My Grand Canyon Adventure
I was not an adventurous traveler until I turned 70 years old. My husband and I took road trips and visited national parks. I went on a group tour to China and walked the Great Wall—but that’s a story for another day, and I never considered it a great adventure. Well, except for when I was stranded in Tiananmen Square. Again a story for another day. Today is a story from my colossal experience.
In 2011 I turned 70, and I felt I needed a grand adventure before that momentous birthday.
My immediate family, including my late great ex-husband, took trips down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in wooden dories. These were the boats that John Wesley Powell used when he first exploded the length of the canyon. It was now my turn for that adventure. The outfitter —OARS (Outdoor Adventure River Specialists), offered three options for riding the river through the canyon. One could begin the trip at the beginning and hike out of the canyon from Phantom Ranch (a rest stop at the bottom of the canyon). Another option was to hike into the canyon to Phantom Ranch to join the group, or one could take the entire trip from Lees Ferry to Whitmore Wash (14 days). I had hiked to and from Phantom Ranch in my early 30s, and it was a challenge then. This was not even an option, so I signed up for the entire trip down the Colorado. A grand adventure indeed.
Obviously, there are many stories about this trip, but there is one memory I have often shared with friends.
The canyon has some special significance for my family, and I had been given some must-see hikes. All of them were challenging, and I sat some out, but there was this one I had to do. It was a particular cliff one must climb. I was determined.
As the group set out, I immediately fell behind. I would be so sad to not achieve this goal. One of the guides stayed behind with me. I kept apologizing and told him to not stay behind because of me. Then I realized I had paid for him to be there and be my guide. It was his job to get this older woman up that cliff. He was very patient. He carried extra water because he knew some of the guests would not have enough water with them. We rested often. He showed me some of the plant life and interesting rocks. We kept walking. (And walking and walking.) Finally, the cliff was in sight. I could see our head guide and the folks who had taken on the challenge of this hike.
The head guide was learning to play the flute, and the notes reverberated through the canyon. I felt the music was just for me—celebrating my victory of getting this far.
But it was not done. I still had to join the rest of the party. With the help of my guide, some guests, and lots of gumption, they hoisted me up that cliff. We celebrated. And then it was done, and it was time to go back.
I have the picture of me being lifted up to the pinnacle. It was a triumph for me and a hike I will never forget.
As a footnote: why is that trip so important to me? My late great ex-husband did the trip several times, and my daughter and son-in-law took his ashes to the Colorado River on their journey. But best of all, as my grandson tells everyone: “My name is John Wesley. I am named after John Wesley Powell because my mommy and daddy found me in the Grand Canyon.” See why I had to go?
Slogging through Covid
It was a beautiful summer evening for a community event: cider, wine, and beer tasting in a very urban environment. As the center’s name implies, seriously urban environments – Kirkland Urban. One could walk from merchants, art galleries, and restaurants – taking tiny tastes of the beverage of your choice.
Covid did not seem to be a concern. We were carefree. No one was wearing masks, and we were mostly outside. Besides, I was pretty sure I had the “I am immune to Covid” gene. As I stopped in a restaurant for another tasting, I saw some friends who were not attending the tasting but were enjoying dinner seated at the bar. We conversed, and my day improved as my friend said nice things about me. It was a glorious day indeed.
Monday, I woke with a tremendous sinus headache. It must be allergies. There is a lot of pollen in the air. I took a decongestant and went about my business, working remotely from my home. Later I got a text from my friend telling me he was very ill with Covid and thought I should know. He said we didn’t spend that much time together and weren’t that close.
I agreed. I tested anyway and tested negative. Besides, I have that gene! Yay.
I should test again by Wednesday, as I understand it might take a couple of days to test positive. Surely enough, Wednesday, June, 29-five days later, I tested positive. So much for that gene. I sent a text to my primary care doctor. No one seemed alarmed. I was told to quarantine for five days, wear a mask for another five days, and then go about my business. Well, quarantine until July 3rd. I can do that. I can then attend July 4th events outdoors with a mask. I notified the doctor’s offices I had been to and told my neighbors in my building in case we had contact.
If you know me, I am an extrovert. I need to be with people. I live alone in a secure building. All alone. I was still asymptomatic and would declutter some areas, do laundry, and catch up on my writing. I would enjoy quarantine. I was wrong. My energy level was low. I binged on television shows. Well, that was fun. I still believed I was asymptomatic. I did not relate that sinus headache to anything. The low energy had to just be me moping about being so isolated. And moping I did.
I live with a view of Lake Washington. I saw people on boats, paddle boards, water skis, and kite surfing. People had parties on the dock. Everyone was having fun. I was the pariah that could only view the joy from my balcony. There was a virtual happy hour. Not many folks attended as many were out of town for the holidays. Quarantine lost its novelty. I had a zoom meeting on Saturday, still testing positive, and then I went to bed. I seriously went to bed. I hid under the covers. I was not reading, no podcasts, no tv. Just head under the pillow. Deep depression. Was this a symptom or just a response to the quarantine? I will never know. I felt better on Sunday and decided it was my day 5 of quarantine.
Tomorrow I could leave my lovely jail.
I can celebrate the Fourth of July.
My energy level was low, and I was still testing positive. I attended an outdoor concert with a mask and social distancing. No one wanted to approach me. I was on day ten, folks!
Still positive.
By now, I was receiving messages from friends checking in on me. Some people I didn’t even know. A friend brought me wine and a pie. A very simple greeting meant a lot to me.
On July 5th, I had a settlement conference. It was zoom, but I like to be in the same room as my client. I messaged my client, a nurse. I explained that I was still asymptomatic but testing positive even though it was 11 days since I had been exposed. She was comfortable being in our large, well-ventilated conference room. This was a 10-hour settlement conference. This would sap my energy under any circumstances, but it was a real challenge with my low energy. The week went on. Testing positive and only seeing people on zoom. I was learning that some people test positive for weeks. Was that my fate? Do I go about my life testing positive?
I had a weekend getaway planned for the weekend of the 15th with three friends. Would they understand if I still test positive?
A friend invited me to a concert at a large venue. Outdoors, but would it be OK? Let’s test again. I got up early to buy more tests at the drug store. I almost did the test in the car on the way home, but I waited. You are supposed to wait 15 minutes for a result, and I tried not to watch. Fiddle around in the kitchen. Wipeout the bathroom sink. Waiting, waiting. I couldn’t help it. I had to look even though it had only been ten minutes. Negative. Seriously negative. Two weeks after exposure. I celebrated and danced around the room. I wanted to shout it from my balcony. Instead, I blurted it on Facebook—our current town square.
I enjoyed the concert immensely. The next day I walked a mile to enjoy time with friends and celebrate my new freedom.
While I generally believed I was asymptomatic, I am not sure if that is true. I still have fatigue, and my energy level is low. Maybe I am old? I will still dance around the room anyway.
So much for being immune. I don’t believe you are either.
I always thought I would like to do a personal retreat and quarantine somewhere. Guess I can scratch that off the bucket list.
What I Meant to Say
I started this blog with the idea of offering inspiration. Everywhere I go, I am told I am inspiring. Perfect strangers tell me I am an inspiration. Is it because I went to law school at 50? That I built a successful solo law practice? Something I said? Some days I feel like the only thing inspiring about me is that I am still above ground!
What I meant to say is that I’m tired. I’m tired of being the inspiration. I’m tired of being a strong independent woman. I’m tired of being the role model. I’m tired of thinking, “if you only knew.” If you only knew the messy parts of my life; the hurts, regrets, and sorrows. If you only knew, would you think less of me?
I am guessing you would not think less of me. You would think I’m only human. Just as I wouldn’t think less of you if I knew the messy parts of your life—the hurts, regrets, and sorrows.
Like the beat of our hearts, our feelings and circumstances go up and down. When it’s down, we know it will go up again. If we could graph it like an ECG, we would see the rhythm. That rhythm means we are alive and functioning.
Know there will be better days. Rest, sleep, meditate, and run at top speed. And when you’re tired and down, know as I write this that’s life.
I will think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow the sun will come out. Tomorrow I will once again live to be an inspiration.
So will you.
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Karin Quirk