Postscript — Six Years

As I worked through my day, a few more thoughts occurred to me. Perhaps they are worth sharing, so here goes.

The Girl and I walked more than five miles today. We had a long walk this morning down by the Carson River, which remains a favorite place. We greeted doggie-friends along the way. She had plenty of opportunities to sniff, pee, and explore her usual haunts.

On the route back to the rig, she split off on one of our favorite alternate paths, which takes us right down to the river but off the main trail. I particularly like this place and often walk this side path. But today I was ready to get home so I stayed on the trail.

She trotted our a couple-dozen yards, then turned to look at me. I know that look… “This way!” she says. But I stayed on the path, so she came running over to me, “encouraging” me to go the other way. So I played the this-way, that-way game for a bit, pretending to walk first one direction, then another.

She played, first leading me one way and then the other. After a few iterations she ran a large-circle zoomie and returned to my side, at least for a moment. Then we were back down the trail toward the staging area and the rig.

I laughed with her and played a little of the grab-ass game, with me grabbing either a little ass or a little tail. Either works and causes a big laugh from both of us. Dogs are such physical creatures and I love that about them.

I picked up a print job and a sandwich on the way home. The Girl was a little tired, but not too tired to pass the chance to beg a little of my sandwich, which I happily shared.

After lunch we had a nice nap. One of the things I love about my life is that ability to take a break and sleep for a few minutes in the afternoon. That time spent with The Girl is another small thing that gives me some joy.

We walked again in the evening, over that the old orphanage. It was a beautiful winter afternoon, with a few clouds, some sun, not much wind, and 55F. I noticed Squirrel’s memorial as we passed and thought about all the things I wrote earlier in the day. I spent some time praying as I walked and remembered Wife’s life as well.

These thoughts passed as the sun fell behind the Sierra Nevada and we returned to the rig. I elected to treat myself to supper and drove out to Applebee’s. I have not had a steak in a long time and wanted one. So, that’s what I did. The Girl worked for me and spent her time under my table, as good as always.

So, now we are home again. I ate all the steak, so I got out a Greenie after we got home, made her work for it, and then treated her. She earned it. And now she is sleeping under the table next to me.

As I sat in the restaurant, I recalled Becky’s comment and how I went to a grief group a couple of times. The hospice sent me a couple of invites after Wife died. I resisted at first, but then decided “what the hell” and went.

The first meeting was very small. There was a couple of women, another man, and me. The group leader went through her materials. We talked a little about our grief. Then the leader offered a few things and we broke up.

The second meeting was different. There were a lot more women, maybe ten or twelve. Then there was that other man and me. The dynamic was different, although I would be pressed to describe why and how. It was just different. I then realized practically something I knew intellectually — men and women process their grief differently. I realized that the other man (a bit older than me) was stuck. He was not going to move through his grief until he either learned to let go or got professional help. The women were not going to be much help to me.

When the meeting broke, I walked out of the hospice center where it was held. My back was straight and turned to the exercise and I knew I would not return. It was not right for me. I was doing what I needed to do to process my grief and the group was not going to help me with that.

And so it was. I did not go back. I read my books for advice. I did the work. I knew that no one else would be able to do that work for me. It was mine and mine alone to do. So, that is what I did.

Becky’s friends who recently lost loved ones have a hard path to walk. I do not envy them that path, but I know that can traverse what is before them, do the work, and be healed. Their loss will suck, it will continue to suck, it will always suck, but the suck will decrease with time and work (hat tip to Jim for that one). They will be stronger for doing the work. I pray that they can.

In reflecting on my day I realize how blessed and thankful I am. I have more than I need and about all that I want. My dog and I spend a lot to time together. I have enough work to pay my bills and then some. The work keeps me intellectually engaged. The dog keeps me emotionally and spiritually engaged. I am blessed. I am grateful.

Squirrel — And Six Years

The best little dog ever…

It does not appear that I wrote about the scene above. I looked in my archive, because I thought I wrote about the sad story of Squirrel, but found nothing. Perhaps that is because I talked to Older Son about what happened quite a lot and I am confusing conversation with writing. Therefore, if the story is familiar to you please feel free to pass this story.

Late last year, The Girl and I were walking our circuit(s) around the old state orphanage one evening. I noticed a marker, a pot with some dianthus in it, and a paper fluttering in the evening breeze. I am the curious sort (not nosey, I promise), so I stopped to read.

What I read caused my heart to sink. It was the heart-wrenching story of another park visitor whose little dog was attacked and killed by a pair of larger dogs at this spot. Two “pet bulls” charged Squirrel, grabbed him, and tore him between them before they were called off by their handlers. “They must have thought he was a toy,” was what they were reported to say before they hurried away.

So, this man stayed with his little dog as the life left him, shocked and dismayed. I do not know this man, although we interacted a few times over the last couple of years. He is one of the afternoon visitors to the little park, where several others bring their dogs each day. He had three dogs, as I recall, and they would follow and play as he walked the circuit as part of their daily routine.

Later he returned with the marker to celebrate his little dog and remember what happened at that spot. I came across the marker only a few days after Squirrel died. Since that time, I have been quite watchful for the two white “pet bulls” and their “heavy” handlers. I have not seen them.

I spoke to one of the DPS troopers (Capitol Police Unit) who patrol the area every day. He was aware of what happened and asked if I had seen the dogs and their handlers. So, the authorities are aware of a couple of aggressive dogs who attacked and killed another.

I reflect on this almost every time I walk past the memorial. Since November, it has been enhanced and made relatively permanent. The groundskeepers seem to leave it alone. Passersby added some stones and other things to the site. I will probably bring a rock from somewhere and leave it as a token of respect for this man’s loss. I can imagine his grief at the violent loss of his beloved little dog. It saddens me to think of it.

And I know grief. One cannot live six decades and not experience a variety of loss. My grandparents are all gone. My parents are gone. My sisters are gone. I am the last of my generation’s nuclear family. I have a brother-in-law and an uncle still alive, and of course, my children and grandchildren.

But the most difficult loss was Wife. She died six-years ago, today. That loss, and the grieving that followed, was crushing. Losing my parents and my sisters was hard, but those losses paled in comparison to the loss of Wife. I recall the sound that emanated from me the moment she died. My sons heard it. I still have difficulty believing that I made that sound.

Like the moment of Wife’s passing, that sound did not last long. It marked my passage from caregiver to widow. And then… the grief-work began.

I learned to enter into my grief, not to let it possess me, but to fully experience it, to work it because that is the only way to get through it. Grief cannot be put away or buried. It must be lived in order to be healed. I did that work and it was not easy. It was a way to honor Wife’s life and the relationship that we shared for all those years.

It took me nearly two years to work through my grief. The first year was absolute hell. The second had moments of clarity and moments of darkness. But, near the end of the second year, life began to be interesting again.

The holidays remain difficult because of Wife’s love of them. They always bring memories of her joy in that season. I know I am not alone in that perception of a mix of joy for the season and sadness at my loss. I am alright with that and accept it as part of the gift that came with spending most of my life with her. Then, today is difficult as well, marking the anniversary of her death. But it does not hurt like it did five- and six-years ago.

I will grieve a little today as I remember Wife’s life and our life together. It is a good thing to do, so long as I do not let that affect me negatively. But, I am healed of my grief. I did that work and it was a good work. It celebrated and honored Wife and our communal life as a family. I think these are honorable actions.

And, I am reminded of another old man who lost his little dog, whom he loved. Maybe those dogs are his only family. Maybe he spends all of his time with those dogs and has little human contact. It would not be the first time such a thing occurred. In any event, I understand and relate. I nod at the memorial in salute every time I pass it, thinking about my own relationship with The Girl and often of Wife’s life and that relationship.

And today I celebrate and remember Wife, who died six-years ago today. I will grieve a little, but only a little. Wife would chastise me for dwelling on the negative. She would be right.

Closing Out 2018

One of the tools I added to my kit this year is this beautiful Council Tool axe. It will serve me well and will be the last axe of this size that I need in my kit.

It is nearly the end of 2018. In fact, tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. The revelers will be out partying. Many of them only need an excuse to get out and party.

I will be home with The Girl. We are unlikely to party, although I might raise a glass towards central Missouri and toast Wife, who is missed. (In fact, any time I get a glass from the stock, I raise it to Wife, remembering her life, remembering that she was and is loved, remembering that she is missed, and celebrating her life.)

The Girl is improving. She still seems off, and her right side does not seem as strong or as coordinated as her left. Her right eye seems a little askew to me as well. That is, when she looks at me, in addition to the head tilt to the left her right eye seems to be looking a little to her right of me. I have also noticed that she can no longer catch tossed treats and has problems locating them on the floor, until she uses her doggie-sense to search them out.

But we are walking our normal routes again. We walked more than 3.5 miles this morning and will have walked another half-mile circuit by the time this posts. We also had a nice play this afternoon and a nap. We both like playtime and nap time and it makes life really, really good. I am so blessed to have this beautiful creature be part of my life and am deeply grateful for her companionship and unconditional love.

I continue to encourage her to do things. She is reluctant to jump to the bed now, but learned that she can jump up on the workout bench at the foot of the bed, then jump to the top. We play tug and chase and she is again teasing me with a toy. Her coordination seems to be improving when we play. I am hopeful that there is more recovery to come. At least I am encouraged and thankful that her attitude has not changed and that she is engaged and active.

Among a few other tools, I bought a very nice Council Tool Wood-Craft Pack Axe for my kit. I have an old red-handle Ace Hardware hand axe that I bought about 40-years ago. But it needs a new handle and is nowhere near the quality of this Council Tool axe. This one will go to my kids and maybe their kids after I am gone.

It will be part of my bushcraft kit and will go into the rig when I am out as part of my get-home or emergency kit. I have a small pack shovel that stays in the rig along with some emergency supplies as well.

I put a coat of boiled linseed oil on the handle this afternoon. It will be absorbed by tomorrow and I will add another coat to the handle then. After that I will decide if another coat is needed or not. The handle should be in excellent condition for this dry climate after that.

I also treated the sheath and handle guard with neatsfoot oil this afternoon. The guard seemed a little dry to me. I suspect both of those pieces will need another coat of neatsfoot oil tomorrow.

As an interesting aside, the neatsfoot oil had solidified in the garage with the cold weather. I was a little surprised by that. But a short soak in a sink full of hot water liquified it and a good shake mixed everything back up.

It is time to put away the Christmas music for another year. I added a few new recordings to my collection and culled a few that no longer please me.

But now I need a quick shower and then to get The Girl out for our evening outing. She will then want to be fed (of course) and will then starting pestering for doggie crack until I give in and get her a treat. She no longer wants to wait until sometime between supper and bedtime for her treat; she wants it NOW! Heh…

Christmas Eve 2018

After almost three days, The Girl is improving. We walked in the rain, so she was snugs on her mat on the sofa with a little extra cover.

It is the Eve of Christmas, the evening when the events occurred so critical to Christendom. At least, it is the eve on which we celebrate them. As I have mentioned so many times before, the date is not really important; the remembrance and celebration is.

I have been Christian most of my life. At first it was familial — mom and dad were professed Christians, so I went to church and learned about the faith too. As I grew and learned to be independent, my faith became a decision. I chose to trust Christ for my reconciliation to God and to live my life accordingly, not that the living earned my salvation but that it was an honor to God’s gift to live in a manner worthy of the faith.

Many times here my words convey something of that faith. It is a part of me and so it is reflected in this space. It does not matter to me whether that is OK or not with the occasional reader who drops by via whatever search engine brought them. The people who know me understand that it is just part of who I am and they accept it. It is not my business to make them believe like I do anymore than it is there business to make me believe as they do. It is an individual choice. I can respect that and expect nothing less.

So tonight is important to me. I will take a few minutes and spend them reflecting on what transpired all those centuries ago. I will think on how that event was a working out of the prophecies from generations before that. And I will be thankful for that gift of grace.

It does not matter that I am alone with The Girl. The celebration of the Christ-child’s birth will happen anyway. We will spend some time together and I will pray in thanks for the gift. I will pray a little for my children, my family, and my friends (regardless of what they believe, the prayers are still good). It is a good thing.

After a ragged few days, The Girl is improving. Her depth perception is still off and she lists to port. Her coordination is improving and I no longer see the vibration in her eyes. And oh how I love those eyes, the honesty and life presented there sometimes astonishes me. Our shared time together is a gift and I am quite thankful for it.

I continue to pray that she will improve. We went out to walk today and it rained. She does not like being wet. Snow is OK, but rain is something she does not care for. As the rain fell and grew a little more insistent, she looked over her shoulder at me, shaking it off (and nearly falling over). She then trotted ahead (an improvement) urging me on.

Finally she had a mini-zoomie, running about being silly in her unique way, falling when she lost her balance and skidding on the wet grass. It was adorable and encouraging and I wept a little for the joy of it and in it. She is really a wonderful creature, full of life and unwilling to let her illness get the better of her.

Eventually, she led be back to rig, ready to return to her nice, warm home. I keep a couple of towels in the rig for the eventuality that a drying-off will be needed, so I toweled her down, rubbing her chest, back, and tummy to get the bulk of the water off. She enjoys the toweling and attention and so do I.

She reminds me of her mom in how that woman refused to let the lymphoma dominate her spirit and her attitude. The courage and perseverance of that woman will be with me forever. So will the spirit of this dog who lives with me and refuses to let her setback change her love of life.

Tonight I celebrate the birth and life of The Christ. I remember the life and love of Wife. I enjoy the companionship of The Girl. Merry Christmas, all, Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men.

Idiopathic Vestibular Disease

The Girl is not feeling well. I hope this is not something serious.
The Christmas season is difficult for me. About this time six-years ago, Wife knew that she had residual disease and we were making a daily trek to-and-from Truckee, California for radiotherapy treatments. I could tell that she was winding down, as I put it. We would learn in short course that the cancer had crossed the blood-brain barrier.

One evening as we sat together watching television, she said to me “I’m afraid this will be my last Christmas.” This absolutely broke my heart because I feared it was true. It was an articulation of the thought that had been running around in my head for some time.

We celebrated Christmas nonetheless and did our best to enjoy the time together as a family. But is was a deeply poignant Christmas and one that remains indelibly imprinted within me.

Christmas passed, the treatments continued for awhile, but ultimately they sent Wife home to spend her remaining time and energy on her family. We spent the time together as she worsened and eventually succumbed to her illness.

I continue to struggle every Christmas to hold onto the hope that the birth of the Christ child represents. That hope and joy is tempered with the recollection of the last bit of time spent with Wife before she died and left us. It remains a struggle.

Friday I was working at my table and took a business call. About 1500h, The Girl stood and fell over. She was agitated and confused. I called her to me and reached out for her. She shuffled back and forth, unbalanced. Her eyes shifted rapidly left-right. I started checking her, wondering what-the-hell just happened, fearing a stroke.

My caller broke the connection, saying “you better deal with this.” I immediately called the vet, carried The Girl to the rig, and left.

Our regular vet shuffled us into his schedule. His wonderful assistant checked The Girl and took some information. Dr. Ross came in, examined my love, and told me that this is most likely something called ODV for “Old Dog Vestibular Disease.” (It is really Idiopathic Vestibular Disease, a neurological disorder of unknown cause.) He said it is an 80-percent probability. He also said “you do not want to know about the other 20-percent.”

I looked at him. This is not my first rodeo and I know what that means. If it is IVD, then it should resolve in a few days (he said four or five; the Internet says 72 hours). All sources say to give it time. If it is IDV, then a residual head-tilt might be permanent.

I would be lying if I said that I have not wept a great deal the last 24 hours. The rawness of Wife’s death does not go away. My friend Jim told me that it never will; that you just learn to live with it. Truth… I am not ready to say goodbye to The Girl. I am praying that it is IDV and that we have at least a couple more years together.

I made some scrambled eggs for myself for breakfast, late. I added an extra egg, think she might eat that after she turned up her nose at her normal fare. I was right — she ate the eggs when I hand-fed her. Doc said I might have to hand feed her for a couple of days.

I have to be careful she does not fall and break a bone. The bed is off-limits unless I am in it with her. She moved last night and I spooked and grabbed her. We went out once and then snuggled back in for the rest of the night.

After breakfast I decided to get her out for an outing. I had a couple of errands to run and wanted to offer her a walk. We drove over to one of our favorite parks. I got her out and leashed her (which I rarely do). If there is a neurological problem, then I figure that one of the best ways of restoring the circuitry is to get her exercising the pathways. There is no reason to keep her down if she is willing and able to move.

So, I followed her stumble-drunk gait around the park for a half an hour. She sniffed plenty, peed a couple of times, and acted more-or-less like herself sans her usual athleticism. She seemed pleased that we had been out.

Now she is snoozing on her mat on the sofa. I am not worried she will hurt herself getting up and down from that low piece of furniture. She does not seem to be in pain, but is uncomfortable that her vision and balance are not right. She retains that sweet personality and loving spirit.

I am so reminded of how I could tell that Wife was trapped in her failing body. The disease took her ability to move and her ability to talk. But I could see her in her eyes. I see the same thing in The Girl, her love showing through even when she is less able to demonstrate it through our physical playtimes together. I continue to pray that the vet is right and that it is just IVD.

In the end, I find myself back in that struggle to not be the bitter, cynical old man who lost his Wife around Christmastime and loses the greater significance of the celebration. I want to remember the celebration of the Christ-child’s birth and what that means to all of us.

But, to be honest, this is hard. It is difficult to remain positive. But then I am reminded no one ever promised it would be easy.

Lady Antebellum Christmas Album

A Christmas album by Lady Antebellum.
I like Lady Antebellum. Their music is country-pop, but the vocals work, the material is decent, and the recordings are generally good. So, they are on my playlist every now and again.

While walking The Girl Saturday, I wanted some Christmas music. In browsing through my library, I noticed this recording. So, I queued it up to play and listened while walking and playing with The Girl.

I recall that the album was generally panned by the critics when it was released. For whatever reason, they didn’t like it. As I listened to the tracks, I thought “this is a fairly standard approach to the songs,” yet there was nothing bad about them. Some of the arrangements were the usual fare; a few were quite different. The recording was well done and I did not hear any obvious errors either in the material or in the capture.

I thought “there is nothing wrong with a group assembling some holiday songs, recording them, and then selling the work. It isn’t always just about the money, but about participating in the season through the work.”

I do not know if they were being mercenary in trying to produce and sell product for the season. I do not know if they just wanted to do a holiday album to be part of the season. Perhaps none of that matters. It seemed to me that the result was a reasonable celebration of the Christmas season. Everything was workmanlike and musical. Therefore, I do not understand why the critics did not like the work. It seems just fine to me and I enjoyed having them along on my walk.

It’s Cold and Gray

I so enjoy the fall colors. The air is turning brisk in the morning and the sun is dropping in the sky as we head toward the winter solstice. I love the fall season.

Only a few short weeks ago, I was walking in shirtsleeves along the Carson River in the midst of the fall season. Not long after this image was captured, the weather turned blustery and cool, a sure sign that winter was coming. And, not to disappoint, the windy days were followed by a distinct cooling and we moved into a late dry, cold fall. The temperatures fell into the ‘teens and the leaves quickly shed their remaining leaves, falling into their winter clothes.

It was not long before the first rains came. We do not have a lot of rain here on the east side of the Sierra Nevada. But, we have some. Soon, the rains were mixed with and then replaced by snow.

I do not mind the snow. Neither does The Girl. She is heavily muscled and the cold does not bother her so long as we are moving. I can layer up and the cold does not bother me (so long as we are moving).

Therefore, in the cold we move. I still love to walk along the Carson River. On some days the raptors are particularly active (gotta have food to generate heat) and they are beautiful in the colder light. They soar and call and sometimes I see them cup their wings on the hunt. I will always be amazed at those sights.

The Girl pulls me along, always searching the sage for something to chase. She also plays in the snow and sometimes will go into a zoomie, running like crazy with her legs splayed out and spinning about me. The snow often makes her playful and we play.

And then I will see an image like this one in my collection. There is a certain longing for the warmer days and the beautiful colors that have now gone as cold as the air. But it is alright — I know the season will turn yet again and bring warmer days and colors back to the land. I feel a certain rhythm to the change and it is something that resonates with the internal changes I experience with the seasons. It is good. Life is good.

I remain thankful.

Gratitude 2018

I have just a short post for today, Thanksgiving Day 2018.

My friend and housekeeper, Hilda, came by this morning early to clean my house. She’s been cleaning my house for nearly two years. Over that time we have become good friends. I usually leave the house while she's working so I don't bother her. Sometimes I stay here, in part because the fellowship is good and in part because it is pleasant to hear someone moving about the house.

Most days my house is very quiet. Only my dog and I are active. I spent the better part of 60 years with someone else in the house — before I left home there was my nuclear family; after there was Wife (and then kids) in the house. My normal experience is to have at least one other person moving about in the house.

Now it is very quiet. Most of the time I do not mind that because I am a quiet person. But there are times when I miss the hubbub of family. Holidays tend to be those times.

So, it was pleasant to hear Hilda working in the background as I first finished my breakfast and then puttered on the computer.

In the end, I am thankful for my friend Hilda. I am thankful that I had a houseful of people all those years. I am thankful for my little house here in Carson City. I am thankful that I hear from my children now and again. I am thankful for the constant persistence of The Girl to be engaged and active.

Most of all, I am thankful for the grace of God, who gave all these gifts.

Baski-Robo

The fall colors are fading fast. So, I’m collecting what frames I can so I’ll have stock for the next few weeks.

Fall progresses. The colors are fading quickly. I am capturing every frame I can. I should have material to keep me busy for a few weeks. But I feel the change coming as the landscape dons its winter colors.

A couple of years ago I read The Way of the Peaceful Warrior. There were many scenes in the book that captured my attention. One of them came to mind yesterday afternoon.

The Girl and I left the house around 1600h for an evening outing. Now that we are back on standard time, the light begins to fall about 1700h. Therefore, I will adjust our evening schedule so we are not walking in the dark (at least, not often).

I had a late lunch/early supper and she was fed, so there was no rush for supper. We took our time walking around the park, playing, loving, enjoying the cool evening air, and watching the light fade as the sun worked off to the west.

She did the squirrely pit bull thing, wriggling around on her back in the grass, snorting and coughing. I knelt beside her and played a little, then started a tummy rub. I have a smiling dog when she is pleased and I saw the corners of her mouth turn up into that little smile when she is happy and content. We played our little games as we made our way back to the rig.

I offered the ball, but she was not very interested. Well, sometimes she is interested and other times not. So we packed it in and headed away from the park. I decided I wanted a treat, so we drove down the Baskin-Robbins.

I no longer keep ice cream in the house. I like it too much and do not need to eat it every day. So, if I want ice cream, we drive over to the shop and pick it up.

Yes, I said we… wait for it.

I parked the rig and walked into the store. “Do you have black walnut ice cream,” I asked.

The first young woman said “Ummm…” The other, working the register and the drive-up window answered “Yes!”

“I’d like a scoop of Rocky Road and a scoop of Black Walnut in a cup, please.” The first young woman busied herself with my order while I paid the other working the register.

The first returned with my order and handed to me. “Could I have a second spoon, please?” I got a flash of a puzzled look, me being by myself, but she complied.

I walked out to the rig, sampling the Rocky Road as I walked. The Girl was waiting in the back of the rig, watching for me. As I opened the door, she stretched way out “sniff, sniff, sni-sni-sniff” as her nose worked, wondering what wonderful delight I might have returned with.

“Are you going to eat that?” she asked.

We sat there in the lot, me nibbling at the Rocky Road and watching the light change as the sun traveled further west. In between bites, I paused, loaded the second spoon with a little Black Walnut, and offered it to the Girl.

The first bite was funny. She s-n-i-f-f-e-d tentatively, then tried a light lick. Then it was GAME ON and she worked the spoon clean. I placed her spoon on the console and took a bite of Rocky Road for myself.

I took my time, enjoying each bite. I remembered the scene from Peaceful Warrior in which Socrates savors each bite of his food while Asshole just shovels his food in, never noticing anything about it. After each of my bites, I loaded The Girl’s spoon with some Black Walnut and held the spoon for her while she enjoyed her share. Then I would get one for myself while she watched me carefully.

“You are going to share that with me, aren’t you.” It was not a question, but a statement. It is one I hear often. Heh…

We continued working through the treat with me sharing the Black Walnut after the Rocky Road was depleted. It seemed the scoops were much smaller than I recall. I suppose that is just progress.

I was also reminded of a favorite musician, Warren Zevon, gone now for too many years. After being diagnosed with terminal cancer, he admonished those around him to “Enjoy every sandwich.” It is the same lesson Socrates was teaching Asshole in Peaceful Warrior. Life is short. We do not know what tomorrow will bring. There is wisdom in practicing gratitude, in reflecting on the moment, and on savoring each and every bite. Each is a gift from God.

Last night I was paying attention. The Girl cleaned up the cup after we finished. Then we drove back home. I gave her the last bit of her rawhide chew as I began to settle down for the night.

I am grateful.

Dead Reckoning

I still carry this old (30-years plus) glove-box atlas in my rig. I have navigated between destinations using it and it alone until I got to my destination. I then used my smartphone to find a place to stay or eat and only then used GPS to navigate.

A few days ago a new (to me) book arrived, Dead Reckoning by Ron Doerfler. The book is yet to be read (other than a quick scan), but the title reminded me of the method of navigation by the same name.

Dead Reckoning navigation is the art of estimating one’s position based on the last known position, elapsed time and velocity (or estimated distance) and heading. In other words, given a known position and an estimate of bearing and distance, the current position coordinates can be estimated (or calculated).

In the context of the book, Dead Reckoning refers to methods of calculation (or estimation) of mathematical problems without the use of calculating tools other than one’s brain. It is going to be a fine read and something that will add to my personal toolkit.

But the term reminded me of my wanderings a couple of years ago. As I traveled around the country, I had only a general idea of where I was going. Given that there was no specific destination and no specific schedule, I would stop along the way, retrieve my ancient glovebox atlas, and estimate my location on the very small maps. Using that information I would set a course and make a decision about where I might stay for a night or a few days.

Once near that location, I would open Google maps on my iPhone and look for a place to stay. After identifying a few possible candidates, the reviews would inform whether the place was acceptable. I would then either just drive in or phone ahead for a reservation.

I thought of this as an automotive form of dead reckoning. Given I had no specific destination, I had little need for the precision of GPS and the inherent maps. I just needed a general direction and an estimate of distance so I could decide where to stay for a night or a week.

I was also reminded of how we navigated when I was a young man. There was no GPS system. There were paper maps of various scales. I loved those maps and still have quite a few of them. I would plan a trip with a map and a notepad and I was able to estimate travel times and ETAs without a lot of effort. Sometimes navigation needed a telephone call (from a pay phone) to get to the destination. Often there were signs that provided directions once one was sufficiently close to the target.

There is something deeply satisfying about just using a simple map and about not having a specific itinerary to deal with. There is something satisfying about just going and then being there in that place for a bit.

I think this experience is coming for me again. There is a need in me to just wander for a bit and enjoy the journey. With journal, pen, and camera I can be very happy enjoying the world I live in.