to use just for the blog posts.  Don't want any of my personal e-mails accidentally ending up on my blog.  But what's this?  No charge from Google Plus to use this feature but individual carriers may have a charge, like for texting.  That's no good.  I take my SIM card out of my phone when I travel to avoid those dreaded roaming fees and use free Kik instead of standard texting.  Okay, no problem.  I'll send a test blog, then take the SIM card out and try it again because I have Wifi.

Check blog, check blog, check blog.  Hmmm...no test message.  Time for plan B.

Download the Blogger app.  Piece of cake.  Sigh on.  What's this?  There are no blogs assigned to me but hey, why not start one?!  WTF???  No blogs assigned to me?  There are two blogs assigned to me. Frustration level rising.  Fists clenching.  Try the first gmail account.  Try the second gmail account.  Change all the passwords for all accounts.  There are still no blogs assigned to me.  Okay, breathe...breathe...

Time to say FUCK it and take a break.  I've now wasted two hours during which I had planned to walk the dog and mow the lawn before the heat of the day.  Walking and mowing in 30+ degree temps did not improve my mood. Just so ya know.

And here it is today.  I've taken my blood pressure medication and I'm going in again.  First off, uninstall the Blogger app.  Maybe it will work when I put it back on.  'Cause that always works, right?  Back into the settings page on my blog and oh, look -- here's some info I didn't read yesterday.  There's a whole section for adding a mobile device.  I just have to send a verification code.  Of course, it had to be that simple...right?

Not so fast.

Your carrier is not supported by Blogger Mobile.  WTF???  Oh look...here's a list of countries with supported carriers -- Australia, Czech Republic, France, Germany, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Spain, Sweden, UK, US.  No Canada.  Second largest country in the world and we don't have a carrier that supports using our mobile devices to do something as simple as posting a blog.  That's total crap.

And this is where I call it quits.  I'm going on this zen-like journey of personal discovery and I'm getting myself all bent out of shape because I can't get the technology to work for me?  Anyone else see something wrong with this picture?  So I'm back to my original plan -- a tech free experience.  Well, almost tech free.  When I hit a Wifi spot I can use e-mail.  Maybe I'll even find a computer on the Way and be able to log into this blog to post a little something.

But don't hold your breath.


Book Review:  I enjoyed The Husband's Secret even though it was pretty easy to figure out what the secret was and then to see what was coming later on.  I will admit, however, that I was getting pretty tired of the three main female characters.  All that angst.  But it was an easy read, lots of dialogue and the fact that I read it quickly means that I was engaged with the story.  A good summer, feet up with a cold drink kind of book.

In The Buff

Have you ever found something and your second thought was, "How cool is this?!"  Preceded of course by your first thought, "Wish I'd invented it!"

That's how I feel about my buff.  It is simplicity personified.  For anyone not familiar with the buff it is a seamless tube of microfiber polyester.  That's it. But it is oh so versatile.  Worn around the neck it keeps you cool in the summer, warm in the winter.  Pull it up to protect your face from wind or dust. Pull it up over your head and it's a hood; then pull up the front and it's a balaclava.  A twist here, a pull there and you've got any variety of headwear. Or just a simple headband.

Of all the gear I've bought, my buff is my favourite.  I feel like Linus when I wear it around my neck -- it's my security blanket. And as all good outdoor wear should be it's moisture wicking, quick drying, breathable, wind resistant, stretchy and has active odour control that will last "the lifetime of the garment."  Hmmm...another lofty manufacturer's claim, just like the socks.  We'll see about that.

I chose my buff partly because it's so colourful.  And partly because in some of the books I've read about the Camino they refer to St. James (the apostle for whom the whole thing is named and whose bones are allegedly housed in the cathedral in Santiago...yeah, right) as Jimmy the Fish.  Don't ask me why.  I'm not current on my Bible stories.

But here's something really cool.  When I dug out the card that the buff came on from the store to test some of the headwear styles, this caught my eye -- Made in Spain.

Whaddya know?  I'll be returning my buff to its homeland.


Book Review:  Anyone who knows me or reads this blog must have figured out by now that Stephen King is my favourite author.  I would say that I'm his #1 fan, but that title forever conjures Annie Wilkes.  And just what does Mr Mercedes do for Steve's position in my author's rankings?  It solidifies it 100%.  (And hey, I've been reading Steve since Day 1 so I figure we must be on a first name basis by now.)  Mr Mercedes is a thriller -- there is no horror (other than the horror of humans doing what they do); there isn't a whiff of the supernatural.  He has written a cast of characters that I cared about deeply  -- especially Jerome...I loved Jerome.  And he crafted an ending that was sheer perfection.  I've heard (read?) that this is the first of a trilogy.  If so, bring on the next two.  If not, Mr Mercedes is perfect all on its own.  Five stars out of five and two thumbs up.  

The Sum Of All Things

The moment of truth has arrived.  

With just six weeks to go until I leave for my Camino it's time to find out if all of this... 

...will fit into this...minus the bed, of course.

Ready. Set. Go...

          

                            ...this = this...gotta love compression sacks...

...warm down jacket stuffs into its own pocket...

                        ...cool mesh hat folds into pretty much any shape you want...

                         ...and...TA DA!!!  It all fits with room to spare.

But time for the million dollar question -- how much does it weigh?  First let's put this in perspective.  The weighted pack I've been lugging around for the past couple of months currently weighs 24.8 lbs.  My fully loaded Camino pack?  14.4 pounds.  I put it on and it felt like nothing back there.  Oh what a difference 10 lbs makes.  Maybe I should consider packing the bed after all.

  

Challenge Accepted

I toodled down to my favourite store yesterday -- no, not for another dress. For socks.  After getting a heat rash on my ankles three times in a row, I figured I better do something about it.  I had several days in between each and it clears up in about four days, but I have no idea what would actually happen if I got a heat rash on top of a heat rash on top of a heat rash.

So the Wigwam merino wool midweight hiking socks I've been wearing for the past year had to go.  'Cause I'm pretty sure I'll be running into some smokin' hot temperatures, especially in September.  See the problem with the Wigwams is that they are long in the leg and I have to fold down the top. Basically it's like having two heavy socks on around the ankle.  But I also want that really nice thick cushioning on the bottom and the toes.  Partly for comfort and partly because my books are wide and roomy and I don't want to be moving around inside.  That's just asking for blisters.

So I picked up a couple of pairs of Darn Tough hiking socks made from 100% fine gauge merino wool.  Nice cushy sole but oh so light in the leg part. And they actually come with an "Unconditional Lifetime Guarantee."  Seriously.  Lifetime.

Here it is, right on the package..."If you can wear these socks out, we'll replace them."

Free of charge, they say.

No questions asked, they assure.

For life.

Pretty bold statements if you ask me, because I'm thinking about all the socks in my sock drawer that are down to single threads covering the balls of the feet.  Or all those pairs that have at least one hole where the big toe has busted through.  And basically they're telling me that if I were to own one pair of these socks and wore them every single day of my life, they would give me a new pair if I wore through them.  I'll accept that challenge.  Not that I'm going to wear them every single day for the rest of my life.

But hey, 800 kilometres across Northern Spain should give them a pretty good run for their money.


Book Review:  After having read Herman Koch's The Dinner, I was really looking forward to his latest -- Summer House With Swimming Pool.  Koch has created yet another wonderful morally ambiguous cast of characters and let them lose upon each other.  I love his first person narratives for reasons I can't say without ruining something of the reading experience for you.  I was semi-disappointed in the ending but I'm thinking maybe I missed something. You know how that can happen.  I just need someone else to read it and give me their take so I can go, "Oh right, now I get it!"  And there was definitely one thread that didn't get dealt with that I was thinking was going to have a major impact on the ending, hence my disappointment.  But I would recommend this book for the characters alone.    

Ladies...You Should Totally Get This

Every pilgrim needs to take something with them -- screw the extra weight -- to make themselves feel semi-civilized.  A pair of socks they only put on in the evening, after the day's walking is done...a little pot of face cream...a pair of sandals...whatever.  Something, anything, to feel human again.  So I'm taking a dress.

Yup, a dress.  This is what the ladies will totally get.  Nothing feels cooler, lighter, more free than slipping into a loose dress after a nice cool shower at the end of the day when your only change of clothes is drying on the line. There's nothing to pinch around the middle.  No fabric getting caught in the crack of...anything.

And as I've been planning this trip for going on two years now, there's been plenty of time to select just the right one.  The key word in that last sentence is one.  Because here's the thing -- the longer you have to plan something, the more stuff you buy "for the camino" before finding something better.  I've got two pairs of pants in my closet that are not going on the camino, despite my promising them they could. It's not good having two pairs of pissed off pants...but I digress.

So last summer whilst browsing in my favourite local non-chain store (Walk the Coast, if I haven't mentioned that at least once before) I spotted the perfect dress. Black and white stripes, light, non-wrinkle...perfect.  Until I hit the WTC sidewalk sale in the fall.  And found a pink splotchy thing, lighter than air...perfect.  Until I went in this summer and spotted a little red number on a mannequin that just screamed, "Camino!"  Not only was it categorized as outdoor wear complete with spandex and moisture wicking properties, but who wouldn't want a talking dress?  Perfect.

Then I got to thinking...hmmm...I'm going in September / October...it'll probably be hot at the beginning, maybe cooler or even cold as the end...the pink splotchy dress will probably be too light and too summery looking...ditto for the red one...the black and white one...hmmm...I dunno, I'm having second thoughts...

So I hauled the old Royal Robbins black T-shirt dress out of the back of the cupboard.  It's so comfy, like wearing pyjamas...black suits any season...my orange shirt can go over top when it's cooler...the warm coat I'm taking is black...perfect.  It's settled -- I'm taking the black dress.

Unless I take the red one...




Book Review:  There's probably a few of you thinking that I don't much like most of the books I read.  Yeah, I can be a little critical, a little nit-picky.  But here's one that I won't nit or pick at all and that I give a five star, two thumbs up rating to -- The Three by Sarah Lotz.  It's a book written within a book, very cleverly done as an investigative report complete with interviews, blog entries, and e-mail exchanges.  Four planes crash at the same time on the same day.  Three children survive three of the crashes.  A woman on one of the planes lives long enough to send out a garbled, cryptic message on her phone.  Enter the conspiracy theorists and religious zealots.  For those of you who like their stories tied up with a bow at the end, you're not going to get that here.  But you will get an ending that leaves you thinking long after you put the book aside, and maybe, just maybe a few of the hairs on the back of your neck will stand up and say..."Whoa!"  From me, that's the ultimate compliment.

Stylin' On The Camino

I didn't plan it, really I didn't.  But after I bought my Camino wear, it was pretty obvious that I am going to be one coordinated pilgrim -- and I'm not talking about my ability to put one foot in front of the other.  And given that I bought everything in various places at various times, it would seem the fashion gods had a little hand in it.

Started with my Vasque boots in gun metal grey...






...then came Gregory all decked out in a couple of shades of blue...





...followed by Arc'Teryx pants in "heron" and Marmot shorts in "dark steel" (but let's call a spade a spade -- they're blue"ish" and grey"ish)...

...and finally add a couple of grey Icebreaker T-shirts with orange highlights that just so happen to match perfectly with my ExOfficio shirt...





...hell, even my merino wool Icebreaker bra coordinates, you know, just in case a strap shows.




'Cause if I'm gonna be hot, dirty and exhausted on the Camino, I might as well look damn good doin' it.


Book Review:  Oh, this one started out with so much promise.  The Book of You is the story of a woman being stalked by a co-worker.  It is told in the form of journal entries that she keeps to build up evidence against him to take to police and in her writing she speaks to him...you did this, you did that.  The journal entries are interspersed with a third person telling of her sitting on a jury for a rape case that hits a little too close to home.  As the story started to reach that all important climax I was expecting a twist that would really knock my socks off.  The psychological tension had been building so nicely there just had to be a big payoff.  Then WHAM!  Nothing. The most boring finale with an even more boring and lengthy wrap up.  Wow, talk about disappointed.

Ironing Out Some Bugs

Apparently I'm being punished for the cocky way I've been thinking about things lately.  Yup, I've been feeling pretty smug about my training -- boots feel great, no hot spots or blisters, nothing else hurts...much.

Then I did an uphill-downhill hike, about 3 hours round trip.  And my 2nd toe -- you know, the one beside the big toe -- was sore at the end.  Like pressure sore. Lasted a few days.  Even the weight of the sheet on it in bed hurt a little.  So I picked up one of these to try out -- a gel toe protector. One size fits all and you just cut it down to fit, even if your toes aren't well...even if they aren't quite separated all the way.  Okay, webbed.  Even if you have webbed toes.  But dang if that thing didn't work.  Test drove it on my next two uphill-downhills and no more pressure toes.  They're washable and reusable.  I'll be picking up a couple of those for sure.

But the next little bug has me perplexed.  A red rash on the inside of both legs just above the ankle.  Right where my sock ends. And it can't be an allergy to my socks.  They're merino wool and I've been test driving them for a year with no problems.  The first time it happened I thought maybe I had my boots laced too tight and they were chafing.  But it's happened twice since and I know that's not the case.  It's kind of like...remember when you were a kid and you'd put a glass over your mouth and chin then suck in so the glass would stick to your face without holding it?  And then when you took the glass off, the blood had been pulled to the surface of the skin and it left a big round goofy circle on your face so that everyone knew what you'd done?  Well it's kind of like that.

I sort of self-diagnosed it as a heat rash but it's not sore or itchy or bumpy -- not like those pus filled bumps in the pics on the internet (shudder).  It's just there.  And it goes away in a few days.  So do I just ignore it?  Cross my fingers and hope for the best?

I'm open to suggestions.


Book Review:  Two Canadian novels for your consideration...

If you like to be bashed over the head with a series of unending metaphors and similes, read Lullabies For Little Criminals.  Some of them were quite lovely, some were exquisitely descriptive, but even a good thing can be overdone.  And the story telling just seemed random, one thread disappearing into another.  Perhaps that accurately reflects the thought processes of 12 year Baby, a kid growing up on the streets of Montreal.  But it just reminded me too much of all the kids I use to deal with when I was policing. All the kids who didn't stand a chance from the get go.  Some people call this book heart-wrenching.  For me it was just plain depressing.

I read Rush Home Road, the first novel by Lori Lansens, after I read her subsequent two books, The Girls and The Wife's Tale, both of which I thoroughly enjoyed.  Rush Home Road did not disappoint.  Told in the present day and in flash backs, it examines the life of Adelaide Shadd, a black woman who, in her declining years, takes in a six year old girl abandoned by her mother.  Lansen's characters are her strong suit and in Addy Shadd she's created a woman I very much enjoyed getting to know.
 

Training Mind as Well as Body

When I was at Depot training for the RCMP one of our training requirements was being subjected to tear gas.  Before the main event we had to go for a run to ensure we were good and sweaty.  The tear gas stings more that way...sadistic bastards.  We were then led into the "gas chamber" three or four at a time where we had to do some jumping jacks while wearing our gas masks to get our breathing elevated...sadistic bastards.  When instructed, we individually removed our masks and attempted to state our names or answer any other question posed by our drill sergeant through the intercom.  Some people gagged out a semi-response before bolting, others just went straight for the door.  The rest of the troop who hadn't gone in yet, stood behind the glass and laughed, nervously waiting their turn.

In the days leading up to the gassing, my troop mates were getting more and more paranoid.  Everyone, that is, but me.  I couldn't figure out why they were all freaking out about it.  I mean, how bad could it be?  You take off your mask, state your name, try not to breathe too deeply, then go out the door.  Piece of cake.  To what did I owe my nonchalant attitude?  Not a bloody thing, apparently.  I can't remember if I managed to choke out anything more than "gaaaah" before making a run for it.  There were people outside to take care of us as we staggered out the door; troop mates held troop mates who were bent over oozing mucus and saliva, coughing and hacking.  As everyone started to recover, the general consensus of the troop was, "Hey, that wasn't so bad!"  Everyone, that is, but me.  Were these people nuts?  How bad was it? Try the most excruciatingly painful experience of my life, that's how bad.  (Of course, that was before I experienced child birth...no wait...it was worse than that.)

So what, if anything, does this have to do with the Camino?  Days 1 and 2 in the Pyrenees, that's what.  The two days that can take people out of the game.  Because even Emilio Estevez, in his movie The Way, (**SPOILER ALERT**) bought it on the hike over the Pyrenees -- that dreaded section where you climb to 1450 m before descending to Roncesvalles at 950 m.  It's all about the mindset.  I have to lose my nonchalant "piece of cake" attitude. 'Cause I sure don't want a repeat of the gassing experience.  I have to tell myself it will be tough.  I have to tell myself it will be gruelling.  I have to tell myself no amount of training will prepare me for it.   

I have to get myself so psyched out that when I finish that section I'll be able to say, "Hey, that wasn't so bad!"


Book Review:  Every year I attend my local Arts Council book sale...and every year I donate back half the books I bought the year before.  This year I picked up 13 books for the grand sum of $6.00 -- it  would still be a deal at twice the price.  And it's like a treasure hunt looking for books by authors I like to collect.  Like Michael Connelly.  I started reading Connelly somewhere in the middle of the Harry Bosch novels.  The great thing about a Connelly series is you don't have to read them from the start or in order, even though the characters build over time and some of them cross over between his different series.  This year I was lucky to latch onto a copy of The Poet, an oldie from 1996 but one I'd been wanting to read.  The main character is Jack McEvoy, a reporter, writing about police suicides after his police officer brother apparently eats his own gun.  As with all Connelly novels, the story is strong and the writing is good.  What more do you need for a compelling read?  Except I get a little tired of how quickly his male characters bed the female ones.

 

Gearing Up

I've got to get my head around the fact that the summer months fly by and before I know it I'll be loading up my pack with things other than weights. Some of those things I've been collecting for a while, others still need to be purchased.  Like clothes.  So off I toodled to Walk the Coast, my favourite store in town.  Their tag line is From Hikers to High Heels.  I bought my hiking boots there and they carry a fantastic shoe line.  Plus lots of great clothing brands like ExOfficio and chlorophylle.  So how did I make out...

I knew I wanted an ExOfficio shirt (to go with my ExOfficio travel underwear) because the ExOfficio shirt has it all -- ventilation, wicking, lightweight, quick drying, sun guard 30+ and a security pocket.  As luck would have it they had a new shipment in.  Hmmm....what colour do I chose?  Clean white?  Cool blue?  Fiery orange? Who says there shouldn't be a little colour on the Camino?  Orange it is.  That it was the only colour in my size didn't influence my decision at all.

My biggest dilemma has been what to take as my second pair of shoes.  The ones that go on when the boots come off to give the old feet a breather.  I'd been contemplating some Old Navy flip flops, or my old Sanuks.  But here's the thing -- I have flat feet.  They injure easily.  I've had plantar faceitis and it's no fun.  I wear custom made orthotics in my runners and boots.  So I really felt I needed something with support.  And VOILA!  The Vionic orthaheel flip.  Support, cool, and comfy all in one.  Plus they can go in the shower so as to avoid slimy crawly things that would like to make their home between my toes.  And yup, those are little sequins on the straps.

Who says there shouldn't be a little bling on the Camino?


Book Review:  Not really sure why I read Creativity Inc by Ed Catmull.  At least I'm not really sure why I kept reading this book, given that it's subtitle is Overcoming the Unseen Forces That Stand in the Way of True Inspiration. Ed Catmull is the president of Pixar and Walt Disney Animation Studios. Being a big movie fan, a big Pixar fan, (I mean the Toy Story trilogy is epic film making in every single way) I found the parts about the birth of Pixar and the making of some of the movies very interesting.  The stuff about how to manage creative people not so much, but it was never a dry boring read.  My feeling when I finished the book was, "damn, I wished I worked for Pixar."  It's no wonder they get tens of thousands of applications to fill 100 positions.

I don't usually reread books.  There are some I would like to -- like the whole Harry Potter series from beginning to end in one go.  Or some early Stephen King.  My fear in rereading a book I loved is that it won't live up to my memory of it.  That happened with The Catcher in the Rye.  But the real reason I don't reread books is that there are too many new ones to discover. So when my book club was given The Art of Racing in the Rain I figured I would just skim through it to refresh my memory on names and such.  But I started reading and in no time had finished it again.  Some in my book club hated it.  Others liked it.  Me?  I love it.  Without giving anything away if you haven't read it, for me, as a dog owner, I found great comfort in those pages.

It's All About the Beer

"He was a wise man who invented beer."

Plato, Greek Philosopher

I'm ticking right along with the Spanish lessons and I have to say I'm pretty damned impressed with this whole Pimsleur Language Program.  Each lesson builds on the one before, reinforcing the lesson before moving on and introducing new words and phrases.  It's not about grammar and conjugating verbs a la high school.  It's just about having a conversation in the real world. I do every lesson twice, just to get it really fixed in the old cranium.  And I don't do a lesson every day.  Sometimes there can be a week in between, during which I'm having Spanish conversations in my head.  Helps to keep me entertained on those long walks with the dog.

Now I don't know who this Pimsleur guy is but there's one thing I do know -- he sure must like his beer.  I'm at lesson 12 of 30 and after the initial pleasantries were dealt with it's been all about the beer.

How much is the beer?  I like beer.  Do you like beer?  I want beer.  I want to drink beer.  I can pay for the beer.  I can buy beer.  I can buy really cold beer.  If you don't like beer, why not?  Why don't you like beer?  Let's go drink some beer.  I can drink beer in a hotel.  I can drink beer in a restaurant.  Sometimes I even order something to eat with my beer.  And now that I can count to fifteen and add 100 to any of those numbers, well there's no limit to how much beer I can order.

Thankfully, I've also learned to ask, "Where's the bathroom?" 

   

Let the Training Begin

"Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time."

Steven Wright, Comedian

Ay, there's the rub.

Time.  No matter how efficient or organized you are, no one gets more than 24 hours in a day.  Knock off a third of that for sleep, or lying in bed desperately wanting to sleep, and you're down to 16 hours.  Then there's all the daily gotta do's that don't seem to account for much time but add up by the end of the day.  Stuff like cooking and eating and showering.  Throw in the big stuff -- job, house, yard -- and that doesn't leave much time for the wanna do's like exercise, walking the dog, hobbies, reading, having a social life.  Top all this off with the time sucks, those huge wasters of our precious minutes that we all succumb to every single day.  You know what I'm talking about.  Yup...TV, Facebook, reading mindless blogs.  No wait, come back, I'll make it worth your while.

So into this mix I must find the time to get ready physically for my Camino. Luckily I'm mostly retired so that gives me back a pretty fair chunk of the day. And if I give up house cleaning and yard work then I'm pretty much the Queen of Time.  Sadly I can't do that (and let me tell you, it's not for lack of trying) so I've had to come up with a system so that I don't hit the Camino and have it hit me back.  The answer?  Multi-tasking.

Every day I need to walk the dog, exercise and run errands somewhere.  So I grab Gregory, leash up the pooch and head out -- to the library, the post office, boot camp.  Pretty much anywhere that doesn't take over three hours round trip.  But first I put a couple of 5 lb dumbbells in the pack.  I've learned a lot about weight distribution over the past few weeks.  Ten pounds at the bottom of the pack strains at the mid back just below the neck.  But layer those weights in other stuff (right now I'm using my uncompressed sleeping bag) and I barely notice I'm carrying it.

Next month I'll up the weight to 15 pounds.  Then 20 in July, 25 in August.  I figure by the time I leave with just my clothes and essentials my pack will feel like a feather and I'll be floating along the Camino.

For the first hour anyway.



   

My New Best Friend

His name is Gregory.  We've known each other for about a year now, been out together a few times.  Nothing serious, just casual.  But lately we've started spending more time together, getting to know each other.  I don't want this to be an every day thing, not just yet.  I know it'll get there, but we're dealing with the growing pains right now.

'Cause I gotta admit -- sometimes Gregory is a total pain in the neck.  A bit clingy.  To the point I just want to walk away, leave him at the side of the road.  I know I could never do that.  He really does have a lot of good qualities though sometimes I think he's just a little too fussy.  But who knows? Maybe I'll come to love those things about him.  I won't really know until we've spent some more time together.

And you know, the last time we went out he wasn't so bad.  He started off doing his usual thing, wound so tight and wanting to be close.  I finally had to tell him -- Look, loosen up or this just isn't going to work out.  And he listened...surprisingly.  We ended up having such a good time.  It was like we finally figured out how to be comfortable together.  That's a good thing.

'Cause we're in this for the long haul.


Book Review:  Reconstructing Amelia is a very well crafted mystery told from the points of view of a mother and her teenage daughter intermixed with texts, Facebook entries and blog postings.  Sometimes I have to put the cop part of me aside and try to overlook some of the stuff that is just not right.  Like handwriting analysis on a single word.  Yikes...doesn't work like that, folks.  But I know writers have to take these liberties to move the story forward.  Kimberly McCreight did a very nice job creating and taking the reader into the teenage mind and world.  All in all I enjoyed this book...except the epilogue.  The epilogue was lame.

What's that you say?  You want to see a picture of Gregory.  Okay, here he is. Good looking, isn't he?  Nice profile too.

 

It's Really Getting Real

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a cash advance."

Bumper Sticker

Sometimes you plan a thing for so long you never actually believe it will ever happen.  You pick a random date, say "this is when I'll do it" and then go about the business of your everyday life until one day that date is staring you in the face and you're like "OMG! it's actually happening!"

I just had my OMG day.  Walked into my travel agent, plunked down my credit card and booked my flight.  My stomach butterflies are in a flurry just thinking about it.  It's real now.  I'm really going to do this thing.

Oh I know what you're thinking -- "What's a travel agent?"  You know, they're those people that sit in offices with computers and book trips for people who don't have the confidence to do it themselves on line.  Yup, I still use a travel agent.  In my defence I've already done all the research at home, but I need someone else to hit the BOOK IT button.  I've tried to do it myself.  But my finger just hovers there over the return key, like there are opposing magnetized fields at work.  No matter how hard I try I just can't get my finger close to that button.  'Cause the way I figure it, if something goes horribly awry, if I've booked with a travel agent there is a real live person I can go back to, not some random cyberspace entity or a recorded voice on the phone telling me to press 1 and listen to the options, none of which apply to me.

Okay, I'm not a total old fart -- I once booked a cruise on line (but I was much younger then.)  And I will book hotels and other random shit.  Just not flights. I think it's called aerobiblioilektronikosphobia.  Or something like that.

I booked a return date even though I have no idea when I'll be finished my Camino.  And I may stay a few extra days somewhere, who knows?  I can always pay the penalty to change the date and it will still work out cheaper than booking two one way tickets.  One ways are stupid crazy expensive. Anyway, it's a done deal.

September 1st...just 114 days...

       

Picture Perfect

"If you want to be a better photographer, stand in front of more interesting stuff."

Jim Richardson, Photographer

I love a good quote, don't you?  Those words you wish you'd said yourself, that somehow managed to capture those vague bits of thought rattling about in your brain.

Before I went to Italy last year I picked up a new camera knowing I would want something very small and compact for the Camino.  Phone pics don't cut it for me, just not crisp enough.  Not that I'm taking great photos or anything, just something to capture a memory or two.  But I do like my memories to be in focus.  I know just enough to know that it's not all about the number of pixels anymore.  Settled on the Nikon Coolpix -- seemed the best bang for the buck for size and optical zoom.  And of course being cognizant of the fact that, "Buying a Nikon doesn't make you a photographer.  It makes you a Nikon owner." (Author Unknown)

Now the kid on the other hand needs an entire back pack to lug her gear about.  Tricky business getting on an airplane.  If she puts all her equipment in her camera backpack it weighs too much for carry on status.  She had to quickly learn the art of distribution between purse, pack and checked bag. Then it's cross your fingers and hope for the best.  With the best not being those luggage handlers caught throwing checked in cabin baggage down twenty feet into a bin.  Oh sorry, did you have breakables in there?

Seems all the trouble is worth it though.  I may be biased, no correction -- I know I'm biased -- but I think the kid got some pretty great shots whilst standing in front of interesting stuff in New Zealand.  In between final classes and assignments she's slowly posting her shots on her Facebook photography page.  She's allowing me to share a couple here, but I invite you to check out the others.  It's an open page so even if you're not on Facebook you can take a look. (https://www.facebook.com/kendalmariephotography?fref=ts)

Apparently owning a Nikon does make some people a photographer.

Book Review:  As a wannabe novelist (just for the record I have written one novel that remains sadly unpublished) sometimes I read books with not so much the story in mind, but the craft and the writing itself.  I found myself doing that with Always Watching, the third novel by Chevy Stevens.  Just what is it about her writing that elevates her books to best seller status?  I've read all three of her books and I'll be damned if I can figure it out.  They are interesting reads to me because she lives here on Vancouver Island and sets her stories in places I know.  This one deals with a psychiatrist battling her own childhood demons, lost memories triggered by a patient in her care.  Do I recommend it?  I gotta tell ya, I'm on the fence with this one.  But give it a read, let me know what you think.

  

The Power of Travel

Apparently my brain has been on hiatus...well, the writerly part of my brain anyway.  Time to fire it up again and see if anything comes out...

I've had a tune running through my head lately..."He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich."  If you're of a certain age you'll remember that line from the song 'Down Under' off the debut album by Aussie band Men At Work.  Of course we had no idea what vegemite was back in '81 and no idea it could be purchased at the local grocery store.  I mean, why would we? Don't think anyone I knew ever had a hankering to spread left over brew's yeast extract on bread...until I met a guy from down under.  He actually had a craving for the stuff.  I may have tasted it.  Or I may just have looked at the tar-like paste and turned my nose up in disgust.

Thirty-three years later...

I'm living with a kid with a very limited palate.  "Try this, just taste it," was met with the aforementioned turned up nose, the pursed lips.  Yeah, parents, you know the look.  She'd forage through her food looking for anything that might be a bit of mushroom, a sliver of onion.  It's pretty damned amazing watching someone pick out every little bit of ground beef from a sauce.  She's not a vegetarian, she just doesn't particularly like meat.  Me:  "If you want to travel, you're going to have to learn to eat different things."  Her:  "Yeah, whatever."  So when she headed off to New Zealand I was secretly thinking, "Oh, you're gonna be soooo hungry."

But nineteen days after she walked out the door someone different walked back in.  She looks the same, walks the same, talks the same.  But something's changed.  It's subtle.  Maybe something only a mother would notice.  There's a little more confidence showing, a little more of the "I've got the world by the balls and there's no stopping me now" attitude.  And I mean that in a good way.  She walked back in having eaten lamb, fish, venison. And yes, even a vegemite sandwich.  Me:  "How was it?"  Her:  "The first half wasn't bad, then it got really disgusting."  "Me:  "Was there anything else to eat when you didn't finish it?"  Her:  "Oh, I finished it."  

Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?


Book Reviews...I've got a little catching up to do...

It really impresses me when an author can make me accept something that is just not in the realm of possibility.  Like Joe Hill did in his second novel, Horns.  Ig Perrish wakes up with devil horns growing out of his head which causes people to tell him all their deep dark secrets.  Okay, I'll buy that.  Not as good as his debut Heart-Shaped Box, some draggy bits, but overall a fine read...if you're the kind of reader who's willing to suspend belief for a little while.

Read two YA novels in a row, not because I read a lot of YA, they just happened to come in back to back at the library.  And as a testament to their popularity...The Perks of Being a Wallflower was published in 1999, The Fault in Our Stars in 2012 and I still waited months and months and months on the reserve list.  Both deal with teens dealing with real life and in the case of Fault, real death.  I highly recommend them.  But be warned:  both books are vampire free zones.

Too Close For Comfort

I've been pretty lucky.  In all of my travels hither and yon, I've never had any medical issues that couldn't be solved with a little something sold over the counter from the local farmacia. The travel medical insurance through my benefits package is all I've ever relied on to get me there and back in one piece.  And they haven't had to expend any dollars on me...or the kid.  Until now.

I'm entering into unchartered territory now that I've had word that the kid had a close encounter with some pine nuts disguised as pesto.  We make our pesto with ground almonds -- the one and only nut she's not allergic to, except for Brazilnuts and who eats those things anyway?  She's really, really careful but she probably didn't think twice before chowing down on the green stuff.  As she is currently in a wifi free zone, I don't really have all the details, other than the phone call I missed where she insists over and over...and over...and over again, "It's okay, don't worry, I'm all right."

Yeah, 'cause no one ever worries when that get that message from 8,000 miles away.  But you know that old cliche that's been floating around since the 1930's -- Is there a doctor in the house?  Well, in this case there was. Right in her very own tour group.  And given that there's only eight of them in the group, that was pretty bloody fortuitous.  He administered her epi-pen and they whisked her off in an ambulance to the nearest hospital, where after who knows what else they gave her and a little monitoring time, she was returned to her group, good as new claiming, "It's okay, don't worry, I'm all right."

And really, I'm not worried.  It's not part of my DNA.  She's obviously in good hands and she has a spare epi-pen -- although I'm pretty sure she won't be eating anything that doesn't carry a 'guaranteed nut-free' certification label on it for the remainder of her trip.  Now it'll just be a case of trying to get reimbursed by the insurance company.  'Cause I've heard that's real easy to do.

Let's the games begin.


Book Review:  It seems rather coincidental that while I was anxiously awaiting word that the kid had arrived safely in New Zealand (got it 12 hours after she arrived...don't they know about wifi down there?) I was reading Above All Things, a fictionalized account of the final fatal attempt by George Mallory to summit Mount Everest.  The novel is told from three points of view -- George, his wife Ruth, and Sandy Irvine, another member of the expedition.  I could sympathize with Ruth waiting on the twice daily post for news of any kind that would be long outdated before she even read it.  (And I'm complaining about a 12 hour delay in an electronic transmission -- my, how times have changed.)  That George and Sandy were writing letters home from their various base camps on the mountain gave me pause -- just who the hell was running down the mountain, letters in hand to stick them in the post box?? This was a really great read, well researched, and not dry and boring with technical climbing details.  Despite knowing the ultimate outcome of the story (hey, it took place in 1924 so I'm not giving anything away) Tanis Rideout managed to keep the tension strong throughout.

My Technology Conundrum

I'm sitting here waiting, patiently waiting, for word from the kid that she's alive and well and made it to New Zealand along with her bag and all her camera gear.  Okay, I'm lying about the patient part.  I'm restless and wandering aimlessly, eating just about anything that enters my field of vision.  Yeah, that ice cream was in my field of vision -- well it was as soon as I got to the DQ drive-thru.  My attention span is limited so it's best I stay put and not endanger others on the roads.  Any more than I already have.  The last message I had from her was 21 hours ago just before she boarded her second flight in San Francisco.  If all went according to plan she arrived in Christchurch 2 hours ago.  I know everything is okay.  But I have to hear it, gotta read that little message that will beep into my cell phone.  Any time now.

How did people survive in the days of olde, yesteryear, the way back when? In those days when you got on a ship and left for parts unknown.  How did the people who were left behind -- those worried spouses and parents -- get through their everyday lives, waiting for snail mail with news that was outdated before it even arrived?  When I was a kid, my folks would go on holiday leaving us teenagers at home.  They walked out the door and after a designated amount of time they walked back in and that was that.  The postcards they usually sent would arrive well after their return.  I've buggered off on enough trips myself and never thought to call or otherwise keep in touch.

But now, not only are we able to stay in touch, it's absolutely expected.  It's the beauty of, as well as the downside of our technologically advanced world. Which brings me to my conundrum.  I was planning a tech free Camino -- no e-mails, no blogging, no texting.  Just me and my pack and an old-fashioned pen and notebook.  Perhaps a weekly call home to check in.  But now I think I'm gonna have to rethink my plan.  I have an elderly mother whose favourite pastime is worrying.  The kid might not worry but she likes it when I check in with her.  And for the very first time I'm on the receiving end of the kid being far from home and wanting, needing to know that she's okay.

Damn technology.  It's ruined everything.

   

Buggin Out

Today I was forced to bug out because I was buggin out.  I'll explain in a minute.  Remember bug out from M*A*S*H?  According to Urban Dictionary bug out is British army slang meaning:  to move away from your current location very quickly (often under fire) because your position has been compromised by the enemy.  Okay, the important bit for me is the compromised by the enemy part.  Next buggin out.  Urban Dictionary gives this one a four part definition:  1) to perform an action or display a behaviour that contradicts your normal persona; 2) to unintentionally act like you're under the influence of a hallucinogenic drug while sober; 3) conduct unbecoming of a person of sound mind and body; and 4) brief mental impairment.  I'm thinking #4 is most applicable in my case.  There was also bugging out (oh, what a difference the letter G makes) which apparently means:  when someone's stoned and starts freaking out over random ass shit.  Seriously.  These definitions, and the words themselves make more sense when you realize that 'Urban Dictionary is written by you' and when I last checked there had been 7,682,477 definitions added since 1999.  Their slogan is 'Define Your World' so I'm guessing that basically anyone can add any shit they want on there.  But their slogan could well be 'Defining a Generation.'  It's enlightening reading, that's for sure.

What does this have to do with me?  What was the cause of my brief mental impairment which caused me to flee my house?  Who is this enemy compromising my home sweet home?  Well appropriately, it's bugs.  Ants to be precise.  Appears there's an infestation.  The bitch of it is, I don't know where they're coming from.  So there's poison strategically placed everywhere.  The kind that the ants are supposed to take back to the colony. You know -- kill the queen, kill the colony.  But here's the thing...in order to kill the colony I can't kill the ants.  It's a bit of a catch-22.  And it is driving me crazy watching them wandering in their dizzy little ant circles around the windowsills, across the walls, here, there and everywhere.

So I got out.  Gave the little blighters the run of the house.  I put on my backpack and took the dog up to the top of the hydro cut. It's a decent hike, about 2.5 hours round trip.  Lots of loose gravel and rock.  Perfect for turning an ankle or twisting a knee.  Great practice for the Camino.  And so nice to spend time in the great outdoors where the sun was shining and a cool wind was blowing.

And not a bug in sight.



Book Review:  YA novel Hollow City is the second in the Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children series.  It's a cool concept of combining the story telling with vintage photos.  Pretty sure the author writes around the pics as it's pretty unlikely he could write the story then find supporting photos to go along with his narrative.  I loved the first in the series; I only liked this second one.  But enough to read another.  Then I'll see where it goes from there.

I love finding a book that I can't put down.  And I hate finding a book that I can't put down.  'Cause that's it for me for getting anything else done, including sleeping.  A.S.A Harrison's The Silent Wife was one such book. Even though she tells you right from the get go what's going to happen, it's a slow build that manages to maintain the tension.  The thought I couldn't get out of my head while reading it was, "Man, does this author hate men!"  But apparently she was married to the same guy for 30 years or something so I guess it was just really good writing.  The tragedy of this, her first novel, is that Harrison died at age 65 before it was published.  I would really have liked to have read more from her.  Many people have compared The Silent Wife to Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl with Harrison's novel coming out on top. While I thoroughly enjoyed The Silent Wife, Gone Girl would get my vote.