A Ball of Wax and a Thread of Thought

He stands atop the hill. Broad shouldered, hair trimmed short with bushy eyebrows, and his gaze follows the movement of the trees, the clouds and the people below him. A familiar bark escapes his throat and he carefully heads back toward the house.

At 13 years old, Jake is no longer agile or physically active. His steps, carefully placed with thin legs, find their mark on the trail taking him closer to home. He knows where he needs to go from the shadows he can see through blinding cataracts and the familiar smells ingrained in his memory. Thankfully, smell is a powerful tool for Jake and he arrives at the top of the retaining wall and barks again because he doesn’t see me standing three feet away on his blinder side.

Jumping into my arms, I carry him down the steps to the door and let him in. He hops like he always has and reminds me of bringing him home from a small house in the back woods of Virginia. Kathy needed a best friend after moving from Massachusetts and leaving so many best friends behind. I reluctantly agreed. I have strong memories of pets and since pets have such a short life span, all of them end with a loss.

Binky went out one day and didn’t come back. It wasn’t unusual for her to go “hunting” for a day or two. She was independent, strong, and a good hunter but for me, she didn’t come back and I felt that loss even though I was only five or six years old. Chipper was born the year after I was. For the first 17 years of my life, he was always there. When the pains of old age and tumors on his back were too painful for us to watch him bear, we helped him along on his journey and it took several years for me to even recognize the loss of someone so close to me.

I look at Jake and see his parents. He has all the classic archetype behaviors of a dog and within that, he has all the archetype behaviors of a terrier and within that, he has the archetype behaviors of a Silky Terrier.

Any modifications of these behaviors come from his experiences in his life. Jacob’s modifications off the archetypes probably include the significant events of: coming to us as a puppy, meeting Callie for the first time, the invasion of Dusty and Majik into his daily life, the subsequent loss of Dusty, and the move to Hawaii.

“Set in your ways” is a term usually used to describe reactive results of someone who has become settled in on a standard of behavior that defines them. For Jake, he has become set in his ways and it is evident in the arrival of a kitten to our household named Kaia. He is not changing his behavior with this new entry!

It reminds me of a professor I had of psychology who described life as a ball of wax. When we start, we are warm from the oven, pliable and easily molded, affected by most events. I’ve thought a bit about this. Though the ball of wax is still a ball of wax, it is not lead and it is not gold because we still contain the original archetypes of the wax. As the ball of wax rolls through life, it is altered by the journey and as time goes on, there are dents and bulges from bumping into other balls of wax or just from rolling over pebbles. As the wax cools and ages, it hardens and events impact it less. Bumping into hard objects no longer creates much of a dent.

If we are looking for definition from the outside, “who we are” is often defined by the wax dents we encounter. For me, initially, I was Ken and Ellie’s third kid; or Kenny or Jeanne’s little brother. Later on, I was Kathy Cleary’s husband and not too long after that, Matt/Krista/Tucker’s dad. Sometimes work defines us, too.

From an inside perspective, there is a layer inside the wax that only the biggest bumps or the deepest dents affect. This core includes the capacity to give us confidence but conversely it also contains our deepest weaknesses and fears. When we are young and the outer wax is pliable, this core can be affected by the deeper cuts and dents. As we age, the outer wax is stiffer and harder and our core, good or bad, remains largely unaffected.

I watch the kitten play with a toy. She swats at it and jumps in the air. Her play is serious to her. Some fantasy of catching food exists there as a cat archetype of survival though she is never truly hungry. Jacob rests on the couch and watches what motion of her that he can. Suddenly, he recognizes the sound of a car turning the corner and he perks his ears. Confirms the owner of the car as it climbs the hill and he stretches on the couch. Drawing near the edge of the couch, he stretches a bit and jumps down on his thin and aged legs.

The door downstairs closes and the distinctive sound and treble of Kathy’s footfalls on the stairs increases his excitement. Kathy is home! Kathy is home!

She smiles and greets him the same way every time. “Jacob! Hi baby!” and he jumps up onto his hind legs in greeting. Up and down he goes, the excitement pouring out through a suddenly peppy bark. They’ve been doing this since he was a puppy.

His wax may have hardened and we probably can’t teach him any new tricks but this dog has accumulated wonderful dents in his wax. Better yet, he has created even better dents in our wax.

As I go through the moments of my day, I try to realize that each and every interaction I have may create a dent in someone’s wax. It has made me more careful and more thoughtful, caring and understanding of others and their wax formations.

Cats!

Some people just don't like cats. I'm not one of them.

I got thinking about this when I went on a hike up the ridge behind our house. Jake, our dog, was with me and so was Majik (Krista's cat).

My grandmother, Nanny, loved her cats. She had Whiskers, Mitchell, Truman and more. Each had their own special personality and story. When Whiskers arrived, it just so happened that my brother had shaved his face and cut his long hair ... so Whiskers got his name. Of the three cats, Whiskers seemed to rule the roost. He was direct and dominant. If he wanted petting, he came over and you had better pet him or get a tiny scratch for your lack of attention. Truman, was ... well, Truman was cool. He was the jazz player going along to his own tune while still in harmony with the rest of the band. Mitchell, though the biggest cat, was afraid of everything. Mitchell's fur was so thick that you could have made a wig out of one brushing!

Growing up, my sister had a cat named Binky. I don't remember much about her except that she caught a rabbit bigger than herself and dragged it home .... still alive. She had 3 kittens who got the names: Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod. Blinkin and Nod found new homes and we ended up keeping Winkin. Winkin was probably the meanest cat I'd ever encountered and only had a soft spot for Dad. I can imagine that her growing up with us kids made a deep imprint on her personality!

For Kathy and I, we've had our share of cats, too. We started out with Oscar and Felix thus named because of how opposite they were. Oscar was relaxed, handsome and athletic while Felix was particular, peculiar, and a bit clumsy. In those days, Kathy slept on a fold-up couch in a studio apartment. Coming home from work, she wondered where Felix was. She called and called but heard nothing. Finally, she heard a muffled meow from inside the couch. When Kathy left for work, she made the bed and folded it up, the cat remained in the couch ... all day!

Eventually, we had a cat named Penny. She was our first calico cat with browns, white and black colors. She and Benji lived with us in Somerville, MA. I sat on the stoop of our Cameron Ave. apartment and watched as a large Great Dane came up the street. He walked slowly, obviously headed someplace, but alone and without a leash. Penny, a petite cat lay on the sidewalk. Benjie, the biggest cat I've ever seen ran around the back. Cameron Ave. is a wide street. It has room for parking cars on both sides and cars moving in both directions. It is also not a side street. It is one of the main cut-thrus between Mass Ave. and Davis Square. The dog lumbered along, looked up at Penny and she looked at him. She did not get up ... just a head lift. He crossed the street, walked up passed her and then crossed back. Penny put her head back down and fell asleep in the sun. I wondered if they had had a prior encounter of if the dog knew about cats that just don't move from the sidewalk!

Callie was also a Calico cat. She enriched our lives in Bellingham, MA and in Oak Hill, VA. As a youngster, she occasionally caught other animals. Tucker was young and one spring morning, Callie proudly brought a dead mouse to our back door. Tucker saw it and I wasn't sure how he would react. Would he be scarred for life? I used to worry about these things as if I had some sort of control over how the kids would turn out. Ha! You only think you have control! Anyway, we made a game of it and I suggested that Tucker count the things that Callie caught thinking that she might catch 3 or 4 over the summer. It was as if Callie heard me. The challenge was on! 45 dead and not so dead animals later, the summer was finally over and Tucker stopped counting them. Callie caught everything including mice, chipmonks, birds, and even squirrels.

Then there is Majik. She is another breed of creature. Her legend is one of grace, beauty, and sleek athleticism. Although when she is with Krista, she seems to get clumsy! We were looking for a dog and got Dusty, Majik came along with the deal. We were told that she was 6 weeks old and male. A trip to the Vet showed that she was 6 months old and female. She was very small for her age. She came along with the dog and was brought up by Krista. Krista cuddled her, hugged her, and squeezed her and sometimes I feared for the animal's life! Just one of too many times that I have been wrong because a bond was created there that never fails to impress me.

Majik grew up with Jake and Dusty. She would run by the dogs, swat one or the other and they would begin a chase. Generally, Jake would chase Majik and Dusty would chase Jake. After a short while, Majik would jump up on the couch and watch as Jake kept running and Dusty kept chasing. Sometimes, if they slowed down, she would jump back into the fray and get them running again. If the dogs were running around the house barking and chasing each other, you knew that the black cat asleep on top of the couch probably started the ruckus.

Much like Penny, Majik is not one to back down to a dog ... no matter the size. There are many stories of her encounters with dogs. She used to like to go along when Kathy would walk our dogs around our neighborhood in Oak Hill. As the dogs were on the sidewalk, Majik was often walking through the neighbor's front yards. Kathy met a gentleman with a Pointer dog. After the dogs sniffed each other, the Pointer noticed Majik and approached. "You might not want to do that," cautioned Kathy. The man's response still makes me chuckle about misplaced assumptions. "Oh, don't worry! My dog won't hurt your cat."

Kathy responded that she wasn't worried about the cat but by then it was too late. It wasn't a flurry of activity or even fur flying. It was a well placed swipe of the poor Pointer's nose that caused him to run back to his owner with a yelp. Majik sat there and calmly licked her paw.

Majik is a rare cat that when Krista calls her, she comes. Sometimes she even comes when I call her ... sometimes.

So as I headed out of the back yard, I expected her to turn and go back to the house. Up the hill we went through the "pine grove" and out onto the plateau. Majik stayed with Jake and I. Jake's cataract continues to give him depth perception issues and at one point, Majik was actually there helping him climb over the hills and rocks. I was further amazed as we climbed up to the top of the rock overlooking all of Hawaii Kai. She came right along! She sat there looking out over the water, the mountains and the clouds.

It made me wonder what she was looking at ... what she was thinking.

As we headed home, once again, she became Jake's seeing-eye-cat. She led the way and he followed her.

She is a great cat but she is more than that. She is our companion, our friend, and our confidant. She is always there when we need her most. She is a character in our lives who just make this journey so rich, so full, and so worth living.

Enjoy the characters in your life!

with love ... Johnnie-jack

Pictures below!

We head up the ridge ...

Her soft black coat is always clean ...

She stays close to Jake so he can get up the trail ...

Leading Jake

her domain?

Calm in her surroundings ...

Majik at the top!

A Hidden Key

Streaks of light darted through the lumpy low hanging gray clouds lighting up parts of the road and leaving others dark and foreboding. The rain hadn’t come yet but it was threatening and I drove faster to get my 6 months pregnant wife to the place of her greatest comfort … the Burlington Mall.

The year was 1983 and Kathy was pregnant with Matthew. Active, and always moving, Kathy would not let a life changing event like pregnancy get in the way of shopping for Christmas. For Kathy, buying Christmas gifts was a magical combination of art, science and hustle. For me, shopping was only one thing – torture.

I pulled into the parking lot and observed the madness of cars frantically looking for parking spots close to the buildings while keeping a wary eye on the impending storm. I paused for a moment and got the honk of a horn somewhere behind me, so much for being cautious.

We drove the rows and columns of the lot until Kathy declared, “There’s one, over there!” but it was too late. After several more minutes of hunting, Kathy asked, “Are you trying to get close to the mall because I’m pregnant? If you are, forget it and just park, already!”

The message was clear. Anything she did before, she could do now so stop babying her!

We parked at an available spot and I wondered if there were shuttle busses to the mall entrance! My 11 year old red Toyota Carina settled between the white lines and Kathy and I both looked at the cold gray clouds as they started to spit. I turned off the car and lay the keys on the console between us.

“Wait for it to pass?” I asked while looking up.

 “It looks like once it starts, it’s going to go for a while,” she commented.

“You’re probably right,” I responded.

“We’ve got to hurry to beat the rain, let’s go!” she cried.

I jumped out and slammed my door. She jumped out and slammed her door. Both doors were locked. I looked at the console and there were the keys! Damn! Kathy started walking and I caught up to her.

“Yeah, there is a slight problem,” I started.

“What problem?” she said huffing as she spied the mall entrance ahead.

“Uh, well the keys are locked in the car.”

She stopped dead. The wind whipped her blond curls about her face. For a brief moment, I feared the wrath of my pregnant wife.

“Ok, well, we’ll figure it out after we’re done shopping.”

She was not to be denied.

We entered the mall through large glass doors and the windswept rain began. When the doors closed behind me, I became a virtual shopping puppy; on a leash being dragged from store to store. I thought about the keys locked in the car and decided we could check with security but that would have to wait until Kathy was done shopping.

With Kathy’s craving for shopping abated, we visited the security office and explained our problem. The guy smiled and to my surprise, offered to help. The next thing we knew, he has a Slim Jim in his hand and the keys to a security cart. A Slim Jim is a thin metal blade about 24 inches long. It slides down the window slot and hooks a cable that can unlock the door. A simple device if you know what you are doing.

The rain had stopped for the moment and we followed the security cart out to the car. They said their lawyers and insurance wouldn’t allow my pregnant wife to ride on their cart. I wondered if I could ride on the cart since all that shopping had made me feet sore but I didn’t dare ask.

We avoided the puddles and took note of the darkening sky to the southwest. Rain was on its way again.

“Is this your car?” asked the more senior security guard.

“Yes,”  I nodded.

“Can you prove it? I mean, if this doesn’t work, you might have to break a window. So, how do I know this is your car?”

“Look at it, would I choose this car to steal?”

He looked at the faded red paint job, the rusting wheel wells, and the way the back windows were kept closed with rope and nodded that if I were a car thief, I wouldn’t steal this car.

It had been a great car for me. My parents bought it new in 1972 before the oil embargo. Hardly anyone was buying those cheap Japanese cars when gas was so inexpensive but my father peered into his crystal ball and saw trouble with the Arab oil cartel. He traded in his gas guzzler for the gas miser long before the gas prices rose. I bought it 5 years later to commute to college and various jobs that allowed me to take Kathy out to dinner or the movies.

The car was very dependable but the owner, me, was not! I was forever running out of gas or locking my key inside. The back window clasps cracked from the winter cold and I tied them shut with rope. The trunk had old tennis balls that rolled around when I took corners.

So we stood there as the rookie security guard made an attempt at unlocking my car. He inserted the blade deep and pulled up. Over and over again, he tried without success. Ten minutes later, another guard tried his best as the spitting rain became fat drops dancing in the puddles. Kathy got under a small umbrella that the rookie security guard held but it did little good as the wind increased and the rain soaked her legs and her plump belly.

I felt like an idiot. I stood there helpless as the rain increased and soaked me to the bone as each security guard made their assault on unlocking my car.

The senior security guard turned to me red-faced, “Some of these foreign cars,” he started, “the Slim Jim just doesn’t work on them.”

The wind blew the umbrella back and Kathy cried out in surprise as the rain pelted her mid section.

Several thoughts ran through me in that briefest of moments. I sucked as a human being. I didn’t deserve to be on earth let along married to Kathy and even worse, someday I was going to be a father. I was irresponsible, no good, and stupid. Every negative, lack-of-self-esteem thought or memory jumped to life at that moment to beat me down.

I took the Slim Jim and slid it into the slot by the window and kept sliding it up and down. Nothing. Desperate I tried again. Nothing.

The rain increased and I was soaked. The security guards had had enough.

“Look fella, do you have somebody you can call and get a key? I mean, we’ve got to get back to our jobs and I don’t think we can help anymore. I can show you where the payphones are so you can call somebody.”

I looked at the car and shook my head. I’d have to break a window. Kathy thanked the guys and they drove off in the rain. A few streaks of mascara lined Kathy’s face. Suddenly, I wanted to put my fist through the window. I was angry at myself for being so stupid as to leave the keys locked in the car.

I thought I had matured. I thought I was over those teenage years where you DO first and THINK second. Shit, I was 24 years old and it had been years since I’d run out of gas or locked my keys in my car!

My hands were numb and I wondered how Kathy felt. I pulled out my pocket knife, and with shaking hands opened it and slipped it through the back window. I sawed for a few minutes and cut the rope holding the window together. 

Thunder boomed and the cold rain poured down as I leaned half my body in the car, grabbed a coat hanger and hooked my keys pulling them out of the car. I unlocked Kathy’s side and ran around and dove into my side and started the car.

The moisture of the rain on our clothes and hair had completely fogged up the windows. We waited for the defroster to kick in.

I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want to see the anger in her eyes or worse yet, the disappointment that might register there. I didn’t want to feel her disapproval rip my soul out. Instead, she grabbed my chin and pulled me toward her. She kissed me and I knew all was good.

Forgiveness is good. Forgiving another is great. Forgiving yourself is difficult but rewarding.

In that moment, I felt all of these things through Kathy’s forgiveness of me Suddenly the rain soaked clothes and the our chattering teeth didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but that feeling of love from my wife.

The defroster cleared a small patch of the windshield and I confessed to Kathy, “Honey, I don’t know what happened. I thought I was better than this. I thought that I had beaten that immature behavior. I don’t know. I’m sorry for getting you soaking wet and cold.”

She smiled, “It is over. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not like we lost a limb out there, we just got a little wet and a little cold. We’re in the car, it’s warming up and soon we’ll be home and I’ll make us some soup!”

I chuckled and she continued, “Yeah, you used to lock yourself out of your car all the time but it’s been a while, hasn’t it? When was the last time you locked yourself out?”

“I don’t know,” I responded thoughtfully. “It was a while ago, I know that ... I did something to stop it, I paused in thought. "Actually, I haven’t locked myself out of my car in a very long time … let me see … I know! I haven’t locked myself out since I had that spare key made …  and … put … it … in … my … wallet …”

Who Are We?

I'm sitting in my living room listening to the roaring fire in the fireplace, the spinning cycle of the washing machine and the tick-tock of our wind-up clock on he wall. It's been a pretty good day with 8 inches of new snow shoveled, a 3 mile walk, 30 minutes in the hot tub, and now a fire in the fireplace and a glass of red wine at my fingertips. A startlingly red cardinal just flew down to the bird feeder outside the window and all seems right in my world. 

The kicker for all of this was that Matthew was up and stayed the night. We all ate out at a Mexican restaurant last night and played a few rounds of MarioKart. Today, we cleared the snow from the driveway and went in the hot tub again. 

We loaded up his car with gear for his new apartment and I stood at the door as he left our house. It is always tough to see your children leave. I threw a few snowballs at his car; watched him laugh (I missed) ... but I stood there ... waiting ... and then stood there watching him leave. I stood there until his blue Subaru was gone and I stood there a few moments longer. 

When I was a kid, a bit more than a few years ago, we would visit Nanny and Banky at 16 Gerry Street for a holiday or just for a Sunday afternoon. Jeanne, Kenny and I would play around in the old house for hours running up and down the stairs and in and out of the many little rooms that made up the magical old house. For all the times we visited, when we left, Nanny would stand at the curb and wave to us as we drove away. We'd be all the way up to the end of the street and she would still stand there watching us go. I know because I would watch her out the back window as we drove away (before seat belts, of course).

And now I do this. I don't do this consciously, I just do it. It seems that I "inherited" something from Nanny.

As I entered grade school, the neighborhood kids taught me the things you can say and the things you can't. I already knew about "damn" and "hell" but they taught me other words. I still remember thinking about it. They were words I didn't know so would I have ever said them anyway? So, a couple of neighborhood kids taught me nasty words and then they showed me their middle finger. "Definitely DON'T use your middle finger! That's a swear, too!"

At the age of 6, this left me totally confused. My dad seemed to always point with his middle finger and I'd never heard him use any of those bad words! The years wore on and I didn't use the swear-words. I was always careful with my fingers but my dad kept pointing with his middle finger! I was 13 and we were going to go canoeing. We're looking at a map and he said, "We'll put in here, and portage there, and take out there." ... pointing with his middle finger at each spot. He was always swearing with his middle finger. Didn't he know that it was a swear??

Many more years have gone by and I've obviously learned more about the way my dad uses his middle finger ... it's not up ... and that has taught me a lot about intent. The above photo shows a woman pointing with her middle finger. The woman in the picture is a great Aunt of some sort ... of my father. Did he "inherit" something, directly or indirectly from her?

We all inherit characteristics and traits from our parents. The obvious ones are those that are on the human genome but we also inherit characteristics and traits from our family, friends, and acquaintances. 

These things we've learned and adopted become part of who we are and we use many of them daily. We don't always know where they came from and sometimes we do. Today, I remembered my grandmother, Elinor May Cleary aka Nanny, for the briefest of moments as Matthew backed down our driveway and I wondered what she was thinking when she stood there waving to us as we drove away.

The Cleary Axioms on What is Crazy

This past March I turned 54 years old. My knees, ankles, and even a quick glance in the mirror reminds me that I am every month of those 54 years. However, I don’t always feel that way. Sometimes, I feel much younger and in those moments … let’s just say that I’m not always as cautious as I should be. Maybe I'm crazy.

I show my hiking pictures to people at work. They ask to see them, honest, really, they do ask … ok, they ask out of politeness. Yes, I’m one of those that when you ask “How was your weekend?” … I actually answer! Yep, I’m one of those.

A few weeks ago, Matt and Maggie stayed the weekend with us at our house in New Hampshire. They had decided to hike the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail up to or at least toward the Lake of The Clouds Hut. Despite an evening looking at Google maps, when they got there the next day, they couldn’t find the trail. It might have had something to do with the 4 feet of snow covering most of the signs but I’m not sure.

I felt bad about them not finding the trail. The following weekend, I awoke early and drove up to the White Mountains arriving to a biting wind and 12 degree temperatures. “This is nuts,” I thought as I climbed out of the car and checked my gear, found the trail head and then headed in.

Every 4^th or 5^th step, one of my feet sunk in to my calf or my knee. Note to self: I should have brought snow shoes. Soon I was huffing and puffing like an old steam engine … which is just what I do! The benefit of this huffing and puffing is that I was toasty warm from the effort. The wind had died down and I removed and stuffed my jacket into my backpack. I was that warm.

Stumbling through the crunchy snow I came across a waterfall and a pretty, but frozen pool. I crossed the stream but struggled to find the trail. After 10 minutes of hunting around, I found the trail going vertical between a set of trees. I looked up and realized that it was too dangerous to go up there without snow shoes. Plugging my headphones in and cranking up some Maroon5, I turned and trotted down the trail enjoying the gentle downward slope and how the soft snow was gentle on my knees.

At work, I showed the pictures from the hike to the usual chorus of …

-          You’re crazy to go up there in the White Mountains! You know it is winter, right?

-          How can you go up there by yourself? What if you got hurt? You shouldn’t hike alone, that is just crazy!

Matt was happy to hear that I was able to find the trail head. I was happy to get off that mountain but wondered how far I could have gotten if I had my snow shoes.

For some reason, I had taken the following Friday off from work. There were many things to do around the house but I slated the day for hiking. The night before, a winter weather advisory posted that a storm of freezing rain and ice pellets was moving into the region and would be upon us at 5am on Friday. I went hiking anyway but at least I took the Subaru instead of the rear wheel drive RX-8.

Inside the canopy of evergreens, the snow drifted down as if in a part of a warm winter dream. I had brought my tripod and snowshoes and marched through the woods stopping at streams and waterfalls to enjoy the moment and take pictures. I felt calm and peaceful, alone and yet belonging at the same time.

I got to the frozen pond and crossed it and found the steep part. I looked up as the angle. It was an incredible challenge. I started up at a steady pace stopping at defined intervals to ensure I took in water and energy bars. The snowshoes worked well and after much effort, I found myself at another major waterfall where the trees had diminished due to the elevation. The wind whipped upwards of 35 to 40 miles per hour. With my back to the wind, I sat and took in the vista of mountains and swirling snow. I’d not reached the Lake of the Clouds hut but I’d gone pretty far … but this was far enough so I turned back.

Going down hill was much more difficult than I expected. I slipped and slid down the steep hill finally taking off my snow shoes so my feet would sink in and slow my momentum. At the car, I recognized something … I wasn’t just hiking the mountain alone; I was the only one hiking the mountain!

At home, I got similar reactions of my craziness from some of my family. Hiking alone was much more dangerous than hiking with someone! Indeed, I was in agreement but sometimes hiking alone is better than not hiking at all. 

There is risk in all that we do … even crossing a city street or driving to the grocery store. Do we sit cowering in our basements? No, we cross the street and we go to grocery stores. It is a matter of perspective.

At work, people told me of all the people who had been injured or even died from hiking alone. I was told that they had seen articles in newspapers, magazines and on the internet … of hikers who had gotten injured while hiking alone. “Have you seen,” they asked, “the movie 127 hours? He was hiking alone and had to cut his arm off ... with a pocket knife!”

After thinking a few moments, I wondered if anyone would make a movie of a hiker walking through the woods alone and surviving without some sort of heroic event? Would anyone write an article in the newspaper if a hiker had gone into the White Mountains alone and walked out the same day? Wait, I do that all the time and no one is writing about me (except this blog!) Of course no one does! That doesn’t sell newspapers the way an article about the grizzly and lonely death of a hiker in the woods does. The fact that the hiker might be alone makes the reader feel comfortable that this wouldn’t happen to them … because the reader isn’t crazy enough to hike alone!

There are two Cleary axioms that have come to mind. Actually, I just made them up. The first is the “Axiom of relative craziness”. It was first observed while driving through Crawford Notch while attempting our first ascent to Zealand Hut via Ethan Pond Trail. That trip would start with hiking up a steep incline with skies and heavy packs on our backs. This seemed pretty crazy to us. However, then the moment of relative craziness occurred.

“What’s that up on Frankenstein Cliffs?” someone asked. We peered at an ice flow hanging vertically from the cold granite slab that is the cliffs. The specks on the ice flow were people, yes people using crampons and ice climbing equipment to scale the monstrous ice flow. Suddenly, a simple walk up a hill in 15 degree weather through 9 miles of snow to a hut that remains cold until a fire is lit at 4:30 in the afternoon didn’t seem so crazy. It was a perfectly reasonable case of relative craziness. We were less crazy than those people on the ice flow and therefore … not crazy at all.

The second axiom is mathematical in nature. One Cleary alone will suffer from the above axiom of relative craziness, however two Clearys will surely hike something that one Cleary will not. Thus the second is the “Axiom of Compounding Cleary Endangerment.” Where one Cleary might withdraw when faced with an obstacle, adding another Cleary just increases the likelihood that each will encourage the other to do something neither would do on their own!!

As example, with all the doubts around me hiking alone, I invited Matt to hike with me on my next adventure toward the Lake of the Clouds Hut. I don’t think I had finished my question before he was already saying that he’d go.

We had a fantastic breakfast at Tilton Diner and were on our way very early in the morning. The temps at the base were around 40 degrees and much of the snow had melted away making streams into raging and flooding torrents. We decided to forgo the snowshoes until Matt sunk into the snow up to his thigh just by stepping slightly off the trail.

Our first obstacle was a good sized waterfall that flowed into a pool which had previously been frozen. The prior week, I had walked across the snow that covered the stream and now it was an 8 food crossing. Had I been by myself, I would have stopped here, had lunch and headed back. However, having two Clearys in attendance means a discussion, a debate, or a discourse, if you will, about the merits of going forward or turning back.

Where I would have turned back, instead I found myself following Matt’s lead and scampering across water covered rocks and diving onto a shelf of snow before getting dragged off the edge by Matthew. The first case of the Compounding Cleary Endangerment axiom was clearly in evidence.

We put on our snowshoes and proceeded up the extremely steep hill. I cannot express in words the steepness of this hill except to say that there were moments when I felt as if I was going to topple backwards and slide down the entire length only getting stopped by the waterfall at the bottom!

The steep incline brings rapid ascent and soon we were approaching the area where the trees grow short and the wind picks up. It was at this time that we encountered another waterfall and since the water flow was so great, there appeared no way to cross the raging 8 foot divide. Matt seemed ready to turn back when I noticed that the water flowed under a chunk of snow. Yes, the second axiom, the Compounding Cleary Endangerment axiom reared its head again … I convinced Matt that we could go off-trail and cross the stream a ways down the hill. We did and had to climb the side of the mountain using trees and shrubs to pull ourselves up toward a return to the path.

 

We plowed our way through the snow and ice with the snowshoes gripping sometimes and missing others. We fell and we crawled at times but we found ourselves on the exposed slope along a ridge.

There was no defined path. We could go up to the right or go up to the left. “Which way would you go? Up to the left or Up to the right?" I asked Matt.

“Up,” he responded followed by a slight smirk and a twinkle in his eyes.

We proceeded on yet again when had either of us been alone, we probably would have turned back. Finally, I had had enough, “time to turn around,” I said. “I can do one more ridge and if that is not THE ridge then I’m done.”

Fifty yards later Matt spied the chimney of the Lake of the Clouds hut!! We’d made it!

I’d like to say that we enjoyed our Subway sandwiches in the hut itself but the hut was frozen solid. 50 mile per hour winds howled around us as we examined the possibilities of hiking the last 1.4 miles to the top of Mount Washington. I looked at him and he looked at me. If there was a third Cleary in attendance then perhaps the axiom of Compounding Cleary Endangerment might have taken hold but with only two of us … we were done.

Just an old glove ...

A trip through the basement is usually a fun time. I generally go down there for one thing and end up getting distracted by another thing. You just never know what you are going to find down there. Even though, our basement is pretty clean, you can find any number of interesting artifacts down there. I stood in front of an old socket wrench set. It was my first and only socket wrench set. Its older than my kids!
We all have our aged items that are full of sentimental value. Somewhere down there is an old Flexible Flyer sled that I got when I was 5 or 6 years old. Maybe that one is in the garage. I got it one particularly warm and dry Christmas and waited ... forever ... for it to snow so I could use it. Sure, I dragged it across the pavement to scrape the paint from the bottom. That was just step one. Each of us used varying kinds of candles so we could wax up the bottoms of our sleds. After a good snowfall, it seemed to take all day to get the snow packed where one of those Flexible Flyers would go fast enough down the hill. Theories abounded about the amount and kind of wax to maximize speed. Oh Rosebud!
These things in the basement are precious to me but probably not to anyone else. Certainly, value is in the eye of the beholder when you are exploring the basement. I was in the basement a few weeks ago when I came across my old softball glove. That glove moved from Somerville, MA, to Bellingham, MA, to Oak Hill, VA to Hawaii Kai, HI and now to Bedford NH. It has had quite series of moves and I wondered why I had bothered to keep it around. After all, it is just an old glove ... isn't it?
I got that glove when I was 19 years old. As of this writing, the old thing must be 35 years old. Is that right? 1978 ... and this is 2013 ... so, yep it is 35 years old this summer! It still had a softball and it fit nice in my hand. I tossed the ball around and was surprised to see that the leather threading didn't just fall into dust. I wanted a good glove so as I looked at the gloves and tried them on, this one struck me as a perfect fit but the price was a shocker, but I bought it anyway. I played catcher in slow-pitch games, high arc games, and my favorite was the fast-pitch games. Dad was the pitcher for most slow-pitch and high arc games but then we got Joe to pitch fast-pitch. He threw so hard that my hand swelled up until I made a glove insert for extra padding.

The glove was there when Kenny decided to try his hand at pitching. I don't remember the score but it was near the end of the game and a runner was on 3rd base eager to get home. The pitch was wild (or may be I missed it?) and it went to the backstop. I dashed to get it and upon turning realized that with the runner trying to steal home, I had a choice, throw the ball to Kenny who was also running toward home or dive to tag the runner out. Any time you throw the ball, you have the chance of a miscue ... so I dove. With my body horizontal, I tagged the runner out but due to my momentum, my body swung around and took Kenny out at his knees. I'd never seen him in such pain as his knee popped out of the socket ... Kenny looked up, "Was he out?"
Kathy was always supportive of me playing softball and basketball. We had talked about getting married and she described the type of ring she wanted. I found what she wanted and selected it from a downtown jewelers. Of course, they had to size it and set the stone on the ring. Dad was able to pick it up from work before one of our games. It "burned a hole in his pocket" throughout the game and he finally could hold it no more and tossed and I caught it with my glove when Kathy wasn't looking. I walked with her up Gerry Street, I paused ... unsure what to say. Here was the woman of my dreams and I wanted her to be the woman of the rest of my life.. Unfortunately, I was standing in a complete (shirt, pants, and leggings) softball uniform. In fact, it had been a particularly dirty day playing catcher and I was a mess ... sweaty, dirty, and having just consumed unhealthy amounts of pizza and beer!
But I couldn't wait for us to start down the path of our journey together!
I turned to her and knelt down holding out the glove. In the pocket of the glove sat a black box and within that, an engagement ring of blue sapphire and diamonds. "Will you marry me?" I asked and she smiled and and said "Yes."
Simple and to the point. I put the ring on her finger and she kissed my dirty, sweaty, pizza-covered face. If she could accept me like that, we were bound for a splendid marriage ... and it has been ... oh so much more than splendid.

On August 22, 2013, we will have been married 32 years and every day I'm glad she said "yes."

What's a Flume?

I breathed in my nose and blew out the damp Hawaiian sea air as I surveyed the rugged cliffs of the windward side of Oahu. My heart pounded from the exertion of climbing the last challenging stages of the peak of Shark’s Tooth.

I’d been careful throughout the entire climb.  

The sights around me triggered thoughts hidden deep in the recesses of my long term memory. The thoughts, memories really, floated back as I sucked down some water and surveyed the blue-green waters below. 40+ years before, a car ride out of Massachusetts had been long and tedious. We bounced along in the back of an old Chevy for several hours.  When my brother and sister paid any attention to me, it was to bug me, poke me, or scowl at me. I’m sure that I was an easy mark for them. Angry, I sat in the back seat watching the rolling hills of southern New Hampshire pass by. I’m sure my lower lip extruded from my face like the bumper of the old Chevy extended from the grill.

As we moved north into the wilds of New Hampshire, the rolling hills became pine covered topped with granite-gray peaks and they caught my attention. I stared up, mouth open. I’d never seen anything like them as they struck daggers into the blue sky. I wanted to go up there. I wanted to be up on the top and see what it looked like up there.

“Can we go up there??” I asked.

The query resulted in chuckles and laughter all around the car. My lip protruded further.

Finally, the car stopped and we piled out. Having been cooped up for multiple hours, I was out the door and my 6 year old legs were ready to go but there was so much new all around me! Everything was brown. The guard rails, the signs, the bark on the trees; all were brown. A picture of Smokey the Bear greeted us into the White Mountains National Forest and we faced a sign that read “The Flume.”

I had no idea what a flume was. Was it a flame? Was it a tomb? What was a flume? Jeanne answered from a brown sign with moss covered edges, “A flume is a natural gorge cut into the rocks.”

What’s a gorge? Is that like George, the kid across the street? Was it named after George Washington? Did he sleep here, too?

Soon it didn’t matter as what-ever-it-was had rocks to climb and water rushing by. Maybe there was treasure up there in the midst of the rocks and trees. Let’s go, already!

We walked to another sign and Jeanne read this one too. It was something about granite and water. Let’s get to the gorge, the flume or whatever it was, already. Why do we have to read these signs?

We moved on to the start where there were wooden bridges whose sides were covered in soft green moss. The bridges were attached to steep walls of smooth gray rock. Walking in, we were hit with heavy, moist air that enveloped you and sucked the breath from you. The sky darkened as the walls climbed. Mist and moisture clung to the walkway, the railings, and the scared granite.

I ran forward to the next sign. It had words I didn’t know. As Mom, Dad, Kenny and Jeanne approached, I was already moving to the next sign. They were reading and discussing; I climbed the stairs to a waterfall. Wow, I was looking at a waterfall that wasn’t the result of a drainage ditch! It roared as it descended and crashed to the rocky pool below. The water flowed out from the top of a huge rock above me … and someone built stairs to get up to the top!

I climbed halfway up the stairs and looked back at my family still two signs away from me. They were engrossed in some discussion. WHAT could they be talking about? There was so much to see!

I started my ascent and realized that the stairs were wet from the mist. I slipped but caught myself. “Hey!” I called out. “Hey, the steps are wet, be careful!”

The roar was too loud. Hard to believe that anything could be louder than me, I tried calling out again. They just kept on talking to each other. They couldn’t hear me at all. Kenny looked up. Mom and Dad looked up. I waved. They shouted. I couldn’t hear them but got the vivid impression that I should wait for them.

So, I waited at the top of the stairs. And I waited some more. I twiddled my fingers. I scraped some moss off the underside of the step and played with it. It seemed like a few years had passed when I looked down at them again and they hadn’t moved past the next sign. Other visitors passed them and I kept waiting. The other visitors approached me. Then I got tired of waiting and went to the next sign. The other visitors were a family of 4 and their grandmother. They smiled as they passed me. I followed them through three more signs and still my family hadn’t come up the stairs.

Guilt took a turn in my conscious. I remembered the slippery steps and wondered if someone had fallen and delayed their arrival. Maybe they slipped into the river and the police had been called. I walked back and they were still reading the signs. The roar of the water filled my ears again and I headed back along the wooden walkway.

Then I saw a bigger waterfall and ran to it passing the family of 4 plus grandma. Up some more steps to an overlook and more educational signs. I was so sick of these signs. Some showed old pictures of massive amounts of water pouring through the gorge/flume and other pictures where it was dry as a sun-drenched bone in the Sahara desert (I’d seen National Geographic). I looked down and saw Kenny run up the stairs where I had been waiting so long ago. It was about time!

I moved on up and came upon Grandma. Her face stern and angry.

“Don’t you know your mother is probably worried sick?”

“Where are your parents?”

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“Did you know you could slip and fall and hurt yourself?

“Did you know that you could fall into this river and die?”

“Do you know how cold that water is?”

Was I supposed to answer these questions? If so, when was I going to get a chance?

It became obvious that I was not supposed to answer the questions. I was supposed to shut up and get back to my family. I felt terrible and worried that my mother would be afraid for me.

I made my way down the steps to another landing but they weren’t there, yet. I made sure that I was careful as the grandmother was probably correct, I could slip and fall into the water. Another landing and they still weren’t there.

Turning a corner, they were there … reading a sign.

When she saw me, Mom rushed to me, “There you are! We’ve calling and calling for you! Where have you been? Why did you rush off like that?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer these questions either.

“Do you know you scared me to death? I thought you could have slipped and fallen; maybe slid into the river and drowned!”

I’d been careful but it didn’t matter. I’d waited patiently but it didn’t matter.

I know that I said something thoughtless back to her. I know that she was mad at me and spoke sternly to me for many more long and painful minutes. If I thought waiting for them at the top of the steps was a long time, waiting for mom to explain the errors of my ways on that day was infinitely longer; and I knew that she was right.  

I deserved all of it and I deserved more of it, too.

One thing about my mother is that she gets her anger out and then it is thankfully over with. I’m sure that sometime later in the day, she knew that I had learned a valuable lesson and convinced Dad to buy us all ice cream.

Each time I climb a mountain and each mountain I look at I thank my mother for giving me the temperance to climb them carefully.

Happy Mother’s Day