Aunt Gilda picked oranges in Florida!

I think I have transcended the seven stages of grief, and have moved to the little-discussed eighth stage: frantic cleaning and reorganizing. I spent about two hour at work today shredding files and cleaning out my desk in preparation for our office move at the end of July. But I didn't stop when I got home.

I scrubbed all the dishes and swept the floor and moved some furniture and changed the sheets on my bed. And then I found the Fire Drill Tape. Or, rather, I'd remembered that I had it when I moved it off my bureau as I was dusting. And I decided it was time to listen to it, for the first time in decades.

The Fire Drill Tape was infamous among some members of my family. It's an audio tape my grandparents made in 1980 or 1981. At the beginning, my grandfather is telling me the story of a fire drill at P.S. 89, the school my grandmother taught at for most of her career. I LOVED this story as a kid, about how the children in my grandma's class stood up behind their chairs, quietly got their coats from the cloakroom, lined up against the door, and then evacuated the building. In this rendition, four-year-old Clair was very excited to get to the part about Patrick, the little boy who wasn't holding his partner's hand. My grandfather, who volunteered in my grandma's classroom, held Patrick's hand to keep an eye on him while the class was outside.

When I last talked to my grandmother at the beginning of May, she told me she'd found the tape somewhere, and was making me a copy. I found the copy in her dining room, on a shelf in plain sight - if you knew to look for it, at least.

The best part of this tape, though, is not the Fire Drill Story, though that's pretty amusing. The tape keeps going, and has me and my grandparents singing songs, and poppy talking as grandma and I worked in the kitchen. My job was always to wash the radishes. On the recording, poppy goes through some of the litany of questions he liked to ask me about his sisters. They went along the line of "Who is Aunt Gilda?" And if I was confused, he would tell me she's his sister, like Stephanie is my sister.

In this rendition, he asked if Aunt Gilda had visited me since she got home from Florida, where she and her husband, my Uncle Ralph, visited his sister. When poppy got to the point of asking what Aunt Gilda did in Florida, I can picture little Clair, kneeling on a step-stool in the kitchen, immersed almost to her elbows in cold water, rinsing the radishes. She probably stopped mid-radish and threw her hands up in the air, before proclaiming with incredible excitement "Aunt Gilda picked oranges in Florida!"

And you could hear the disappointment in my voice when I told poppy that she left the oranges in Florida.

Aunt Gilda died when I was five or six.

This recording also includes songs I sang with my grandparents and my other grandmother - my father's mother. She accompanied us on the piano in the basement of my grandparents' house as we sang, I think, with some of my grandfather's sisters, and the sound of a baby gurgling in the background. Probably my sister. It's a riot. It's also an incredible memento of my childhood. We did a lot of singing, and playing make-believe, and blowing bubbles, and playing with dolls, and pretending to cook. For a long time, I was a lone little girl surrounded by all these adults, and they had a tremendous influence on who I am today.

And part of the pain of my grandmother's death is the irrefutable end of that childhood, and the loss of one of my last links to the days of all those grownups and little Clair, washing radishes in the kitchen.

Hike Day, or, How I Conquered the Grand Canyon

Our hike started early - we met for breakfast at 4:15 am and were on our way to the trail head before 5 am. It was early, but the temps were already in the high 60s, and the sun was shining. I'd expected a cold morning, with temperatures that climbed steadily as the sun rose. But it was already pretty warm, and the day was only going to get hotter.

We got to the trail, stopped one last time at the bathroom, and made our way to the trail head. I can't explain quite how excited I was for this. I'd trained for four months, I'd had a very rough week, and my grandmother had been so excited for me, and I couldn't help thinking about her. I was finally in the Grand Canyon. On the South Kaibab Trail. Ready to get hiking. But first, a photo:



The sun had just risen as we got started, and the light reflecting off of the rocks was just amazing.





Our destination for the day was Skeleton Point; an outcropping in the rocks three miles from the rim. This would make for a six mile round-trip hike, and would put us at the lowest point we could safely reach in one day. We would descend more than 2,000 feet, and reach Skeleton Point when the temperature had topped 100 degrees.



The hike down took only a few hours, and it wasn't as difficult as I'd expected. The trail is also used by mule trains, so most of the trail was laid with large logs acting as steps to help the mules travel. On the way down, the steps meant the trail was less steep than it would have been otherwise, but navigating the steps along the edge of the Canyon was still pretty tricky.



We made it to Skeleton Point by about 10 am, stopped to rest and eat, and took tons of pictures. The view was just beautiful. We were surrounded by thousands of years of rock formations, and we could see the Colorado River raging three miles below us. Our guide estimated that we could see for about 35 miles around us, but that only represented a very small portion of the entire Grand Canyon. That made me feel very, very small.




We turned around to head back up the Canyon, and it was hot. There was very little shade along the trail, and we often ducked under the trailside rocks to get a little respite from the blazing desert sun. The climb up seemed interminable, but we kept going, one very small step at a time.



And just before 1 pm, seven hours after we started, we reached the rim of the Grand Canyon. I don't think I've ever worked so hard for anything before, and my success feels fantastic!



Note: I took over 200 photos during this trip. I'm working on the full flickr essay, but it's going to take awhile.

My first glimpse of the Grand Canyon

Our bus pulled into the visitor's center before 3:45 on Sunday, May 18, and we had less than an hour to take our first photos along the Grand Canyon rim and visit the bookstore before checking into the hotel and preparing for the pre-hike Inspiration Dinner. Some of us ran, others walked quickly to the photo points along the rim near the Arizona town of Tusayan.

I'm not sure I can say much about the experience. The view was absolutely breathtaking.

From Phoenix to Sedona - the first part of my Grand Canyon Adventure

Most members of the team congregated at the gate about an hour before our flight. The United terminal at SFO was kind of a zoo, but everyone made it to the plane in time for our departure. We arrived in Phoenix after noon, and it was a scorching hot, sunny day. After gathering all of our baggage - and everything arrived with us - we boarded our shuttle for the hotel in Scottsdale. The view from my room was amazing!



We got settled, took a last-minute trip to Target and REI (both conveniently located down the street from our hotel), and spent some time lounging by the pool and enjoying the Embassy Suites complementary happy hour. Some of us went out to a great Mexican restaurant before turning in early.

The next morning we boarded a bus for Sedona, an artist colony and mecca of New Age spiritualism. The two-hour drive looked like this - check out all the cacti along the side of the road!



And this:



We didn't have much time, but I managed to get in some shopping before eating lunch.



This town is beautiful - one part wild west, one part desert southwest, and the Red Rocks surrounding the city are just breathtaking.



We only had a few hours to spend in Sedona, so after lunch, we returned to the bus to resume driving. We only had two hours to go before arriving at the Grand Canyon.

Seriously weird coincidence

I rarely make it to the 5:30 weekday Mass at St. Dominic's anymore. I'd like to, and I used to often, but my work schedule just isn't as predictable as it used to be. Tonight, though, I wanted to pick up my choir music for Sunday, and I got to the church at about 5:40, in time for at least part of Mass, so I went in.

I sat in the way back of the church and pulled out the missal. Today is the feast of St. Rita, my grandmother's patron saint. I had no idea.

I conquered the Canyon!!

The past four days have been an incredible experience, and I don't yet have the words to tell you about it. But I'm working on that, and on the photos too. I'm home now, a little sore, a little sunburned, and just absolutely amazed at all I've accomplished.

On the road again

My bags are packed. The batteries in my headlamp work. After all this time and all this training, I can't believe I'm about to leave. I worked hard in school, I work hard at my job, but I don't think I've ever faced this intense of a challenge before. Wish me luck, and stay tuned. I'll have photos as soon as I can find the Internet in the Grand Canyon. Bye!

Packing

I'm about to open my suitcase. I'm pretty sure my hiking poles won't fit in my suitcase, and it's way too late to figure out another arrangement. And I can't find my small carry on bag. And I don't seem to have washed any t-shirts. And I'm feeling a little overwhelmed.

OMG, I leave for the Grand Canyon in 12 hours. I've had 16 weeks to prepare for this. Why did I wait until the last minute to pack?

Ok. Wait a minute. All my stuff fits just fine in my suitcase, and I can carry my boots in a grocery bag if I have to. There, all better now. I'll finish packing and be asleep soon.

After everything that's gone on the past week, I really can't believe I'm getting on a plane tomorrow morning. Grand Canyon, here I come!

Liters

My Nalgene water bottle holds one liter. That's more than 32 ounces. I'm trying to drink four liters of water today, to fend off potential dehydration in Arizona. And also because it's really freaking hot out today, and I didn't drink enough yesterday because I was stuck in a window seat next to a woman who only got up ONCE the entire cross country flight.

I am drinking a lot of water. And as a result I'm running to the bathroom about every 45 minutes. Thankfully, I have some very understanding co-workers. Rather embarrassingly, I also have to run past the receptionist every time I go to the ladies room. I finally had to tell her about my hydrating plan, so she wouldn't think I'm running to the bathroom to cry or something.

I have about 6 ounces to go in my four liter quest. And then I start with the Gatorade.

It's a miracle I could type this without a bathroom break.

Packing list

By this time tomorrow, I'll be in Phoenix, where it's about 104 degrees. I'll need to remember to take my sunscreen out of the outside pocket of my pack, and put it someplace where it won't get lost in transit.

I need to make a Super Shuttle reservation, because I am not bus and Barting to SFO tomorrow morning.

I need to clean my hiking poles. And the remember to PACK THEM.

I have to do something with my boots to make sure they don't transfer dirt and God only knows what else onto the rest of my carryon luggage. Then I need to remember to put them in my carryon luggage.

I need to charge my ipod. And put a bunch of CDs back onto it.

I need to find some things that might still be in my suitcase, or are otherwise strewn across my disaster of an apartment.

I need a nap.

Obituary the Second; the draft that will be published

Many years ago, I worked for our small town newspaper. One summer, I wrote numerous obituaries, more than the paper had ever run before. We joked about my being the "obituary desk" for a newspaper that only employed two people. I wrote this one too. It'll probably run in next week's paper. I've added some things to this version. They're denoted in italics.

My grandma of Somers, NY and formerly of Mamaroneck, died at home on May 9 after a year-long battle with Lou Gherig's Disease. She was 83.

Born in Buffalo on May 16, 1924, she graduated from the College of New Rochelle in 1946 with bachelors' degrees in physics and math. This is quite unusual for a woman of her age. Her father wanted her to be an engineer, but she wasn't too interested in that career path. She worked briefly before pursuing a teaching career, and spent most of her 32 years in the NYC Public School System at P.S. 89 in the Bronx. In 1947, she married my grandfather. We called him poppy. After his retirement, he would join her as a volunteer in her classroom. Occasionally, I'd get to go with them too, and I'd share a desk with a very nice girl (whose name, I think, was Laurie), and I'd get to color and read and do whatever the rest of her class did.

In retirement, they moved to Heritage Hills in Somers, where they took advantage of dozens of traveling opportunities, and she studied painting and practiced the art of quilting. After his death in 1995, she curtailed her travels, but continued to paint and quilt. Grandma often suckered the three of us into crafts projects. She was a little disappointed that I had minimal talent as an artist, but I did make some nice embossed greeting cards once. Grandma often told the story of how, when they bought an easel for us to use at their house, she hung up some paper and put out the paints, and I proceeded to paint the entire page black. I was three or four. My sister is much more the artist of the family. She was teaching painting to friends and had several other art projects in progress with friends at the time of her death.

She is survived by her son; her daughter MaryAnn (Bill McDevitt) of Pelham; and grandchildren Clair, Stephanie and Billy. A Mass of Christian Burial was held on May 13 at St. Joseph's Church in Croton Falls.

The birthday blogroll of honor

My heart isn't entirely in my birthday celebration this year, but a bunch of other people out there are celebrating this week.

Steph might not be celebrating, if she's stuck at work tonight.

Cathy will be celebrating today, but also this weekend in wine country, along with Kimber, whose birthday is tomorrow.

Mark's birthday is on Saturday, and his barbecue plans sound fabulous, even if I won't be there.

Happy birthday, everyone!

This funeral should not be fodder for the Internet

We buried grandma today, after a really nice funeral Mass and a wake that seemed interminable. Funerals are absolutely for the living, because the dead, being such, don't really care about flowers or music or who's saying which readings. The last few days have been really, really hard. We've been grieving, we've been stressed, we've had to deal with the details - and there are so many things that go into making a funeral. We've also had to deal with the relative.

My mother's family is pretty small. Most of my grandfather's sisters are deceased, and my grandmother was an only child. My mother has a brother, but we're not in touch. And he's crazy. But I don't think I realized the full scope of his insanity until yesterday. When I heard him say TWICE to mourners at the wake that he often sees his clients on Westchester News 12. Because they've been in jail. Honestly, it's good that grandma was already "sleeping peacefully with the Lord," as the priest said, because I think if she'd been living, she would have died of mortification on the spot.

Apparently he works with the most seriously mentally ill and drug addicted people in the system, and he seems pretty proud of the fact that he often bails them out of jail, and hangs out with them on the weekends. He's also pretty proud of his cat, Lucy, and of the fact that he recently got his drivers' license back after a suspension for way too many car accidents.

I talked with many mourners about my hiking trip, my life in San Francisco, and how much grandma enjoyed talking about what I'm up to. My sister and brother chatted with friends and recounted some good stories of our grandparents. And our uncle talked about his clients and his cat. And that was the point at which this went from being a funeral to being fodder for my blog. I think grandma would approve.

Timing; alternately titled: Obituary, the draft that won't be published

My grandma died last night. Writing that gives it some legitimacy that talking on the phone about it seems to lack. She died in her sleep. I had so feared that she's spend the last months of her life truly suffering, and I'm so very glad that won't be the case. When we last talked, about two weeks ago, she outlined how things would work once she lost the ability to speak, which she'd expected to happen pretty soon, as her disease was progressing pretty quickly. She could no longer get around without her motorized wheelchair, and she was pretty much housebound.

My grandmother, even in her healthier days, wasn't the kind of person people write Hallmark cards about. She wasn't a warm and fuzzy kind of person. She was very matter-of-fact and particular, and she knew what she liked and didn't, and she couldn't be easily convinced to change her opinion on things. She was an artist and could work with her hands in ways that just amaze me. Several of her water colors hang in my apartment, and her quilts cover most of the furniture in my room. Her birthday is May 16, and she really didn't want to live another year. I'm so glad she finally got what she wanted.

There's a small bit of irony to the timing of this whole thing. My paternal grandmother died on my birthday, May 14, in 1984. It was mother's day weekend. My parents postponed the funeral so that I could have my 7th birthday party, for which I will be eternally grateful. I've been joking with friends and family for weeks that grandma would die on my birthday, just for continuity, though I don't think my grandmothers liked each other. My birthday party is tonight, but it's ok. My mom said I didn't have to come home until after the party.

Catching up

A colleague was walking out of a meeting as I headed toward our kitchen. We stopped to chat and catch up. I realized in the middle of our conversation that I hadn't seen her in three months. THREE MONTHS. We work for the same employer, in the same building, only a few floors apart. This is exactly why we're moving all of our offices to one big building where we can all be on the same floor. Absolutely no work will be done, but I can guarantee that I won't go three months without seeing somebody.

Clair the Closet Blogger

Clairnation is two-and-a-half this month. In those two-plus years, I"ve written prolifically about everything - from my crazy job search to my bad roommate situation to weird encounters on public transit to struggling through my 29th year. I've also used this a venue for my growing love of photography. But in that time, I've rarely shared this blog with anyone outside my immediate circle. My mom, my grandma, my sister, and some friends are among my most loyal readers. And I so appreciate your support and feedback. But I don't discuss this blog with colleagues, for obvious reasons, or with most of the people I know, because they're just not interested.

I started writing here as a way to return to public writing several years after leaving journalism and to combat the serious brain drain of a very boring temporary assignment. Since I started training for my hike in January, I've thought pretty seriously about a second blog dedicated to my training progress and product reviews, and I hope to launch that later this spring. I've always meant to do something more, but I have no idea how to expand. Or I've had no idea. But now I know how to get started: I just registered for the BlogHer conference this summer in San Francisco. I'm so freaking excited. It's a three-day conference in Union Square dedicated to blogging, and specifically to women in the blogosphere. This year's theme is Reach, and my plans for expansion certainly are a reach. I'll be creeping out of the blogosphere closet in a big way, and I can't wait!

The final training hike, or, how I conquered Mt. Diablo in six hours

I was honestly scared of this hike. Mt. Diablo, in the East Bay, is the largest peak in this part of the state, measuring almost 4,000 ft. at the summit. The trails are mostly exposed, the descent is steep, and it gets really hot out there. And did I mention the rattlesnakes and tarantulas?

After last week, I realized I needed to make some changes to my workout routine. I did extra sit ups, hydrated really well Thursday and Friday, got lots of rest, and woke up on Saturday believing I could conquer this mountain. I was ready, I'd worked hard all season, and I knew I could do it.

The descent started off hard on my knees, but I went pretty slowly, relied on my hiking poles to absorb some of the shock, and descended almost 2,000 ft. in about two hours. The trail was pretty exposed, but the slight breeze counteracted the heat, and we rested periodically at trail merges. Two hours in, I felt great, and was able to appreciated the beauty of the area.



Along the way we saw all sorts of wildflowers, lizards and a bunch of bugs, and some of us even saw a rattle snake. It was probably a baby, and some Boy Scout leaders, clearing the trail before their scouts descended, drove it off of the trail before we passed. I could sort of see it hiding in a bush, but it was pretty well hidden.

I saw other fun stuff though. Like this huge beetle.


And this butterfly, resting on a rock. I believe it's a painted lady.



The full story is on flickr.

The ascent, though challenging, wasn't nearly as difficult as last week. In fact, when we got within a half mile of the summit, we had about a 45 minutes to kill, so, instead of heading straight up, a bunch of us too the Prospector's Gap Trail about a mile out along the edge if the Mountain. It was just strikingly beautiful. After all the struggles of the past week, I finally felt ready to take on the Grand Canyon.

Nineteen Days and a deadline

Today marks my official fundraising deadline. In 19 days I will be hiking in the Grand Canyon. This Saturday is the final big training hike. I'm a little scared.

It's already in the 90s in Phoenix, with little humidity, and there's a wildfire burning uncontained in Grand Canyon National Park. Last weekend I let my head get in the way during the last hour of my hike, and I know that Mt. Diablo, this weekend's destination, can have the same effect on people.

But the last three months have been about preparing for this, and I know I'm ready. And if I'm not, it's too late to do anything about it now.