Returning to Childhood Haunts

My hubby spent several of his formative years living in southern Humboldt County amidst the redwood trees and fog. So as we planned our travel route from the Pacific Northwest to Southern Utah, it came as no surprise that he wanted to take the coastal route and revisit some of his favorite childhood haunts. First up was Prairie Creek and Fern Canyon, which I blogged about already. These two destinations were places he'd taken me early in our romance and I enjoyed reliving those old times with him. Plus, seeing elk up close always makes me smile.

Our second day on the Northern California coast found us in places both familiar and new to me, as we continued along the pathway to Josh's childhood. Driving south on Highway 101, we hugged tight to the coastline and enjoyed sweeping views of rocky shores. Our first stop was at Patrick's Point State Park to take in the epic coastline and so I could pee while surrounded by wildflowers. (You know you would too if given the option.)

Pretty pink heart flowers spring to life on this Manzanita bush.

At Avenue of the Giants, we left the highway and meandered between the big trees and tiny towns enveloped within Humboldt Redwood State Park. A short hike in Founders Grove filled us with awe and harkened us back to both our childhoods spent measuring our smallness against the massive tree trunks. I recalled a grade school trip where it took all 28 of us kids holding hands outstretched to fully hug a redwood tree. And Josh and I laughed as we drove by scenes we'd photographed more than a decade ago on our first coastal California roadtrip together.

Josh's 6'3" stature is nothing compared to these old redwoods, which were much too tall to get all in the photo. You'll have to imagine them reaching three times as high into the blue sky.

The hollow in this tree is big enough to build a fort inside! Too bad that's against the rules here.

And then we pushed onwards to Redway, a small town where Josh's mom once worked in a bead shop. We drove down the narrow streets trying to identify the house he once lived in, before heading west on a winding road. The road ends at the bluffs of Shelter Cove, where we intended to camp in a public campground overlooking the shoreline that Josh had remembered fondly from his youth. To our disappointment, that campground had disappeared in the 25 years since he was last in Shelter Cove and so we made do with a grassy lawn set away from the bluff. (It was the only tenting option in town and we were much too weary to drive back inland in search of something else, although we wavered for a few minutes.)

Our campsite near one of the only trees in the park. It wasn't private but it was available and that was good enough for one night.

Luckily we came prepared with a nice bottle of sparkling rose from our favorite winery in Oregon's Applegate Valley. And so as afternoon turned to evening I joined Josh in his brown hiking pants and black soft shell jacket traversing the dark rocks that form tide pools just below the crest of Shelter Cove. Behind us yellow mustard flowers and purple prickly thistles climbed the exposed sandy hillside. And beneath my feet, gray polished pebbles filled my slip-on shoes as the sun warmed my shoulders. We listened to the waves crash and tumble against the rocks and a lone gull screeching on the breeze. The salty sea air filled my nose, displacing the earthy scent of redwood forest we'd left behind that morning. The world felt complete as I sipped my wine while watching a momma seal and her young pup play in the rollicking waters.

Seals and seal pups playing in the cold Pacific Ocean. This shot is from the next day at Seal Rock, just a short drive from our campsite, still in Shelter Cove.

Then, hand in hand, Josh and I climbed back up the cliff and returned to our campsite to make dinner and watch the fog roll in, hiding any view of the ocean and wrapping us in its chilly embrace.

Enjoying some Oregon wine from my sippy cup at the retired Cape Mendocino Lighthouse which now stands on the edge of Shelter Cove. I felt a little ironic drinking wine here as the lighthouse door sported a hand-lettered sign announcing Thursday AA meetings upstairs.

 

Hello from the Road

After a year of traveling abroad (off-and-mostly-on), we are back in the United States exploring our backyard and beyond. A recap of the first month:

• On March 26, we arrived in Seattle at midnight and spent the next 19 days catching up with old friends; visiting our doctors, dentists and physical therapists; and enjoying all that Seattle has to offer in the springtime.
• By Tax Day (April 15 for you international readers), we were headed south to see Josh's family in Oregon and then his brother and our nieces and nephew in Redding, California.
• 4/20 brought us back north to the Applegate Valley in Southern Oregon for some paragliding and welcome conversations with our pals there. It was like returning home after a year away and I was so thankful to reconnect with the community and landscape that helped nurse me back to health after my accident last year.
• The following Sunday, April 26, we said farewell to Oregon's wine country and drove the winding road past deer and redwood trees into coastal California. In my mind, our roadtrip began there, in Prairie Creek, California--having already driven more than 900 miles from our home base in Seattle, Washington.

One of several vistas we ogled on the drive along California's wild north coast. These yellow mustard flowers always remind me of my dad who, regardless of the times I picked bouquets for him, is allergic to them.

Prairie Creek

We arrived in the mid-afternoon on a sunny spring day. The golden grasses glowed in the fields, the redwood trees towered in the distance and we were in search of a campsite with a beach view and a flat place to pitch our tent. We settled for a slightly sloping sandy tent site protected on three sides by tall green bushes with a weather-beaten and camper-engraved picnic table just a short jaunt from the ocean. It was divine.

Our plush camping palace complete with plastic outdoor rug and plenty of space for us and our crap inside.

While I drew, Josh walked on the beach. Then together we loaded up into our overloaded Subaru and drove the couple miles to the start of the Fern Canyon trail.

We had to ford a couple streams to get out to the trailhead. Luckily, we didn't need to unpack our boat from the roof to make it.

More than a decade ago, Josh took me to Prairie Creek and Fern Canyon on a camping trip with his high school besties. That same trip, his friend Jonny declared us a perfect couple when I emerged from our tent wearing a dorky headlamp which matched the one Josh sported. Little did Jonny know that thousands of other practical outdoorsmen rely on headlamps, and little did we know that Jonny's declaration would be proven out over the following many years. But I digress.

The hike up Fern Canyon at the end of April this year was beautiful. The ferns flanked the hillsides--albeit not as densely as in pre-drought days--and the winding canyon and its creek provided amble opportunities for Josh to show off his strength as he piggybacked me over the wettest stretches. You see, although my feet are about 75% back to normal, I still need to wear sneakers when I hike, while Josh can skip upcreek in his trusty Chaco sandals.

My matching top and sneakers was a happy accident; the smile plastered on my face is the result of our adventurous life.

On our return to the car, we met an unperturbed juvenile elk peacefully grazing alongside the trail. For more than ten minutes we watched him chew green grass, pose for photos, and generally do his elk-thing while wild children and loud adults hiked past just feet away. I was amazed that a 800+ lb creature calmly devoured his vegetarian dinner while I gazed on. This was one of the highlights of my day and probably even of the week. What can I say? I love wildlife.

So I drew the elk and all his velvet-horned glory.

Back at camp that night we feasted on sausage and vegetables grilled in a single pan and eaten straight from it to avoid any unnecessary washing up. The evening ended with stars overhead and comfy sleeping bags beneath us. Our Western States road trip was off to a good start.

 

 

A Weekend in Redding, California

The first multi-day stop on our Western US Road Trip brought us to sunny, hot Redding, California. Or "almost Oregon" as I call it. Redding is not on most people's list of top travel destinations, but for us it is a must-do adventure. You see, we have family there. Fantastic family. And friends, too. But you can have fun in Redding, even if you don't have family there.

The Highlights

1. Fishing at Whiskey Town National Recreation Area

2. Watching kids play soccer

3. Wading up Cow Creek

4. Visiting the Sundial Bridge

5. Jumping at Rare Air Trampoline Park

Plus, we celebrated our nephew's 9th birthday at a Mexican restaurant, complete with a rendition of Happy Birthday sung while the the birthday boy doned a velvet sombrero.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aquariums are for adults too!

A week ago Saturday, hubby and I spent the weekend in Monterey. I have fond memories of visiting the Monterey Bay Aquarium as a child... of petting the stingrays and watching the anchovies spin round their cylindrical fish tank... of the beautiful colors of fish and coral... and of the sea otters being super cute.

I have known for years that even though hubby grew up in California and at one point lived less than two hours from Monterey, he'd never been to its aquarium. So when the opportunity for a weekend getaway to someplace near the Bay Area sprang up last minute on a Friday afternoon, I seized on the idea of taking my hubby to see one of my favorite California sights.

For those who haven't been, the Monterey Bay Aquarium is a sight to behold. Huge fish tanks--more like man-made ecosystems for underwater creatures--abound and colorful, enchanting aquatic life entice voyeuristic people of all ages and ethnicities to stop their hectic behavior and pause quietly in awe. It is a place where lovely views are readily available and where good educational information about the seas can be found.

Like I'd hoped, hubby shared my delight in the aquarium and lent me his phone to take the following pictures (and others that did not make the cut for this post):

Kelp forest with all it's fishy friends.

Feeding frenzy!

Pink sea anenome with it's multicolored mini-me's.

Softly undulating anemones.... is this what sparked Dr.Seuss' creativity?

Fairy forest!

What I would give to spot this scene while scuba diving....

Fluorescent tangerine fairy forest.

Look close! Can you spot all three eels in this picture? (Hint: just the head of the third one is peaking out by a starfish)

Jellyfish!

More jellyfish!

Even more jellyfish!

Who knew there were so many varieties of jellyfish?

Not me, that's who....

Did you know there are light-up jellyfish? So cool.

Also, lots of mackeral!

And of course, sea otters playing with a big barrel full of fish parts.

And while we were watching the sea otters, they were checking out the human babies on the other side of the glass.

 

So there you have it! A wonderful excursion for my wonderful man.

Who could resist this much handsomeness! Happy anniversary babe! (#9 for those keeping track)

 

In the land of the Golden Gate

I have been enamored with the Golden Gate Bridge ever since I was a little girl accompanying my mom to Giants games at Candlestick Park. My favorite part of those adventures was driving across the bridge into San Francisco, holding my breathe through the Rainbow Tunnel with fidgety excitement and then sighing with delight (and relief!) at seeing the bridge come into view. In high school, I walked across the bridge with friends... and again in my twenties with my husband before we were wed.

So when it came time to return to the Bay Area for a check-up with my foot surgeon, I knew I would find a reason to visit my old faithful friend. And, as always, it did not disappoint.

Driving with my left foot on the gas (right foot is still not weight-bearing), I entered the Rainbow Tunnel. Whether that is the tunnel's rightful name or not, it has always been known by that name in my family (its northbound entrance bears a painted rainbow). But yesterday as I drove southbound through the tunnel glimpsing my first peek at the rust red Golden Gate Bridge I found new meaning in this moniker. Children's stories tell that there is a pot of gold or treasure of some sort at the end of every rainbow. And for me the Golden Gate Bridge is a treasure, so it is quite fitting that the Rainbow Tunnel leads to it.

Anyway, as I was careening down the hill out of the tunnel, using my left foot now on the brake, I was inspired by the sight of the fog rolling over golden hills and flowing into the bridge's tall masts. The fog was like tendrils interweaving themselves with the steel of the bridge. And I couldn't take my eyes off it.mEventually I snapped out of my wonderment just in time to avoid hitting another car, all the while taking this completely inadequate photo of the majestic scene.

This picture sucks but you can imagine it was much better than this.

The rest of my adventures in the SF Bay were also grand. In short:

• Lunch and chat time with my brother, godfather and godfather's eldest son (like a brother to me)
• Stroll thru the Embarcadero buildings and window shopping
• Matisse exhibit and Rodin sculptures at the Legion of Honor Museum
• Pretty flowers outside the Legion of Honor
• Fetching my friend Annie off a random street corner, followed by delicious dinner and a great catch-up session
• Lunch at a tasty Ethiopian Restaurant
• Kayaking in Lake Merritt, where my mom learned to sail as a young girl
• Soon-to-be dinner with my godfather, his wife (my Auntie) and his daughter (like a little sister to me)
• Reconnecting with my hubby tonight after his work trip to LA!

And for those who like photos:

Fountain with long ramp up to the Legion of Honor beyond. I got quite the work-out pushing myself up that walkway in my wheelchair.

Cool monkey sculpture. Not a Rodin or a Matissee, but intriguing nonetheless.

Lovely flowers.

Another lovely flower.

Kayaking Lake Merritt.

 

Back in the saddle... er, boat

Tuesday was a special day indeed. After being laid up and relatively inactive for more than five weeks, I got to enjoy the outdoors as an independent person! (Or almost independent -- Josh did have to help me into and out of the boat.)

One of my wonderful bro-in-laws works for the National Park Service at a beautiful lake in Northern California. So while hubby and I were in town visiting and the kids were at school, we three set off on an adventure in the park. No, we did not go hiking. I still cannot put any weigh on my right foot. Instead we went kayaking!

Beautiful Whiskeytown Lake with crystal clear water and my own sunshine yellow boat!

The best thing about having a park ranger brother is he knows all the cool spots and where the wildlife hide. We spied turtles basking in the sun on a log, an osprey's nest, a bunch of geese and ducks, and even butterflies. With paddles in hand, we made our way to the mouth of Boulder Creek.

 

Lots of granite boulders! (Note the fancy white trash bag I'm sporting on my broken foot.)

 

As we paddled back across the lake to our car, a lone goose called after us, hoping for some free food. We didn't feed it, but instead watched as it touched down on the lake, skidding to a stop like a water skier on rewind before gracefully assuming its seated position on the blue water. What an amazing sight! And a fabulous reminder that even creatures who are meant to fly can delight in paddling across a pristine lake.

What a wonderful way to spend a day!

 

One month can be a long time...

It's interesting how slow or fast time can pass. Our 37 days in South Africa seemed to fly by and our 3 weeks in Thailand felt like another lifetime. But the last month since my accident has taken forever.

I think it has to do with my level of activity, the number of new experiences and the vibe of the place(s). In South Africa, we moved around a lot -- sleeping in a dozen different locations and filling each day to the brim (minus a few rainy days of hiding out). In Thailand, we spent all our nights except one in the same house, hanging out with the same group of people (for the most part) day in and day out, really getting to the know the place and feel at home.

And then without warning (or at least without noticing the warning signs), I broke my feet and embarked on a new journey, back to the States to undo the damage and heal myself. And although I'm surrounded by loving family, in a place I called home for 18 years, time has seemed to stand still. Maybe it was the pain meds. Maybe it's the yearning to continue traveling. But either way, this last month has felt like forever and I'm delighted to be ready to move onto the next phase of my recovery.

Today I had my post-op follow-up with my foot surgeon, got the ugly sutures removed from my mangled foot and am one big step closer to walking on two legs again.

When I quit my fabulous job in January, I never thought I'd be back in the States hobbling around on one (slightly less broken) foot or rolling around in a wheelchair in just four short months. But alas, that's where I'm at.

But like all of life's unexpected turns, your experience is what you make of it.

So here's a quick recap of the new and unexpected experiences I've gained in the last month courtesy of this unfortunate accident:

• Breaking a bone all the way through
• Learning what it means to writhe in pain
• Experiencing high-quality affordable health care in Thailand
• Flying first class
• Using a walker
• Being evacuated in an armored vehicle
• Getting an MRI, a CT and countless X-Rays
• Navigating a public restroom in a wheelchair
• Seeing the Georgia O'Keefe exhibit at the de Young Museum
• Spending loads of time with my parents and grandma
• Telling other people how I hurt myself and seeing them think, "Well, that's what you get for doing that extreme sport" -- while others remarked, "Wow! I've always wanted to go paragliding."
• Getting tickled by a nurse pre-op
• Having metal staples (sutures) removed from my foot without anesthetic
• Learning I'm allergic to Percocet
• Finding out how many people care about my well-being
• Getting quality time with my old very fat, super fluffy kitty
• Seeing just how fabulous my hubby can be!
• Learning that I am calm and clear-headed in crises

As my friend Matt says, everything works out perfectly -- or at least you can choose to live your life that way. And for now, I do.

 

Thanks for continuing to join me on this adventure.

Quite the Pre-Op Distraction

Yesterday I had foot surgery -- my first real surgery other than getting my wisdom teeth out as a teen. And let's just say, I was a tad nervous. I mean, I'm no wuss. But when someone says there's a chance your foot could turn necrotic, it's had not to imagine yourself as a peg-leg pirate -- not a look I'd like to sport.

Well, as luck (bad luck?) would have it, Tuesday night I was awakened to quite a distraction.

More than a distraction, really.

A once in a lifetime (or maybe once in a thousand lifetimes) experience.

So, from the top.

I'm deep asleep, which is rare these days, when I hear a loud rumbling outside. Not an earthquake. That was in Chile. Of course, Josh goes to "check it out" because he's manly like that. I meanwhile, pull the covers up and snuggle in, hoping to fall back asleep. But that was not in the cards.

Instead, about ten minutes later Josh appears in the doorway and says that sherrif is here and we might need to leave, so I should probably get dressed. Really? I grumble. I mean I have two broken feet, I'm on pain meds that mostly, but not completely, do the trick, and it's the fricken middle of the night. What could possibly be such a big deal that we'd need to leave the house?

Well, I'll tell you what... An armed felon with a warrant for this arrest who for some unknown reason is holed up the trailer one of our family friends has been living in on my parents property, and oh, he's decided his girlfriend is a hostage. Not at all what I was expecting.

So I get dressed; strap on a dorky black orthotic sandal-shoe on my less broken foot and a non-matching, monstrous nearly-knee-high Velcro boot on my seriously broken other foot; pack my pain meds, my iPad and iPhone (of course!), my down jacket and a blanket; grab my walker and head to the front of house at snail speed, after a pit stop in the loo. (My momma raised me right -- never leave the house without going to the bathroom first or without a warm jacket.)

At the front of the house, I find my parents and my hubby all ready to go. My dad is on the phone with someone who I guess to be the sherrif, sighing and saying we're ready to be evacuated.

Normally, I exit the house via the front door, in a wheelchair pushed by my hubby, down a ramp. But tonight that's not possible. We must go out the garage door, which means navigating a staircase. Did I mention I have two broken feet? Thankfully, I married smart -- my hubby is tall and strong and very loving. So he whisks me off my feet and carries me down the stairs.

Mind you, this is after the SWAT team tells us to put our hands up. I'm guessing to show we have no guns, but which is awfully tricky when you are standing on one broken foot while grasping a walker. Thankfully, the SWAT guy laughs at my attempt to show my hands and lets us proceed without making me demonstrate my ability to stand on one leg (or lack thereof).

In the garage, I spy the vehicle we will be leaving the house in... An armored truck, complete with SWAT team in full body armor, helmets, and assault rifles, and with a rooftop hatch for shooting bad guys. Of course we are to load in the back of the truck and of course it is high off the ground, so Josh must lift me into the vehicle all the while not bashing his head into the top of the metal truck. Woohoo! He does it without hurting either of us. And yes, if you are wondering, this whole thing seemed to happen really slowly although it's clear the SWAT guys are a little freaked out and wanting us to go faster, but really how fast can we move in the middle of the night with my junky foot.

They drive us down the street, out towards the highway and make us unload in the middle of the road. Also a treacherous affair for me as I still have only one good foot and the truck is about 2 feet off the ground and of course my dumb orthotic shoe gets stuck on the grate step. Fortunately Josh is there to retrieve me. Manly man to the rescue again.

Then the waiting begins. First with me trying to find a flat spot in the crap pavement that is my parents road, full of potholes and layers of asphalt that look like a pile of nachos haphazardly balanced atop each other. Suffice to say, it is not an ideal surface to navigate with a walker. And my foot is throbbing and it's late and I'm tired and cold and probably whiny. (Well, what do you expect. I am a Jewish princess.)

Finally one of the SWAT guys suggests we sit in his truck. Hooray! I can put my foot up! And I can also start asking my 101 questions about what exactly is going on and where is our friend who lives in the trailer and did they evacuate him yet and how long will it be until we can go back home to our warm beds. All the while, the SWAT guys keep asking us our names and phone numbers and birth dates, and then the next guy has to write it down too, so we have to repeat this a half dozen times. But at least I'm warm in a car with my leg elevated and finally my dad's friend appears -- barefoot with just a pair of sweatpants and a tank top on freezing his butt off, but safe and sound. Josh of course has his down jacket, which he lends to our friend.

Eventually the SWAT team decides it's gonna be awhile and takes us to the local fire depot, where most of the boys I grew up volunteered in their youth and a couple still do. We cozy up in the lounge with the lights on full blast, a Sonoma Sherrifs Officer babysitting us, the radio blaring at full volume, and attempt to get some sleep. Every time I come to, I look at the clock: 1:30am, 2:45 am, 3:30am, 5am -- thinking to myself, they must have arrested the guy by now, right? But no.

Although it is the middle of the night and I'm hobbling around with a walker, I make Josh take a picture of me with the fire truck. I just couldn't help myself! (Check out that bed head!)

 

At 6am, they kick us out of the fire depot and take us to my grandma's house. I get to ride in the front of the cop car on account of my broken feet, but everyone else has to ride in the back, which apparently is an unpleasant way to travel. In one of the few humorous moments of this whole distraction, the sherrif instructs me to let the boys out of the back of the car as they cannot open the car door from the inside. To which I respond, I can't get out without my walker which is the backseat. So he opens the door, like a good civil servant and my hubby heroically carries me up the stairs to my grandmas house, amid praise from the cops.

Then we spend all of Wednesday at my grandma's house. Somewhere in there, I remember that I need to get a wheelchair with elevated leg rests for post-surgery and after multiple phone calls to the insurance company and the wheelchair people, I finally get word that my chair is ready for pickup. Whoopie! Across town we go in a borrowed vehicle (all of my parents' multitude of vehicles are off-limits as they are trapped at the house which we can't go back to nor get anything brought to us from -- meds and dog included.)

We fetch the wheelchair, hit up Kmart (ugh!) for new bandages for my foot -- must shower night before and morning of surgery) -- and some rice to round out dinner and return to grandmas. Still no word about when we go home. Thursday comes and it's time for my surgery. With everything that's been going on I haven't had time to freak out about my foot dying, which I am very thankful for.

The surgery goes well, we return to my grandmas house, have Chinese takeout (what else is a Jewish family to do?) and then prepare for another night there. Around 8pm we get word that we can return home and so we do.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

Well, almost.

The bad guy is dead.

The trailer is burnt up and taken by the cops as evidence, as are two of our cars which have bullet wounds.

All of our friend's belongings are gone (either burnt to a crisp or taken as evidence), including his glasses, meds, cell phone, shoes, jacket and cash savings.

And my dad's beloved HO and Lionel train layout which covers some 200 sqft (or so) is damaged beyond repair by the SWAT guys who used the second floor of the barn (my dad's workshop) as a sniper location. Apparently, even though no shots were fired for some 19 hours, they were in a huge rush to get into position, trampling his precisely placed train tracks, squashing vintage train cars and basically destroying hours of hard work and love in meer minutes.

But at least my foot is fixed, my family is alive and we have an unusual story to share.

 

Learning to take things slowly

Now that I'm back in the States with two bum feet, I'm learning to take things slowly. Really slowly. Slower than a turtle. Like snail-speed.

I have a walker, which would make you think I can walk. But really, I'm just alternating between standing on my less-broken foot and lifting myself into air with both arms like I'm a gymnast and the walker is my parallel bars. This is slow business. It takes about 5 minutes to get up from the couch and walk to the bathroom, which means I am putting my planner skills to work. It also necessitated the fast fabrication of a pannier for the side of the walker so I can tote along my iPad, ice pack and other essentials, as I have no free hands to carry things. I was even contemplating getting a cup holder for the walker, but have upgraded to a (slightly) faster means of transportation.

A wheelchair! What an ingenious invention. I can roll myself down the hallway at roughly 5x the speed of me in the walker, all the while bashing into walls, getting stuck between furniture and learning that the turning radius on the wheelchair is not quite good enough to turn from the hallway into the bathroom. So, I'm still using the walker for the proverbial last mile of my primary commute. Yes, I am multimodal with two broken feet.

All this adds up to stronger arms, more foresight and a slower paced life.

The one exception was earlier today when Josh took me to Spring Lake for a "walk". While he walked, and occasionally jogged, he pushed me along the smoothly paved trail. It was a delight! On the downhill runs, I put my arms in the air and pretended it was a roller coaster. As we zoomed around the curves, I maderace car noises. And at the exercise rings, I did a pull up on the lowest set of bars, lifting myself out of the wheelchair.

 

I can't run like that guy on the trail, but I can do a pull-up all by myself!

Just because I move slowly, doesn't mean I can't have fun!