When I'm feeling like shit for one reason or another, I find it is easier if I have something to look forward to, something specific. So between bouts of sheer existential terror (and I wish, my dear friend, I could help bear this burden, but I know I can't), the inevitable nausea of chemo and everything else you will have to endure, dream of adventures to come. Let me offer one up to start.
You've passed through the gauntlet of cancer, maybe you're still a little shell shocked, but your body is getting back into its groove. You and Mark dig your packs and camping stuff out of the basement and point the car toward southern Utah. There you'll find Jennifer and me, having left our younguns with parents for a spell, waiting at the mouth of some godforsaken wash beneath the scorching sun. We'll all don our packs and start walking. Of course, there will be a few miles of dry slogging, dodging rattlesnakes and cacti, but then we'll begin to descend into the curvy, shady confines of a redrock canyon and a stream will appear. We'll ditch our shoes and feel the squishy sand between our toes, wander beneath cottonwoods and sycamores, and strain our necks to see the immense, streaked cliffs looming above. We'll play frisbee and drink lots of wine (I'll carry that) in cavernous riverbends. We'll drop our packs for excursions up slot canyons, and gape at the ribbon of blue sky above us. We'll swim in pools to escape the midday heat. We'll look through campfire smoke to a cacophony of stars above before drifting, unencumbered, off to sleep. It'll be good, trust me on this one. I'm working on the details.
Lots of love coming your way from Arlee, dear.
Seth
1 comment:
I think Sam and I are in on this deser trip. good thinking-- sounds perfect. love, nic
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