April Sweeps - Day 79

Big's father passed away a few months ago, and he's mentioned to me twice that, were that not the case, he'd be pretty worried about him right now (since he was elderly, not in perfect health, and he actually eats things like bread and pasta that only us fools partake of).  I can dig it.

But it made me think about what the situation would be if my own father were alive today.  He'd be living in the little town I grew up in (I call it Pingo in my Praisden stories), all by himself, and he'd be fixing things up at the house and in the pasture, doing yardwork, getting up early to feed the chickens, etc..  He'd be doing fine.  Would I ever speak to him?  Well, that's hard to say.  He and I were not close, not since 1979 or so, but I'm sure I would've spoken to him, awkwardly, over the phone at least once (he wouldn't have had Zoom or Facetime, that's for sure*), and he would've said, "I'm fine.  I don't interact with people anyway."

And we might have had that in common.  75% or more of my lifestyle hasn't changed due to the pandemic.  But were he still around, I'm sure our differences would have been right there at the fore, and the conversation would have been brief.  "Don't do anything stupid," he might have said.  "And take care of your mother."  Perhaps I would have brought up all the Hitchcock movies I've been watching this year, since he'd seen lots of those, and I'd ask him about Jimmy Stewart Westerns, but really, he and I never communicated much until the last year of his life, and I can't see that changing in a pandemic.

It would've been neat, though, to talk to him about Western stories, and ask him questions I could apply to Ben Parks tales, such as "How expensive would bullets have been compared to food or clothing?" and "How often would the general store in a little town in Arizona get new supplies, and how would it arrive?"  Maybe these conversations would encourage me to write more of that kind of story, though chances are, my Westerns would still have werewolves or superheroes or talking monsters or miracles in them.

That reminds me: I sent my Uncle Len a story I wrote last year, "Who Can It Be Now?"** and he sent me a very nice message back about how much he liked it and how realistic my voices were and how vampires actually exist and he's met one or two and how talented I am and grateful he is to have me as a nephew.  It really made me feel good . . . but that wasn't the relationship I had with my father.  Sometimes I think it would be nice to get married, and try having a father-in-law, to see what that experience is like.  But people in Hell would really like the Drake album turned down.

Last week I took that long hike up the mountain road, and I enjoyed the experience.  Today, my intention was to drive up the canyon, set up my phone near the big waterfall, and record myself performing one of my stories (I have two of them ready to go for just such an occasion).  But I pulled my car off the road where I thought I had a couple of weeks ago, and discovered I was in a completely different place.  And I decided to go for a hike, see where the road went.

Turns out, it goes either up the mountain (dirt path) or to the base of the waterfall (paved path).  Silly me, I decided to take both of them.

For years, I've seen people climb up to the top of the waterfall and wondered how they survived***, but I have honestly never considered going up there myself until this year.  Guess it's that mid-life crisis thing again, but wow, going on walks just thrills me in a way 2019 Rish just wouldn't understand.  Hell, 2020 Rish doesn't understand it either, but I loves me some walking around in nature.

Except for one bit where the drop-off was steep enough I saw people going down it on their butts, the path to the edge of the waterfall was easy enough a child could do it (and indeed, I saw people with children--and one less-than-a-year-old baby--up there at the highest point).  And there was quite a large gathering of people up at the top, all of them taking selfies and photos and enjoying the way the ice-cold water makes a sort of mist when it rushes down, which, after climbing up there, is pretty refreshing.

There was a big section of water that was still frozen (I don't know if you call that a glacier or just ice) a little ways down from where the falls begin.  Let's say it was twenty or thirty feet of ice.  Well, I saw some guy, what Eric Forman's father would've called a dumbass, climb up on it and then slide down it like it was a waterslide.  He was lost to sight after a little ways, and maybe he had hiked up it so he knew it was safe and didn't just drop off onto jagged rocks or anything, but I couldn't help but think the guy was crazy and hoping to join the dozens of people who have died on the falls over the years.  I didn't think to take a picture of the glacier/ice bed.

I'm not sure how steep this looks.  I like how the rock is gray, though.

The last time I took my nephews to the thrift shop (that is, before all the thrift stores closed), the nine year old found a selfie stick that he started swinging around like a sword.  It was only a dollar, and I realized that I could probably use it to take less-terrible photos of myself, maybe even use it to record a song (still haven't done that yet.  Gotta remind me next time I'm out).  Well, now I carry that stick in my backpack, and got to actually put it to use today.

I didn't realize, though, that if you hold the stick wrong . . . it ends up in your pictures.

Whoops.

After the falls, I decided to take a little dirt trail, to see where it took me.  After about five minutes, I realized it took me into the woods, where the dirt trail promptly ended, and I wandered around for a while, stumbling so much I grabbed a walking stick to keep me off my behind, before finding the dirt trail again and backtracking to where it started.  There was a young couple all decked out for a picnic at the place where the dirt trail started (they had a blanket set out, a basket, two plates of food, and were feeding each other grapes), and I felt shame when I saw them again, having come all the way back with nothing to show for it.  Luckily, those two were too busy staring into each other's eyes to say, "Oh, there's that guy that went up the trail.  He must've gotten lost along the way."

By the time I got to the head of the trail, near where I'd parked my car, I was pretty tired of walking.  But I had told myself I'd find a private place to set up my camera, sit on a rock, and sing a song.  I followed the unpaved hiking trail, and even though it wasn't nearly as steep as the rocky one up the side of the mountain had been, my legs were now tired enough I couldn't go very far (plus, by then, it was starting to get dark).  So I quickly sat on a log, tried to remember the words to a song (and failed, three different times through), then trudged down the trail again and over to my car.

It was a good day for hiking, though, and even though there were TONS of people out (and no effs were given about social distancing), it was a cool spring day with just a little bit of sun, and hey, nature is as breathtaking as a shorn scrotum, I suggest you try it.

I even managed to get a couple of (great) pics of a Yo Gabba Gabba! character at the base of the waterfall, to put up on Instagram someday soon.  If I can remember to, I'll toss one of those plush monstrosities into my backpack to keep taking pictures with at least until the second-hand stores open up again.

Even my crappy camera can't keep down the beauty of the falls.

At the end of the night--and I mean it, I think it was around one when I finally sat down and started writing--I wrote up a little on my Mason/Rowan story.  I still don't know where it's going, except that I have the idea of planting a seed in this tale as to who the ghost is that Mrs. Bice is afraid of running into, and having that pay off in the installment I write about her (the underlying premise here is that Mrs. Bice makes sure to clear out of the building long before the sun goes down, whether it's that special day of the year or not.  So, under what circumstances could she possibly still be there at midnight on July the second?**) , which I intended (in 2015) to be the final story in the anthology.

Well, okay.  As the Princess said, "It's not over yet."

Words Today: 1475
Words In April: 22,203

Each day I'm posting one of these:

Day 19. After a great deal of thought, I'm choosing "Both Sides Now" by Joni Mitchell.
If you're one of those people who hates LOVE, ACTUALLY, well, you're not going to like my answer.  Basically, the first time I heard "Both Sides Now" was the version played in the movie, and it's the later version, done by a world-weary Joni Mitchell, one that is older and wiser, and looks "at life from both sides now,
From win and lose and still somehow; 
It's life's illusions I recall ,
I really don't know life at all."

*But then again, neither do I.  The apple and the tree aren't socially distancing.

**Which was supposed to be the next episode of the Rish Outcast, but I didn't put it out.  I didn't put anything out.  We had a three week stretch, apparently, without any episodes.  It's done and ready to go, and I chose not to release it.  I am five minutes away from finishing another episode that I'll probably release first, but I could've put out three shows before this one without breaking a sweat.  Sigh.
Look, write to your congressman and say, "I DEMAND Rish release the Who Can It Be Now episode!"  That might get results.

***And yes, there is at least one casualty every single year from someone who falls from up there, but I digress.