Taking a Break

 Feeling raw, exposed and bleeding. The last few stitches have been excruciating and I fear He isn't finished yet. My blog is read by those I love more than life itself and today I have nothing to share. I am too raw. Abuse sucks. The ripple effects never end.

Today. At Work

I sat cross legged on the floor in the darkened room trying not to make eye contact with the small child on the cot next to me. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my thigh through the denim of my jeans. As I stared into the dimly lit room, I felt his face touch my leg as he planted several kisses on my knee. I smiled to myself in the darkness. I wanted to scoop him into my lap and hug him, but I resisted the urge. He was not tired and began the “dance” of the restless child. “Lay down and close your eyes,” I told him. The was a stretch of fake snoring before his little legs popped straight up in the air, covered by a fuzzy gray blanket. He tossed and turned, hung his head over the cot’s edge, and attempted to gain my attention in a variety of creative endeavors. I reminded him of Santa’s impending arrival. He asked some questions I couldn’t decipher and tried to lay still, but every attempt proved futile. 

It is quite possible that my presence in the room at nap time is nothing more than a distraction.

Suck It Up, Buttercup

Doing the right thing doesn't automatically render rosy results. Doing the right thing often brings tears and brokenness, but is it not brokenness that also often brings the healing so desperately desired? I mentioned God using golden thread to stitch my broken pieces back together, but I didn't mention that the stitching hurts too. Each careful stitch from His gentle hand requires the needle to pierce the broken pieces. Each piercing brings a stab of pain, but with each stabbing pain a stitch is completed and I am one stitch closer to being made whole. *sigh*

I had a short conversation with a friend this evening. Often, when I am worried about being alone, he offers words of encouragement to help me through. "You begin to enjoy the solitude," he once told me, and he was right. I made the effort to "fly solo" this fall and honestly enjoyed the retreat, yet there remain specific times I find the prospect of being without company frightening. It's not because I fear being alone, but because the occasion makes my heart hurt. "You can text me," he said, and I probably will, because he always makes me smile.

It's Almost Christmas

 I'm not feeling stressed over Christmas gifts. I have too many grandchildren for whom to buy gifts. It's overwhelming just thinking about it, so I've decided to do something different this year. Rather than buy cheap gifts they don't need and probably won't appreciate, I am taking $20 in honor of each grandchild and giving it to my friend's mission in Guatemala. They help build houses for families in need and also hand out bags of food to the hungry. They recently drove into areas devastated by flooding and handed out food and supplies. I pray my grandchildren will one day appreciate helping too. Maybe I can encourage them toward this endeavor.

We are exchanging Christmas ornaments at work. We've picked names. I have not a clue who has my name. I vacillated over what to give my recipient; bought an ornament cookie cutter I thought she would like, and then decided last minute to needle felt a mouse. He looks more like a rat (or a kangaroo) but he's cute. He's going into the Christmas bag along with the cookie cutter.

Our work babies got copies of photographs I took just after Thanksgiving. The pics I ordered online still haven't come, so I ended up ordering more to pick up from the local Walgreens just to make sure I had some to give before Christmas. There were some smiling mommies this morning and that was fun. My own kids are getting photographs too. I was surprised by one of my photo orders actually arriving this afternoon. 

It's been an emotional week. These special occasions might always leave me feeling teary. I have loved deeply, perhaps recklessly, and God knows my heart. He is stitching my broken pieces back together one piece at a time with a golden thread.

And It Snowed Too!

 It went from Monday to Friday in a hurry this week. (It's not Friday yet, but it's close.) We had a little snow this week. I am grateful for snow tires and slightly impatient with those who have yet to put them on their cars. Ha! I was almost late to work on Tuesday. I left too late to accommodate slow drivers. My bad.

I have not taken any snow pictures. It's dark out when I come home.

I managed to be late for my chiropractor appointment last night. I drove a hundred miles an hour through snow banks and across the median, but I was still late. I think I need to buy a truck. LOL! Actually, I had to wait for all the babies to go home before I could leave work. Thankfully I was only about ten minutes late. 

I am ready for the weekend. I think.

Missing the Bus

I missed the bus today. Overslept. No, I don't really take the bus, but I did oversleep. Woke up when I should have been heading out the door. The glowing numbers on my clock startled me awake. I called the daycare to let Heather know I would be late. Normally if I wake up late I throw on some clothes and fly out the door, but not today. Today I took my shower and blow-dried my hair. I knew we wouldn't have five babies before 8:30 am and so I was not too incredibly worried. Turned out that we had only four babies all day long and won't have more than that for the entire week.My boss and I decided I will go in from 9 am to 6 pm for the rest of the week.

Here at home we are beginning the countdown to the arrival of Little Brother, Number 15. He is due mid January and we're all pretty excited. His clothes and car seat are all washed. His bedroom his ready and now we wait. Number 16 will make her appearance in late April or early May. (Yes! I said she!!!) How cool is that? I am amassing quite the collection of sweet grandchildren! These two darling both have names, but I'm keeping that a surprise.

The house is feeling chilly lately. All the mild late fall weather has made us soft. This next week is going to shock us back into reality.

Photos are "borrowed" from my boy in Minnesota. That's our Santa Baby, Number 13, also known as Jonah.

Last Week's Bits and Pieces

* Last week was long and melancholy. Some weeks are like that. I'm thankful most are not.

* My sweet Bethany will not need another surgery to remove her appendix. The latest scan showed it to be only an inch long, far smaller than a normal appendix, and healed. If it ever gives her trouble, it will be nothing like the trouble it caused in early November. We are grateful.

* My car is now wearing its winter boots. I am ready for snow should it ever see fit to arrive. It also has a new exhaust system and a pretty new inspection sticker. Have I ever told you how thankful I am for my savings account? Now I am thankful for what is left of it.

* Last weekend The Trio (Numbers 2, 3, and 4) and I made gingerbread houses. I went to their house for the first time since I can't remember when, and even stayed for supper. It was wonderful!

* Even though it was cold yesterday, it was warm enough to go down to the lake for a bit. I filled a Snapple bottle halfway with beach glass. The waves have been active and the shoreline lonely. Perfect for pieces to wash onto the stones.

* I finally got around to sorting through some more stuff. I have three boxes by the back door waiting for a ride. One, full of craftiness, will be going to work with me. (I am a collector of good intentions. Good craft intentions.)

* It's been a good weekend. Back to work tomorrow. Back to loving the littles.

Old Boxes

Finally being able to admit and express my grief has been healing. For close to 40 years I felt unable to say my heart was broken at the loss of my childhood friend. It felt like such an admission was tantamount to unfaithfulness (I was accused of that once by one of my own children for simply reading the old letters) and even very early on I was desperately afraid of hurting the guy I'd married, even though my relationship with Joey was no secret from James.

Joey and I shared the fall, winter, and spring of 1972-73. We walked around the block on cold winter days, each asking the other if their feet were cold. (He wore cowboy boots in the snow.) When it was getting dark, and it got dark early, he always walked me home before heading home himself. In the spring we walked some more, and then suddenly he was moving away. I never even met his mother, never went in his house. He had come to mine instead. There are no pictures of us together. Not one.

As a young girl I dreamed Joey into what I wanted him to be. (Isn't that always what we're tempted to do?) But dreams are not reality. Reality is that God gave me a special childhood friend, a box full of letters to cherish, and the incredibly wonderful opportunity to see my friend when we were 14 years old and my family was on vacation in Virginia in the fall of 1978. I was in heaven! (I had my very own football player!!! Number 87.)

Today I'm healing. I honestly am. I've done enough internet stalking (ha ha!) to settle my heart. I am absolutely nothing like the woman Joe married, and I don't find myself attracted to the man I see in pictures. I find it strange, and I am intrigued, even amused, at my lack of attraction. I don't see anything terrible or offensive, I'm simply not drawn to him. He is a complete stranger and yet we are connected by a few months of time and a string of childish letters. (I love it.)

I've dragged taped-shut boxes from place to place for over half my life. Today I'm unpacking those old boxes and letting go. The little box of letters will be forever cherished, but I can stop grieving. It's time to smile at the memories and move on. 

The Little Orange Box With the Dog On Top

It's just a little box.  Slightly larger than a standard letter envelope and maybe an inch tall. I don't remember it's original purpose, only that I asked Mom if I could have it. It was the perfect box in which to keep my little collection of letters. In time I glued a magazine picture of a floppy dog on top to make it look more special. For a good portion of my childhood, and well into my teenage years, it was kept safe in my dresser, tucked into a corner of a drawer. I always knew exactly where it was.

Every so often during my school aged years, a new letter would turn up in the mail box hanging just outside our front door. Mom always seemed just as excited as me. If I happened to be down the street playing, she would call out that a letter had arrived and I would run home as fast as I possibly could. Once the letter had been open, read, and savored, it would be placed into the little box along with the others. By the time the collection was complete there would be a total of fourteen letters received over the course of 8 to 9 years. From 1973 to 1982.

The story started when a new family moved into our neighborhood. The brother and sister rode my bus and the boy was in my grade, but not in my class, The house they lived in with their cousins was down the street and around the corner in a place I often passed but never hung out. It was only when I took my dog for a walk around the block that the little boy's sister asked my name and said, "My brother loves you." Not long after that meeting my mom noticed a little boy walking back and forth, and hanging out in front of our house as if he was looking for someone. "Who's that out there?" she asked and I replied "Oh, that's Joey," and promptly decided to take the dog for another walk.

I've written about Joey a few other times. Our friendship ended abruptly. Almost violently abrupt. There was no chance for me to explain, no undoing what had transpired between letters, only the heartbreaking knowledge that my final letter would wound him deeply and I would never ever hear from him again. A piece of me died when I answered his letter in January of 1982. A piece of me still grieves.  I've let the memories go over and over again, yet our friendship was such an integral part of my childhood that those memories come back time and time again, usually when I least expect them. It's almost as though I am missing something important but don't know what I'm supposed to be finding.

Memories can be painful, even good memories. Every corner of this house holds memories, a whole lifetime of memories. The wall reverberate with them. When the house is still and quiet, and my present family is gone, voices from the past are speaking. Not only are Mom and Dad here, but my sisters, and others as well. I don't literally hear voices, of course, but the past is intensely vivid and I miss those days gone by...

The Plans of Mice and Men

 Our baby's heart surgery has been postponed. The hospital only operates on healthy babies and little Henry decided to get a cold 2 days before his scheduled hospital stay. To say his mom is frustrated might be an understatement. I told her it is okay to be disappointed and upset and still trust God at the same time. It been such an exhausting month already and so much mental energy has been poured into gearing up for this event. God's timing is perfect, but doesn't mean it isn't hard.

I have to admit, I wasn't quite ready to find my car covered with snow this morning. Yes, it is December, but I still wasn't ready. Lucky for me I caught Sergio out in the driveway brushing the snow off his car and asked him to start mine so it could warm up while I finished getting ready for work. I'm not ready for the weeks of dark afternoons either, but I do plan to use them wisely. My room is comfy and cozy and evenings are the perfect time to de-stress and unwind tangles of heart and mind. A little music, an online puzzle or two, and maybe a chat with a friend all help me along the road to being whole.  It's okay if I listen to a little classic rock here and there, yes?

Crossing Jordon Hand in Hand

 Yesterday I met my friend Myung at the park. She was looking for a fellow Christian, someone with whom to share her inner struggles, and a friend with which to pray. We walked along the lake shore, into the park, and up the hill to the picnic area filled with old gnarled sycamore trees, stopping every so often to talk. I wasn't sure how to answer, but know that very often I am simply looking for a listening ear and an understanding heart. 

Our struggles are vastly different, and yet similar all at the same time. We have each been held captive in prisons of our own making. Shackled by our own emotions, held in chains of the past. She shared how she has been reading the book of Deuteronomy and thinking on the children of Israel crossing the Jordon River into Canaan, leaving the wilderness forever behind. We stood face to face, eyes closed, each simultaneously praying for the other and ourselves. When we'd finished praying we symbolically crossed the River Jordon hand in hand. We are moving forward. No looking back. No more living in the past or allowing it to control the future.

I was back home again when she sent me a text. One of the quotes she sent was The bee fertilizes the flower it robs. "I love this word," she said, "It is for me," and it fit her situation perfectly. Honestly, it fits mine too.

Below this quote was another, When it is dark enough you can see the stars, and I recalled how five years ago a deep darkness had descended upon my soul. The darkness was so thick that I was emotionally paralyzed. Every time I lay down, I could literally hear the sound of my own blood rushing through my ears. Every time I sat down my knee bounced up and down. I wasn't sure the world could ever be bright and carefree ever again... but I am learning that in the darkness the light of Christ shines even brighter. I don't have to be afraid and I don't have to stand still because he holds my hand and His word lights the path before me. My part is to trust Him, hold tight to His hand, and keep walking.

My friend is praying for me and I am praying for her. I am in awe of how God has brought us together.

Thanksgiving 2020 and Other Musings

Sappy. That's me. Forever totally sappy. Excessively sentimental. Perhaps this okay. But maybe it stands in the way of me being emotionally healthy and whole. The thing is I'm not sure how to be anything different. Aside from recent years of numbness and being overwhelmed, I've always been excessively and deeply emotional. I try to keep a lid on it, but sometimes it leaks out. Something to work on in the coming year. Finding balance so I don't get thrown off kilter or unintentionally knock a loved one over.

I wonder what the emotions are doing deep inside my body, because how we think affects our health and well being. Most of these deep emotions start out high in my chest, just below my neck and flow outward toward my shoulders and down my arms, or up into my neck where they tie little knots in all my neck muscles. Crying helps release tension, but it has other unpleasant side effects life puffy, swollen eyes and headaches. In my imagination, long, tight hugs drain the tension and my body is able to relax. This is one reason a job with little people is so rewarding. They need hugs and so do I. It's also one reason I return to the chiropractor again and again. He hugs me. One hug can get me through the week.

Thanksgiving 2020 was unlike any Thanksgiving in my past, with the exception of one spent in Albuquerque, New Mexico in 1981. Back then I was far, far away from the only family I'd ever known, spending the holiday instead with part of the family I'd married into. Most of that day is just a blur of faded memories. What I recall most is that is hardly felt like Thanksgiving. Yesterday I was with my family, a very small portion of it, and my sweet daughter's extended family. It was a very nice day but it was hard not to let my mind wander back to the past and linger there. The rest of my local family, except for Nathan and Sabrina, were at Bethany's house with James. I chose this year to be with Hannah, who is not ready for a holiday party with her dad. Honestly, I'm not ready either. Every year I am less ready than the year previous...

So, how to live in grateful anticipation? How do I wire my brain to think positively about the future when it is so accustomed to dwelling on the past, even the good past? Memories are wonderful encouragers and great teachers, and while they can help shape the future, living in them is pointless if they aren't making a positive impact on today. *sigh* There must be some great scripture verses out there for all of this...

Today, if the weather holds, I have a "socially distanced walk" planned with my friend Myung from the pottery studio. Just a walk at Webster Park. I still have  my key to the pottery studio, even if they are in the middle of Rochester's current orange zone. One day I'll go back and maybe I will find my pottery friends there too.

It's Almost Friday

The month of November caught up with me this week. Exhausted and threadbare, a deep desire to call my mom descended. I found myself teary and tired, but God came through like He always does. A couple of friends reached out through text messages and I went to sleep at night feeling relieved.

 

My grandson, Number 1, has had surgery to put his collarbone back together. Pain killers will keep him comfortable during this initial stage of healing, and hopefully he'll ride his bike a little slower in the future.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas in the living room. I'm glad my daughter is picking up on doing Christmas early. Wish I hadn't been such a stickler for waiting until after Thanksgiving when my kiddos were small. Probably could have saved myself some aggravation. If we can't celebrate Christmas and be thankful at the same time then something is desperately wrong in our hearts. 

It's almost Friday and I'm ready for the weekend.

Bits and Pieces

 It's been quite the week and I'm not sure I can remember half of it.

* Friends, family, and strangers have stepped up all week long to help my daughter and her family. There have been meals, babysitters, donations of diapers and breast milk, and a multitude of prayers. As a mom who works full time I have felt overwhelmed and relieved all at the same time. I never doubted God would provide for each and every need, I only doubted my own ability to follow through on my part.

* I went back to work on Monday, back to the little ones who call my name, ask for hugs, and inquire about lunch. It is therapy at its best. I never tire of hearing little ones say, "I need a hug!" There are times I need a hug too, and didn't I, just the other day, tell a friend to save one for me?

* On Wednesday Bethany sent me a text that read, "I may have begged, and even cried a little... But the nurse gave permission. You can come and visit me." She was scheduled for a procedure and so it was decided that I would come on Thursday. The good news is she didn't need the procedure after all.

* There was bad news on Wednesday too. My oldest grandson crashed his bicycle and fractured his clavicle. This is Bethany's oldest son. Now she was the mom unable to comfort or see her child. At the height of his pain on Thursday he Facetimed his mom, tears streaming down his face. He'd tried to change his shirt unassisted. His break is bad and he will be having surgery on Tuesday.

* I went to the hospital Thursday night, hugged my daughter long and tight, and helped her wash her "ten days ripe" hair. She is a trooper. We both laughed when the shower head went rogue and streamed over her face. I visited again on Friday while Adam stayed home with the kids and attempted to catch up with himself.

* Yesterday I drove an hour south to pick up a recliner/lift chair at the home of my brother in law's sister. It just fit into my car. Not an inch to spare. And I had a nice long visit with Laurie too.

* The best news of all is that my girl is scheduled to come home today. She still has her appendix. That will need to come out in a couple of months when her insides are healed and the inflammation has subsided. Everyone asks me about this. I am not a medical professional and must trust they are doing everything they can to help her body heal and maintain its integrity. I am relieved to see my daughter smile again.

My Girl

For those wondering, and my future self, yes, she is still in the hospital. It was bad, guys, really bad. It's still bad, but she's improving in little ways each day, even if progress is painfully slow. Who would have thought we'd celebrate the passing of gas? Life is full of surprises.

I went back to work today. My mind was half there and half at Bethany's house, but I made it through and passed out more hugs than I can remember. After work I went to Beth's so Adam could go to the hospital. We're going to love each other in a whole new way when this is done.

Just Keep Praying

I'm barely sure what day it is anymore... Actually, I know it's Thursday, it just doesn't feel normal because it's anything but. My girl had surgery on Tuesday evening, but they did not take her appendix yet. Too much inflammation in other places. I don't understand all of it, but I know she is getting the best care possible. She sounded so very sick on the phone last night that after we hung up I cried. The helpless feeling washed over and my heart was aching. She may be halfway to 70, but she is still my baby. As a family we are all angry that the hospital she went to on Saturday sent her home with a probable stomach ulcer, stating if she had appendicitis she would be a lot sicker. We are thanking God for sparing her life and pray for a full recovery. She said she was feeling a little better this morning and I am so grateful, although I know she is far from all better.

I am able to be here with the kids until returning to work Monday morning. A friend has found donors of breast milk for Henry and set up a Meal Train. What is needed next are friends to come here to help after she returns home from the hospital. She can not be expected to keep up with four children when she is released. Please pray we are able to find available friends and family members who are willing to give of their time for the next several weeks.

The weather has turned from winter back to summer. I had the door open for much of the day and even carried the baby around the block mid afternoon. When Adam returned home I asked him where a stroller might be hiding. Of course it was right there in the closet next to my jacket which I hung there yesterday morning. The weather is forecast to remain warm the next few days so we'll definitely be going for a walk.

I guess there's an election battle going on, but I'm trying not to notice. God knows all about that fiasco and He is ultimately in control no matter what the outcome. 

Thank you for your prayers on all fronts.

What Moms Do

 I spent a several hours taking in the a rare sunshine filled day walking the woods once again this past weekend. I was planning on the emotional floodgates bursting open, but the woods is too therapeutic for that. Once enveloped by the trees, all negative emotion dissipates and I am lost in the wonder of creation and capturing it's beauty.

I went from the woods to the lake shore and gathered another pocketful of beach glass. The wind was cold and biting. Even so quite a few people came and went while I picked through stones along the water's edge. The angle of the sun was perfect for finding brown and amber pieces, although I picked up plenty of green and clear too. I met Kelly, also there to look for glass. When my pocket was bulging with treasures, I decided to head for home.

As I drove toward home, my phone began to ring and I pulled over to answer it. On the other end was my daughter, struggling with a severe pain in her tummy. She felt the need to see a doctor and couldn't get a hold of her husband whose phone was dead, so I went to stay with the kids and took pictures of Henry. They eventually sent her home without any definite diagnosis, and not many tests. Today she had was back, at a different hospital, and this time they took her symptoms serious. She's still there.

 

Tomorrow I will get up early, shower, dress, and get ready for my day, but I will not go to work. Instead I am going to stay with my grandchildren. This is what moms do.

Still Here

 Nothing much to share. It's been a week of rain and cold weather. Rather disappointing, but whining won't change anything and will only make the situation appear drastically worse than it really is. I am warm and dry, my belly is (more than) full, I have clean clothes to wear, and a job that makes me feel loved and appreciated. 

I saw the therapist last night and told him I am ready to let go of the numbness and denial, yet I am afraid of it too. He asked if the numbness was grace, God's grace... Yes, numbness is God's grace, a gift given when the crushing weight of truth would make life unbearable. Numbness, and perhaps a portion of denial. I've cleaned and polished stories, left out painful details, and told them with a cheery smile when in reality the truth was not so sweet or pretty. I've rewritten history. My own. But rewriting it doesn't alter the truth.

I've still not turned in my pottery studio key. I didn't have time last weekend and I scarcely know when the office is open. Truth is I like my shelf and I want to play in the mud...

The Week in a Nutshell

Most of this past week was dark, dreary and wet. I was thankful for the beautiful walk on Saturday and my time with my friend Gail on Sunday. I'm coming to realize I might need a better plan to get me through the coming long winter as I am prone to feeling depressed on dark, cold, lonely evenings. Last year I had the pottery studio, and although I still have my shelf at the moment, I am seriously considering turning in my key and saving the $75 each month. At the very least I could save it toward taking a future class. I haven't spent any real time there since March.

On Tuesday evening I spent a few hours making pies with my daughter Bethany. Today is her 35th birthday. Tomorrow she is throwing a "Halfway to 70" birthday party with apple pie for dessert. We have encouraged her in this endeavor. She needs a good stress reliever and nothing relieves stress better than the love of friends and family. (Please pray for baby Henry as he is scheduled for surgery on December 1. We'd all appreciate your prayers for a successful operation and speedy healing for this sweet child.)

This afternoon after work Hannah, Idris and I went for a walk around the block. Twice. Tonight my people and I went down to the lake for an evening picnic. Hannah and Sergio bought subs and I met them down at the lake. It was an absolutely gorgeous day! Just like summer, aside from the autumn colors. No jackets needed. We opted to take advantage of this rare opportunity as tomorrow is forecast to be about 35 degrees colder. It was a beautiful evening.

Tomorrow and Sunday both come with birthday parties. I wish I could say I am already prepared, but the truth is I am not. I have some work to do tomorrow if I am to arrive at Number Seven's Sixth birthday party with a present. Pretty sure I can be successful. At least I hope so...
 

Shooting in the Woods

I took myself back to the woods at Webster Park yesterday because, as I told my friend Dan, "It may not be good for the allergies, but it is good for the soul." It was a slow walk, soaking in the sights and sounds. I took two camera lenses this time, one for bigger scenes and one to catch what would otherwise be invisible. 

I did not walk to the campground this time, but circled the back edge of the park and a few trails just outside the perimeter, the West Trail and the Midnight Trail and a few unnamed and off the beaten path. I was blessed to capture tiny birds, a little red squirrel, and three deer. (For those concerned, although there is no hunting allowed within the park and it isn't yet shotgun season.)

I stopped twice down by the lake, once before and once after my walk. I was sitting on the stone beach collecting lake glass when I heard a voice behind me and turned to see my friend Gail. "I wondered if you'd be here," she said. Sometimes I am surprised by how well she knows me. Once my pocket was full of glass and my stomach was rumbling at being empty, I finally headed home for the evening. 

It was another simply beautiful day.

The Woods at Webster Park

I have a lot of thoughts, and plenty of words, but not much I can write here... so I'll tell you about my weekend. 

 

 

 

 I spent some more time walking alone in the woods this past weekend. When I have my camera along, I'm never really alone. I parked inside Webster Park this time, walked to the campground, and sneaked through an unoccupied campsite to the hill of pines that lines the sites where Mom and Dad used to set up our camper. It didn't look like I remember, the pines are old and dying, and the undergrowth is taking over, and yet I found it all wonderfully enchanting. I couldn't resist building a pine cone house. Or two. Or, actually three.

After exploring the edge of the campground, I changed my lens and headed toward the "boy scout" part of the park where Mom and Dad took us on long afternoon walks when we camped. It was a favorite part of the day. I used to think I could never get lost in Webster Park. Ha ha! I probably overestimated myself, but I haven't been too lost to find my way out again yet. (It's not that big a park. Don't worry.)

When my camera battery died, I needed to make a decision. Go on without taking pictures? Or go home and charge the battery? (Like that was any question...) I returned an hour later to finish my walk and even made it all the way back to Mohawk Lodge, which when we walked with Mom and Dad, meant we had gone on a really long walk. 

It was the perfect day.