Mt. Rainier

I recently read a travel article where the columnist described the difference between how he and his wife approach planning a trip.  He plans how to get there and then decides what to do when he arrives, whereas his wife meticulously plans each hour of every day.

The writer's approach is more my style, because when I went to the northwest for a week last month, after I had seen a baseball game in Seattle on the first day as planned, I didn't have no further plans other than driving into Idaho at some point because I'd never been in Idaho before, the only state in the lower 48 which I had never visited.  I woke up the second morning and started planning my trip.

The paper revealed the recovery that week of the remains of four climbers lost the winter before on Mt. Rainier, apparently a very deadly mountain.  So I went to see it.

It was spectacular all right. even though the road up to the base of it was closed for the season, since I wasn't a climber.  Here's a picture of me at Mt. Rainier Park on the second day of my vacation.

Back In Business

My Uncle died last year and he was the last WWII vet I personally knew.  When I was a boy, every male adult that wasn't a grandfather was a WWII vet, practically every child I knew had a Dad who was a quiet hero. 

I knew a tank killer in a tank destroyer in Patton's 3d Army, a Marine in the 1st Divison who knocked the Japanese back in the Pacific, a Bronze Star recipient who fought off Japanese kamikaze planes for a full day to both save his ship and earn his commendation, an officer who helped roust the Japanese from the Philippines, a pilot who bombed the Nazis in North Africa, a paratrooper who dropped in on Normandy on D-Day, etc.

But all of these heroes eventually died and I no longer personally knew a single WWII vet, once so common.  Until yesterday.

On a trip this weekend to meet a childhood friend, I met his father-in-law, a Hellcat pilot on an escort Jeep Carrier in the Pacific.  I so appreciated speaking with Ray about his service covering troop landings in the war against Japan and I am gratified that now I still know a WWII veteran.

Made From Plants

Last month I spent a week in the northwest on my vacation, driving about 3,000 miles in a rental car through Oregon, Washington and Idaho, solely I had never been to any of those states.  Unexpectedly, far from being monotonous or pure drudgery, the trip was a lot of fun because I had no idea how beautiful those places are.

More on that later.  I saw a baseball game at Safeco Field in Seattle the first day, where the Oakland As beat the Mariners 4-2 in a game that featured five homers accounting for the six runs.  Ironically, I read an article recently saying the Mariners were moving their outfield fences in next season, by up to twelve feet , to promote more home runs, I suppose.

That's a beautiful park.  From the seats way up high behind home plate you can see both downtown and Puget Sound.  It's not quite like being able to see Russia from there, I suppose, but it's still a wondrous sight, and nobody else hardly sits up there.

 I bought a beer at the park and the container was so left coast.  The cup was "Environmentally Friendly, Made From Plants, 100% Compostable."  I so liked this cup I brought it home.

But I have been worrying that it will leak.  Made from plants, what does that mean?  Is it dishwasher safe?

So I decided to discard it.  But I don't know how.  It seems like plastic, so do I put it in the recycle bin? 

Do I put it in the trash instead?  Or do I throw it on the W&OD Bike Trail right of way behind my house as compost?  There this hardy clear plastic cup with its brown, green and red piping and white and yellow lettering seems like it could sit and compost for years.  What an environmental conundrum I have imported from the west coast. 

Bucket Lists

I took my summer vacation last month.  I went to the great northwest.

Why?  Because at my age I keep lists.

As in, states I have never been in.  That would be (as of early last month) Alaska, Hawaii, Idaho, Oregon and Washington,

Alaska and Hawaii are hard to get to, so they await another day.  But I put a big check mark on all of the lower 48 last month.

Oh, I also keep track of the baseball stadiums I have visited and I saw a game at Safeco Field (Mariners) in Seattle.  That's an out-of-the-way-place for an east coaster like me, but I got 'er done, so now my bucket list of current major league parks I have not seen a major league baseball game in has been reduced to two (new Yankee Stadium and new Florida Marlins Stadium).

The hills of Staten Island

Growing up on Staten Island, my best friend Erik and I made the hills above our homes come alive with the sounds of battle.  Some days we would don blue felt campaign hats and strap holsters containing cap-laden six guns around our waists and clamber up the steep slopes of the high rolling saddle back hills to the west called the Haystack, in search of Rebels as we re-fought the Civil War.  Most days we would shoulder our Mattel tommy guns, fasten World War Two surplus canvas belts adorned with canteen holders and magazine pouches about our hips and go kill Germans from 5 to 8 pm on weeknights.

On weekends we would battle enemy forces all day long.  Erik and I would traipse for miles through the hills and backwoods, laden with our toy implements of war.  There was a series of undeveloped high ridges up there so we rarely encountered a street or a yard once we crossed the street I lived on, Trossach Road, and got onto the Haystack. 

Usually we didn't see anyone or if we did,we skirted round them furtively.  I remember how annoyed I was when a man walking about up there came across us unexpectedly before we saw him and avoided him and, spotting the modern aspect of our toy weaponry, he thought he was playing along with us by saying that he had spotted some "Russians" back a half-mile and we should "go check them out."  This was even before the Vietnam war, and the nation's enemies were traditionally Germans or Japanese (or maybe Chinese in Korea), not Russians.  World War Two was a mere 15 years past, Vietnam from here is a distant memory compared to that. 

Erik was a swell best friend.  As a boy, he had a lot of similar interests.  If we weren't ensuring allied victory in the hills of Staten Island we were together literally wiping the floors in our respective bedrooms with Japanese or German soldiers.  We each had a few hundred little green plastic Army men, bought at the drugstore for 99 cents a bagful.  They were the enemy.  We also each had a few dozen painted lead soldiers, bought at the dime store for 19 cents each.  They were the Allied soldiers,  These lead soldiers, now called pod foots for their distinctive feet which enable them to stand, are now collectibles but back then they were our all-powerful American army and they always wiped out those little green Army men.

We read comics together, built model airplanes, had sleepovers sometimes and even had an occasional youthful fistfight.  But then I moved away and lost touch with Erik.  I knew he got into the Air Force Academy but didn't like it so he transferred to Wagner College on Staten Island.  After that there were four decades where . . . nothing.

Until a year and a half ago where through the magic of Facebook we re-connected.  Through instant messaging in quick order I caught up with him and he with me.  He is a successful administrator and he is also a pilot, fulfilling a life-long dream of his.  He has a wonderful family with several bright and capable children.  He came to DC a year ago and I had breakfast with him at his hotel, where I met his wonderful wife Jane, an accomplished woman in her own write.  We all had a great conversation, and I could tell that Jane learned a tiny bit more about Erik's childhood by listening to our animated talk.

I haven't been good about keeping up with Erik since then.  There's always time to rekindle a little bit later, right?

This morning I received a Facebook message from Erik, wishing me the best and wanting me to be aware of the news.  It included a link to a news article.  My heart sank.  The code in the article's link included the identifying words "plane wreck."

Erik was seriously hurt when a plane he was aboard went down on August 19th on Long Island.  Neither of the other two occupants of the plane, including Jane, survived.  Erik is still in the hospital, suffering through painful burn surgery, gradually getting better, as I glean from the memorial website set up by his and Jane's children.  The bandages finally same off his fingers last night, allowing him use of a keyboard, hence the message to me and, undoubtedly, many other unknowing but not uncaring friends. 

I am so sorry Erik's loss.  I can't imagine how he feels but his lost ones are in my thoughts and prayers.  I am so glad that Erik gave me the opportunity of meeting Jane, I could tell from our brief encounter that she was a special person and that the two of them were very much in love.  Get better, Erik. 

The hills of Staten Island, those wooded ridges ranging westward from Trossach Road all the way to Wagner College, which a long time ago rang with the youthful shouts of boyish triumphs, sit still and silent now.

A Small Step

JFK said, before he died, that America would put a man on the moon in the same decade.  It did. 

I remember July 1969 when the Apollo 11 mission landed on the moon, and Neil Armstrong descended the ladder from the module on live TV to set foot in the Sea of Tranquility to proclaim American dominance.  He said, "One small step for man, a giant leap for mankind."

I went outside at that moment to look at the bright moon and exult.  I exult no longer, because America is no longer dominant, and that was almost half a century ago.

Armstrong died today at age 82.  So many hopes, so unfulfilled.

You Mean, Like, Right Now?

I recently developed a benign fatty tumor the size of an almond on my right forearm high up by the elbow.  I have one on my thigh too, they're not dangerous, they just . . . are there.

Except this one caused my forearm muscle to ache whenever I lifted something heavy straight up with my knuckles up, or carried something light for a long time, like a half-liter water bottle for forty minutes on a run.  So it impacted my lifestyle because it affected my running, you know?

The GP ($10 co-pay) at Kaiser passed me on to the surgeon ($20 co-pay),  I went in for a consultation with him one morning last month and explained the ache this fatty deposit caused me in my forearm.

Well, I could either live with it, he said, or have it cut out surgically.  He didn't mince words or hem and haw around.

Well, let's get it cut it out, I said, thinking of future arm-pain free running.  I started to pull out my appointment book to see when I could best schedule the outpatient procedure.

I'll do it right now, he said.  You mean right now? I asked brightly.

Yes, he said, now.  I immediately realized that I didn't quite have my mind wrapped around having a two-inch incision done right then, and then hopping off the table and going to work.

Or we could schedule it for later, he said, seeing my hesitation.  I started thinking of having to come back to Kaiser a third time, and having to pay another $20 co-pay.  I needed a moment to think and I considered asking, absurdly, Will it hurt?

Okay, I said.  Two Novocaine shots and three minutes later the fatty tissue mass has been wrested out of my arm through a long slit in the skin using tongs.

The yellow mass lay suspended in bloody liquid in a test tube while the doc put five stitches in my arm to close the incision.  The gently floating lump looked like a hocker somebody had spit into a puddle.

Don't do anything stupid to cause the stitches to come out, the doctor warned me, knowing that I was a runner.  I didn't ask him when I could go out for my next run after the surgery.

I went out for a run at noon that day, for four miles.  The wound was weeping a little by the time I got back but I think that was just perspiration being expunged from the site.

It's all healed now and the arm feels great.  I'm a big fan of proactive Kaiser, getting this done right away for only $30.