Fitness Regimen

The getaway with Molly was so lovely that I wanted to schedule an adventure with Eleni as well—long overdue. Yesterday she and I put our heads together (remotely) and scoured maps and AirBnB listings for possibilities. We determined that the Clear Lake area, a little over two hours from each of us, would be our destination, and found a two-bedroom place on the water. Unfortunately, the host reports that because of the drought, the shoreline in mid-September will look more like a marsh than a lake. Here’s the view from their dock in better times.

Ruby, now nine months old, will join us, while Jason watches over Jesse and Ember for two nights at home in Chico.

Speaking of Chico, that’s where I’ll be this weekend with my ton of grandchildren.

Not long afterwards is my camping trip to the Trinity Alps, where (not surprisingly) all the trails are steep. Sadly, I’ve fallen into terrible physical shape. Over the past year-plus I’ve had little exercise save for flat strolls, so I decided I’d better try to build up a little strength before I go. You may remember that before our 2019 jaunt to Iceland, I used to trek up Marin Avenue as often as three times a week to prepare for the difficult hike we’d planned in the Westfjords (which stormy weather cancelled at the last minute). From my house, the Marin walk is 3.5 miles round-trip, with a climb of 640 feet within eight-tenths of a mile at the end, at a nearly 30-percent grade in the worst section. Those final eleven blocks are nasty and un-fun, so I hadn’t gotten anywhere near the place in over two years. Until recently. First, I made it two blocks up the steep part, and then five blocks another day, then eight. This afternoon, encouraged by a little handmade sign toward the top, I went further…

… and attained the summit! The view of the Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge would be nicer without the power lines.

I was wiped out when I got back an hour and a half later but, ever industrious and long-suffering, I dedicated myself to the task of vacuuming my living room.

Molly was the one who introduced me to this tool. It’s gone a long way toward sparing my back unnecessary suffering. Actually, I did have to do some work on my own: see all that camping junk and the small furnishings I had to pile up off the floor first?

Today I finished listening to the rest of the digitized family audiotapes. Here’s one more clip. It features (as promised) my mother, who was a wee thing of 31 when Dad recorded her song in 1960.

This morning I sent Small a verse of a Rita Hosking song called Parting Glass. As I told Ma, every time I listen to it, it makes me profoundly sad because it makes me think of the dreaded time when she will no longer be around (or as she says, “when I pop off”). Because who else can love you like your own mother (if you were lucky enough to get yourself a good one)? And though she doesn’t want to be on this planet for a whole lot longer, I don’t know what I’ll do without her.