Over Hill And Dale And Straight To Hell

Saturday morning starts in the dark (with a trip to the bathroom in the dark, to be truthful) and a few moments of peace listening to the rain on the roof in a cool breeze through the open windows in the moonless pitch blackness that only the woods can offer. For a moment, I forget all that I have that worries me and can nod off to sleep again.

A few hours later, I get up and put my feet on the floor determined to be a different me. A me who grabs life by the ass and makes it happen, not one who assumes the best and then lets people dump all over it.

I make coffee. Lots of coffee, actually. And I eat a handful of mixed nuts and a few peices of bacon for breakfast. I empty Charlotte's dishwasher and fold the laundry I'd left in the dryer. It is amazing what a little orderliness can do for your sense of control. I remember back in college that I could not focus on studying until the dorm room was neat and orderly. Call me crazy, but it is about knowing what distracts you. If I'd had laundry and papers spread all over it would have been no less distracting than Duran Duran in the room giving a concert.

When I take the laundry upstairs and put it away I decide it is as good a time as any to get changed into workout clothes and hit the mountain trails. I'd done a few miles each day when the kids were with me but I was jonesing for a long hike without any pressure to return to the house and be on a proper vacation with the kids. There were new trails to try and new hills to ascend. It was hunting season, I'd brought some orange to wear so as to not be mistaken for a white tailed doe. Or any kind of doe for that matter.

While I am dressing I get a text, and I get that feeling of relief that I sometimes do when Craig as been MIA and suddenly pays attention. But it is not Craig, it is my friend Terry, who began as a work friend and has become a true friend. She and her husband Mick have a firehouse gig to go to during the day, but would I like some company later? She and I had gone to a concert together and she wanted to take me out to dinner as a gesture of thanks. How nice!

It is just the thing I need. She is such a loyal friend and I need to have some girl time with her. And her husband is pretty good in that department, too. He is patient with all the chatter and weighs in when asked. And has no agenda; has never steered me wrong. She is unflinchingly on my side and full of great advice. Some time on the porch is the elixir that will cure me.

I tell her how to find me and tell her I'll have the porch lights on when they arrive later, and head out the door and into the woods with a spring in my step.

It is a great hike. The weather is perfect since Fall comes early to the cottage. There are people with dogs and people on horseback and people who are profoundly lost out there on the trails with me. I love stopping the lost souls and telling them how to follow the trails and what to expect up ahead. I feel like and expert Girl Scout. Hil would be so proud, wouldn't she?

I get a few texts from Charlotte in NY. She is having a ball. Bicycling around Central Park. Shopping in the grand stores of the city as opposed to the mundane stores of suburban malls. She sends a few pictures. I send a few back.

And in between I get a text from Mom. She is complaining (natch!) that something is wrong with my phone. She gets repeat texts from me. Texts that I sent weeks ago get delivered again. It costs her a dollar (a dollar!) every time that happens so I need to make it stop.

My first thought is that my mother texting is one of the first of the seven signs of the Apocalypse. My mother has no computer, thinks email is fad, and will not use an ATM.

My second thought is that I need to enlighten her about her no-contract, pay as you go, fly-by-night carrier flip phone. I have had my phone since 1994 and have been with the same carrier since then as well. The fact that she is the first and the only person to have this problem with me (and with Charlotte, and with Joe, BTW, with his similarly low-budget flip phone) tells me that the issue is on HER end, not mine.

And in my endorphin-induced state of bliss, I imagine I can call her and tell her that.