Day 522 : A Not So Happy Homecoming.

A young Galapagos sea lion relaxes on the big bag that held our life jackets.

My mother loves animals, and has a special interest in birds. And so, as I explored the Galapagos Islands with the Marshall clan, I couldn't help thinking of how much she would have enjoyed all the strange birds and weird wildlife. Iguanas that look like disturbingly prehistoric, blue-footed boobies, with their intense eyes and comical feet, sea lions that seemed to get more adorable every time you saw them, giant turtles, frigate birds that puff up their red pouches to attract a mate ...

Many of the pictures I took were with her in mind. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to send her any.

I came home Tuesday and was blindsided by the news that she and my stepfather were involved in a head-on collision Sunday night. Mom broke her leg in three places, had surgery Wednesday morning, and is now the proud owner of a metal leg rod that will be driving airline security crazy for years to come. She won't be able to walk for 10 weeks. There was something else about a few staples in her head, but that's just a little bit too horrible for me to contemplate. My stepfather (Bob) was bruised and battered, but otherwise unhurt.

It could have been so, so much worse. I am more thankful for seat belts and airbags than I have ever been in my entire life.

It's all kind of weird, because my Mom is pretty damn tough. I've written about her plenty in this blog (Day 5, Day 15 , Day 35), but one thing I've never mentioned is that she's rarely sick and never gets hurt (well, there was that rotary cuff thing a few years ago - a keyboard/mouse injury - but it didn't really slow her down much).The thought of her laid up in a hospital bed is definitely alien.

I of course wanted to fly out to Santa Fe on Wednesday, but was convinced by both Mom and Bob that it would be better to wait until Mom arrives home this coming week. That's when my help will be more appreciated - after all, there are six big dogs and two birds back at the homestead who are going to have a hard time understanding why their pack leader won't get out of bed.

It's hard to sit here feeling helpless, but I know there's not a lot I can do except call Mom and be cheerful (without being too cheerful, which would drive her insane).

I have to say, though, that even injured and doped up, my Mom is a piece of work. I spoke to her soon after her surgery on Wednesday, and when I asked her how she was doing, she said, "I'm alright. After all, I've already prepared for being an invalid."

"Huh?" I had no idea what she meant.

"Well, I read those two books on Victorian-era invalids, remember?"

I couldn't help but laugh. In fact, I did remember her talking about them a few years back.

I guess it was in that moment that I felt my mind ease just a tiny little bit. I can't wait to see her on Thursday ... and maybe even show her some pictures.
















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Day 507: Galapa gone.

I'm off tomorrow for an 11-day vacation with the Marshall Clan. This one's going to be a true adventure - I can just feel it in my bones.

I'm stupid excited to see the kids and Sam and Bill and the Galapagos Islands and Machu Picchu ... and I'm particularly over the moon at the idea of seeing a Blue Footed Booby. Not only do their feet come in a color nature never wears, they have air sacs on the tops of their heads to protect their brains when they dive bomb for prey and hit the water at 40 mph.

This is a good time for a trip. Except for the food thing, life actually feels fairly balanced (oh yeah - my diet is in the toilet. I'm looking forward to a re-dedication upon my return). And even though I haven't been getting to it (another re-dedication on the horizon) I have a good idea for a new book. (Speaking of which, the book is still out to publishers and "being read." I 'm definitely not amused, but I'm not nearly as insane over the wait as you might imagine.) And finally, things are going well with Tea. Very well. I like her.

Alright, then - off to finish packing. See you on Day ... uhm ... oh crap, I don't know.

I knew this counting was going to get difficult if I stopped writing every day. Another re-dedication, maybe?

DAy 505: License to Spill.

Okay, so I shaved five pounds off my weight ...

"Honey, I think maybe you read number 19 wrong."

The woman behind the counter handed my test back, expressionless, and I took another look. Question 19 asked what a motorcycle rider should do when he or she is being followed too closely at night. Choice One was to drop way back and use your high beams. Choice Two was to maintain position and use your low beams, and Choice Three was to drop back slightly and use the headlights of the car in front to help guide your way.

At least I think those were the choices. It's all started to get a bit blurry over the last 48 hours. All I know for sure is I was breaking a sweat as I stared down at #19. I was one missed answer away from failing.

When I'd first sat down to take the test 15 minutes earlier, I'd been feeling pretty cocky. I whizzed through the 12 questions in no time, surprised that the DMV would allow me to miss four of 12 and still pass. I walked up and handed the test in, confident.

As the woman checked my answers, I quickly realized that every time she put pen to paper it was bad news. I watched her slash the pen once, twice, three times ...

I gulped. One more to go. She made it to the end ... and then slashed the last one. Still, I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd passed!

Then she flipped the test over, shook her head and laughed at me.

"Sweetie, you still have 13 questions to go," she said, holding up a very blank Side Two.

I just about died. Thirteen questions and no room for error? Yeah. Right. We bantered for a few minutes about the unfairness of it all (and my retardation at not turning the page), and then I slowly trudged back to finish the test. I returned to the counter ten minutes later with a heavy sigh.

All of which brings me back to #19. I'd somehow managed to get 12 out of 13 right on the back page, and now the woman was trying to give me a break. Finally, I looked up and winced.

"Drop way back and use your high beams?" (Stupid, I know, but the motorcycle handbook is always going on about how you should use your high beams any time you can, since it's so hard for car drivers to see motorcyclists).

My new friend shook her head.

"Maybe it would help you to hear the question out loud," she said, her voice betraying nothing. "Sometimes, people get confused by the words on the page."

She read the question out loud, I pretended to consider my answer, and then I offered up the only answer that was left: drop back and use the headlights of the car in front of you.

The woman started laughing and stamped my test as "Passed."

I feel a little bit guilty about getting my Motorcycle Learner's Permit in such shady fashion, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also pretty psyched.

Now I just need to find a way for that same woman to administer my driving test.