The Day of Stomach Aches

Today is nearly over. I think I'm glad for that. It's September 11 and we ALL know what that means. It's a day of sadness and grief and mourning and fear and shock with absolutely, positively no relief or comfort to be found.

I hate this day.

I drove Jaden to school today. I don't usually have the radio playing when he is in the jeep. He's a horrible, no-good, rotten teen and I listen to music that has RHYTHM and LYRICS that you can sing along with and it's bad enough that he has to endure the ride with his MOTHER of all people, let alone have his fellow classmates hear my music. Duh.

After I dropped him off and told him "Have a great day. I love you." and he muttered something foreign and slammed my door, I sighed HEAVILY and turned on my radio just in time to hear a tribute to 9/11. Suck. Gave me a gut ache.

In July, my fellow "chicks" and I visited New York. We were SO excited to see the 9/11 Memorial Museum. Actually, the official name is The National September 11 Memorial Museum. The desription on the website says:

The National September 11 Memorial Museum serves as the country’s principal institution for examining the implications of the events of 9/11, documenting the impact of those events and exploring the continuing significance of September 11, 2001.

The Museum’s 110,000 square feet of exhibition space is located within the archaeological heart of the World Trade Center site—telling the story of 9/11 through multimedia displays, archives, narratives and a collection of monumental and authentic artifacts. The lives of every victim of the 2001 and 1993 attacks will be commemorated as visitors have the opportunity to learn about the men, women, and children who died. 

The monumental artifacts of the Museum provide a link to the events of 9/11, while presenting intimate stories of loss, compassion, reckoning, and recovery that are central to telling the story of the attacks and the aftermath.

I don't know what I was expecting. I don't know why it didn't EVER cross my scrawny self-absorbed brain that it would be emotionally draining to see the pictures of the human beings lost or to view the remnants of the precious belongings of the fallen.

We had decided that it was on "the list" to visit the Holocaust Museum. One of my all-time favorite movies is Freedom Writers. In the movie, super cool teacher gal took her students to the Holocaust Museum and I was instantly captivated by the horrors that were experienced by the innocent.

However, the horrors weren't personal.

Does that sound crass? Hollow? Unsympathetic? I don't mean it that way. I can't stand what the Jews endured. I have read The Diary of Anne Frank. I own Night by Elie Wiesel. I am ashamed that the human species can be so cruel to another human being. However, it was a part of history that I have heard about and read about but not that I had experienced.

After leaving the Holocaust Museum, we were close to the 9/11 Memorial Museum and decided to see if they were still selling tickets for the day. They were. We went.

Once again, ignorant me, I don't know what the crap I thought I would see? Did I not know that it would be FILLED with artifacts from that horrible day? It was. 

At once, it was sobering and horrifying and humbling and haunting and surreal and gut wrenching and yet...honorable. We saw fire engines, wallets, uniforms, iron beams. As we walked down a set of stairs, a set of stairs from one of the towers ran along directly to the side. There was a plaque with the staircase. It told us how many people that set of stairs had SAVED. 

I remember leaving and thinking that I would find no comfort in that building if I had a loved one that had lost their life in 9/11. Yet, I am so grateful that the museum was built to bear witness to the horrific events of that day. 

There will come a time that those that go through the museum will be innocent to the pain and fear that filled our country. As the decades pass, these objects will be all that remain of the horror...and the humanity of that day.

The Impossible Dream

I grew up with a love for music. I began plunking on the piano at a young age. I remember listening to my mom play - NOT plunk (trust me). My love of music began with vinyl records on our console stereo, 8 track tapes in the camper and when technology REALLY moved along we owned handy-dandy cassette tapes that you had to eject and turn over in order to hear side B. If a song you were belting along with was playing on side A and the tape ran out? You had to flip the cassette over to continue the remainder of the song.

I remember when we lived in California and Dawn and Mike got a new car. It had a cassette player that played BOTH A and B sides WITHOUT HAVING TO TURN IT YOURSELF. Wow. I was soooooooo jealous!

Mom and Dad had an 8 track of Andy Williams. I LOVED it. I listened to it over and over and over. Rewinding to hear your favorite song was no easy task. It was hit and miss. However, it was PURE JOY when fate stepped in and you landed right at the perfect spot to hear the melody just one more time. Ahhhhhhhh.

Andy Williams crooned "To dreeeeeeeeeam the im-poss-ible dreeeeeam".  And I swooned.

Mark has a favorite mountain. Who has a favorite mountain? Oh yeah. That would be Mark. It's Mount Nebo and it's right here in Utah.

According to Wikipedia:

Mount Nebo is the southernmost and highest mountain in the Wasatch Range of Utah, in the United States. Named after the biblical Mount Nebo overlooking Israel, which is said to be the place of Moses' death, it is the centerpiece of the Mount Nebo Wilderness, inside the Uinta National Forest. 

Mount Nebo is crowned by three peaks, with the northern peak reaching 11,928 ft (3,636m). Original surveys placed the southern peak as the highest at 11,877 ft (3,620m). When the mountain was resurveyed in the 1970s and the northern peak was found to be the highest, two substantial trails already led to the south summit. Parts of the mountain are covered in snow from mid-October until July. It is a popular destination for hikers from the nearby towns of Nephi and Provo, Utah. 

Mark passed his love for that mountain on to Goose. Hence, my grand puppy is named? Yep. You guessed it. Nebo.

Now the story begins. 

Mark has climbed Nebo. Several times. Goose has hiked Nebo. Several times. I had never hiked Nebo. Oh sure. I TALKED about it. I would set a time to do it. (The first weekend in July that Goose is home from firefighting.) Once again. Classic Linnette. ALL talk. NO action. Plan and plan and plan and then? Not go. 

Problem is, I wanted the WHOLE family to go. I wanted ALL my kids there. Schedules rarely collide as I would like them to, time passed and I found myself listening to stories about Mount Nebo and not knowing what the heck they were really talking about.

A couple of Sundays ago that changed. I have become an official memeber of the "I Hiked Nebo" club and I couldn't be happier.

I REALLY wanted my family to go. I especially wanted Goose to witness my epic moment, however, I knew that if I waited for Goose to make it home, I probably wouldn't make it this year and the way my walking is changing, I was unsure that there would be a "next year" for hiking. Therefore, Sunday morning found Mark, myself, Aunt Shannon and my nephew Devin embarking on our journey to the top of Mount Nebo.

I wasn't being totally honest. I acted like I could do it. I told everyone that would listen that I was doing it. BUT I kinda-sorta didn't think I could do it. Yeah, I talked the smack and planned like a champ but when "things" got in the way, I wasn't fighting to go. Not at all.

I worried that I would embarrass Mark. I played over and over and OVER in my head Gooses disappointment while saying "It's okay that you didn't make it too far Mom. You did good. It's a tough hike."

Oh man! Had I gotten in over my head?

All worries were in vain. I did it. I hiked and stumbled and swore and fretted and then...  I bawled. Sobbed is more like it.

We crossed landmarks that been described to me over and over through the years. It was NEARLY like "Oh! I know this place." But it was better. MUCH better.

I now understand why this mountain is Mark's favorite.

But this blog isn't about Mark. It isn't about Goose. It really isn't about Mount Nebo. OF COURSE it's about me.

I turned 49 this year. I can count on ONE hand how many times I have been genuinely proud of something I have accomplished. Few times have I felt the wonder of pushing myself beyond my capabilities. I hiked and hiked and tried to be brave. Shannon found me a hiking stick and that helped tremendously. I found a loop on Mark's backpack. When the going got rough or steep or the terrain got too rugged, I grabbed hold of the loop and held on while he maneuvered me through the obstacles.

And the words to the song "To dream, the impossible dream" played over and over in my head.

We were climbing the very last leg of the journey. For some reason Shannon and Devin had dropped behind for a second. Mark asked me how I was doing and I began bawling. You know. The racking, trembling sobs. I got out, in my broken voice "You tell Goose I did good. I mean it. You tell him."

Later that evening we were talking about the hike. I finally told Mark that I hadn't been so sure that I was capable of the hike any longer, but I was SO determined not to let him or Goose down. He quietly admitted that he didn't think I could make it either. I not only did something that I thought I couldn't do, but something that Mark doubted in me as well.

I will carry that experience with me for as long as I live.

I did it. I made Goose proud. Mark was proud. Most of all? I made myself proud.

I'm a lucky girl, right?