It was quite the week. There was a death, a birth, and a wedding. And I climbed a mountain.
"Was there much color?" my grandmother asked me today. I have been spending Tuesday afternoons with Grandma, who has just recently relocated from the mountains to the suburban hell that is Greece, NY.
"You could write a book about your time spent with Grandma," my dad said. "You know what you could call it?"
"Tuesdays with Grandma?"
"Tuesdays with Grandma?"
He thinks he's very clever.
I told Grandma we arrived just a few days past peak color.
"You people think you have color around here, but it's not like the Adirondacks," she stated, bluntly. "You people" is us "city folk." According to Grandma, we drive too fast, talk too fast, use too much technology, and our grocery stores... well. They are just obscene. How is one supposed to make choices in a Wegmans? And now our leaves are just not colorful enough. I didn't have the heart to tell her we hadn't reached our "peak" yet. (Admittedly, brightly colored leaves displayed dramatically on a looming mountain is visually more satisfying than the splash of color from the paltry woods behind her apartment building.)
All in all, Grandma is holding up well, disappointing fall foliage notwithstanding.
My friend Lydia and I headed north to hike Cascade Mountain, which is the "easiest" climb out of the 46 Adirondack high peaks. Cascade was chosen because we both have a horrific fear of hiking down rocky mountains in the dark. Also, Lydia is afraid of black bears. She will probably refute this, but there was a brief moment where she was considering NOT bringing Snickers bars because they might attract black bears. I may have to find someone else to hike Yellowstone with.
We made it down with plenty of daylight to spare.
Here is a conversation I heard on the way down the mountain:
"Look, when it gets to be 4:00, we'll turn around."
"Or maybe someone could just plan better next time."
This is why I don't go hiking with my husband. Lydia would never talk to me that way.
We made it up and down in about 5 1/2 hours. Some seven year olds made it up and down much faster than that; I know because they passed us, unapologetically. As did a black lab named Spike.
Don't even get me started on the Boy Scouts.
The trail was crowded, rocky, and very muddy, but ultimately worth it for the view. I'm a sucker for a good view.
We also went shopping and sightseeing in Saratoga Springs, Lake George, and Lake Placid. Rather, we ate in Lake Placid and ogled the Olympic sites that dominate the small village as we drove through. I went into two different Eddie Bauer stores in the course of two days. The insanity of it all.
View from atop Cascade Mountain:
|View of Mt. Marcy, which is the only mountain I can definitively recognize.|
|My bangs- blowing unceremoniously in the wind.|
It smells so unbelievably good there. In the mountains, not in Eddie Bauer.
As per the death, the birth, and the wedding:
John's grandmother, "Nana," died at the age of 93. We had a family graveside service Wednesday. She was a sweet lady and, honestly, I can't believe she's gone. We will be having a larger memorial service later this month.
My stepbrother got married in Colorado, where he lives. I'm sorry to have missed the wedding.
John's little sister, Mary, had a baby girl just yesterday. The circle of life! Seriously. It's all circling like crazy around here. Soon, the kids will get off the bus and I will rush them off to dance class and piano lessons. They'll probably all grow an inch just this evening.
Life's too fast. Go ahead and climb a mountain. Preferably not on a holiday weekend.