Steam rose in a misty ribbon following the stream of yellow urine in the still, moonlit air. As the warm urine touched the crusty snow, it made a crackling sound burrowing a narrow hole into what looked like white ground. Althea finished before I did and scurried back to the entrance making shivering noises with her lips. “Burr!” she said.
“Burr!” I responded. “Let’s get back inside quick!”
Morning came in what seemed like a few moments and muffled sounds poured from the cave. One person was making his way through the tunnel and climbed back up. “We had a blizzard last night and the entrance is blocked. We’re completely snowed in.” Fortunately, only a few feet piled up around the cave and the entrance was quickly cleared.
As I lay there snuggled in my bag, I looked up. A glassy film of ice coated the entire ceiling about a quarter inch thick. The ice gave strength to the cave and would easily hold up anyone who may ski or wander over our head. Although our ski poles stood in a row atop the cornice, careless outback skiers still disregarded these signs and zoomed overhead unaware of the potential hazard below their feet. Evidence of such recklessness showed smooth parallel tracks deeply carved into the cornice, exiting to the right of the entrance. More of these skiers could be heard in the distance and so we decided to leave.
Once outside, we saw our backpacks covered with two feet of snow leaving bumps in the wall showing where each pack lay. The bright sunlight glistened off of the fresh pristine snow magnifying its intensity, blinding us as we emerged from the darker cave. We put on our ski goggles, dug out the packs, packed up the bags and pads, and got ready to leave.
Everyone milled about making plans for further adventures and admiring the craftsmanship of our five-star snow cave. Once the word got out to the mountaineering community, our cave would undoubtedly be used many times over. Althea and I decided to stop in a small mining town just down the road and have breakfast. These avid skiers didn’t want to waste time eating and planned instead for more snow-filled adventures. We said our goodbyes, strapped on our packs and skis, and pushed off into virgin powder.
Skiing downhill is much easier than trekking across boulder fields and up steep hills. Even with our heavy packs we could glide at a comfortable speed while maintaining complete control. We skied in the open swooshing back and forth in the two-foot deep drifts. Leaning back to keep our ski tips up, our faces and hands were instantly covered in this magical white mist with plumes of snow soaring away from us as we dove deep carving huge turns into the landscape. This was really fun.
We soon reached the trees and spotted an inviting valley. Unlike skiing at a resort, skiing in the wild has no groomed trails. Old fire roads, stream clearings, and game trails become magical doors that emerge into glorious chasms. Our ski tips dove through the powder making an unusually intense swooshing sound as they disappeared and reappeared in the deep snow. Then, the magic happened.
We slowed to a crawl through the tall snow covered trees, their bows sagging sharply under the weight of the fresh snow. As the air warmed, snow slid off these drooping branches making a muffled thudding sound as it hit the ground spraying foggy snow mists into the air as the branches sprang back up into shape. Animal tracks crisscrossed the virgin snow and water gently gurgled in the small stream off to our right. The soft powder caressed our skis holding us up as we shifted our weight back and forth. Left, then right, then left again our skis floated along as our hips dipped deep into each winding turn. Planting our poles in a rhythmic fashion we danced across the snow top in an almost spiritual manner. The connection with our skis and our twisting bodies effortlessly matched the ever-changing terrain winding around trees and over small moguls. Our equipment and our bodies were one.
It was a long run back to the bottom where we parked our car and this glorious feeling seemed to last for hours. These are the mystical moments people remember when telling tales of wilderness skiing. This is the thrill.
As we came out of the trees at the end of the run, we saw the parking lot just a few hundred feet off to our left—still downhill from where we emerged. The road we took up to the summit in the bus would eventually cross our path, but we had no idea where it would intersect. With so many choices of turns and twists, valleys and hills, the chances of our emerging precisely at the parking lot appeared impossible, but yet here we were. Wading through the waist-high snow on the shoulder of the road, we took off our skis and made the short walk back to the car.
Passing small waterfalls and curious snow covered rock formations, our little ski run through the trees created a crescendo to end a fantastic weekend adventure. Braving the elements and working hard together, a group of strangers bonded in a serene, spiritual setting. Our snow cave was a wondrous place to sleep—quiet, warm, and still—in which we found friendship and an adventure that lives on in our hearts.
There is nothing like sleeping in your own bed. The room is in itself inviting, the feel of the mattress and sheets are glorious, and the pillow is almost a part of you. The sounds, smells, and the coziness of the room is all exactly what you want and remember. When returning home from a vacation, backpacking in the wilderness, or long trips visiting friends or relatives, all I can think about is finally getting back into my routine and getting a good night’s sleep. Last night was such a night.
I crawled into bed at about eleven P.M. and decided to get up when I had enough rest, whatever time that may be. I turned off the alarm, switched off the light, fell back into my favorite pillow, and pulled the covers up to my chin. Stopping my mind, I said a few quick prayers and the next thing I knew it was eight A.M.
I yawned, stretched, and then stumbled off to treat myself to a long, hot bath. Soaking in the deep tub, its rejuvenate energies recharged me and made me feel more alive. As I emerged from the healing waters, I looked in the mirror, both hands leaning on the countertop, and gazed deeply into my own dark brown eyes connecting with my spirit. You are the best! I am very proud of you and I will always love you.
Planting good thoughts in mind first thing in the morning carries me through the day. Each morning I perform this simple ritual to nurture my soul and connect it to my body. Before the day’s events begin, before the world invades my space, I take a few moments of time for myself. Doing this before brushing my teeth works best for me.
Getting dressed, I started thinking about Althea. What is she doing today when I am not there? What am I missing out on by staying at home? Does she miss me as much as I miss her? With this last question, I felt a longing to be with her—to be by her side again. I picked up the pace and strolled off to the kitchen.
Coffee has been a delightful ritual Althea and I enjoyed all of our lives. The smell of fresh beans grinding, the aroma of it brewing wafting through the air, the sounds of the water gurgling as it boils, and the taste of that special exotic blend always brings smiles to both of our faces. This is why I put the cup of coffee in the sketch I made for her. It anchors this same feeling in her heart as it does in mine. Seeing our coffee ritual in that drawing floods her heart with these same memories and helps her remember our happy life together.
Having a cup of quality coffee together for us is much like what having sex is to others. We enjoy each other’s company and slow down for a while talking about the day, our challenges, feelings, hopes, and dreams. All of these things come together around one small cup of coffee.
Sitting in my comfy chair and propping up my feet, I listened to the mocking birds singing their beautiful varied songs just outside our window. Palm trees swayed in the breeze and puffy white clouds drifted carelessly across the sky. It was going to be a great day and I was really enjoying the relaxing morning.
I got up and turned on the stereo and put on an old vinyl record. Classical music is a favorite of mine and listening lovingly to the detail each musician puts into a performance. I collect specific albums from conductors who understand the importance of lingering on tones and slowing down tempos. Maestros Kenneth Shermerhorn, Zubin Mehta, and Fritz
Reiner top the list of my favorites and now it was Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto Number One in D minor. The superb violin performance of Jascha Heifitz synergistically combined with the outstanding character of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra under Reiner’s masterful lead. The result was an emotional execution of a timeless melodic piece that brought me orgasmic pleasure.
I sat back again in my comfy chair sipping on the coffee and letting my mind go blank as the beautiful music filled my heart. Althea and I often put on a record while reading a book, playing it at a low level so as to complete—but not compete with—the experience.
When asked once why she married me, Althea replied without skipping a beat, “I married him for his stereo.” She was only half kidding since music was always an important part of our life. We would go to concerts, music halls, and even pause with strolling minstrels in shopping centers. Stereo stores and record shops were often lovingly frequented in our shopping experiences. Finding unusual speakers, listening to new amplifiers, and meeting people with similar interests were part of this fondness we both enjoyed. We attended listening parties where friends would feature new equipment. At one of these parties, we met Kimberly and John, the people who invited me to stay at their home.
After the album was over, I made breakfast, gathered things up to take to the hospital, and put them into a bag. Yesterday Diana, the nurse, asked me to bring in a pair of tennis shoes so I searched for some easy to take on and off from her feet. Suspecting her feet were swollen, I grabbed an older pair that looked wider than most, picked up the bag of things I was taking along, walked outside, and put everything into the car.
While at the car, my next door neighbor came by asking about Althea. Then another showed up asking more questions and yet another showed up with my mail. I stood there in the driveway surrounded by loving concerned people, all wishing Althea the best in her recovery. I quickly filled them in on Althea’s great progress and thanked them for their support. Everyone was so helpful…it felt great to live in a neighborhood with good neighbors.
I went back inside and started looking for my own shoes, but they were nowhere to be found. I looked again in more places and still could not find them. So I went back out to the car remembering I took them off on the way home to rest my feet while driving. There they were, still in the car! I was so tired last night I didn’t even realize I had come into the house without my shoes on.
I put them on, grabbed my fully charged cell phone, picked out the cards Althea got in the mail, and drove off at about one thirty P.M. for the hospital. Along the way I called close friends and updated them as to Althea’s amazing progress, especially the part about her pulling off her bandage. What an independent woman I married!
Along the drive, I visualized my favorite parking spot being open and when I got there it wasn’t. But two more spots were open within a few spaces of it, so I parked in one of them rather than waiting for my favorite spot to open up. My hands were full of the things I needed to carry up to her room—cards from well wishers, ceremonial pipe, paper and pen, hooded sweat shirt to keep warm in her chilly room, and list of questions for the doctor—and finally made it inside at about three o’clock.
Althea had both eyes open when I arrived. What a blessing! She was so excited to see me and started mouthing words I could not understand, but when she puckered up her lips I knew exactly what she wanted. Her kisses are so sweet and tender…it’s like touching soft fluffy clouds with your lips—without the wet part. We both cried.
“Where were you?” she hissed through her tracheotomy tube. “I missed you.”
Holy cow! She’s talking! She’s whispering, but she’s talking! Several emotions now swelled up inside me all at once. Although elated by hearing her speak, her simple words tugged heavily on my heart as I saw the sadness in her eyes. I felt a little selfish for taking some time for myself but I needed a break. I was only as good for her as I was to myself. I needed to recharge my spirit and I had done so. Maybe my being away even helped her start talking. Who knows…who cares…she’s talking!
“I went home to Brooksville and took care of things around the house. I picked up the mail. Look, you have all of these cards to open.”
Althea’s eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped when I pulled out the twenty five get well cards from the bag. I reached in the bag again and found her reading glasses. Handing them to her I said, “A lot of people really love you.” She looked up at me with a fist full of cards, dropped her hands, and through her glasses I saw her eyes swell up with tears. Before long, her cards were sprawled all over her lap and she was sobbing with joy.
Althea did not know what to do next. She turned the cards over and over looking for a way inside. She set one down and did the same for the next. She appeared not to know how to open them up. I said to her, “Open the first one and let’s see who it is from.” I took the card from her and slowly slid my finger through the flap. She watched intently and was amazed at how I did this. I pulled the card part of the way out with my fingers and handed it back to her. “Here, you take it from here.”
It was her left hand causing the problem. She had no control over it and had limited control over her right hand. Her hand-eye coordination was still in the process of healing so I helped her as best I could encouraging her to do as much as she felt comfortable doing.
Opening the card, she pulled it out and scanned it with her eyes. Twisting her head, she turned the cards and tried to make sense of them. She couldn’t remember what she was to do next. I read the front of the card to her and helped her open it up. “This one is from your dad.”
Althea looked up at me and started crying again. She was overwhelmed by the outpouring of unconditional love and support by her friends and family. I hugged her, told her I loved her, and we continued on to the next card.
With each card she opened, Althea grew more and more tired, and before she finished she had to stop and lay back down. I gathered up the already opened cards and put them around her so she could see them from her bed. Everywhere she gazed, there was a card staring back at her. Combined with the flowers and the drawing of us sitting on our bench, she was completely surrounded by love.
Diana, her nurse, came in and greeted me warmly. “Good afternoon. It’s unlike you to show up so late. You are usually here longer than I am.”
“I took a break today and slept in. This has been an exhausting experience and I needed to slow down my pace since she is awake.”
“That’s one of the best things you could do. When you are exhausted, you cannot give to her what you don’t have. The time you allow for yourself is important too.”
“I started feeling the tug to be back here as soon as I got up, but just doing something different refreshed me and gave me a huge surge in energy.”
“Althea needs a lot of rest too during this stage of her recovery. I rescheduled her speech therapy session for Monday since Friday was such a sleepy day.”
“Is she making progress?”
“Definitely. I would just give her some time.”
I resumed the routine of exercising her and talking with her. Althea was more alert and oriented now that her semi-comatose state has left.
“Shall I read to you from the printout or a book?”
Althea mouthed back, “The book” so I opened up one of her story books and started reading aloud to her again.
After a few chapters, Doctor DeWeese came in. “How is my star patient doing today?” he said to Althea walking towards her, clipboard in hand.
“Pretty good,” she mouthed back whispering almost inaudibly.
“I see that the MRI showed a few blood drops and some minor swelling. This is nothing to be concerned with, it’s pretty normal. We’ll monitor the swelling with a few more MRIs. One of the consulting physicians was concerned about that spot on her X-ray being cancer, but I don’t see anything at all to be concerned with. Her brain looks just fine. Let’s take a look at these stitches.”
Doctor DeWeese leane
d over the bedrail and grasped Althea’s head in his hands. He scrutinized her scalp, pulling the skin to the left and right around the incision site with his thumbs. “Let’s take out these stitches,” he announced. “Nurse, get me a suture removal kit.”
“Would this remaining swelling cause her some disorientation?”
“Yes it would and once it leaves she should be much better.”
Diana returned shortly with a suture removal kit and moments later, all of Althea’s stitches were gone.
“There you go. See you tomorrow.” Doctor DeWeese tossed the tools into the tray, peeled off his gloves, and strutted proudly out the door. He seemed extremely proud of his work.
“Do you have a mirror?” Althea mouthed.
Althea: A Story of Love Page 19