Re[2]: [at-l] Mourning

[Bob C." <ellen@xxxxxxxxxx (Bob C.)]

I sent a modified version of this Saturday evening, but for some reason it never
appeared back on my computer. My apologies if this is a duplicate for others.

Life goes on. Life still puzzles. I awoke Saturday morning to Weekend Edition on
Public Radio announcing the Columbia tragedy. I go to bed after watching NOVA on
the 5,000+ year old Bristlecone Pines -- and the guy who cut down the oldest
living thing ever found on earth -- to see if it was really the oldest living
thing on earth.

I saw grieving relatives. A grieving president. I thought I saw genuine feeling
in the president as he spoke of the tragedy, a genuine feeling that I somehow
failed to sense on some previous occasions.

I'm reluctant to comment on the Columbia tragedy. Words are inadequate. At least
mine are. But I do think those of us who challenge the outdoors, who challenge
the trails and mountains -- who challenge our bodies -- perhaps have a tiny bit
better understanding of the drive that causes a few to challenge space.

Saturday was a quiet drizzly day. The zero temperatures that have prevailed
along midcoast Maine for the past couple of weeks subsided. Some snow even
melted. But the clouds obscured the sun. My solar windows missed the sun
reflecting off the snow. My kitchen stove had to burn wood all day.

I'm having a reaction from the withdrawal of the steroid I was given to combat
the drug that was supposed to help my heart, but instead inflamed my lungs. The
steroid had me snowshoeing two hours a day. The withdrawal has turned me
lethargic. It was almost dusk before I found the energy to shovel the walk so
the oxygen delivery man can remove my no longer needed cylinders.

I did find the energy to make three loaves of bread, from scratch. I don't know
if Dr. Adkins is right or wrong. But I do know that the carbohydrate called
bread sure is delicious for the hour or two after it comes out of the oven.

Weary