In Wellfleet: some sadness, some sun, also tipping over but having fun

View from the bench on an overcast day

One of the first things I did on this little trip to Wellfleet was to take my beau over Uncle Tim's Bridge to the bench book. It is one of the most peaceful spots that I know.

We sat on the bench, and I wrote down my thoughts about coming here with my kids, and about how restorative it was to sit there and let your cares drift away. A nearby resident has been maintaining it for years. When it gets filled up with peoples' thoughts, someone takes it and places a new one in a little wooden treasure chest.

Waiting for table at Beachcomber, 2012

I looked up Uncle Tim's Bridge bench book and my blog post, Wonderful Wellfleet, came up fifth. I must have unintentionally good SEO or something. It was from 2012. I wrote this about our visit to Provincetown: "Joe, who is understandably upset by my falls, watched me like a hawk when we walked through Provincetown's busy streets. Step up, step down, step up, step down, he said. At one point when we were all in a gallery, I "escaped" by going out to the street by myself. "Hey, come back here and get back on your leash!" he said. I ultimately just walked along holding his arm, which was comforting because I knew I wouldn't fall."

I also wrote about how the seals seemed to be getting too close to the shore on the ocean side. Most everyone now is talking about the seals, what to do about the increasing population that is bringing sharks closer to the shore, and specifically about the recent fatal attack.

Jeff and I walked on that beach, Newcomb Hollow, on a day so misty that my glasses kept getting wet. People stood silently for a few minutes at the memorial for 26-year-old Arthur Medici. You don't want to speak badly about the dead, but all around, in the discussions, some were wondering why he and a friend went so far out, off-season, on a day when there was no lifeguard to warn them of the danger.

Memorial at Newcomb Hollow Beach

Some local officials want to cull the population of seals, which are on the endangered species list, but many are against that and are proposing other ways to keep swimmers safe, and to help fishermen who say the seals are taking their fish. Maybe the idiot climate-change deniers should wake up to the fact that there is a scientific reason that the warming oceans are contributing to the problem.

But back to good things.

The sand was hard, providing a good surface for a run, so I ditched my Tevas and went up ahead a little when walking on the beach on this moody day. It was actually a trot, in between a walk and a run. But it felt good. I stopped to do some yoga.

 Out of our four days here, only one had some sun, but in a way it was good because we didn't have to worry about getting sunburnt. We covered most of the bases: a walk along the bay and beach, dinner at Mac's restaurant and lunch at the dock, a little shopping, a walk around Provincetown, coffee, a visit to a newfound treasure – Chequessett Chocolate –  in North Truro, dinner at a new discovery, also in Truro, Blackfish, (formerly a blacksmith shop), and just plain breathing in the wonderful air.

I also spent a little time in an ambulance.

We were biking on the bike path. I got a "foolproof, "step-through" frame after my accident on my old bike. To me it does not seem like a real bike. But of course it is, and you see more and more of them around. Anyway, it was quiet so we didn't have to make full stops at the stop signs. When we got to Orleans Center, there was a sign instructing you to get off your bike. Jeff stopped and went across.

Cloudy day on Newcomb Hollow Beach

Maybe I was daydreaming about how I used to work there, and about how it looked different from when I hung out there with my high school boyfriend.

Maybe I hadn't stretched enough. I don't really know. My right foot was on the ground, and as I lifted my left foot over, my toe got stuck in the frame near the pedal. The bike started to tip over. I had that moment when you say, "Oh, no." I tumbled to the pavement. The bike tipped over onto me. The brake handle cut into my shin. I sat cross-legged and took one look at it and squeezed my hand on top of it. I was wearing gloves and pressed them down hard. It looked like a good gash.

I motioned to Jeff. He came over, walking pretty slowly, because he said later that he thought I was taking a rest to do yoga. He went back to get his bike. A couple stopped. The man went into the bike shop right next to wear I was and brought out some gauze. Jeff brought a bandana over. We made a tourniquet. A nice Orleans police office, whose name, appropriately, was cutter, said he sees all sorts of crashes at the same spot. Some ride right into the yellow pole.

He called the paramedics. They came in an ambulance. An Orleans police officer took Jeff to an Eastham police officer who took him back to get the car. I said why don't we just bandage it tightly so we could keep riding. They said they didn't think so.

The paramedics took me into the ambulance. I lay on the stretcher and had a lovely talk with the female paramedic. We talked about many things, ranging from plantar fasciitis to the propensity of  seals. She showed me a video, taken from above, of seals along Monomoy Island. There are apparently 50,000 off the coast.

I guess there aren't many nerve endings on the shin because it was stinging more than hurting.

Jeff came and we went to urgent care at Fontaine Outpatient Center. A friendly doctor said that in season, every day they see some 150 patients who have had some sort of accident. My blood pressure was high, though not terrible, about 155 over 100. I was glad that I had Ativan in the car.

Ooops

The doctor gave me 12 stitches. I also got a tetanus shot. He said that if I put a sock over it, I could bike the next day. That takes us to yesterday. We biked around some trails in Provincetown and ended up a beautiful Herring Cove Beach. A (relatively) new concession stand, Far Land on the Beach, appeared in front of us. It had a solar roof and not-your-traditional offering, such as kale salad, which the woman at the window promised that they massaged, so it wouldn't be tough.

Looking out at the sun glinting on the water, we had the best kale salad with chick peas, and a fish sandwich with french fries. I held up a crispy french fry and said, this is the life, a crispy french fry, a fresh fish sandwich, and kale salad that actually tastes good.

Too bad this is the last day. I'm sitting on the little deck.

Our Airbnb hosts, Susannah and Russell, have three baby goats. It's funny to be on a beach vacation and hear goats in the background. The black cat, Fiddle, is around here somewhere. Susannah is going to make us eggs. Every day she bakes wonderful muffins. She made blueberry, cranberry, and her speciality, with chocolate mixed in.

Yesterday, I stretched before I got on the bike. Jeff watched me get on and off and concluded the tipping over thing was a fluke. Since we did pretty well yesterday, we're going to take one more bike ride before we leave the Cape.

View of Herring Cove

I wanted to jump in a pond, especially since there wasn't time to jump in a lake in Wisconsin, but now because of the stitches I can't do it. That's OK, though. It's a beautiful day and we're going to meander out of here and make a couple of stops, including maybe a bike ride at Nickerson State Park. It's hard to leave Wellfleet, for sure.

Joe called and I told him that the bike tipped over onto me. He said it's an improvement because it wasn't a bad fall. After one of my BIG falls, Aldo, the Mount Holyoke tennis coach, said I need to learn how to roll when I fall. That's kind of what I did, so I guess it goes with my theme of learning how to fall, in general.

Peripatetic and tired

My problem is that I did two things this weekend instead of one. Nothing terrible happened, but I came back drained yesterday after driving to Poughkeepsie on Saturday for a memorial service for a wonderful English professor, spending the night at the Vassar Alumnae House, then driving to Riverdale for a family Hanukkah party the next day, staying overnight at an Airbnb, then driving back yesterday in the fog and, on the anniversary of the Sandy Hook shootings, listening to an NPR program about our epidemic of gun violence.

Also, for the first time ever, I forgot my pills. My pills always travel with me. I had not gotten around to putting them in their pill boxes, so I had the whole bag ready on the counter...and left it there.

The two events happened to be geographically connected, so it made sense to do it. I enjoyed walking around Vassar with an old friend and seeing how much nicer the little area of Arlington has become; the main attraction back then was Pizza Town, in which the owner, George, presided over the creation of White Lightenings, drinks comprised of every kind of white liquor he had. Luckily, it was across the street from campus, and we could walk (stumble) back to our dorms. The town has some nicer restaurants now.

The chapel was filled with people remembering the English professor who often wrote long, literary comments on our papers. He was kind and funny and supportive of my writing, and on days when I was unhappy at Vassar, I felt better after his class.

The ride on Sunday to Riverdale was short and easy, although I did not listen to the book on tape that I got because the first disc was missing. I listened to an a program about Jeffrey Schmalz, the New York Times reporter who transformed news coverage of AIDS (and who died of it at a young age) and is the subject of a book, Dying Words. If my kids are reading this, they might be thinking, "Mom, listen to some music! Stop with the death and dying!" But programs such as On the Media and The Takeaway hold my interest, so that is what I do.

I enjoyed seeing family at the Hanukkah party and eating some "to die for" New York deli food. I do not normally eat this kind of thing, but I practically inhaled the best over-stuffed corned beef with a side of coleslaw and potato salad, followed by melt-in-your mouth cheesecake that my cousin Anne made.

The apartment was too small to accommodate me, so I had walked about a mile from the apartment where I was staying in a room rented through Airbnb and then got a ride "home." It was the only time I have had a problem with an Airbnb. The host had told me to park my car in front of the building, but when I came back Monday morning after getting a bagel and a Starbucks, I saw that I was getting a ticket. I ran to the car but it was too late. I was on the wrong side of the street for alternate-side-of-the-street parking for street cleaning. All these years that I have sat in cars and moved them for street cleaning in Manhattan, I go to the Bronx and get a ticket that could have been avoided.

I went upstairs and said I thought he should either pay the ticket ($45) or refund me the price of the room ($45). His response was along the lines of, "Are you talkin to me?" He said he didn't know about the parking rules because he has his own special spot. I said that as a host of an Airbnb, you are supposed to know your neighborhood. I said I was going to write a positive review but now I would have to point this out. Finally he said he would split it with me...if I wrote a positive review.

Airbnb has a dispute resolution form that you can fill out. He wanted to avoid it so we made the arrangement via text. I said I would go ahead and write the review and he agreed to refund the money. When I told him that I had done it, he said he needed to wait the three days until he could see for himself. I texted back that I am going to have to start the form if he doesn't live up to his end. I told this to a few people who said he should have said he was sorry and refunded the money.

Such negotiations over such a small amount of money seems ridiculous. But the whole thing was so annoying that I need to pursue it.

This was the aftertaste that I had when I got home, all hunched up because I hadn't stopped. I picked up Maddie and went home and took a nap and did a phone interview. Next I wondered if I should go to the Y and exercise or call it a (bad) day. I know I always feel better when I exercise, so I went to the Y and went to the only class on the schedule: cardio kick boxing. It did the job.

Magic in Minneapolis

Stillwater selfie

The trip to Minnesota has been fabulous, full of the expected good things (spending time with Katie) and the unexpected interesting ones, and now that Katie has gone to school and I have time to kill before my afternoon flight, I have time to write a little about it.

First of all, I am so in love with the Minneapolis area that I could stay another week. There is water, water, everywhere, and so many places to see it. We went around Lake Harriet and walked along the Mississippi near the Guthrie Theater and also along the St. Croix River in our day trip to Stillwater, the birthplace of Minnesota, where we spent a good part of the afternoon taking a trolley tour of the fantastic homes and browsing in the stores and at stalls in an arts fair while a jazz concert took place, which we would not have done if our hosts, Lonny and Andy, had not had a book called "100 Things to do in the Twin Cities Before You Die."  For exercise, we climbed up a lot of steep stairs to get this view of Stillwater.

View of Stillwater

This was my best Airbnb ever, a historic house, recently on a home tour, filled with art and antiques, with two cute little dogs, and a modern kitchen that makes me want everything in it, and a bed so comfortable that, thanks to the comfort and the cool Midwest air, allowed me to sleep past that dreaded 4 a.m. hour and sleep until the more respectable 7 a.m.

A semi-retired couple had the other room. They had driven over from Dubuque, Iowa, just to explore the area, and we became instant friends. In talking to the couple, and to Lonny, one of the hosts, we discovered a big commonality in addition to our shared political values: three of us had had cancer. We played "can you top this," and I am happy to say that I have enough distance to be able to do it with a sense of humor, as the others were able to do also.

They gave me the prize, but after hearing the other stories, I said I wasn't sure.

Last night, I stayed up until midnight talking to Lonny about his large extended modern family, and by the time we were done, I wanted to move in...or at least come back in May for the Heart of the Beast Puppet and Mask Theatre Annual May Day Parade.

But, back to my regular reality, which is a little complicated.

I fly in to Boston tonight, sleep at Diane and David's, then head out early in the morning to get to at least part of the Tuesday class at The Literacy Project in Northampton, then do some writing, then hopefully get in another outside clinic in the waning days of our Wednesdays at The Canoe Club, then go home to get picked up to go back to Boston for my ECP at the Kraft Blood Donor Center.

You might wonder, why not stay in Boston, but then I would not get to do those other things. And also, it will be nice to see my dog...if I can tear her away from Jim and Jane's.

Up, up and away

In my dream, Dr. Alyea said that although I felt fine, I was not making enough blood and would need another transplant. He said I would need chemotherapy and a hospitalization all over again. I just could not believe it.

This time I would need to go to California. I said that it would be too far for most people to come visit, although I knew that at least my California cousins would. He said not to worry because they have a gym out there, and he showed me a video of bald people playing basketball.

So although I was filled with dread, I felt better knowing that I could exercise.

In reality, I was sleeping on the third floor of Diane and David's house in Newton, in preparation for my flight from Logan Airport to Minneapolis today. I'm going to stay for four nights at what looks like another great Airbnb that we picked by looking at the map and checking out places near Katie's house.

I'm excited to see her new house, ride bikes (it's flat!), walk around a lake or two, eat out and do other fun things. I also brought some work to do and the book, The Lowland, that we are reading for bookclub.

Yesterday in the pouring rain was a wash. It was one of the only times all summer that we were rained out of our Wednesday clinic, meaning that it will be the first time all summer that I will have a week without tennis! I still hadn't finished cleaning up after having tennis friends over for brunch on Sunday; the cleanup took a while as I suffered the consequences of taking all my piles of paper and other stuff and throwing them into a closet and then having to deal with it when it all spilled out.

Also I did an interview for a story I am writing. And being the world's slowest packer, by the time I got out of the house it was getting dark. For a minute I thought of staying at home and going straight to the airport for my 11:45 a.m. flight today, but then I would have been lollygagging under pressure and that would have been worse.

Diane was so nice to drive me to the airport in my car that I told her she could use any of my stuff: dog leash, tennis balls, tennis racquet, yoga mat, books, natural energy drink, coffee nips and any of the other inventory.