Which Way Do I Go?

 

Crap, it's gone again. When I used to blog regularly I'd often carry you, the reader, with me throughout the day. I'd talk to you, describing what I was doing or thinking about. Most of it was discarded, but there was often something worth relating and when I came to write I'd already have a sort of rough draft. I found myself doing that again. I'm not sure why. The only trouble is that I never sat down to write, until now, and now I can't remember what it was that I was thinking.

I do remember one thing. I was driving through the construction on 37, I mean 69. It was raining. The lanes have shifted in various ways over the course of the project and the water made the old lines show up as prominent as the current lines, which have faded somewhat. It was really bad. I had to consult my knowledge of the roadway at times, which I could since I drive that stretch every day. I don't know how people unfamiliar with the area coped and I wondered how a self driving vehicle would deal with a situation like that. Would it just shut down and ask for manual input? What would happen if one car's software interpreted the lines correctly, but another car in the adjacent lane followed the wrong path? I think transportation departments are going to have to spend a lot more on maintaining their road markings when self driving vehicles become common.

I remembered an incident that happened to me a few years ago. I've told this story before, but that was way back in my original blog The Reluctant Trucker, so it won't hurt to tell it again. I was in a construction zone on I 95 in Connecticut. It wasn't raining but it was dark and the lane markings were faded. Traffic was moderately heavy and I was in the middle lane doing about 50 with cars on either side, but none in front of me, when we came to a lane shift. Earlier the lanes had shifted in an equal, opposite direction and those markings were still visible. With no familiarity with the roadway I didn't know which way to go.

It was a crisis moment. There was no chance to stop before the shift and if I made the wrong choice only a miracle could have prevented an accident, maybe even a pile up. The way that I tell the story I heard a voice in my head that said, “Use the Force Steve.” I actually remember it that way, but it's more likely that's something I commented to myself in the exhilaration after it was all over. After all I was busy using the Force.

I Zen'd it. I let go, my body did the driving. I assume that I picked up cues from the cars that were beside me, that I could only see as lights and shine in my convex mirrors because the result was a smooth 50 mph transition to the new traffic pattern, just as if I knew the road like the back of my hand.

Will artificial intelligence be able to use the force? Perhaps better than we flawed humans.

Will artificial intelligence have a soul? Do we?

Sorry, questions for the discussion group.

 

Sodden Nightmare

 

The world is green again! Regardless that it was a mild winter Spring is most welcome. It makes driving around Southern Indiana a pleasure and the work that I do securing loads a tolerable burden. Well, mostly. Driving is still stressful, always, and while the work may be tolerable it isn't any easier. It's still work.

I remember extolling the virtues of working out of doors to some kid who'd hired on with us when I was building swimming pools. Fresh air and sunshine rather than recycled air and artificial lighting. Healthy physical labor rather than sitting in a cubicle or on an assembly line. I was in my early twenties, he was in his late teens which shows how relative being “a kid” can be.

I am sometimes still “the kid” in a group of friends, but at 59 I'm almost grown up, and I still stand by my recommendation of working out of doors. There's a big difference between what I was doing then and what I'm doing now though. Back then when inclement weather hit I got a day off; today I'm out in it. That's what can make my work sometimes “intolerable,” especially in winter. I put intolerable in quotes because of course I do tolerate it. Why, in these very pages I have numerous examples of times I've done so, and I still keep coming back for more, which brings me to the true subject of this post.

Monday of this week it rained steadily all day. With temperatures in the mid to upper 40's it was cold too. My first assignment of the day was to deliver a load to Heitink, an architectural veneer manufacturer located here in Bloomington. We deliver a lot to them and I'm not sure if it's a wood or a paperboard product, a backing for their veneers I presume, but I know that it definitely has to stay dry. “Are they going to take it today?” I had to ask. Some places who handle moister sensitive materials have provisions for unloading in the rain, like an indoor bay or a roofed pad, but not Heitink, as far as I knew. The dispatchers just shrugged. “I guess I'll take it over there and see,” I said.

”Take it over and see,” my boss echoed.

The road that Heitink is on is also home to Rose and Walker Drywall, another product that must remain dry. Another driver was folding his tarps in the road preparing to deliver some drywall, which was covered with plastic underneath the tarps. He didn't look happy, even gave me a dirty look as I eased by. “Easy dude,” I thought. “Been there, done that (having delivered drywall in the rain before), and I may well be in the same boat.”

I usually just pull into Heitink and start untarping but today I figured I'd better see if they were going to accept the load first. I walked in and looked around until I found a forklift driver who didn't avert his eyes when I looked at him. “Please don't tell me you're a flatbed driver,” he said as I approached.

His greeting made me hopeful. “I am, but I can come back tomorrow if you can't take the load in the rain.”

”Nope, sorry,” he returned. “We've got to take it, we need the material.” My heart sunk. We discussed the logistics of the operation. He wanted me in front of the loading docks so they could get the board inside as quickly as possible. If any other trucks came in they'd just have to wait. They were going to go on break in about five minuets so I was to unstrap and when they came back from break we'd unload. I'd have to peel the tarp back as we went to keep the rest of the load dry. My heart hit bottom. Those tarps are not easy to manage when they're dry, wet they're a nightmare and to peel them back a little at a time even worse. Hey, I'd done it before and survived...

When I got back outside my heart sunk just a wee bit more. I hadn't noticed before but the straps were underneath the tarps. I couldn't unstrap, I'd have to do that as I went and be left to fold the tarps and roll the straps after they were all done. I wondered if they'd send somebody back out with a forklift to put my tarps on the trailer when I was finished. The damn things are heavy enough dry, I was afraid I'd hurt myself if I tried to lift them wet.

Then came the first bit of good news of the day. I discovered that there was a sheet of plastic underneath the tarps. I was able to completely untarp before we started to unload. Of course when I pulled the front tarp off the wind took the plastic and tried to run with it. The other tarp held it in place though and I was able to scramble onto the trailer and avoid any damage. After that I was careful to secure the plastic as I eased the other tarp off. The hooks on the ends of the loosened straps were perfect for weighing it down.

I was able to get the front tarp folded before I heard the forklift bumping down the gravel path that it always comes from at Heitink. The second tarp had come off in a jumble and was going to take some work to straighten before I could fold it. My goal was to have both tarps folded before the forklift left so that I didn't have to ask it to come back. I was alternately up on the trailer peeling back the plastic and throwing straps, and down on the pavement folding my tarp. The rain kept coming down. I finished folding about the same time the lift driver finished unloading.

The lift driver put the tarps onto the trailer then drove over to me. I was expecting the paperwork but noticed that he didn't have any. “The paperwork inside?” I asked. He nodded, then said, “Today's the kind of day why I said I'd never drive a flatbed. A conestoga maybe, but never a flatbed.”

I mumbled something about how my job sometimes sucks, but as he pulled away my true thought was, “What's your point?” I couldn't read him. I'm always ready to be nice but was he just giving me respect or calling me a fool? I'm thinking the latter, or I would have felt the respect. I watched his fat giggle as he bounced back along that gravel path to the dim warehouse where he spends his days.

It's no wonder I was in a foul mood, wet as I was and disrespected to boot. So there I was dripping and shivering in the dispatch office, thinking I'm going to catch my death, when they send me out on another mission without any inquiry about how the delivery went, or anything close to a thank you. I kept hoping that it was going to be a short day because of the rain but it kept going, mission after mission until Herk and Steve were both gone and it was just Dave left when I clocked out, the guy who stays late.

”I'm sure glad this day's over,” I said. Dave laughed like it was some kind of a joke. I slunk out, still sore and thought, “These guys wouldn't last ten minutes doing what I do, on a good day.” That's when it hit me: what I had endured was just a part of my job. No, those dispatchers or that forklift driver wouldn't last ten minutes, but it was their choice not to do what I do. So they sit in an artificially lit office breathing stale air, except on the best of days when the door is propped open, and don't get any exercise. I'm out in the fresh air (never mind the diesel fumes) and get plenty of exercise. Sometimes the weather keeps it real, but I'd rather have it real. I may be overweight, but I'm not fat.

When I got home I peeled off my wet cloths, literally, and took a warm shower. I put on my pjs and started a fire in the wood stove. I'm telling you, you can't get comfort like that without first having endured.

 

Far From Home

 

Quick, write something, anything! My resolve to write isn't just slipping away, it's gone.

The Amish are industrious folk, in my experience. We do quite a bit for the Amish down in Davies County, as I've mentioned before. There's this one guy lives outside of Odon, Etham Wagler. I don't how many pies he's got his fingers in but I know that he farms, raises pigs and makes things out of scrap fiberglass; fencing, livestock feeders and I don't know what-all. It's really nice stuff too. You see the final product and you'd never guess it was pieced together from scrap.

The scrap is where I come in. We haul it from some company out in Pennsylvania, maybe 6 to 10 time a year. He goes through it! His spread isn't the kind of place you'd want to take a sleeper cab so the over the road drivers drop it on our yard and I, or another of our day drivers delivers. I remember being down at his place once with a trainee. I said, “This is the kind of stuff that you don't get to do with a big company.”

So I was down in Odon the other day, delivering some lumber to Stoll's Building Materials, another good Amish name. I used to go through town to get to Stoll's but Etham once had me weigh his load at the grain bin, which is right across the street from Stoll's. I realized it's a lot easier to get in that way, from the back.

I turned onto the road that passes the Wagler estate, by the old one room school house, and slowed up, not that I was going fast in the first place. There were a couple of pick ups with trailers ahead of me with their flashers on, taking up most of the narrow roadway. One had a backhoe on the back, the other some drainage pipe. As I eased around them I thought, “Huh, this is Etham's place.” Then sure enough I saw them in the field. I saw his dad first, the elder Mr. Wagler, he waved at me, and I waved back, then I saw Etham. He spread his arms as if to say WTF, so I did the same and he smiled.

I know it's just a small thing, but it makes me feel as though I belong somehow.

 

CRASH

 

It's getting so that I'm almost afraid to drive anymore. I was in a major accident recently. It had the road shut down for hours. I was making my way through the construction to upgrade IN 37 to I 69 during morning rush hour. Some poor sod going home from his third shift job failed to negotiate a lane shift, at moderate speed. I don't know if he fell asleep or was texting but when everyone else veered to the right, he went straight. I happened to be in the way.

I saw it coming. It wasn't slow motion but I think I can see why people say these things happen in slow motion. There were a tremendous number of thoughts that went through my mind in a very short period of time. I thought, “That's not right, I hope that guy knows something I don't know, or am I doing something wrong?” even as I'm looking for some kind of evasive response. There was nothing that I could do, and even if there had been there was no time to do it in. Still, there was an extra instant, where I still hoped I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing, that it would all be alright.

CRASH, “Nope, he hit me!” The world was then all screaming metal and burning rubber. I tried to take the shoulder but was drawn inexorably into the oncoming lane. Looking at the picture I think you can see why my truck was out of my control. Fortunately there was a break in traffic just there and no one else was involved. The driver of the lead car in the next pack told me that he didn't see the accident, but saw a big truck sliding sideways across the pavement and “knew that wasn't good.”

 

 

I nosed a traffic barrel gently aside and came to a stop, thank goodness. My knee hurt a little bit but other than that I was fine so after a deep breath I started looking for my phone. Everything in the cab had been thrown around and it took a minuet to find it. I called 911 first but they already knew about it. Next I called work to tell them that the best day cab in the fleet had just been totaled. Then I called my girlfriend, because I just really needed to hear a friendly voice.

I was talking with Cate when I heard someone yelling at me, “Hey, Driver, are you OK? Get out of that truck!” There was a short pause then more forcefully, “Get out of that truck!” I opened the door and saw that there was a quarter sized hole in the fuel tank, just below me. Diesel was pouring onto the road. Diesel is a lot less flammable than gasoline, but it can still ignite. In fact the firemen said that with all the sparks that had to have been flying as the frame of my tractor slid across the pavement they were surprised it didn't. I might have been burned to a crisp!

I'm not sure if the fire department got there first or the sheriff. The EMTs got there a little later and the State Police were the last to arrive. Nobody asked me any questions or anything other than was I OK until the State Cop arrived, he was in charge of the accident scene. The others were busy though. A couple of fire fighters threw absorbent material under my tractor to capture the diesel and there was a crowd around the car that had hit me.

I was afraid to go over there. I was sure the guy was dead, looking at his vehicle. I asked someone and they said no, he was still alive. They were trying to get him out of his smashed tin can. They ended up having to cut the roof of the car off. I breathed a sigh of relief at that news. I mean, he hit me after all, but still... I never heard the final outcome but a month after the accident I was told he was still in the hospital.

 

 

There were plenty of witnesses to say that it wasn't my fault, that there was nothing that I could do. The accident is officially unpreventable; my record is clean. After I got back from the clinic where I took my drug test I was afraid work was going to put me into another truck and have me keep on driving. They didn't. In fact they told me to take as much time off as I needed. I came back the next day. I figured I'd better just get right back on that horse that threw me.

This happened back in late September. Originally that phase of I 69 was to be finished by October. If they'd have been anywhere close to schedule then the traffic pattern that caused my wreck wouldn't have been in existence. There have been a lot of wrecks through there. For awhile it seemed that the road was backed up due to an accident once a week or so.

The new estimate on completion of the project is May...of 2018. There's more than a year left that we have to deal with this crap, and it is crap, let me tell you. Sure, the roads under construction, but do there have to be bumps capable of damaging a car's suspension? How's that for INDOT's commitment to public service and a timely completion to the project?

 

Post Mortem

 

I got a notice in the mail the other day informing me that Citizens for Appropriate Rural Roads, CARR, has officially ended their efforts to at first stop, and then hold accountable the Indiana Department of Transportation's I 69 expansion. The new terrain section has already been completed, the damage done, and now they've exhausted their options to have a court consider their grievance of INDOT's negligence and abuse. I never had much hope that it would go anywhere, but still, reading the notice sounded a tiny death knell in my heart.

It was sometime back in the late 80's or early 90's, while I was a clerk at Pygmalion's Art Supply, that my coworker Sandra came into work with the news that she and her husband Thomas had found surveyors on their land southwest of Bloomington. They approached the surveyors and learned, well before most people, that INDOT was considering an I 69 expansion, and that one of the possible routes would cross their land. The Tokarskis (Sandra and Thomas) then formed CARR to try and stop that from happening.

I donated money, I went to rallies, protests and city council meetings. I didn't do as much as I could have, maybe should have but to be honest I was never hopeful that we could stop them. It was obvious that the big boys in Indy wanted to play with their earth moving machines and build a highway, sound economics and the will of the people be damned.

Why, the first study ever done to asses the economic feasibility of the highway, the "Donohue Study," found that they couldn't recommend building it at all. Did that stop INDOT? Heavens no, they just had more studies done, some of which also came back negative, until they got the result they wanted. Remember, I had a front row seat working with Sandra. INDOT wasted a lot of my tax dollars getting "objective scientific backing" for their project (the quotes are for irony, I don't know that anyone in particular said that).

I then had the pleasure of attending one of INDOT's public information meetings where I saw them stand up and say (to paraphrase), "Building this highway is a great idea. We've done blank number of studies, so we know what we're talking about." Oh, was I pissed! I wanted to go add my name to the list of people who wanted to speak but it was long and I knew I'd never make it up there. I'd have cooled down by then anyway and wouldn't have been half so eloquent!

The point was raised anyway, by more than one speaker. The trouble was that CARR was never allowed to present a coherent counter argument at these "information meetings." Instead each speaker was given five minuets. There was huge traffic light on the stage. The light turned green when the speaker began, turned yellow when their time was almost up, and when it turned red they were escorted off of the stage. Anyone who came actually seeking information would find it hard to integrate the dissenting opinion. Or maybe the entire audience was there in dissent. Certainly none of the speakers from the general public that I saw were in favor of the highway.

Poor Tokarskis. The route that was ultimately chosen cut through their land. Not only that, but during the new terrain section of the construction the crews worked 24 hours a day, with big earth moving machinery and dump trucks full of stone. CARR complained and Monroe County made INDOT stop construction at night so that people could sleep, but a judge overturned the order saying that the greater public was served by timely completion of the project, or some such.

Keep that in mind if you would, INDOT's concern for the public and its timeliness. I've got a lot more to say about I 69. I've wanted to talk about if for some time now, but didn't know quite how to begin. I'd finally decided that introducing it a little at a time would be a good strategy and am in fact about half way through the composition of another post that touches on it. Then I got that notice in the mail, felt the death knell in my heart and wanted to share.

 

City Turkey

 

I was down in Amish country the other day. As I approached an intersection two vehicles crossed in front of me, going opposite directions. One was a horse and buggy, the other a little smart car. “How cool,” I thought, “the past meets the future.”

 

*                        *                         *

 

About a year ago I told you about a road trip that my girlfriend and I took to Connecticut, to visit friends for thanksgiving; an over the road trip, in the big truck. Well, we did it again this year. The load that got us out there delivered Tuesday morning in Brooklyn, NY. I've told you before about what a nightmare driving a big rig in NY can be but this trip was supposed to be different. I was delivering limestone treads to a masonry supply store, a business, not a job site, and we had directions in the system, we'd been there before. Looking at the map it looked easy: turn along the shoreline just off the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, follow around the water for a little then turn inland; boom, we're there.

The reality wasn't quite so simple, as you've probably guessed. Cate had the direction all written out, ready to guide me, but the first turn we were supposed to make over the bridge had a sign that read,

 

LOW CLEARANCE PASSENGER CARS ONLY.

 

WTF, these were the directions that my company had given us; a trucking company. They'd said we'd been there before. Had the previous drivers not alerted dispatch that the directions were wrong, or did dispatch just drop that particular ball?

Actually it was doubly my fault. My first mistake was in trusting the directions in the system, always a big no, no. I should have called the customer like I usually do. My second mistake was not noticing on the map that the road we were to turn onto was a parkway. Duh, trucks use expressways, only passenger cars can use parkways. I guess I just wanted to believe it would be easy, and I was so looking forward to that drive along the shoreline.

Not to fear though, I had my GPS turned on with the coordinates of our destination entered. It was a truck route database and I had noticed that it wasn't asking us to turn where our directions had said to. So from there on we would simply follow technology. Cate chucked the paper she was holding and sat back to enjoy the ride.

We were being told where to go but New York is never easy for a truck. At one point I had to go up onto the sidewalk to make a turn, but that's not unusual. Determined not to fail once again in my diligence I double parked on a four lane street to look at the map. I'm so glad that I did because Gipus (GPS) left out a turn entirely. It was a soft right but with an elevated railway before us we couldn't go straight and there were several other options. Gipus let us down again when she told us to turn left to our destination, but we'd been following the elevated railway and there was a solid medium to the left. I had to go down a few blocks and do a U turn under the tracks, but we made it to where we were supposed to be.

Fortunately we were on another four lane road (divided by the railway) so I double parked again with my flashers on and went to see how we were going to unload. There was a fenced yard with equipment and materials that looked promising, but it was locked up and I couldn't find a soul about. I went back to the truck and called the company. I told them I was there with a delivery. The guy on the other end of the line wanted to know where I was. I gave him the address.

”Ah, that's our old location, we haven't been there in a year and a half.”

”Oh, OK, can you please tell me how to get from here to where you are now, in a big truck?”

Silence; a hem and a haw.

”OK, just give me the address and I'll put it in my GPS.” Done, and we were off again.

We retraced our steps at first, then headed into unknown territory. I'm not sure what happened. We were looking for 56th street and were only at 2nd but suddenly Gipus sang the little tune that means we're at the turn, as we were going through the intersection. Then she sang her “uh oh” tune and started thinking about a new route. That happened over and over again as she kept wanting me to turn down streets I couldn't possibly fit down, despite the fact that she was supposedly operating off of a truck friendly data base. At one point she started asking us to make left turns instead of right, which was easier, but then we came to another impossible right at a T and I had to turn left. The way ahead looked doubtful and I was afraid we were going to get into something we'd have to back out of, (can you imagine that?) but it lead to another four lane road and I double parked again to check the map.

Hallelujah, we were close! There was just one more right hand turn and then it was a left onto 56th street and our destination. I negotiated the right OK but then there was a hold up. They were doing construction just before our intersection. I could make the turn, I knew, but the traffic flagger didn't want me to. I'm pointing to the left and he's shaking his head. I lower my window and roll forward to talk to him.

He say's “Go around the block.”

I say, “I've been going around the fucking block all day,” and make the turn, causing him to have to step back out of the way of my slow tracking trailer wheels. I don't remember using the “f” word but Cate assures me that I did. It was a tight squeeze, what with the stupid dump truck parked right there, but I made it and then we were there, our destination, Sandman Building Materials.

We'd arrived, but there was nowhere for us to be. It was a narrow one way street. I wasn't just double parked, I was blocking the entire roadway. There was a worker stacking bags of material on a pallet so I rolled down my window and shouted, “Hey Mister Sandman!” There was no response so I got out of the truck and spoke to him again, then clapped my hands loudly. I get that he probably didn't speak English, but this guy was willfully ignoring me, or maybe he was sleepwalking(?). I gave up on him and started toward the office. A guy on a forklift zipped out of an alleyway, lifted a finger as if to say, “Uno momente,” then barked orders in Spanish. A couple of vehicles were moved, opening up a space for me along the curb.

They started unloading me quickly, with two forklifts, before I was finished unstrapping. I was apprehensive again because this was supposed to be a COD and it was already too late to say “You can't have the product until I have the check.” My fears proved unfounded though as the proprietor had the check all ready. Only when I called in to see what dispatch had planned for us they asked about the check. They asked if it was a certified or cashier's check. “No, it's just a plain old company check.” Dispatch wanted me to go back in and haggle with the people over the kind of check they gave me. I refused. I just don't think that's my place. I was willing to wait there as the afternoon lengthened if they wanted, but I sure wasn't going to go twisting any arms.

Fortunately they let it slide. The afternoon was getting on and even though we'd strategically gotten an early start we found ourselves on the Cross Bronx Expressway at 5 PM, then we ran into the same traffic that we did last year at the Connecticut line. We ultimately weren't able to make it all the way to Tom and Sue's that night but found a spot in a truck stop. That is to say I struggled into a spot that all the other drivers on the CB radio looking for parking places had avoided. Then, to top it off we locked ourselves out of the truck. It's not like I was tired and forgetful or anything, right? Fortunately a very nice hoodlum working in the truck stop jimmied the lock for us, then told us where we could find a bar to have dinner and a few beers in.

I love it when a plan works out!

 

Prodigal Return

 

November woods

      Summer's secrets revealed

 

*                        *                         *

 

I've set a new record for silence. Lamely I said, “But I've nothing to share.”

“You've got a lot to share,” she said, then ticked off a list of things. “Brooklyn, Thanksgiving, the accident, our trip to Italy.”

She's right, of course. I have no reason not to have written in all this time. I've plenty that I could say. I've even been thinking of telling you about the new interstate 69 extension from Evansville to Indianapolis, but have never gotten a handle on just how to start. That's a big subject. Perhaps, if I should continue to write now that I've started, I'll get to that. It's important. It has altered the tenor of my nightmare, some for the better, some for the worse.

But what inspired me to write today has nothing to do with the long list of possible subjects that Cate enumerated. It harkens all the way back to my first trip to Europe, about two years ago. But let me start at the beginning:

Last winter was exceptionally mild. The forecasts for this winter have been all over the place, from another mild season to a brutal one. Our autumn has been mild, for sure, but given recent events I'd lay odds the later prognostication is more likely; “brutal.” It's not yet officially winter and already we've had freezing rain, snow and bitter cold temperatures. Our high today was only 18°.

I've been wearing long underwear, but for today's cold temperatures I dug out my good hiking base layer. It reminded me of where I got it and how lucky I can be.

I was with my daughter touring Wales in a rental car. We'd started out that morning from her home in Leeds, visited two castles and then got to our bed and breakfast as the light was failing. Our plan for the following morning was to take a hike in Snowdonia National Park, a route chosen for it's “many spectacular views of Mt. Snowdon.” True to it's name Snowdonia was covered in snow.

I was apprehensive because I'd left my long johns in Leeds. We were ditching the car outside of London, staying there a few nights, then taking the Eurostar to Paris for four nights, so I was living out of a day pack and had sought to lighten my load. I knew I'd be alright, it's not like we were heading into the back country, but also knew I'd be more comfortable with a thermal under layer. I was resolved to buy one if we saw a department store, which we hadn't in all of Wales, and didn't expect to find one in the quaint little town we were in then. Besides which, in the UK everything closes up at night, unlike here in the States, so even if there had been one...

So what are the odds? Walking into town to find a pub, under the streetlamps, we came across a mountain outfitter's not only open, but with a store wide sale happening. I got an awesome base layer and though I spent more than I would for your run of the mill thermals the sale practically negated the difference between the dollar and the pound. And they are unquestionably better than your run of the mill thermals.

I think I worked up a sweat on the hike. Unfortunately the world was enveloped in fog that morning and we couldn't even see Mt. Snowdon, but still had a great time. I think you can see why digging them out from the bottom drawer this morning brought a smile to my face, why I wanted to share.

 

It occurs to me now that I might have already told you this story. I'm not going to go back and look, nor am I going to worry about it. Why waste all this writing when it's so hard for me to get to doing it anymore? In the past when I've had a long hiatus I've always come back saying, “I'm going to do it, I'm going to write regularly,” then never do. So today there are no promises, only possibilities.