toss & ripple: Traversing on Tuesday, Part One

Tuesday afternoon, 5/16/23.

At the end of my appointment with Michele, I feel encouraged. I feel hope. I had entered the room in much despair. The recent dizziness and nausea on top of the insomnia and nerve damage, would lead anyone into despair...or, at the very least, into the temptation of despair. Something I regularly transverse [traverse].

(Interesting word, "transverse." To verse across? I think of conversation...to verse with. And poems or music...which have verses. What does it mean to verse? Ahh, just looked up the etymology of transverse: from trans "across" + vertere "to turn." However, "transverse" means to lie across. So traverse is the proper word. But still "transverse" can apply too; I lie down often. And the word "traverse" comes from "transverse."

Interesting because to traverse despair involves a turn...to turn into or away from. I think of getting off the "wheel of suffering" while in the midst of the suffering. Sometimes I find a path off. And sometimes it is just too fucking hard, and I have no option but to ride it out. Yet, riding it out can also be one way off the wheel of suffering...to roll with the wheel, hanging on for what seems to be life itself, until the wheel stops, at least temporarily. Life is a "long and winding (versing) road" to quote one of the Beatles. Sounds like it'd be a George Harrison line.)

As I approach Edward the Explorer who is awaiting me in the parking lot where Michele's office is, I ask my Self, What do I do now? How am I feeling? Do I walk somewhere? I think I feel strong enough to go for a walk?

(I make no commitments these days outside of self-care, except for medical appointments which, of course, are a part of my self-care. I do not know from day to day how my health will be on any given day or hour. I thought earlier today as I am writing this piece (Friday, 5/19) that I literally live one day at a time.)

I decide to take the back way to Pilot Mountain, to the Knob. If nothing else, the drive should be pleasant. And it is; I am not disappointed.

I park in one of the handicap spots in the summit parking lot. I hang my placard on the rearview mirror. It's a new handicap placard, good through April 2028. It's my second placard; my first one was good May 2018 through May 2023. So it's still good too, for another coupleish weeks. But I can only drive one car at a time.

I get out my trekking poles and make my way to the bathroom. I have a short, pleasant exchange with a man sitting on a bench.

Back at Edward, I pull out my hiking shoes and my cap. I don my cap, walk over to a short brick wall, sit down, unstrap my sandals, lace on my hiking shoes, check the grass behind me for bees or other little critters, and lay back on the grass to help relieve some of my lower back pain. I breathe in and out deeply, taking in the sky view. It's a beautiful day and probably 10 degrees cooler up here than below.

I then make my way back to Edward, strap on my back brace and my hiking hip pack. I unplug my phone from the car charger, set it to airplane mode, tap on the app to measure how far I trek, and zip the phone into my hip pack. I click lock twice on Eward's fob. Edward beeps indicating he is locked and alarmed. I hide the key in its hiding place inside Edward and shut the door. Edward has a keypad to unlock him; one of Edward's many features that I enjoy.

As I walk up the sidewalk, I am deeply refreshed by the cool breezes. My back brace and wrist braces can get quite toasty in the warm/hot weather. The breezes feel so delightful. My olfactories delight in the aromas of earth and plants. I recall the days for some 15+ years when I couldn't smell. In this moment, I do not take for granted that sense.

I make it up the short walk of stairs and rocks to Little Pinnacle summit where one gets a clear, closeup view of Pilot Knob and any raptors circling the Knob. I look down below at Jomeokee Trail which winds its way to Pilot Knob and encircles the base of the Knob. Jomeokee means "great guide,"

Boy, I'd sure like to be able to hike that trail again. I wonder how many years it's been?

I carefully make my way down Little Pinnacle back to the sidewalk. I turn right and walk a short distance. I stop at the trailhead for Jomeokee and look at it, pondering.

It's a lot of stairs, And there's that one spot, the little boulder without steps. Hmmm.... Well, I can always start down and turn around if I feel it's too much.

So, off I go.

At the section where there are a lot of stairs I think about rain and how it wets the stairs and that I would not attempt this if the stairs were wet.

Along comes a hiker going the same direction as I. A young man, probably in his late 20s or early 30s. We strike up a pleasant conversation and he walks beside me down all the stairs. I am very slow. That he would take the time to walk with me...well...it makes me feel good. In our conversation, I pick up his outlook on life. It's positive. Hopeful. But not Pollyanna, not in an unrealistic way. He kind of reminds me of my own two adult children.

We reach the bottom of the stairs and exchange farewells. I thank him for accompanying me down the stone stairs.

Partial view from Little Pinnacle summit