Good promise...

Yesterday, for a Father's Day gift, Hubby wanted to take a trip to the Blue Ridge Parkway (BRP). I drove so he could just relax and take in the scenery. The trip was very similar to my solo June 7th trip -- not crowded at all, but a few more humans and cars than June 7th. It was much hotter than the week before, but still 10 or so degrees cooler than in the low country. 

We stopped at Mabry Mill and took a little walk. We then enjoyed conversation with a park ranger. The blacksmith wasn't there because he was sick yesterday. The water wheel was turning as the water flowed over the circular stairsteps within and around the water wheel. Stairsteps is my term; I think the technical term is paddles. 

We then drove to The Saddle Overlook and hiked uphill on the section of the old Appalachian Trail, up to the old shelter and then to the outcrop of rocks for the view. After we came back down, we conversed with a man and his son about different parkways -- Foothills Parkway, which I wasn't familiar with and Cherohala Skyway, which I am familiar with. I just love the connections with trail and BRP folk. 

~*~

The highlights of the day...

~Visiting old friends at the Poor Farmers Market -- Eileen, Ken, and George; all in their 80s. A couple years ago, on Eileen's 80th birthday, I sang her a birthday song. Well, it's actually an ABC song. But some 25 years ago I decided it'd make a great birthday song. I sang it again to her yesterday, since I've missed her last two birthdays. 

~Meeting Jeff, for the first time. He was up from Florida taking care of his Blue Ridge Mountain property. Funny thing, Jeff and I were born the same year at the same hospital in Florida. And here we meet in Meadows of Dan, VA. That was like, "Wow!" His family used to own Aunt Catfish Restaurant on the River in Port Orange, FL. Hubby and I used to eat there when we took our annual biking trips to Daytona Beach Shores. We've not been able to visit since 2021, but we are both crossing fingers that I'll be well enough to take the trip again in 2025. We will, for sure, eat at Aunt Catfish again. 

~And then, on the drive down the mountain, we saw a little fawn with all its spots. Only a momentary sighting, but sooooo sweet. Both Hubby and I thought of our newborn granddaughter. We had received two sweet, tender videos of her earlier in the day.  

~*~

You never know who you might meet on any given day... 

For me it's like walking into a portal of life... 

And if I don't venture out, and into this magical portal, I may never meet these beautiful people, or animals or trees or wildlife... 

In the midst of so much angry news, these encounters give my heart some good promise for humankind and our planet...

Water trough that feeds the wheel
Mabry Mill, VA

Church of the Frescoes: Glendale Springs

I'm in process of, with a goal toward, taking one daytrip a week (if doable; tap on wood) to engage on a day journey unrelated to my healthcare. For now, I'm taking these trips solo; it's just easier. But my destination may be to visit a friend. I pack my snacks and lunch and water, and any herbs and supplements that I take in the afternoon. Usually, I decide the morning of a daytrip where I'll go, which most often means a drive to the north or west or northwest. 

~*~

Shortly after moving to Winston in 2000, Hubby and I learned about a different route to Grayson Highlands taking NC Hwy. 16 North which passes through the small community of Glendale Springs. At the time, I'd never heard of the frescoes. But I'm curious by nature, and the markers, as we passed through Glendale Springs, caught my eye. So, we checked it out. I've been visiting ever since and have introduced this place to others as well. 

This small Episcopal Church was built in 1901. Beginning in 1946 it stood empty and until the mid -to-latter 1970s when the fresco, a life-size depiction of Jesus' so-called last supper, was imparted to these walls, which later became part of the North Carolina Fresco Trail. (For a bit more history click here: The Ben Long Frescoes of North Carolina.)

Yesterday I took a daytrip to Glendale Springs, NC, to visit Holy Trinity Episcopal Church. I'd thought that maybe I could stop by Wayne Henderson's luthier shop or even visit Grayson Highlands. 

I arrived at the church around 3:00. I tried one door. It was either locked or too hard for my crippled hands and arms to open. My heart dropped a little, but I tried another door. Walla! It opened. I entered and took in the view of the Last Supper. I especially like the dog down in the left-hand corner of the fresco. It helps the life-size art become even more real, more lifelike. I chose to not play the narrated recording that the church provides at the push of a button. 

I signed the guest register and the prayer request book. I sat down in a pew, viewed the Last Supper, and opened a hymnal. The pages landed on a song I used to sing as a youth in the Methodist Church about the blessed trinity. I sang a few lines...

~*~

I'm sure there is a bathroom in here somewhere. I think it's downstairs. If not, I'll walk across the street to the little row of small shops.

I made my way outside and around the building to the downstairs entrance. It was open. Yay! The downstairs contains another couple frescoes, a life-size marbled mosaic of Jesus the Christ, a life-size carving of Jesus during his temptations on the mount, a columbarium and a grotto for human ashes, information about the history of the frescoes, some other items, and a bathroom. (Yay!)  While downstairs, I heard someone upstairs; they had pressed the button for the recording. 

After taking in the art, viewing the grotto, breathing in the beauty, feeling into the aliveness and history of this old building, I exited the downstairs, made my way up the steps and around the church and back to Sir Edward the Explorer. 

Do I go ahead and eat here? Do I make my way to Wayne Henderson's? 

I searched my brain for places I could pull over, eat my supper, and take in the mountain air. 

The time was around 4:10.

It's getting late. My energy is low. I'll eat here.

I put the strap of my small blue cooler over my shoulder and made my way to the small stone-encased fountain with its small pool next to the cemetery in the backyard of the church. Quite a few Sheets headstones in that cemetery. 

I had a pleasant supper with visits from a couple songbirds and butterflies.

I visited the downstairs of the church one more time before heading back to Edward. I wanted to leave a donation. I had three dollars on me. I couldn't find a donation jar downstairs. I knew there was one upstairs, but my energy was too low to make the upstairs trip. So, I put the money in a desk drawer downstairs and let my self out.

As I rounded the church back to where Edward was parked, a couple was walking up the old sidewalk to go inside the church.

"Are y'all from around here?" I asked. I like to let folks know about the downstairs; it's easily missed. 

Yes, they had visited here multiple times but had forgotten about the downstairs. I learned that the couple, now retired, lived at the NC coast. But they used to live in Galax, VA, another area I know pretty well. The husband was a retired Blue Ridge Parkway ranger. His territory used to cover the area of Rocky Knob, which is where The Saddle is. We had a fun conversation. It was one of the highlights of my day....

The Last Supper

Dog snoozing

Jesus hugs his mother, Mary, as he begins his ministry.
Mary's mother, Anna, looks on.

NC Fresco Trail

The face of God...

I've cried, some days wailed, every day for the past week or so. 

As I reread Endurance, certain passages ring true for me in living with a disability that demands attention every waking hour. And even non-waking, as I move my body carefully and slowly to change positions during sleep-rest. 

Endurance is written by Alfred Lansing and has been praised as the best recounting of Shackleton and crew stranded in Antarctica. Their ship got crushed by the ice; my body has at times felt similar. The crew camped on an ice flow slowly inching its way in the direction toward land hundreds of miles away. The monotony of day-in, day-out, like the movie Ground Hog Day, the same routine over and over...

And for what? What progress? 

...Each day blurred anonymously into the one before. Though they invariably tried to see the good side of things, they were unable to fight off a growing sense of disappointment... 

~Part Two, Chapter Five

There are other passages that state similar describing how they made it from day to day...

Of course, I am not stranded on an ice floe in the Antarctic. So yes, I know, my situation is not so dire. But metaphorically these passages speak to me. I am stranded in a body that requires diligent, detailed care day in and day out. It gets monotonous. I am the caregiver, and I am the patient. It gets lonely. And I am making 'progress,' but it is incremental and slow-going, like the movement of the Endurance crew's floe camp. But I do my best to "see the good side of things." 

Last week I sat with a new doctor, a neuropsychologist whom I've seen three times. So far, I like him. I was referred to him for help with the insomnia that has plagued me since May 2022. 

I sat crying and he stated (my paraphrase), "I want you to know that your response is normal. Many a person has sat crying, like you, over the same circumstance. It's understandable." 

It helped to hear that. I knew in my head the same, that I'm not alone in this particular suffering. But still my heart felt broken. Maybe broken isn't the right word. But something like that.

I knew that I would not be able to care for our grandbaby once she arrived. I thought I was prepared emotionally. I would think about the fact of the limitations of my arms and hands, that I would not be able to pick her up, carry her, or change a diaper. I would think of my dad; Hubby's and my children came into this world when Dad was a quadriplegic. Our children spent countless hours with my dad and mom. When they became toddlers, Dad took them for short rides in his lap on his wheelchair. This was "normal" for our children. They would also help with Dad's care; Mom used to say the kids were her legs. That is, they helped her retrieve things in the care of "Poppy Albert."  

So yes, I felt great joy upon our granddaughter's arrival. And underneath the joy was a sadness, and for a few days the joy overrode any sadness. I was able to hold her. Son placed her in my arms as I leaned back in the recliner, my right arm supported by the arm rest. She slept there for about 30 minutes. 

As I beheld this little miracle of life in my arms, there were/are no words to sufficiently describe the beauty and witness of this bundle of life with her tiny ears and fingers and toes. Words from a song ran through my mind, You are the face of God. I hold you in my heart. You are a part of me. You are the face of God. 

Later that night I thought, I don't recall ever seeing a sight so beautiful... But what about my own children as newborns? Hmmm, all I recall is how exhausted I was... I'm sure I'm not alone in this experience... So, God/Life provides, in our elder years when we may not recall the details of our own children's newborn hours, this miracle of renewal... Wow...

Hubby and I were able to visit and hold her two different days before Son and family left their South Carolina home. Son dropped off Daughter and Wife at the in-laws in Alabama. Son took off from there to Alaska for work, which he does every year from mid-April through mid-August. Wife and Daughter will join Son in Alaska in July for the rest of the summer. 

It was after they left that I began to grieve so deeply. And it wasn't because they left, I don't think, as much as the fact that I cannot do what I used to be able to do. 

It was another reminder of my losses... 

And it hit me hard...

And it affected my confidence...

Which I'm sure is also normal...

The things I know I can do well -- caring for animals and children -- I can no longer do. I used to feel I could write half-way decent, but that too has dwindled as my fatigued brain has trouble putting words together. Biking really helped my confidence after I had to give up hiking, but I currently can't bike outside. Hiking is limited to one mile or so.

So, the sadness of being unable to help with my granddaughter catalyzed a grief storm. To any readers, please know I am also overjoyed that she is healthy and has wonderful loving parents and grandparents. And I know, if I'm still here in this earthly body when Granddaughter is a bit older, I will be able to care for her then. 

But for now, I must acknowledge the losses and grief... 

And at the same time, I feel gratitude...

Thank you, Spirit, for keeping me around to witness this wonderful passage of life...

May gratitude and awe be present and alive...

And may I embrace this time of growth and abundance...

"You are the face of God"
48 hours

Only living great grandma
89 years old & 12 days old

 The Face of God by Karen Drucker

 

My friend Dieter...

Today I searched my blog for a piece about the night I spent at The Saddle back in the early 2000s. But I couldn't find a piece anywhere, though I thought I'd written about that sacred night. (Edit note: I found it a couple days later! Yay! And she asks her friends to blow away her cells of ingratitude...)

But I ran across this unpublished piece. So, I'm publishing it now, almost five years later. Only five years?! Wow, it feels like 10...

~*~

Summer, 2019

I may come back and share more details about the last few days of Dieter's life. He was in Hubby's and my care when he became too tired to keep up the fight...

*~*

My friend Dieter...
...died on July 3rd. I held him in my lap as he was gently put to sleep by his beloved veterinarian. Dieter developed SARDS in early 2015. He was totally blind within a few months.

I don't think I've ever loved a pet as much as Dieter. And I was only his part-time human mom. I miss him. I believe he understood my struggles as much as, or more than, most humans do.

Thank you, Dieter, for loving me...through some of my darkest hours...and more. 

You will always be in my heart...

Dieter...inspiring all who knew him to see life beyond what only their eyes could behold...
June 25, 2008 - July 3, 2019.

Dieter. 6/28/19... Ride back after The Saddle

Dieter. 6/28/19... The Saddle
Five days later, he crossed the rainbow bridge.

If I had a wingsuit...

Not sure how this post will look once I click publish...

Not sure what I'm going to write...

I've had a week of grief. I know what the trigger is. If I write about it, will I hear the critic in my head telling me it's silly, that I should be thankful, that I should have a great joy, and other damn shoulds?

~*~

I want to post the pictures I took Thursday, along with my thoughts about them at the time. But that takes more effort than the energy I have at the moment. I'd need to load the pictures onto my computer, caption them, and then upload them to my blog. Is it worth the time? I did post a short Twitter thread about my Thursday daytrip. Of course, like most of my scribblings, I get few lookers. And that's okay.

It was a magical trip Thursday. Very few humans around, not even on the roads. I drove to the Blue Ridge Parkway via my typical route. Back roads to King and jump onto Highway 52 North. Drive about 20 miles to Business 52 which is Main Street in Mt. Airy, NC. Take Main Street a few miles and then turn right onto Pine Street where the rec center is. Stop in Flat Rock Community to gas up; gas is a little cheaper there because Virginia is only 6, 10, something miles away. Gas is cheaper in Virginia, but there are no pumps on the route that I take up the mountain. 

Right after the Virginia state line sign, I take a left onto Unity Church Road. I love that road. And now it has a new blacktop. . There is a statue of a donkey at the edge of a field as one gets close to the top. Someday I might take a snapshot of that donkey. At the stop sign I continue straight onto Squirrel Spur Road which is quite curvy as most mountain roads are  

There's a little house toward the top of Squirrel Spur that interest me. Every time I pass it, I look for a 'for sale' sign. I've been looking for that sign for a couple decades now. Even if it does appear, I doubt we could afford a second house. Hell, I can't take care of the house we live in now, so it's probably just wishful thinking.

I continue on Squirrel Spur until I pass Terry's Mill Road. The next road to the left after Terry's is the one I take to the Blue Ridge Parkway (BRP). It's only 100 feet or less short. I turn left, then turn right and drive north on the BRP toward Meadows of Dan where I sometimes stop for a pee and food break and to visit folks at the Poor Farmers Market Country Store and Deli. But I haven't stopped there my last two trips. I didn't feel much like visiting humans, except for the few conversations I might have with any folks at overlooks or on the trail. Plus, I'd brought all the food and beverage I'd need with me from home. 

Once on the BRP I drive another 15 or so miles to The Saddle overlook. How many times have I visited The Saddle? At least dozens. I even spent the night there once and was an audience of one to a spectacular heavenly, meteor shower. Click here for a poem about that night.

Since it's now after Memorial Day, bathrooms are open along the BRP, which is nice. When the bathrooms are closed, I use the green-leaves restroom (you know, relieve oneself in the woods). I know hidden spots at various trails and overlooks where I can use the green-leaf facilities. Thursday, I stopped at Rocky Knob picnic area to use the facilities; the restrooms were open. The picnic area is sometimes a good spot to sight bear. There were no people, except for me, and no bears. I was a little surprised that there were hardly any humans on the BRP, or even on the roads on the way up. 

The wind was whipping. I loved it. I prayed that the wind would take my grief and alchemize it into gratitude. That partly happened, but I still feel grief and probably will for a bit. 

Once at The Saddle Overlook, I donned my sweatshirt. The air was chilly, probably mid-60s. I knew once on the trail in the woods I'd warm up, which I did. So I pulled my arms out of the sweatshirt sleeves and positioned the sleeves over my shoulders. It was pretty comfortable.

I made my way up the short distance (.25 miles) to the old shelter. This trail was once part of the Appalachian Trail before it was rerouted. I'm not sure when it was rerouted. A little beyond the shelter is a nice spot that overlooks the mountains. I sat drinking in the view and the hawks that circled below the clouds...

A few of the pics...

Unity Church Road

If I had a wingsuit...

I'd join in the flight

I got home around 9:15 pm; the latest I've stayed out in over a year...

I felt the sacred night envelope me and rock me, like in a cradle...

The next morning, at home, one of my favorite songs played...

And I howled to the unseen moon...

Sing to the Mountain by Elephant Revival

"...Go and sing to the mountain

Go and sing to the moon

Go and sing to just about everything

'Cause everything is you

Listen to the rhythm

Of your heart play like a drum

Listen to the night call

Singing songs from all around

And let your voice go

Let it pierce through your soul

And let your voice go

Let it pierce through your soul..."