Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Ten - Homesick

When the homesick feeling hit it seemed to arrive without warning. Maybe the vertigo had been the warning, the feeling of total panic. Now, after a sleepless night in a noisy hotel, (she hadn’t noticed the train tracks late last night when she pulled in), Martha drove with no spark of happiness. Suddenly the trip seemed too long.

“What have I done?” Martha spoke these words out loud to herself, loudly, as they came in a pause between songs. Why did I think this trip was a good idea? Martha continued the conversation in her head. She tried to convince herself that she was just tired. It had been two long days, with poor sleep. Martha had the overpowering urge to turn the car around. If she drove for thirteen hours she would be home. But that would be giving up, giving in. All the reservations made, all the money spent. So she kept her eyes ahead and drove on.

At least I get to see my son today, my baby.

When Martha arrived at the university she parked and went to the door of Vince’s dorm room. She knocked quietly, she didn’t know if his room mate had class on Monday morning. No answer. The window was open so she placed her mouth against the screen. Vince? Are you there? But there was not answer. Martha returned to her car and used her cell phone to leave him a message. I’m waiting in the parking lot. She was tired, so a nap might be just the thing.

No sooner had Martha settled into the sleeping bed she had created in the car then the maintenance crew showed up with blowers. Glancing at her watch she figured the stores would be open by now. She hadn’t had a chance to stop and do laundry and she was out of clothes for the hot weather and, naturally, underwear. She could stand another pair of shoes too. All the hiking and sweating had really totaled her shoes. No shower and no follow through on her plans to heat water and wash her feet each night in the bucket she had brought along. Last night she had put her shoes outside they smelled so bad.

Martha arrived at the motel she had booked on line, happy to see that it was just as cute in real life as the pictures on the internet had promised. The two proprietors, Jim and Mike, were very welcoming, feeding her strawberries and chatting while final preparations on the room were made. Jim escorted her to the room, it was amazing. Personally decorated in a totally retro style, little kitchenette, plush towels and a very comfortable bed. Martha immediately took a nap.

“Mom, I’m sick again.” Vince coughed and sniffed. “I’ve just had one virus after the other since I came.”

Martha had been shocked to see him all dressed up, not only a shirt and tie, but real shoes. She remembered fighting with him , at age fourteen, before a wedding, he would not buy dress shoes. He had tried them on and looked at her in astonishment.

“Why would anyone ever wear anything that is so uncomfortable?” He had ripped the first shoe off his foot, refusing to even put the second shoe on and walk around a little. They had compromised on new black skateboard shoes, at least these weren’t held together with duct tape.

“Shoes, you have man shoes on.” Martha had pointed at his feet. My baby is truly a man now.

“Pledges have to dress up on Mondays.”

Oh, a fraternity thing. Martha shrugged. She didn’t want to get into that with him, she wasn’t happy about it at all. This parenting thing never got any easier, some how children of a certain age had to find some act that was in contradiction to the values of the parent, Martha knew that. Everyone else thought it was funny. Martha tried to be positive and see the benefits, Vince did have a ready made group of friends and they seemed to like to do the sorts of things he enjoyed, outdoors every weekend.

The four days with little glimpses of her busy son went by quickly. The last night before she was too leave he stayed late, mentioning several times that he still had homework to do. She didn’t want him to leave, but the mother in her knew that he was sick and staying up late wasn’t going to help. When she urged him to leave he laid on the bed beside her.

“I’m just really homesick.”

And so she rubbed his head, trying to smooth out the fever and the sadness, just as she had done when he was tiny. Maybe she could smooth away her own homesick feelings while she was at it.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Nine - Vertigo

Martha quietly pushed the last of her belongings into the back of the car and pushed the hatch shut, trying not to wake the neighbors. It was still dark, but an early start meant she could see the sunrise at the east of Zion, those smooth red mountains which went on forever. Maybe she would see the Big Horn Sheep again. She was now on a different sleep cycle, the time changes and crossing states, the virus which had finally subsided, these had her system all out of whack. While the bed she had created in her car was workable, comfortable was a-whole-nother issue. She started the car up and the radio blasted, volume up from the drive yesterday. She quickly

turned it off, the neighbors were sure to be awake now. Oh well, they kept that darn light, specially hooked up to it's own battery, burning bright half the night. She had to sleep with her airplane blinders, camping was supposed to be dark.

Martha drove slowly out of Zion, through the mile long tunnel, loving that there were no other cars on the road. She stopped right in the middle of the road to take pictures of the landscape, not even bothering to find a turnout. When she came close to the spot where she had seen the bighorns she slowed. Yes, there they were, the whole flock. Martha did find a turn out so that she could leave her car for these pictures, switching to the long lens. She was completely focused on taking pictures, watching the youngsters skip with ease across the sheer walls, when a crashing noise in the bushes, not five feet from her caused her to jump. A sheep, who did indeed have big horns crashed across the road. Glancing behind her she realized she was now in the middle of the flock, sheep on both sides of the road. Backing up quickly, not wanting to turn her back on them, she wondered if they ever chased people. Probably not, animals were shy, she needed to remember that. The sudden running of one sheep set off the whole group, and the young were heading back to be with their elders. One small guy sent a whole sheet of red slate crashing down off the hill into the creek bed below, but no one missed a step. Shivering, Martha decided she had plenty of photos and headed back to her car.

Morning is a good time to travel. No traffic on the road, take your time but make good progress. It wasn't long before Martha was at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Campground was full, but the ranger at the entry point said she should check in at the actual campground. Martha waited for a few minutes, a small hand printed sign said "back at 10:00". She looked at her watch, but didn't have any idea what time it really was. Was she still in Utah? Now in Arizona? The time changed every time she drove anywhere, some states followed Daylight Saving time, but others did not. Martha bent her knees up and down a little, stomping her feet, trying to keep warm. Very cold here compared to Zion. No one returned to Martha decided to drive to the visitor center and see the canyon.

Following the map she had picked up at the small visitor center, Martha made her way around the lodge looking for Bright Angel Trail. She should read those books again, Marguerite Henry. How she loved those tales. Martha stepped out on an overlook, staring down into the canyon. She snapped a few photos, then headed off down the trail. It was fairly steep, but paved over the gravel. The earth fell away on both sides, and Martha gazed here and there. Suddenly she was out of breath, her heart was pounding and she felt light headed. There was a boulder near the edge of the trail and Martha sat down. Her breathing was rapid, as if awakening from a frightening dream. She sat for several minutes and then felt better. Standing she set off down the trail. The sign had said .25 miles, just a short trip to the overlook.

Martha made it to the overlook, but the feeling of breathlessness returned. She quickly snapped a couple of pictures then stepped away, sitting on a rock bench which did not provide a look down. She faced away from the edge, fidgeting with her camera, hiding her fear from the other hikers and tourists. After a minute she felt the overwhelming need to be out of this place. She started back up the trail. It was steep and she was immediately out of breath. Hikers coming down expected her to move to the right, the trail was wide enough for two to pass easily, but the edge was on the right. When Martha saw others coming she would quickly step off to the left, inspecting a tree or a rock, shooting a close up picture of nothing. After several minutes of this Martha could see she was near the top. The trail was wider and there was land on either side, not the steep drop offs. In spite of this the vertigo became overwhelming. Martha quickly sat on a bench, next to a woman already sitting there, her breath now coming in ragged gasps. She put her head down between her knees. Her breath didn't slow and her heart seemed to pound even harder, her head spinning.

Martha didn't care what anyone thought, panic filling every pour of her body she flung herself to the ground, stretching out flat, pressing her stomach on the pavement covered path. She stretched her arms out to the sides, as if to hold herself to the earth, keep the awful power surrounding her from sucking her over the edge, pulling her down into oblivion.

The woman seated on the bench didn't say a word.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Eight - Maps

Martha noticed the road sign two seconds after driving by. She pulled over with a splatter of gravel and looked over her left shoulder, trying to read the sign behind her, posted for cars going the other direction. There was a tiny sign, and squinting, she thought it was the name of the turn off. Since she didn't have a map with her she wasn't sure, but the name seemed right so she turned the car around and turned up the narrow road. It was paved, anyway.

Winding up the steep grade Martha had to pull over often to let trucks with trailers pass. This was somewhat puzzling, as she had passed a sign which read "Not recommended for trailers". To see over ten different trucks with empty trailers zipping up the narrow grade at high speed made her wonder what was on up this road.

The terrain was amazing and Martha pulled over often to take pictures. In the back of her mind she knew that these pictures would just be added to the thousands of pictures she had stored on discs and hard drives. What did one actually do with landscape pictures later in life? Back home, before leaving on this adventure, she had been in the process of scanning and storing all the old pictures Glen and she had collected over the years. She skipped the many landscape pictures from vacations. In archiving the photos she was trying to preserve something of her life, something her children might one day be interested in. She thought they would like the silly fish pictures, with Glen and her holding up tiny fish or making funny fish faces, they would surely treasure the wedding photos, her face young and pale, Glen looking nervous as he held her hand. But what generation to come would care about a picture of Yosemite Falls or Half Dome? A river which was beautiful snapped in some unknown location at some unknown time? Still, Martha took the pictures, the red landscape and layered rock was too stunning to pass by. Maybe if she looked upon the act of taking the photo as the benefit of the exercise, not the the actual having of the photo.

Martha recalled a quote she had heard somewhere. "I was just standing back and observing my life, I wasn't living my life." Perhaps this is what the woman meant. This over thinking, judgment mode that Martha was always boiling in. To have all this concern about taking the pictures, instead of just not taking the pictures or taking the pictures, which ever she felt like at the moment.

Wildcat Canyon. Martha seemed to remember the woman in the campground mentioning that this might be a nice flat hike. It had sounded a little bit long for what Martha liked to hike, four miles round trip, but she could just walk as far as she wanted and turn around. Martha parked the car, opening the doors and fussing around gathering hat, snack, water. She sat in the open driver's door to change her shoes.

A truck pulled into the trailhead. While the parking area was crowded, it wasn't full. The driver hesitated then pulled in close to Martha's little SUV. The woman in the passenger seat, glared out at Martha, waiting for her to finish changing her shoes and close her door, so that this angry woman could get out of her truck. Martha had the urge to dally, after all they had made the decision to park so close. But naturally she rushed instead, tying the knot and jumping out of the way.

Martha studies the map posted on a trail marker at the start of the hike. There were many trails in this area, it might have been a good idea to have a map to carry with her. Oh well, she didn't really care where she went, just wanted to be outdoors, so she set off on the trail.

Two hours later Martha felt that she had made a wrong turn. She had been hiking through the forest, with no views, no canyons, and no other people. She tried to read the landscape, surely just ahead there would be a view. When the trail twisted and turned up a steep rocky hill Martha knew it was time to turn back. The weather was nice and the trail had not been steep, but there was only so much hike in her. Just as she started back she saw a young man with a backpack coming up the trail.

"Hi! Do you have a map?"

He was well prepared for his trip, the map hanging from his shoulder strap in a slick waterproof cover. "Where were you trying to go?" he asked.

"Just out for the day, looking for a view of the canyon."

It was apparent from studying the map that she had picked the one trail without a view. As she walked the two hours back she bounced back and forth between feeling it was no big deal and cursing her bad luck.

Martha spent the rest of the day exploring the upper levels of Zion. She did find many spectacular views, and parked the car near red cliffs to sit and enjoy the day. On her drive back the trucks who had been her companions on the drive up zipped passed her, trailers now filled with firewood. She remembered something about certain times of year that folks could collect firewood in National Forests, must be this time of year.

Martha pulled back into the campsite on the canyon floor, just moments before her camp neighbors came back.

"Did you like the hike? Weren't the views amazing?" The couple had obviously made it to Wildcat Canyon, taking the right trail.

"Well, I had a nice hike, but without a map I picked the wrong trail."

Once again her actions had reflected her life.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Seven - Rain gear

Martha raced to the car as huge drops splatted atop her head and shoulders. Where had those dark clouds come from? Just moments before she had slowly walked on the packed red dirt trail, examining rocks and avoiding the needle adorned plants. She had felt the sun on her shoulders, and had even stopped for a drink of water, the warmth of the desert bringing on thirst. There hadn't been wind or any other warning that the storm was about to hit. Just like my life. The signs were probably there, but I didn't pay any attention to them. She took time to stop and beat the red clay off the bottom of her shoes, quickly pulling her feet inside the car and leaning out the door slapping her shoes together and sending clumps of red mud everywhere, including into the car and all over her lap. She leaned out a little farther for the next clap, poking her hands and shoes out into the rain. Probably should have brought a second pair of shoes with her today, but as usual, her planning seemed to be lacking.

Martha drove slowly down the gravel road, pulling to the side, letting cars pass, as the other hikers took protection from the storm in their cars, rushing to leave the park. She followed the road around the short loop, looking up at the red canyon walls through the moon roof of the car. A loud boom of thunder shook the car, dark sky lighting up just seconds before the kaboom. She felt so exposed out here on the desert. Pulling into the trail head parking lot, she swung the car around so that she had a full view of the storm. Am I supposed to stay in the car during the lightning? Martha couldn't remember the safety warnings. As the clouds exploded with rain just after this thought, the deluge immediately filling the parking lot with six inches of water, the decision NOT to get out was easily made. Martha pulled out her camera and tried to take pictures of the incredible lightning. Problem was she really needed to open the window to do this and now the rain and wind made that impossible. As the rain turned to hail she lay the camera to one side and decided to just enjoy the storm. It was over in a matter of minutes. She watched the black sky and brilliant streaks of lightning move around her to the left, now covering the area she had thought to hike next. It seemed like only seconds after the clouds had moved that the sky was blue once more.

Martha got out of the car to look at the trail. Maybe she could hike it now. She walked to the edge of the parking lot, to the break in the fence which marked the start of the trail. Water three inches deep flowed down the trail. No hiking here. She looked at the picnic area which was paved with round white stones, and seemed to be free of water. Walking across the area she approached the stream bed, which moments before had held a six inch trickle of water. Three feet of water rushed down the mini canyon, the edges crumbling into the fast moving stream. I wonder how the people on the other side are going to get back? Martha could see where the trail cut down into the gully for a crossing, now filled to the banks with water. She watched for a while and then returned to her car. She could see sun shining over Bryce Canyon now, perhaps it was time to return and see the park. As she drove out of the parking lot, she took one last look into the stream bed. Amazing! It was near empty again, now a ten inch river, just snaking down the center of the bed. This was what a flash flood was all about. At least the hikers could get back to the parking lot again.

Martha drove slowly back down the gravel road, turning on to the pavement, but maintaining a crawl. There were no other cars and she wanted to study each gully and stream bed she passed. She looked for signs of destruction from the storm that had passed so quickly. She saw a field which was completly filled with water, the range cattle standing up on tiny bumps, chomping away at what grass they could reach. As she came around a curve in the road she heard the bawling of a cow. The red cow stood, blocking the road, staring down into the creek bed. The other cows all had calves with them. Had this one lost her baby in the storm? Martha pulled

her car to the side of the road and peered down. She couldn't see over the bank. The red cow stood in the road, looking from Martha to the spot down the embankment. Moo, moo. She continued to call and began to pace up and down the edge of the road. Martha pulled the car forward and off to the side, out of the line of traffic as much as possible. As she opened her door to get out of the car she considered what she knew about cattle. They were defensive of their young, like bears and things. How could she help even if the calf was over the bank? The temptation to drive on was great. There had been no cars, no rangers, no houses for miles. What if Martha was hurt in the process of trying to help? Just as Martha made the decision to slip out of the car and check out the situation, a group of three cows and two calves scrambled up over the edge of the bank and onto the road. Big Red seemed satisfied now, and the cows sauntered off up the road, following her as she led the group on up the hill.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Six - Park Pass

Martha finished washing her dishes in the tiny motel sink. At least there was hot water. She could smell the odor left from frying eggs and ham in the room. She couldn't camp because of the pouring rain, but that didn't mean she had to eat in the tourist food spots. Her choices here at Ruby's Camp were the cowboy show or the coffee shop. Her appetite had just returned following the two days of high fever and stuffed head, when nibbling on fruit and yogurt had been all that appealed to her. Drying her hands on the rough white towel she peered out the window. There was a bank of fog stretching across the parking lot, white and cold, just as there had been yesterday. Glancing at her watch, she realized the fog wasn't going to burn off by 11:00, as the weather report had promised. Time to change my plans. No problem, right? Martha pulled out the map and "The Hoodoo", a newspaper reporting on Bryce Canyon Park. Wouldn't do to ride the shuttle and hike, nothing to see. Yesterday she had suspected that if she drove further down the road there would be a different way to access the park. As she had watched hikers slip and slide down steep muddy trails into the canyon, she had known that she could not make it back up if she ventured down. The tall red hoodoos called for her to wander between them, she wanted to explore the narrow canyons. Last night her good knee had ached as much as her bad knee. No, a different adventure was called for today. Packing up a lunch of fruit and protein bars, she checked that she had rain gear and her camera equipment. Map in hand she drove off to explore a new area.

Five miles east on Highway 12 Martha pulled off the road. Amazed she gazed over the canyon at the strange red formations which poked up through the pinon pine trees. Two miles, thirty minutes and fifty pictures further down the road, she stopped at a marked trail. Mossy Cave 1.0m. She pulled out "The Hoodoo" to look up the trail information. It was listed as moderate, with some elevation change. Seemed perfect for her. She stood for a minute beside the car letting her skin judge the air temperature. Moderate, a few fluffy clouds here and there, so she left her sweatshirt and water bottle in the car.

The trail proved to be a popular one, with many photographers and hikers. Martha walked with her head on a swivel, stumbling once as her attention wandered from her feet. The hoodoos towered above her on the sides of the canyon, different then what she had observed yesterday from above. This hike did not take her into narrow canyons formed by the hoodoos. Martha realized if she wanted that view she would have no choice but to hike the steep trails leading from the top of the canyon.

Returning to her car after the hour hike, Martha felt good about her choice. No pain in either knee. Fifteen minutes later, when she drove around a curve on the mountain road and a huge expanse opened out before her Martha knew that this was what she had been meant to see. Pulling her car into a tiny shoulder area, she rolled down the window and grabbed her camera. The first layer was a brilliant green meadow, farmland. This was edged by a steep wall of rock, parfait like in appearance with layers of white, red, and striped patterns building into a crusty sage covered layer. Behind this mountain stood another, a tall looming pile of round red rocks. Beyond that even another, more grand than all the rest with huge red cliffs, topped with the voluptuous clouds, white and fluffy, darkened underlinings threatening more thunder showers.

Martha drove the gravel road to the first park listed. The road sign had boldly announced that there were three National Monuments and two state parks ahead, luring travelers further into the vast expanse of mountains. The sign said 8 miles, but that fact didn't help much when she hadn't noted the mileage on her odometer or the time. Sheep Gulch 9.3m. She passed many redwood signs with tiny arrows pointing right or left, muddy roads with culverts snaking down them toward the valley. The gravel road had several areas of thick red mud across it, highlighting the points where the river had washed over the road during yesterdays storms. As the road became a skinny snake winding over small mounds of rock, although still smooth gravel and not mud like the side roads, the terrain changed once again, no longer flat sage, but rolling red rock hills. The range cattle she spotted along the way had wide spreading horns, not as big as Texas long horns, but larger than the stubs of those happy California cattle she was used to.

After driving what seemed like more than 8 miles, Martha pulled over to the side of the road. No shoulders here, she picked a spot with good visibility, on the off chance that another car should come along. The map indicated that this road went all the way back to Hwy 89. She had passed a large RV going the other way, it must be a loop. Maybe she would drive the whole loop today, taking in the surrounding areas. Just over the next hump, Martha came to a change in the road. The gravel road took a sharp left, the sign read "Kodachrome State Park". Straight ahead was a washed out mud road, the familiar green numbered highway sign posted on the right. This was the main road? Beyond the sign was another - small faded white sign on a post leaning to the center of the road, impossible to read. Martha drove closer, venturing onto the mud, keeping her car in the middle in hopes she wouldn't get stuck.

"Not recommended for through travel. High clearance 4WD only."

Martha stared at the road. Once a thought was in her mind it was so hard for her to change. Another must, she realized. What would it take for her to stop these ultimatums which flooded her brain? The road didn't look too bad. Martha knew she was lying to herself. The road looked terrible, and the storms and flash floods of the past few days were not over.

Turning the car left, Martha headed toward Kodachrome State Park.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Five - Journal

Slamming the back hatch of the car, Martha felt a slight tickle in her throat. No, not a virus, not today, that wouldn't be fair. She thought her legs ached from all the walking she had done over the weekend, enjoying the trails through the giant fresh smelling eucalyptus on the college campus. Maybe that wasn't the reason her calves pinched and throbbed. She rolled her head around in circle, stretching her neck in all directions. There, on the right, the tight spasm she generally had before a bug hit her. Sore throat, aches in arms and legs, a crick in the neck - probably a virus. She walked back into the house, flopping down onto the left side of the dual recliner couch. Grabbing a hold of the quilt she kept there, tucking it around her legs and pulling it up under her chin, she closed her eyes for a moment, thinking a power nap might help. Her mind raced. Should she delay leaving if she was sick? What would that do to her schedule? She had bumped up her departure date twice, once to add a trip to Bryce Canyon and once to give herself more time in Prescott. If she delayed she would have to skip those things. Or maybe she should just change her itinerary all together? Shivering, she pulled the quilt up closer to her chin. It sure was cold today. What kind of weather would this mean for the drive over the high mountain passes? It was really cold. Oh, no. Not cold, chills. Great. She really was sick. Time to be an adult and realize that a woman with a fever and chills could not jump in the car and take off on a trip, no matter how eager she was to leave.

"I think I'm sick."

"Oh, I think I'm sick too." Glen did sound congested, his voice deep and gravelly.

"I guess if I'm really sick I can't leave tomorrow." Maybe somehow Glen would think of something she hadn't thought of yet.

"Guess not."

That wasn't the answer she had hoped for.

Martha decided a hot shower, laying with some hydrogen peroxide in each ear and a dose of airborne was all she could do. She went to bed early, shivering under three quilts.

The next morning Martha awoke and lay still. Was she sick? She had slept well and felt rested. Her throat burned as if she had swallowed some toxic substance mixed up in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory. I think I'll get up and have breakfast and then make a decision. She did just that, taking it slow, finishing the last minute packing. As she checked off the last item on the list, she glanced at the stack of journals she had set out to take, then put back inside when it became apparent she would not have room for them in the overloaded car. Picking up her favorite, plain black cover, decorated with collaged magazine pictures, some lined pages, some plain, she carried it out to the car with her, placing it atop the stack of pillows on the back seat. As she sat in the driver's seat, ticking off things in her mind one more time, she felt the dull ache of fever once again. Her head felt heavy, as if the top half was filled with thick yogurt, while her sinuses dripped with thin water. She didn't feel excited about leaving, yet she could not make herself stay. As she backed the car out of the drive she didn't hear the muffled clunk of the journal sliding off the pillows and slipping through a thin crack between the seats, settling into the dark space under the seat.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapt 4 - Yearbook

Ting, ting, ting. The blond woman in the white linen jacket tapped on her water glass with her fork. The twittering voices of the twenty six women in the room slowly diminished, heads turning toward the sound as they gave her their attention.

"This might take a long time, but let's go around the table and find out a little about everyone. You know, what you're doing now, how many kids you have, how many times you've been married." She craned her head out over the table so she could address the women seated on her side, as well as opposite her. "Not your life story or your memoirs, just a summary."

Martha listened as each of the women took a turn describing adventures, careers and marriages. They were from all over the country, having traveled to come tonight. Her right leg began to vibrate a little and her shoulders tightened as tension filled them. What should she talk about? What parts of her life would be interesting to others? What should she say to show herself in a light that she wanted? After the manic lunch time monologue, everyone knew everything about her already.

When she had arrived at the restaurant she had shared her yearbook with Barbara, an alum who was great at remembering names and events. As the women crowded around, laughing at various pictures in the yearbook, Martha had felt a sense of remorse. Not only had she not had friends on campus, she had missed out on all the fun. When asked about "what house" she was in, what clubs she had joined, Martha had replied "Oh, I worked forty hours a week when I went here. I didn't live on campus. I worked midnight until eight in the morning, drove to class, then went home to study or sleep." Looking at the pictures and hearing the memories filled Martha with a great sense of longing. Why had she been so "grown up" at age nineteen? She had started her life of "must" and "should" young.

The alum with the red shining ponytail went on. "Then I went back to school and got another degree in nursing, because I wanted to be a midwife and not a physicist." The stories were amazing. So accomplished. "I spend my extra time chairing a mentoring group for homeless children." "I started an organization that travels to Africa and give vaccinations to people living in isolated villages." "Remember when we all went to that party at Berkeley?"

The salads were served. Martha looked down the table, three more stories until her turn. Should she eat quickly or wait? The salad looked great, so Martha chomped the walnuts and blue cheese quickly. She ran her tongue over her teeth to remove any stray bits. The stories were getting longer and there was one more to go, the sweet woman sitting next to her. But Annie told her story quickly and suddenly it was Martha's turn.

"I was kind of a flake in college. If it wasn't for Dr. Kidd, I wouldn't have even gone to graduate school, but she steered me in that direction." Martha rambled on a bit. As she verbally flitted from fact to fact about her college days a sudden wave of heat swept up through the soles of her feet and took over her body, as if the floor had suddenly become a furnace. Her hands started shaking. Why had she been so serious? Why did she still live her life with thousands of "shoulds?" Always planning so hard for the next minute that she couldn't enjoy the moment she was in. If not planning, then she was caught up reviewing. Why did she say that, do that, not do that? Going over every moment of her day each night as she lay sleepless in bed. Even now, thinking about what time she should leave so that she would arrive home at a specific time, because she needed to get up a certain time. Why was her life this chain of events, so closely linked that if one thing was off a little she felt as if a major disaster had taken place. "Then I quit my job." The words came out in a whisper. Martha felt her voice sticking in her throat, it closed tight as if she had been stung by an insect, air flow constricted. "I was tired of being liberated, tired of being a Mills woman, tired of thinking I had to do it all." Martha struggled to draw in more air. "I am tired of it." A sob broke loose and Martha was appalled to feel tears coursing down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, unable to go on. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." she sobbed into her hands. "I should have had fun then, back when you were all having fun."

Annie reached over and placed a hand on Martha's back. She slid her palm over to Martha's shoulder and turned Martha's body to her, reaching up her other arm and enclosing Martha in a hug.

"It's okay." she murmured in Martha's ear. Martha continued to sob. The rest of the women piped up.

"It's good to realize it now, to make changes."

"It seems you are doing something about it, that's great."

"It's never to late to make up for lost time."

A nudge on her shoulder brought Martha out of her cloud of thoughts.

"You're turn" Annie had finished and Martha was up.

Martha's shoulder was bare and lonely as she felt the imagined conversation, the imagined comfort and support slip away as she recited the standard facts of her life.

Comments: Have you ever thought about how you would like something to go, only to back out at the last minute? What are your personal habits of organization? I would love to have your comments (stimulation for new writing ideas!)

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Three - Business Cards

"Hi, I'm Allison. I don't really remember you?" The voice was accompanied by a hand holding out a business card. The card had black and gold ink, printed on paper so heavy and textured it felt like real marble when Martha took it in her hand.

"I'm Martha Grimes, well Martha Rodriquez in college. What was your major?" Martha looked at the slim blond woman, smooth skin around her eyes, lips with just a touch of pink lipstick. Her sisters and mother would know right away if the woman had "work done", but Martha was somewhat oblivious to those things. She just thought this woman was very beautiful. Could they actually be the same age?

"Biology. What was yours?

"Psychology." Martha reflected back on her college days. The good old '70s, when freedom and rules were still basking in the influence of the sixties. There had been no general requirements when she was a student at Mills. You just took whatever or whichever classes you desired. Luckily someone had pointed out to her that if you planned on applying to graduate school there were actually prerequisites. The result was she took nearly one hundred percent psych classes during the two years she had attended. She hadn't decided on a major until the beginning of her junior year.

"I think we had one class together, Dr. Bower's class. Didn't you used to bring a dog with you to class?"

"Yes, I did. More than one dog, in fact."

"She slept under your chair, all wrapped in a pink baby blanket."

"Oh, that would have been Cona. She was just a tiny thing, four weeks old when I used to bring her. I couldn't leave her alone at home." Martha went on. "Then I had another dog, Cathy, she was a puppy too. She even has her picture in the year book. "

"Uh, nice to see you again." Allison's eyes darted away from Martha's face. "Hi, Sherry. Long time no see." She quickly walked away from Martha's dog stories.

Martha sipped on her wine. It was probably a mistake drinking this. Tomorrow would be a migraine for sure, but these crazy reunions. She came every ten years, completely forgetting in between how melancholy she would be, wandering to the various events, watching women run up and hug, accompanied by screeches of recognition. Wendy. She had scoped out the list of attendees, but Wendy's name wasn't there. Would she recognize her if she saw her? Martha had created a great fantasy life for Wendy. Wendy had been a computer science major. Women who graduated in 1980 and jumped into the early program development had super cush jobs. Wendy had a job she went to every day which consisted of a spa, tennis court, swimming pool and more. This atmosphere was thought to promote the creativity needed by computer program developers, stimulating wonderful ideas for programs. That part of the fantasy was real. Wendy had done that after graduation, but then the two of them had lost touch. In Martha's fantasy Wendy had shares in the bottom floor of some big company, Microsoft or Apple, had retired young and was extremely wealthy. Martha had never gone so far as to imagine that someday, some how Wendy's wealth would be showered on her, the long lost friend from college. In reality Martha didn't recall that they were even super good friends. Hung out together a little, chatted in classes and Martha had got Wendy a job as research assistant at Berkeley, but the job hadn't worked out well. Wendy thought she was getting a fun job like Martha had, working for the psych department studying the effects of testosterone on pregnant beagles. Actually, Martha thought that was the job Wendy was getting too. But the reality of it was that Wendy spent her four hours a week cleaning kennels and dog runs. When they both asked for letters of recommendation at the end of the year, Martha's had been a glowing letter from the professor emeritus, while Wendy's was from the graduate student in charge, basically indicating she had always come to work on time. Maybe one reason Martha built up such a good fantasy life for Wendy was the guilt she felt about that whole fiasco.

Martha glanced at her watch, then pulled the brochure out of her purse. What was next on the agenda? How much longer did she have to stand here and feel like such a sore thumb? Her eyes skimmed across things she had circled in blue pen last week, when planning to attend. Why did I want to come? Don't I remember that each time I feel like an alien, as women talk about dorm escapades which I didn't participate in? She tapped the brochure, glanced at her watch and walked out quickly, the actress pretending she had somewhere important to be, right now, this minute.

This campus sure was stunning. The ancient eucalyptus trees still lined the creek, the new buildings blending in well with the old. Martha's good knee ached after the walk around campus. What was with that? How was she going to hike on her trip if just a little stroll on a paved path was all she could handle?

The second day of the reunion Martha wandered onto campus late, having slept in. Hmmm...an awards lunch. Was she supposed to buy a ticket in advance? Having just finished breakfast, Martha didn't feel the need to eat lunch right now, but she would like to attend the awards ceremony. She cut through the buildings on a cement path, to the meadow where the lunch was to be held. Tables set up on the green grass were inviting. "Who do I give my ticket to?" A gray haired alum wearing a bright purple T-shirt, topped with a purple scarf and carrying a purple purse waved a ticket about. "Oh, I can just take that for you," a tall women in blue randomly collected tickets. Martha felt this system was lax, so she walked to the tables and found the yellow sign announcing "Class of 1980". Two other women were seated at the table, so with a smile, Martha joined them. Maybe she needed a different approach today, one that would not make her feel like odd man out. "Hi, I don't remember you, what was your major?" The women answered, and Martha felt a manic mood coming on, the racing heartbeat, the jitters in her legs. Fifteen minutes later she realized that she was surrounded by a table of women, with polite smiles plastered on their faces as her voice raced on, jumping for on subject to the next, talking about me, me, me. These women may have been strangers fifteen minutes ago, but now they knew her life story. Martha picked up her water and took a sip. Time to stop talking, settle down. A silence fell over the table. Had she so overwhelmed the others that they were afraid to talk? Worried she would jump in and turn the topic back on to herself? Her accomplishments, her failures, her family? "And what about your mother?" The tall woman in the western shirt made an attempt to start up the conversation again. Although Martha was determined not to drift back into the manic - I am the center of the universe mode - she responded to the question. One sentence led to a thought which led to a monologue, and Martha mentally kicked herself again. Stop, just stop, shut up. Then a speaker stepped up to the microphone and the program started, so Martha was silent.

"What are you going to do next?" "Have you toured the new business building?" "Our class is not giving much money, only 22%." The conversations had resumed with the ending of the program, and Martha was able to join in with normal responses. Pausing for breath, smiling, actually listening to others. This felt so much better. Settled. As the women continued talking about a variety of things, the tall cowgirl pulled out her business cards. Women reached into their purses and quickly passed cards around the table. Martha reached in her bag and pulled out a stack of the cards she had prepared. No job now, but a much better card to pass around.

Martha Grimes, Explorer.