Stairway to Heaven: A Tribute to Grandma

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller 2017

Stairway to Heaven: A Tribute to Grandma

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

Time flies like a magic carpet. As though in a dream, it glides through the sky until it's yanked out from underneath; and the rider falls to their end. Grim, but true; life is short. At least that's what all the elderly people say. Grandma's magic carpet was yank away on May 22, 2017.

At nearly 94 years old, she lived through milestones of events, like anyone else: weddings, funerals, babies, grandbabies, great-grandbabies. A world war, nuclear threats, cable TV, and Nintendo (and you'd best believe Grandma knew what that was. Perhaps even engaged with it.) She lost her husband, and persevered on with life--I mean her magic carpet ride. The funny thing is, as all these countless events unfolded, time was slipping away. A new grandbaby is wonderful news, but also a sign of life edging closer to its expiration. Of course, we don't necessarily see it that way at the time; we simply enjoy the gifts granted to us.

The day Grandma left us was a beautiful day. I told her the sky was bright blue and the sun warmed the air to a temperature above my preference. The songbirds chirped insistently and the quail plotted, once again, to snatch strawberries from my garden. And speaking of gardens, the potato plants began sprouting, and I am looking forward to green beans again this year. Do you remember, Grandma, those summers spent on your patio snapping green beans? My irises were blooming yellow, violet, mauve, red, and white. (Ironic. When these flowers bloom, it's my reminder to clip them and head to the cemetery where I placed them on other ancestors' graves.) I held Grandma's hand and mindlessly chattered about all these things. I could've chosen any other topic, but I chose the simple things that God created for us. The things she showed me how to enjoy in life; to enrich my own magic carpet ride. 

That afternoon, I let go of her warm hand, left her side, and soon she was gone.

Strangely, I believe I was aware when it happened. I arrived home, my mind drained, and I lay down in bed to take a nap. At some point I woke to my cat tapping my mouth with her paw. She doesn't do that to me. In a moment my phone rang with the news. More irony: I was asleep in my own bed, when Grandma left Earth from hers. Call it whatever you want. Call me a loony skeptic fit to be a guest on those freakish early morning radio shows about ghosts and aliens. Things happen for a reason. There are no coincidences in life. Later, I realized I forgot to include Grandma's birthday when I made the 2017 calendars. Was this a subconscious knowledge she wouldn't make it until then? Or a "coincidence?" Perhaps delayed intuition is a good term.

Grieving is different for everyone. The following day, my family went to the lake. Fresh air is good for you; Grandma knew that, too. She walked her yard and noticed things like a newly sprouted plant or bird's nest. I find myself like her in this aspect. When it was time to leave the lake, I gazed up at the sky and noticed an odd streaky cloud. It appeared to ascend from a hilltop and stretch itself upward. It looked like a stairway in the sky. A stairway to Heaven. I snapped a photo with my cellular phone and as I looked at the screen to make sure I got the image, I noticed something else. At the top of the "stairway" was a face. A second later, the clouds had floated on, erasing their previous formation. 

The face was Grandma's, of course. She checked on us one last time before stepping through into the next life. Perhaps her magic carpet transformed into that stairway to Heaven. Maybe even lining the steps for her. The departed don't get red carpet treatment on their way to Heaven; they receive magic carpet treatment.

We will all take over your magic carpet from here.

Love you forever, Grandma. 

Box Canyon Dam

Box Canyon Dam

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

On our way home from Canada, we stopped at Box Canyon Dam on the Pend Oreille River WA. We noticed signs indicating the dam, and another that read "tours available." After 9/11, touring dams practically became an extinct activity. In middle school (which was looooong before 9/11), I recall a field trip to Grand Coulee Dam. We drove across the top of the dam, then took a coal car elevator down into it. After 9/11, those activities ceased, as far as I know. Hence, we jumped at the chance to tour a dam again. 

I know, we're nerds. However, we weren't very attentive nerds because I can't remember what all the things I photographed are called, let alone what purpose they serve. I'm throwing them together here, hoping that the actual nerds of the physics sector can remind me what they are. Maybe I should put out a disclaimer: I am writing this solely from memory. Take any information in actual context at your own risk. 

We turned at the tiny wooden sign that said "tours available" onto a long driveway. We parked and walked across the gravel lot to the non-air conditioned visitor's center. It looked like an office waiting room except with dioramas and historic photos instead of seating. There was a young woman, as in teenager, who greeted us at the front desk. I asked about the tours and she explained she was the guide and could conduct one as soon as we were ready. I was pleasantly surprised to find out they were free, and we were allowed to take photos except in the control room. Based on her excitement to give a tour, I'm guessing they don't get many visitors. Off we went.

First off, we couldn't tour the spillway because it was under construction. The engineers working the dam were building a salmon ladder per new federal regulations. There was plenty of other stuff to see.

The door to the dam innards is near the red thing in the above photo. We entered a hot stuffy stairway and began our descent. The temperature dropped with each flight of stairs, and soon it was chilly.

Eventually, we entered a big room with concrete walls...and a concrete floor...and a concrete ceiling. It was made of concrete, in case my reference to it wasn't 'concrete' enough. It was a big room with big things in it. That's about as technical as I get. The guide rattled off all sorts of things about generators, pressure, and gizmos from sci-fi novels that turn water current into energy to power light bulbs.

The two blue cylinders are called the governors, which looked like giant water heaters to me. I can't recall their actual purpose, but I do recall they aren't there for political reasons. Although, they are painted blue and have a "danger" sign, so perhaps they are a bit political.

The yellow railing on the left of the photo might be one of the generators Those are the doohickeys that spin around in circles real fast and harvest the power, right?

Moving on.

As we walked from one room to the next, we passed a large board with supersized wrenches and tools hanging on it. At first I thought it was just a fun decoration, until I comment such and our guide said, "No, the guys actually use those." I snapped a photo with T standing next to them. He is six foot tall if that gives you an idea to their size.

We walked passed some historical photos hanging on the wall, and a board with all the employees' pictures, which included one of the head honcho's dog labeled "runs the show."

Next we were lead into the control room. (Remember, I wasn't allowed to take photographs there.) There wasn't much to see, except dozens of TV monitors with feeds to the security cameras. The control room operator saw us, quickly yanked his feet of his desk, and gave us a friendly greeting. He told us all about the cameras and what information they use, how many tons of water blast through the dam at full capacity blah blah blah. I got the impression it was a boring job most of the time as I doubt there are many folks prowling around this dam. Based on how excitedly he was talking about a giant concrete structure, it sealed in my theory of scarce visitors.

After the tour, I snapped a photo of the propeller statue they had out front. Our guide said it was an old one as they switched to one with four blades because it was more economical and, therefore, more efficient. I think I was supposed to remember how that tied into everything she had just showed us, but by then the propeller was simply a work of art.

That sums up our visit to Box Canyon Dam...I think. Hopefully I didn't forgot about anything...

What Is Love?

Image credit: Pixabay, ErickaWittlieb CC0 Public Domain Creative Commons Use

What Is Love?

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

What is love? It's an age-old question, without a conclusive answer, because the word 'love' has multiple interpretations. And is it possible to see love, rather than only feel it?

Once in a while I see a little old couple walking in our neighborhood. The man is slender and tallish, wears khaki slacks with a short sleeved button down shirt, and sports a baseball cap. The woman is slightly hunched, generally wears thicker clothing pieces, like a sweater, and uses a cane. When I am out in the yard they wave and say "hello" or "isn't the weather lovely today" and other phrases generally exchanged with strangers. They sound like a completely normal elderly couple. Except, they are smiling and holding hands every time I see them.

Old couples holding hands makes me coo "ahhhh!" like in response to a photo of a kitten pawing at a dandelion. I don't always see older couples showing affection in public. Perhaps, they feel they have outgrown the need; their years in youth long passed. 

But not for this couple. By holding hands, they are holding onto their youth. Perhaps he is showing off this beautiful woman, who he once thought was out of his league. Making he is making a statement to the world that she is taken.

I could have it all wrong. They could be a widow/widower, and have recently begun a new relationship. The hand holding may be a sign of their "young love."

Whatever the case may be, it doesn't matter, I suppose. By the smiles on their faces and the joining of their hands, they must be madly in love and proud of it. Each time I notice this couple, I pause and think to myself, that is love.

Dealing With Disappointment

Dealing With Disappointment

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

Disappointment happens to us at one time or another. Actually, I should be more honest: it happens a lot. I am certainly no exception. 

From time to time, I submit my work to various literary magazines or publications. I can count on one hand, with fingers left over, the number of pieces accepted for publication. In January, I submitted three poems to the Washington 129 anthology. It's a collection of poems, by Washington State residents, honoring the state's culture, geography, nature, and whatever else comes to mind. None of my pieces were selected.

No profession is successful without some kind of failure first, and writing is no exception. One would think I'm used to rejection by now, and, in a sense, I am. But I was really looking forward to to receiving the "Congratulations, your poems were accepted" letter. I've lived in Washington nearly my whole life, and since my poems reflected upon Washington State, Washington 129 was a logical choice to publish them in. So now where should they go? I must continue my hunt for a proper home for them. I like my poems and think they are good enough. Where is the ultimate question.

Another reason I feel so rejected is because I wonder if my work wasn't academic enough, as I don't hold a Master's or PhD in creative writing. (Most writers would state this in their bio when submitting.) Frankly, I'm not interested in those because my writing to conforms to me; noy to academia standards (and I don't want to spend an eternity paying off student loan debt). But still; I am curious if that made any difference. Isn't that how it worked in high school? If someone played only on a junior varsity sports team, they wouldn't "letter" in the sport; they just played. Someone who played varsity most likely earned a school letter to display on their jacket. Is that how it works in the writing world, too? Do they look for an author bio with extra letters after their name; BA in this, Master's in that, and PhD in creative writing? 

I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe my stuff simply wasn't good enough. What if it actually sucked?! Perhaps my poems should stay stashed away in Word, buried among all the other would-bes and has-beens saved to the hard drive. Ugh! The cycle of triumph and disappoint is tough.

Well, the only option is to forge on in quest of the next rejection letter and hope to be surprised. 

Oh Canada!

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

Oh Canada!

by,

Jennifer E. Miller

We made it across the Canadian Border! Remember, we obtained those Enhanced Drivers Licenses so had to put them to use. Our vacation road trip was nice with the exception of G losing her wallet and falling on her face, T developing a mysterious rash on his elbows, me getting sick, and repairing the car. Only minor inconveniences.

Our road trip started in Spokane, of course, going north past Elk, Ione, and Metaline Falls, and passing through the border inspection at Nelway. The first Canadian town was Salmo, if I remember right. There wasn't much through these small border towns, except I did swerve to miss a turtle crossing the highway near Ione, and there was an elk crossing sign in Salmo. It looked similar to a deer crossing sign but with an elk; assuming one can recognize the difference. I wonder why there wasn't a turtle crossing sign. Animal discrimination! Sorry, no photos to accompany these claims. You'll have to use your imagination.

Continuing north on Canada HWY 6 (to Nelson), we turned onto HWY 3A toward Ainsworth BC and, further north, Kaslo. With windy narrow roads, the Selkirk loop is a motorcyclist's dream. Bicyclists are fond of this route as well, but due to the extremely narrow shoulders, I wouldn't feel safe riding a bike here. Rarely did cyclists ride in tandem; mostly side-by-side. I'm not sure if this is Canada thing, but it didn't strike me as a very safe way to travel by bicycle. We are, of course, cautious of everyone on the road, but, as you know, not all drivers are mindful.

We stayed one night in Ainsworth Hot Springs and two nights in Nelson, British Columbia. After checking into Ainsworth Hot Springs Resort, we drove a little further north to Kaslo and toured the Moyie Museum. It's an old paddle steamship that is permanently shored and set up in period decor. Surprisingly, G found it really interesting and fun. Unfortunately, this is also where she discovered her wallet was missing. After moseying around the gift shop, she went back to the car to retrieve it to purchase some souvenirs and trade her US money for Canadian. We searched and searched, but the wallet was nowhere in the vehicle. We never did find it. It must've fallen out either in Ione when we stopped for a bathroom break, or at the Hot Springs Resort while getting out of the car. She had about USD $8.00 and some change. Originally, she had a twenty dollar bill and a huge handful of change, but mom was smart and encouraged her to leave the twenty and most of the change at home "in case something happens to her wallet." How did I know?

The cashier at the museum's gift shop was a friendly lady and gave her a few Canadian coins out of her own wallet. One was a special commemorative quarter celebrating Canada.

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

Next to the museum was a small city beach, where we romped around and took in the beautiful scenery. The snow-capped mountain tips gave a lovely contrast to the sapphire sky and midnight blue of Kootenay Lake. Of all the mountain scenery we saw on this trip, this little spot in Kaslo was my favorite. Quiet, serene, and small town friendly.

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

That evening, back at Ainsworth, we soaked in the hot springs located on the resort's property. The main pool was body temperature (97-100 degrees). This is where most guests hung out. Next to the pool was a walk-through cave connected to hot soak tub (108 degrees) as well as a cool pool (39 degrees). I know what you're thinking: Who the heck wants to soak in 39 degree water? Well, here's the thing: when you walk the cave loop with hot water and jump back into the main body temperature pool, it feels cold. Soooooo....after exiting the hot water, take a quick half-second dip in the cool pool, and proceed to main pool; it will feel warm and cozy. Supposedly, this cycle of hot-cold-warm water is good for your anyway. I did it several times. Unfortunately, for me, the mineral bath wasn't in time; I got sick.

Main pool at Ainsworth Hot Springs.
Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

As I got into bed that night, I noticed my throat felt scratchy. I thought it was from not drinking enough water at the hot springs. I gulped down some H20 and went to bed. In the morning it was worse. No matter, I'll eat breakfast and it should go away on our way down to Nelson. This is what usually happens with allergies for me; sore throat upon awakening and it goes away throughout the day. I tried not to think about it too much. We are on vacation, after all.

Per the advice of the friendly Moyie Museum cashier, we stopped at Fletcher Falls for a short hike. It's an easy hike, but steep in most places. G gained too much momentum from running (hiking 101 error!), couldn't stop, and came to a short drop off of about four feet. Without other options, she jumped, landed on her feet, but her face came forward and her jaw met her knees. Thank goodness she didn't fall on the waterfall side of the trail! While her jaw was sore for the day or so, it wasn't anything serious. However, my sore throat decided to hang around.

Fletcher Falls
Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

Also on the way to Nelson, we decided to ride the Balfour Ferry east across Kootaney Lake, as it's the longest free ferry in the world. We saw more lovely scenery and rode it west back across the lake, lest we wanted a road trip within our road trip.

We made to Nelson, checked into our hotel where I proceeded to eat the handful of Halls cough drops I had on me. I was annoyed my throat was still sore; in fact, it seemed to be getting worse. Add cough and nasal congestion to the list of ailments. The Halls didn't do much good and I quickly ran out. We found a grocer and I purchased a different brand called Fisherman's Friend. Not realizing they were anise flavored until I popped one into my mouth, I was a tad disgusted with the taste. I dealt with it because HOLY COW these things work! They are strong and richly soothing. Ditch your Halls and go buy Fisherman's Friend. There were other flavors available and I'm hoping I can find them in the USA. If not, I will head up to Canada to purchase them again (I'm serious; they work that good).

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

After eating lunch at the Main Street Diner (located on Baker Street), the waiter gave us some sightseeing ideas and we started with the Nelson City Beach. You have to watch when a Canadian says "within walking distance." They clearly are used to walking more than Americans (what does that say about us?) because the walk was about 1.75 miles one way. I know, it really isn't that far, but when visiting a new place, one block can seem like a half mile at times. And with a sore throat doused with anise, across the parking lot feels like walking into a never ending time warp!

We saw many geese, pigeons, ducks, and even a swimming woodchuck on the walk which bordered the lake. The outdoor gym was quite popular and interesting, but I imagine it isn't usable during the winter. In the soccer fields, an athlete walked to the lake's edge, dunked his Nalgene bottle under, and drank. We didn't notice a filter of any sort within the bottle. Pretty sure he was drinking straight up lake water filled with woodchuck and goose poop. I may have thrown up a little in my mouth. Maybe this is normal in Canada; but ewwww! Several statues, or works of art, I should say, line the walkway. Speaking of which, the photos are my works of art; getting tired of typing my name on each photo.

The front statue is pointing at another statue behind it: birds roosting on a pylon

Heron's Landing by Jock Hildebrand

Shoreline with iconic Nelson Bridge

The beach is small, but what else does one need besides sand, water, and sun? It's a popular spot for kayaking, paddle boarding, and sailing. Thong bathing suits are popular for both men and women, including teenagers. Oi! There's another cultural difference.

The vibe of Nelson was overall extremely earthy/hippie. It's a town for organic foodies, wanderers, free spirits, and outdoor enthusiasts. I wouldn't say we didn't fit in, because it seemed to be an overall welcoming town. Since we fall into the more outdoorsy category, we headed slightly out of town for another hike, recommended by the waiter: Old Growth Trail.

The Old Growth Trail trailhead is a "short 11.5 km up Kokanee Glacier Road." 11.5 km is about seven miles which doesn't sound far, but it's a narrow, bumpy dirt road which took at least thirty minutes. Old Growth Trail itself was listed as an easy hike in my guidebook. While it wasn't hard, I wouldn't classify it as easy simply because young children and seniors could find it challenging, especially if unseasoned to any sort of rough or uneven terrain. There are large cedar, hemlock, and spruce trees that are hundreds of years old. I don't think we made it to the extremely large ones as the creek had washed out the trail, which is where we decided to turn back. We enjoyed the parts we were able to hike, and G didn't even hurt herself this time! Since it was Memorial Day, I snapped a photo of us in our American spirited attire with US and Canadian flags. We didn't forget the significance of this special holiday while out of the country!

American spirit in Canada.

Here's a big one growing around a boulder.

Returning to the trailhead required us to step around some man-made stairs because of water run off again. With footing on branches, we heaved ourselves up whilst gripping boulders. At the top, I happened to look in a specific spot and saw a calypso orchid! It is an endangered species in some places (or at least was at one time) because of their delicate nature and pickiness to a specific habitat. I have not found one in the wild until now. Being a bit of a flower nut, I was excited. I wished the flower was facing me for a better photo, but naturally I wasn't going to disturb it.

Photo of Calypso Orchid by Jennifer E. Miller

After T and G waited patiently for me to finish photographing this forest beauty, we returned to the trailhead and got in our car to head back down the mountain to Nelson. That's when we noticed liquid leaking from under the glove box. Sloshing and singeing could be heard, too. Great. We reached the bottom of the mountain where T pulled over to check the fluid levels which appeared normal. If something is leaking, shouldn't the dash be lighting up with alarms, bells, and whistles? That's the whole reason they make cars with bells and whistles, right?

Luckily, we arrived safely into town where we proceeded to find an automotive repair shop. Canadians don't celebrate Memorial Day so businesses are open. The first place we asked only did body work. "Try Walmart across the street or the tire place down the block."

Walmart's auto center is closed on Mondays. The tire place wouldn't take anymore mechanical work for the day. They directed us to a variety of other options. We tried the one across their parking lot simply called The Garage. It's a hole in the wall establishment next to a Crossfit Box. I walked into the tiny, yet inviting, entry area with two sitting chairs and a coffee pot sitting on a shelf recesses into the wall. There was a sliding window with a handwritten sign next to a doorbell that read "ring for service." I buzzed it and someone, presumably the owner, came to the window. I explained we were traveling and told him the issue with the leak and other noises. We were worried about the drive back home tomorrow and would it be possible to look at our car. He was very understanding and said, "Tourists first; the locals can wait." He also stated he tries to keep an empty slot open in case of emergencies such as ours anyway.

We own a Mazda which we pronounce Mahz-duh. In BC, they apparently say Mæz-duh (like the "a" sound in ma'am). I held my tongue about the accent because I didn't want to come across as a snobby tourist. Plus I wanted my car fixed. Remember my previous blog entry about regional accents? Add Mahz-duh/Mæz-duh to it!

The Garage needed about four hours to diagnose and unclogged the air conditioner hose. During part of the wait we headed back to the beach, which is when T pointed out the weird rash on his elbows. I told him to suck it up and be thankful he's not clogged like the A/C hose. He never figured out where the rash came from. Calamine lotion helped.

With the car fixed up we headed home safely the next day. Need car repair in Nelson BC? Call The Garage.

It was smooth sailing from Nelson to Spokane. Crossing the border back into the USA was stricter than entering Canada. Two border agents, not one, inspected us. One searched the car, while the other examined our IDs and asked what we were bringing back. Kids only need their birth certificate to cross the US/Canada border by car, yet the agent politely questioned her. He asked G her name, birth date, and age all which she answered lickety split. Then he asked, "Who's this guy sittin' in front of you driving?" G thought this was an odd question. She gave him a weird look, then looked at me; silently asking what to do. I told her to just answer the questions. "That's my daddy." The agent smiled and let us through. And we were home free.