On the Canyon Rim

This is a picture of me, Chris Zimmerman, meditating serenely while sitting calmly in the great outdoors.

Or is it?

No, that's definitely not what was going on.  Great big, ugly fear had wrapped icy fingers around my heart and I was trying to calm myself by sitting down, breathing deeply and closing my eyes.

Why?

...Because I was sitting three feet from the rim of a canyon.  You see that brown dirt in the foreground?  Step off of that and you die.

Why I consented to yet another hiking trip in a canyon is beyond me.  Apparently I'm a slow learner.  Cloudland Canyon was horrible and visiting the Grand Canyon was THE WORST.  Maybe visiting a canyon is like childbirth.  The torture of going through it fades with the beauty of the results.  A couple of years later, you voluntarily sign up to do it all again.

Enthusiasm is catching, so when Josh called sounding all excited and invited us to Bryce Canyon, I ignored my inner demons and said yes. (It's easy to agree to something that's happening in the nebulous future. My son knows this, so he booked the cabin immediately after he hung up from talking to me. He's a sly fox, that boy.)

Don't get me wrong.  It was breathtaking.  It's just that if you make one misstep, you walk off the edge and plunge to your death. Your. Death.  This is not a joke.  People actually do this.  (The number two cause of death in this National Park is by lightning.  That idea did not excite me either.  They suggest that you go inside during storms.  Great advice - except for when we were two hours into a hike when a storm blew in.  There was no "inside" to go into.)    

After our arrival, we decided to take a quick evening stroll on the rim.  Everyone was encouraging me like I was a three-year-old.  "Come on, Mom!  You can do it."  "You're doing great!"  "Nice job, Mom."  "Just a few more minutes."  That sort of thing. Jerry even held my hand.

We climbed higher and higher and the path got narrower and narrower.  Soon even the cheerleading wasn't producing its desired effects upon me.  I felt dizzy and sick and decided to stop.  I blamed it on altitude, sent the others on ahead then sat down under the tree and tried to talk some sense into myself. When I see the picture, I'm kind of proud that I wasn't actually holding on to the tree. 
I'm pretty sure that thought crossed my mind.

As they were coming back down from the lookout point, the family stopped right near me and Josh took out his camera.  Then it happened.  He was right in front of me, just inches from the edge himself when I heard this strange tone in his voice.  "Don't move, Mom." he said sternly.  I panicked.  I knew there must be a snake coiled up behind me and apparently the snake fear trumps the fear of heights fear, because I jumped up, toward the abyss.

"Why did you do that?" my son said.  "I just told you not to move."

"The tone of your voice scared me," I replied.  "Where's the snake?"

"What?"  He was mystified.  "I told you not to move because the canyon was reflected in your sunglasses and I thought that would be an interesting picture."

Our next vacation together better involve water.  And sandy white beaches.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

How I Spend my Time

This morning while I was in the middle of executing a perfect "Y" turn to get out of my garage and head up my driveway, I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw that I'd nudged my garbage bin and it had tilted backwards.  I put the car in park and as I walked over to right the bin, I realized that it's twin, the recycling bin, was missing. 

My bin nudging had sent the recycling container sailing down the hill below our driveway. The garbage bin was empty but our recycling only gets collected every other week so it was overflowing.  A week and a half's recycling had now fluttered down to rest on the hillside. 

When I was cleaning yesterday, I dumped the shredder wastebasket into the recycling bin so there were teeny tiny strips of paper intermingled with the plastic berry containers, tin cans, bits and pieces of aluminum foil, newspapers, magazines and junk mail littered all over my backyard.  It was a major mess.  I would have to wade in leaves to get to the bin -- leaves that are, I might add, the same color as snakes. 

Earlier in the year I made a bargain with all creepy crawly things that if they'd stay out of my area, I would stay out of theirs. This hillside was clearly not my area. It seemed wrong to welsh on an arrangement that had been working so splendidly.

What to do? Honestly, my initial impulse was to let Jerry deal with it but I immediately discounted that as being a little immature.  It was high time that I put on my big-girl pants and handled this mess myself. 

I broke into my secret Halloween candy stash and ate three miniature Butterfingers.  Fortified by chocolaty goodness, I grabbed my jingly snake bracelets and searched the garage until I found my rubber knee boots -- these boots are not the cute kind like the girls in Charleston wear when it rains.  These are brown rubber farm boots which I wear when I don't know how high whatever muck might be that I'm about to step in.  I pounded them upside down on the pavement until I was satisfied that all the spiders were gone, crammed my feet in them and embarked upon my task.

It took two and a half hours for me to pick up the recyclables and drag the bin back up to my driveway.  Although I was serenaded by my neighbor dog during the entire time, the only living thing I saw was a Daddy Long Legs.  That's all I saw.  The whole time I imagined thousands of beady eyes staring out at me from under piles and piles leaves.

If, like my husband, you've ever thought to yourself, "Chris stays at home all day.  How does she spend her time?"  Well, now you know.  Not quite what you'd imagined, right?  Me either.



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A Scary October Story

Don't read this post if you frighten easily...

Last week Jessica was visiting and as we stepped outside onto our front porch she screamed one of those screams of sheer terror that I, personally, reserve for snakes. I screamed too as I jumped back and grabbed her, which did nothing to allay her fear I might add.  I had to laugh when she pointed out what we were screaming about - a tiny chameleon on our railing.  Turns out that lizards -- really just miniature snakes with tiny feet when you think about it -- don't bother me at all.  Good to know.

Yesterday I decided to clean the basement and stuck the Swiffer behind my piano.  I captured a whole bunch of pill bugs in various stages of life and was so grossed out by this catch that I put my telescoping feather duster under there.  When I pulled it out again, a big, brown spider was attached to it.  A slender spider, it was easy to identify: brown recluse.  The very name sends shivers of horror up and down my spine!

Either of these events could have sent me -- a card carrying phobic -- over the edge, but together they multiplied my angst exponentially.  I had difficulty sleeping last night.  My entire body was tingling and I was certain that I was in the beginning stages of paralysis.

When I awoke this morning apparently perfectly fine - except emotionally, of course - no one was more surprised than I was.  Emotionally though, I'm a wreck!  Where there's one spider, there's a potential for many more, right? 

My kids had an audio of Charlotte's Web (read by the author) that we listened to endlessly while they were growing up.  You may recall that Charlotte gave birth to countless baby spiders by the tale's end.  Who knows the sex of the spider I threw outside yesterday?  I was in a panic but even if I hadn't been, truthfully I don't know how to tell a spider's gender anyway.  Chances are that even if I did, in the heat of the moment I wouldn't have had the presence of mind to check.

Today I'm going to buy an industrial can of Home Defense and have Jerry spray it this weekend.  I can't do it myself because insecticide creeps me out, but that would be belaboring the obvious now, wouldn't it?

Snakes

In the inky evening when the world is darkening rapidly, the last thing you should be doing is strolling down a street with no sidewalks, right?  I find myself in that very situation more than I'd like to admit and always regret my wardrobe choice - usually some version of khaki capris and a gray tee-shirt,  rendering me virtually invisible, especially to the five out of every seven drivers who are  talking on their cell phones.  (That number is 100% accurate.  I watched seven cars speed by and five drivers were on the phone, no joke.)  More likely than not, I am forced to jump into the English ivy to save myself even though I have  often been told that it's the Motel Six of the snake kingdom. 

Are snakes lurking in the ivy?

Just last week I was out walking with Mary Ann as twilight fell.  We were power-walking past a yard full of ivy when something (we couldn't see what) suddenly hissed loudly and jumped out at us.  Terror froze me to the spot!  In the heat of the moment I panicked and belted out a scream worthy of a horror movie.  In the same split second, I grabbed Mary Ann with both hands.  (I thought I heard a little sympathy yowl from her direction but I can't swear it wasn't because I was squeezing her too tightly.) 

In a flash, the man who owned the house came tearing outside to see what the

commotion was all about, no doubt envisioning carnage.  Instead, what he found was two screaming ladies standing in the puddle of water that his automatic sprinklers had made on the first squirt of their cycle.

Was my face red?  Was Mary Ann's arm bruised?  It would have been hard to tell because by now it was too dark to see.

What I Learned from my Cat

In the late '70s we got a cat.  Josh, then almost two, named her "Blue."  This seemed like the perfect cat name and since the cat appeared to be good with it, that's what we called her.

Now Blue was a sweet cat but a horrible, horrible hunter.  Every fall a mouse or two would get into the house and every fall it was a mousetrap, not our cat, that dispatched it.  I felt kind of sorry for her because I could see her practicing stalking when she thought I wasn't looking.  I knew she had the heart of a huntress; she just never seemed to get it right.

One autumn day, I walked into our backyard and there, right by the concrete steps, some insolent mother mouse had constructed a nest and birthed a bunch of babies.  Blue was mainly a house cat but she did come outside with me from time to time and I just couldn't resist bringing her out to show her these mice.  Bless her heart, she couldn't even catch them.  I decided there was no hope for her and we went back inside together.

What happened next was a major life lesson for me.  Our cat hopped up onto the windowsill to track the mother mouse.  I knew that's what she was doing because every time Blue moved her head, the bell on her collar jingled. 

The bell jingled!  It took me three years to realize that the cat couldn't catch mice not because she had some feline disability but because I had tied a bell around her neck.  Imagine her frustration!

I took that bell off immediately.  The next time I let Blue in from exercising outdoors I noticed a little (dead) present by our back door.



The years roll by.....

Now I live in the woods of South Carolina, home of the copper-colored pit vipers.  People tell me that the snakes will leave me alone if I don't creep up on them and catch them unawares.  Why would I do that?  I want them to hear me coming a mile away.  So, remembering the lesson that our cat Blue taught me, I have custom made myself an ankle bracelet with five bells on it.  Nobody - not snake, not cat, not human - is going to be surprised when they see me coming.

J i n g l e  all the way!

In the Garden

Acres and Acres of

Bright Blooming Azalea Blossoms

(These are from the Santorums' Backyard)

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Gorgeous Hanging Wisteria

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Two Cormorants

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Two Peacocks

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Two Peahens

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Two Baby Alligators

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One Snake

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My Trip to Middleton Place Garden

One word description:  Wow!

Dear Mr. Tall and Dark

He's tall.  He's dark.  He has perfect eyesight.  He's a bit skinny and he has big feet but he's a good listener - although he doesn't retain much.  He prefers being outdoors by himself over being indoors with a group of strangers, or even friends for that matter.  You would call him a quiet man; he never butts into the conversations of others.  He's a rational individual, very left-brained.  He thinks with his head not his heart. People don't accuse him of being dramatic, either.
 

In my world, cute reptiles are few and far between.

I have never met Mr. Tall and Dark, yet I sense these things about him because of a sign I saw at the foot of the trail I walked on today.  It had his name and phone number on it and said he was a herpetologist.  (That's when I knew he was polar opposite of me.)  It further stated that he was counting reptiles in our area and we are to call him if we see any snakes.  (I couldn't read any more after that...)

Why anyone, a.n.y.o.n.e., would choose to count reptiles I can't fathom; the machinations of his mind are that different  from my own.  I do know this though: If this gentleman is waiting beside his phone for me to call him because I've spotted a snake, he waits in vain.

I will never be calling him.  If I see a snake, I will be too busy screaming and running to make any phone calls at all.

The Perfect Dentist

For some people, a trip to the dentist is like tripping over a poisonous snake sunning on the sidewalk - or looking in the rear view mirror and seeing a giant spider sitting on your shoulder.  In other words, going to the dentist doesn't top the list of fun things to do.  My friend Kelly is like that. 

Kelly knew she had an aversion to dentists, so she took the bull by the horns and started searching for a dentist who'd be right for her.  Persistence pays off and she eventually found the perfect guy.  She used him for several years without incident until one day, she stepped through his door into the Dental Twilight Zone.

The first thing she noticed was that they were expanding the office.  Turns out Dr. Perfect's son was going to UCLA Dental School and would be joining the practice.  "Father and son working together.  Isn't that nice?" she thought.  

Turns out there was a second father-and-son team in the practice now, too.  Dr. Perfect's elderly father was also a dentist and had also been added to the staff.  He suffered from senile dementia so he was not allowed to do the drilling but he was able to make molds for teeth whitening and impressions for crowns.  To round out the family affair, there was the developmentally disabled daughter who was acting as sort of a dental hostess in the waiting room.

Shortly after that cleaning, Kelly swallowed half of one of her crowns.  "When I called the dental office, they didn't believe me," she said.  "They said, 'Are you sure it wasn't just a filling?'"  She was sure. That is how she ended up in the chair with the elderly father walking toward her, holding a gigantic dental plate that was obviously way too big to fit inside her mouth.  Already a bit skittish, Kelly was getting more and more frightened as he advanced toward her.  He had a bit of a tremor and the thing was clattering as he walked which did not add to her sense of well-being. Finally she burst out in nervous laughter which startled the old man, causing him to drop the plate on the floor.  "Don't you think that plate is a little too big for my mouth?" she asked when she had recovered herself.  As fortune would have it, Dr. Perfect was alerted by the ruckus, came in to investigate and remedied the problem.  Although the crisis was averted, the fear lingered.

The next visit she was to have the crown seated.  Kelly got situated in the dental chair and realized that the developmentally disabled daughter had been promoted to assistant.  She was now in the room, helping by handing Dad the instruments.  "It's wonderful," thought Kelly, "that she gets to spend the day helping her father." 

The crown was set in place and then the dentist left the room, leaving Kelly alone with his daughter.  Immediately Kelly's comfort level plummeted but she controlled herself and when she was told to tap-tap-tap on a piece of special paper, she did. Tap-tap-tap.  Thank God!  The crown was perfect.  No adjustments were necessary. 

Apparently "the assistant" had never seen a crown that fit perfectly before because the next thing that happened was that she took the crown out of Kelly's mouth anyway and started fiddling with it, drilling and sanding and doing other dental stuff to it.  When she re-inserted the crown, it no longer fit.  Now when Kelly closed her mouth, her teeth didn't even touch.  The crown was a quarter of an inch higher than the rest of her teeth. 

The daughter was confused.  She had Kelly tap-tap-tap again.  The girl was mystified.  Tap-tap-tap.  Tap-tap-tap.  Every time Kelly tapped, there was the same result.  The crown was so high that you could see sunshine between the top and bottom sets of teeth.  Tap-tap-tap.  Tap-tap-tap.  Our patient was getting a fatigued jaw just tapping on the special paper.  Each time, the results were the same.  Something was clearly wrong. 

"Is the crown on backwards?" Kelly finally asked.  The girl was indignant.  "No!" she responded but she yanked the crown off anyway and found that a piece of dental debris had lodged itself on top of the original tooth, causing the problem.  When it was removed,the crown fit perfectly again.  Kelly heaved a sigh of relief and went on her way.

A couple of months later, Kelly went to have her routine cleaning. There was a new hygienist and she was very rough, poking and prodding with sharp instruments, making her gums bleed and generally causing Kelly's limited dental tolerance to vanish completely. She felt like the lady was using a jackhammer in there. By the time the ordeal was over, Kelly couldn't stand another minute in the chair and practically bolted out of the room. As she was leaving, she told the ladies at the front desk emphatically that she never wanted to have that hygienist again.

Back at home, she told her husband about her horrible dental experience. "What was the hygienist's name?" he asked. "Sally." she said. "That was the dentist's wife."