I had a somewhat emotional weekend, which I mostly attribute to the pain I was feeling from a freak finger-crushing accident and the subsequent ten stitches I had on my middle finger on Friday.
Bill was camping all weekend, and I didn't want to be alone after the accident, so I called my parents. My mom was out of town on a work trip, but my dad was at home, recovering from the flu. My friend, who'd sat with me at the hospital, took a Lyft with me to my parent's house.
My dad had prepared a huge bowl of chicken soup, which we ate together and then went to bed, both feeling physically defeated. My finger was still pretty numb from the shots they gave me at the hospital, and I took a painkiller, which made me drowsy. Thankfully I went to sleep in my parent's comfortable guest bedroom pretty easily.
Saturday morning came and I slowly began to feel better and better. By the evening, I felt optimistic about my recovery. 24 hours had passed since the accident, so I prepared myself to change the bandage. I slowly unwrapped the gauze until it started to stick to itself from the leaking blood. It had leaked through about four layers of bandage and as I continued to unwrap, each layer underneath became redder. When I got to my finger, the bandage stuck. I took a deep breathe and pulled it off. Seeing that it continued to leak blood, I started to cry. I'm not sure what I'd expected, but it wasn't the mess that I saw. I became squeamish and panicked slightly - acting like a child for my dad. We called the nurse hotline at Kaiser and she explained that it wasn't unusual for it to be bleeding - that I probably pulled off the scabs that had developed when I removed bandage. I became more upset and moaned that I'd reversed all the healing (which wasn't true), and then even more distraught when the nurse mentioned that we had purchased the wrong bandaids.
My dad, who was still recovering from being sick, went back out to get the correct bandage for me. Then, because I could barely look at my own finger, he tenderly wrapped my finger with the correct non-adhesive bandage (which was impressive because of his history of fainting at the sight of blood*).
Once it was wrapped again, I started to calm down. In moments of panic and vulnerability, I usually want my mom to be there. She is so warm and effortlessly calming. However, in this moment I was so glad to be with my dad. He put a pillow on his lap and told me to lay down. I felt calmer now, but tears still occasionally streaked down my face, as I tried to take deep breaths. It had been 24 hours since my finger had been torn apart, and this was the first time I cried.
We had been discussing Disney movies earlier in the day, and he started talking jokingly about a potential Pixar film with ambiguous, round personified characters named "eeby" and "tuny" who face and overcome adversity. In the end, he said, it's revealed that they are skin cells trying to heal a girl's wound. Then it went from a hypothetical film to a story he began to tell.
"They (the skin cells) all have different, quirky personalities," he said as he calmingly rubbed my head. "And then there's 'scabby' who's misunderstood, but who saves the day. And the brain sounds like a wise, old African American woman."
He went on to talk about how the nervous system kept crying to the brain, who got frustrated. "I get it! You don't need to keep telling me the finger is hurt!" Said the brain. "Stop complaining, and get to work!"
"In the end, the skin cells work with Scabby to heal the wound, and the girl gets to run around and play again," He concluded.
By the end of his story, my finger seemed to be throbbing less intensely, and I was now too comfortable and tired to cry.
My dad used to tell me stories all the time when I was a kid. Often they would relate to something I was going through at the time. I never realized until that moment how much these stories calmed and healed me.
*He's literally passed out in line to give blood before.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Day 100 - Mission Accomplished
On the car ride back from Tahoe, I went through my hand-written notes of entries 92-99. I hadn't yet counted them out, and only just then realized that today was day 100.
It was a strange realization - it meant that I wouldn't feel the need to carry my camera around with me as much as possible anymore. It also meant that I would no longer have to analyze my daily activities, trying to find something interesting or poignant about them. It meant that I could come home after a long tiring day, or a fun exhausting night out, and not have to open my computer to jot down notes for an entry.
I felt slightly relieved, knowing that I would have one less thing hanging over my head every day. However, I also felt a little sad, knowing that it would be the end of an experiment that forced me to be more creative than I've been in a long time.
Even though the 100 day challenge has come to an end, I will try to continue to update my blog and find other ways to be creative as much as possible. Since I won't have to post something everyday, I'll have more time for quality assurance (less quantity, but better quality hopefully)!
Thank you to anyone who took the time to read any of these entries!
It was a strange realization - it meant that I wouldn't feel the need to carry my camera around with me as much as possible anymore. It also meant that I would no longer have to analyze my daily activities, trying to find something interesting or poignant about them. It meant that I could come home after a long tiring day, or a fun exhausting night out, and not have to open my computer to jot down notes for an entry.
I felt slightly relieved, knowing that I would have one less thing hanging over my head every day. However, I also felt a little sad, knowing that it would be the end of an experiment that forced me to be more creative than I've been in a long time.
Even though the 100 day challenge has come to an end, I will try to continue to update my blog and find other ways to be creative as much as possible. Since I won't have to post something everyday, I'll have more time for quality assurance (less quantity, but better quality hopefully)!
Thank you to anyone who took the time to read any of these entries!
Day 99 - Last Day in Tahoe
For the first time all week, I didn't wake up to the sun peaking through the curtains. It wasn't cold, but there was a grey cloud cover, and a strong breeze. It felt like fall.
There was something calming about the change in weather. I didn't feel obligated to go to the pool or the lake, or to take advantage of the sun, which has been ubiquitous as of late. Instead I curled up with my book and passed much of the day on the couch.
Bill and I had a relaxed morning and afternoon - eating leftovers, reading, working out and then taking a little nap. In the early evening we headed to Truckee to enjoy a cocktail before dinner.
On the way to Truckee we drove by a local car show, and decided to check it out. Shiny sports cars, trucks, and wagons of all colors drove slowly past us as judges announced the winners. I snapped a photo on my phone (I hadn't thought to bring my camera), and then we headed into town.
The sun came back out in the late afternoon before it sank behind the mountains.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Day 98 - Just Can't Get Enough
After only one day back in civilization, we started missing our forest living and decided to take a hike in the nearby Desolation Wilderness. We stopped at Eagle Lake for a swim and then ended our hike at Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe.
Eagle Lake
Blue Lake Tahoe
Love
At Eagle Lake
Emerald Bay, Tahoe
Emerald Bay shores
Monday, August 31, 2015
Day 97 - Crisp White Ankle Socks
Bill and I had decided the night before we left for backpacking that if we ended our trip early, we would head to Tahoe and spend a few days relaxing at my parents' condo. Since the idea was not definitive, and very last minute, we didn't necessarily plan for it. When we got to Tahoe, the only clothes and items that I had were the things that I'd brought backpacking. All of a sudden the clothes that had served me so well for the last five days made me feel embarrassed and self-conscious.
Immediately after the hike, we stopped at a nearby restaurant to satisfy our craving for "real food." With my legs covered in thick matted dirt, my hair sticking stiffly to my head from sweating in a hat for 9 hours, and my general smelly hiking attire, I felt disgustingly conspicuous.
We licked our plates clean within 5 minutes of the food hitting our table. Our plates were damn near spinning when we headed out. I made sure to leave a good tip since I feared we may have been the reason the tables surrounding us remained unoccupied.
On the car ride to Tahoe I checked my texts and all the social medias. After scrolling through Facebook for about a half hour, I declared to Bill that I'm deleting the app from my phone. It wasn't much of a commitment since I hadn't gone as far as deleting my account, but I felt it would still be a step in a positive (not technology-addicted) direction.
"I should delete Clash of Clans too..." I declared less definitively. Facebook and Clash of Clans were by far the two apps I wasted the most time on. Sometimes I'd go on my phone to send a text, and 30 minutes later I'd have FB stalked 5 people, and reorganized my Clash of Clans village, but not sent the text. With some remorse, I bid farewell to my internet friends/clan mates, and removed the app from my phone.
We took cold showers (the hot water hadn't been turned on yet), did laundry and crashed in what felt like the world's most comfortable bed.
The next day I was on a mission to get a mani-pedi. With my nails so disgustingly brown and chipped, I felt that there was nothing in the world that could make me feel better. I threw on my wool hiking socks, boots, hiking pants, and work-out shirt and headed to a nearby salon.
After my mani pedi, we stopped in CVS and I bought a three pack of cotton white ankle socks for $4. I tore off my sweaty wool socks and replaced them with my new crisp white ones.
"Look at you in your fancy ankle socks!" Bill exclaimed.
"I know! It's wonderful!" I remarked genuinely.
The mani-pedi was great, but these ankle socks made me feel even better. They somehow made me feel like a more civilized human being - like someone who was meant to be around other people. When I got back to the condo, I retired my wool socks for the rest of the trip.
Immediately after the hike, we stopped at a nearby restaurant to satisfy our craving for "real food." With my legs covered in thick matted dirt, my hair sticking stiffly to my head from sweating in a hat for 9 hours, and my general smelly hiking attire, I felt disgustingly conspicuous.
We licked our plates clean within 5 minutes of the food hitting our table. Our plates were damn near spinning when we headed out. I made sure to leave a good tip since I feared we may have been the reason the tables surrounding us remained unoccupied.
On the car ride to Tahoe I checked my texts and all the social medias. After scrolling through Facebook for about a half hour, I declared to Bill that I'm deleting the app from my phone. It wasn't much of a commitment since I hadn't gone as far as deleting my account, but I felt it would still be a step in a positive (not technology-addicted) direction.
"I should delete Clash of Clans too..." I declared less definitively. Facebook and Clash of Clans were by far the two apps I wasted the most time on. Sometimes I'd go on my phone to send a text, and 30 minutes later I'd have FB stalked 5 people, and reorganized my Clash of Clans village, but not sent the text. With some remorse, I bid farewell to my internet friends/clan mates, and removed the app from my phone.
We took cold showers (the hot water hadn't been turned on yet), did laundry and crashed in what felt like the world's most comfortable bed.
The next day I was on a mission to get a mani-pedi. With my nails so disgustingly brown and chipped, I felt that there was nothing in the world that could make me feel better. I threw on my wool hiking socks, boots, hiking pants, and work-out shirt and headed to a nearby salon.
After my mani pedi, we stopped in CVS and I bought a three pack of cotton white ankle socks for $4. I tore off my sweaty wool socks and replaced them with my new crisp white ones.
"Look at you in your fancy ankle socks!" Bill exclaimed.
"I know! It's wonderful!" I remarked genuinely.
The mani-pedi was great, but these ankle socks made me feel even better. They somehow made me feel like a more civilized human being - like someone who was meant to be around other people. When I got back to the condo, I retired my wool socks for the rest of the trip.
Day 96 - The Hike Out
At Lower Buck Lake we were about a 13 mile hike out of the forest. We decided to hike 9 miles back to Grouse Lake, and then hike 4 miles out the next day.
I set my alarm for the first time since we started backpacking so that I would be sure to catch the sunrise. It had been spectacular yesterday, but I hadn't been able to muster the strength to get out of my sleeping bag and take a picture.
However, like the stars at Gem Lake, that sunrise was a one-time thing. This morning dark grey clouds covered the opening in the mountains that the sun had shined so brightly through yesterday.
Even though the sunrise was not so spectacular, it was still a beautiful sight to watch as the sun finally peaked above the cloud cover, and the mountains slowly came to life.
Since we were up by dawn, we got an extra early start to our hike. We passed over familiar ground, going more or less the same way that we'd hiked in. I was in awe at much better the hike out felt than the hike in had. I knew that there were multiple reasons for this: it was downhill instead of uphill, we'd eaten a lot of the weight and had adjusted to the altitude, and most importantly, we had enough water. I had the "bro-y" (according to Bill) realization that it felt like the first and last downward dog in yoga. I walked over the same rocks out as I did in, yet I felt so different the second time around. I was relaxed and calm, rather than stressed and somewhat frantic. By the time we finished 9 miles and reached Grouse Lake, I felt better than I had the first time we reached the same lake after hiking only 4 miles in.
I set my alarm for the first time since we started backpacking so that I would be sure to catch the sunrise. It had been spectacular yesterday, but I hadn't been able to muster the strength to get out of my sleeping bag and take a picture.
However, like the stars at Gem Lake, that sunrise was a one-time thing. This morning dark grey clouds covered the opening in the mountains that the sun had shined so brightly through yesterday.
Even though the sunrise was not so spectacular, it was still a beautiful sight to watch as the sun finally peaked above the cloud cover, and the mountains slowly came to life.
Just before sunrise
As the sun peaked above the clouds
Since we were up by dawn, we got an extra early start to our hike. We passed over familiar ground, going more or less the same way that we'd hiked in. I was in awe at much better the hike out felt than the hike in had. I knew that there were multiple reasons for this: it was downhill instead of uphill, we'd eaten a lot of the weight and had adjusted to the altitude, and most importantly, we had enough water. I had the "bro-y" (according to Bill) realization that it felt like the first and last downward dog in yoga. I walked over the same rocks out as I did in, yet I felt so different the second time around. I was relaxed and calm, rather than stressed and somewhat frantic. By the time we finished 9 miles and reached Grouse Lake, I felt better than I had the first time we reached the same lake after hiking only 4 miles in.
Our packs taking a break a the lake
Bill jumped in the water, but I was deterred by all the critters that inhabited the lake. Being at a lower altitude than the other lakes, there were far more bugs, reptiles and amphibians at Grouse. It was fun to watch them jump and slither around, but I preferred not to swim with them.
Bill's swimming companion
The day was still young, and we surprisingly still had energy. After the mention of cheeseburgers and pizza, the idea of just hiking all the way out was put on the table. I wasn't sure I could stomach another freeze dried meal, for reasons I won't describe, and the thought of warm, real food had never before sounded so appealing.
So we grabbed our bags and trekked the last four miles out of the forest. It was a little rough at the end - the second to last mile is a steep uphill climb - but overall it wasn't bad. We took a little break after the uphill climb, before our final mile. I was proud of both of us, and happy at the thought of eating, but I was also a little sad. I don't think I'd ever experienced a vacation so entirely relaxing as this trip had been. As we walked along the path towards the parking lot where 'Ol Prizy (Bill's Chevy Prizm) was parked, I buzzed on and on about where our next backpacking trip should be.
At the top of the hill with one mile left
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Bear Can't Even
Because there are bears in the Emigrant Wilderness, we had to store all of our food in bear cans. At one point during our hike I loudly exclaimed, out of context, "more like bear can't!"
Bill, not having read my mind for the last 10 minutes, didn't know what I was talking about.
"Wouldn't that be a good brand name for a bear can?" I asked. "Bear can't!"
Then I thought of something even better. "There should be a bear can company geared towards young millennial woman who read Wild and think that backpacking can solve all their problems (like me). And it should be called 'Bear can't even!'"
I even pictured a 1950's-style ad-comic (with just the right amount of sexism), where a large eye-lashed, she-bear asks her strong male counterpart to open the bear can for her (like a can of pickles). She hands it over to him with a look of exasperation saying "I can't even..."
He struggles and struggles, as his large bear muscles bulge, but alas he can't open it either. She-bear walks away in a disappointed huff. With black anger swirls over his head he-bear mumbles, "I can't even..." referring to the high maintenance she-bear.
As I described the scenario to Bill I realized that this ad would never work if we were gearing the product towards strong women. Nevertheless, I continued to think about the exasperated bear couple for the next half hour or so, randomly shouting out new ideas, as if it had been equally on Bill's mind this whole time.
Bill, not having read my mind for the last 10 minutes, didn't know what I was talking about.
"Wouldn't that be a good brand name for a bear can?" I asked. "Bear can't!"
Then I thought of something even better. "There should be a bear can company geared towards young millennial woman who read Wild and think that backpacking can solve all their problems (like me). And it should be called 'Bear can't even!'"
I even pictured a 1950's-style ad-comic (with just the right amount of sexism), where a large eye-lashed, she-bear asks her strong male counterpart to open the bear can for her (like a can of pickles). She hands it over to him with a look of exasperation saying "I can't even..."
He struggles and struggles, as his large bear muscles bulge, but alas he can't open it either. She-bear walks away in a disappointed huff. With black anger swirls over his head he-bear mumbles, "I can't even..." referring to the high maintenance she-bear.
As I described the scenario to Bill I realized that this ad would never work if we were gearing the product towards strong women. Nevertheless, I continued to think about the exasperated bear couple for the next half hour or so, randomly shouting out new ideas, as if it had been equally on Bill's mind this whole time.
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