More bits and bytes than brains I think

I am being towed into the electronic domain of internet savvy bit by bit, byte by byte and pixel by pixel. I started this blog which I am enjoying very much, and now I have been inducted into the vblog population. I have filed my fingerprints onto the REVVER site http://www.revver.com/ under the name, you guessed it, TRAVELINYETI. There are some fun and informative MINUTE MESSAGES you can check out.
... So who do I give credit to for my newly found knowledge? My son-in-law (The Hot Springs Guy). He is patient and cool with my many questions all though it is much to soon to see if I will thank him or curse him. But I am gobbling up e-stuff now as if it were ice cream and pizza. I do suffer from frequent e-overload sometimes trying to keep up with the speed of satellite. I have decided to figure out my e-niche and e-njoy that part of it and leave the rest to the
e-xperts. Oh yeah, I just heard of this new thing called, uhh UTUB , no ... UTUBE, Think I'll give it a whirl.

Just wanted to touch basis with the world and wish everyone HAPPY HOLIDAYS to Sokker Grrl and the Hot Springs Guy.

My mom was green when green wasn't cool, or publicized

...Recently my husband decided to "finish" the basement. To finish means to pour 5 inches of cement during the dead of our North Idaho winter to create a floor. Floors are important to homes, so I said nothing about his timing. However, this meant turning off running water to the inside of our country home.
..."Five days," he promised. "Only five days without water." I grimmaced, bit my tongue and believed him.
...Our water was off for THREE WEEKS. No flushing toilets without the aid of a bucket, no washing dishes without the aid of several buckets. Water was heated on the stove because the hot water heater was disabled. You bet I grumbled and complained while I stood at the sink, heating and pouring water over the mound of dishes that had sat for six days. Standing at the sink, t-shirt soaked at the belly from disgruntled splashing my mind trickled back to another woman standing at a sink washing dishes. (All thought SHE had running hot water to fill her sink.) I was young, not too young to wash dishes just too short for the tallest stool. So my mom just let me watch and learn and let me slide an extra year. After the dishes were meticulously washed, dried and put away, she hooked up the washing machine. As this memory surfaced I started realizing I had the greenest, most earth concious mother in the world. Back when recycle and reuse wasn't even popular with environmentalists.
....I remember watching mom hook up hoses from that old wringer washer to the sink faucet; screwing it on like a garden hose. Then she yanked a long black tube from around its rotund belly and stuck that drain hose in the opposite sink. The washer tub was filled with hot soapy water and the morning ritual began. First came the white clothes because they were the cleanest, the water was at its hottest and bleach was not used for whites. During this morning tribute to clean mom never changed that water, not once. Water was too precious because you had to pay the city for every gallon you used even back then. So one helping of wash water and a second tub of rinse water did all the dirty clothes that had accumulated for a week. Next came baby clothes, towels, colored shirts and last of all my dads grimy work clothes. By this time you can imagine that water was pretty thick and took its time leaving the wash tub.
.....Mom's water wisdom didn't stop there. At our house wash day was also bath day for all of us five kids. That tepid rinse water didn't go to waste. First went baby since she was the cleanest, then on up the ladder from youngest to oldest. That rinse water and mom's gentle hands scrubbed our bodies, washed our hair and left us smelling like ... well better than when we went in.
.... I started to pull the plug on the sink, my pile of dirty dishes under controll and drying in my waterless dishwasher. But I didn't pull that plug, I scouped that greasy water back into the bucket and gave the toilet an extra complimentary flush. Too soon my water would be turned back on and I would revel in the luxury of indoor running hot water again. But I would also be relishing the memory of my mom scrubbing down baby and making every drop of water and love count.
.....

Where were you on your last birthday?

This is where I was. Who can be the first one to name the spot?

Aandoned puppies found new homes

All my adopted puppies found new homes. Just in time for Christmas.

Abandoned puppies, soapbox scrutiny

"That darn barn cat", raced through my mind, "getting in the trash ... again." My husband Marti eased our truck to a halt in front of the covered porch ready to scare it away .... again. But that darn cat raced up to meet us, black curly tail wagging and tiny pink tongue hanging out between a row of tiny sharp puppy teeth. "How ?? What on earth?" We live 25 miles out in the sticks off a road that only our closest friends, neighbors and a moose or two know about. So... how on earth did this tiny bundle of frolicking fur find its way to our doorstep? Before we could decode this mini-mystery his two sisters crawled out from under the porch, more timid than their slightly bigger brother but begging to join the hug-fest. They were chubby, obviously well fed, shiny coats, and not at all afraid of their newly discovered environment. They were not dirty or wet from all the rainfall and snow melt we recently had, so they didn't come via the muddy driveway or through the bushes surrounding our house.

.....There was only one answer to this query. Abandonment. Someone who knew where we lived and how to get here, had dumped this infant canine trio into our laps. It made me angry to think that an individual walking upright claiming to be human being had no sense of morality or accountability. It now became our responsibility to find homes for the defenseless threesome. A responsibility that some gutless-wonder out there could not own up to.

.....I don't know how this story ends yet. But what we are doing and what you can/should do if you find yourself in a predicament of not wanting the animals that you have, is first grow some balls then open a phone book;

.....1. Call your local humane society and let them know you have pets to giveaway.

.....2. Don't be cheap, place an ad in the local paper. There are many loving families out there who would love an adorable little puppy but cannot afford the adoption fees charged by animal shelters. The cost of someone adopting our new charges if they were at the shelter in our area would be $95.00 each. The animal shelter has them spayed/neutered, gives them all their puppy shots and now inserts a chip into them. (For tracking owners as much as pets I think, but that is a whole other soapbox for me.)

.....3. Be patient and find a loving home for them.

.....So why don't we keep them you ask? My husband and I both work 5 days a week (sometimes six). We are intelligent enough to know that at this time of our lives we are too busy for the added responsibility of a pet.

.....I will finish this saga later when I find the happy ending, and you can rest assure I will find a happy ending for Spirit, Blondie, and Cinnamon Bear. Oh crap I named them, Now I'm in big trouble.....

"Tough Enough" Chapter 1 in the Kokanee Saga

.....I discovered backpacking this summer. I discovered it only rains on the weekends I want to pack. I discovered seven and a half poinds of trail mix is not necessary for wilderness survival, and I discovered you don't have to be tough to challenge a glacier, just tough enough.

.....A long stone's throw north of Slocum, Canada lay Enterprise Creek Trail, "A mere 13.5 kilometers to the base of Kokanee Glacier," my trusted mate Marti, declared. The sharp Christmas tree smell shocked me into realization. Here I was tripping on the edge of another genesis. I hoisted 35 pounds of room and board onto my back and gazed earnestly down the trail. I hadn't a clue how far a kilometer was, a scant hop and a whistle from the tone of Marti's unhurried voice. I figured I was good for thirteen hops and at least one whistle. I blindly shadowed my backcountry partner (soon to be husband) up the trail letting the cool summer breeze have its way with my senses. Soaring sweet cedars and herringbone skies garnished my photographer's plate. However, this captivating revelation was the end of my backpacking reverie.

.....At kilometer 1.0 the trail narrowed to a spaghetti thin, root encrusted sliver. The hiking boots I had judiciously purchased began to pinch at kilometer 1.5. My ill-fitting pack began to sag at kilometer 1.7. My shoulders tightened and screamed for mercy at kilometer 3.2; only two miles into my dream-come-true Canadian quest. But I wasn't about to cry uncle. I would bite the bullet, at least until I had to use it to shoot myself. I trudged upward and onward vowing to conquer the pain. After all, if I wanted to be a renowned nature photographer I must first suffer as any famous artist should. So I concentrated on suffering. I needed to master the art quickly before I died that night. My judicious hero knowing my innermost principles and passsions helped me to suffer as well.

.....At kilometer 5.4 a sizable tree branch had fallen across the trail. Embraced on one side by a sheer cliff and on the other by a steep drop-off the trail left us two choices; over or under. My pack having become a giant quivering blob of gelatin did not allow for a milligram of dexterity or balance so under was clearly out of the question. And my five foot six inch frame with limited leg length, did not allow for step-over access. Of course Marti with lengthy apendages of pure muscle could have tramped over the obstacle without a problem, but being my personal Sir Galahad, he lifted the limb overhead allowing me easy passage. Unfortunately my passage took a bit longer to complete than he had muscles to endure. The hefty branch came crashing down sweeping me over the edge with no more effort than blowing dust bunnies from beneath the couch. My head snapped back sending a jolt of electrifying pain down my spine.

....."Are you okay down there? Do you need help back up? Marti yelled down undeterred.

.....Leaving out the ##%** I replied, "Just dandy." The sarcasm escaped him completely.
I surveyed my predicament without moving, wondering how many misery points I had just earned. The backpack I had been cursing this entire trip had blessedly snagged on a downed rotting cedar and halted my ride to the bottom of the ravine. Unscathed and unsure I rolled to my side and hand over knee I crawled back onto the trail. That maneuver would soon become my trademark.

.....Tanal Lake, just ahead, was the half way mark and base camp. With an hour of cool daylight remaining we ignored the milky clouds that had turned from substantial to serious. We pitched our tent, grabbed a bite of trail mix and hiked around the sultry lake. Kokanee Glacier loomed ominous in the distance and I wanted my lion's share of images. The pyramid of ice and snow declared itself master over hot August days. It was a trophy to altitude and atitude. I lost twenty pain points as I netted its authority in my 35mm sights. Somehow I knew I'd gain them back before Monday.

.....About 8 p.m. the rain began making earnest ringlets across the glassy water. We hastily gulped reconstituted Chickan-a-la-king and snuggled in for the night. Lightening flashed, etching names of departed hikers in the dirty sky; I was bound and determined not to be one of them. Pain points like black sheep hurdled through my restless slumber.

.....Eight dreary hours later morning decided she could hold out no longer, neither could my bladder. Slapping on my down jacket and plastic poncho I bolted for the makeshift latrine, a semi dry enclosure in a downpour of raindrops the size of cheeseballs.

....."Time to git," shouted Marti. "We need off this hill before it slides out from under us. Your pack is outside the door."

.....I groaned in dismay. My pack had become a nightmare: too much trail mix, and too many clothes drenched and weighing more than my own body weight. Maybe I would dump the sleeping bag. Marmots coul use it to nest in. Do marmots nest? If I made it out of here I was never backpacing again, but I would read about marmots to see if they had put my bag to good use. "Pack it in ...Pack it out." the outdoorsman's creed taunted my subconscious. I kept the bag. "Body please forgive me I knew not what I was getting us into." But,hallelujah we were on our way down. Down being the definitive commandment, gravity being the savior of my soul, my feet and my back. All I had to do now was walk, put one sodden foot in front of the other: left ... right ... left, this wasn't so tough.

"Hey, what's that sound?" I screamed to Marti above a maelstrom that launced itself in front of us.
"I think that little creek we crossed rose yesterday a bit during the night."

.....To be honest, it had risen only four inches; four inches over a twenty-foot matchstick that lay between sanity and civilization. There were four inches of full-steam-ahead-knock-you-on-your-butt surging locomotion. However, those four inches over the log didn't really scare me that much, it was the grand canyon drop to the gushing hell below that immobilized my cardiovascular system. If the torrential rains hadn't all ready drenched me to the bone, I would have felt my sweat glands drowing in their own secretions. I forced my eyes from the watery terror.

....."How did you get over there?" I shrieked realizing Marti had blithely tiptoed his way across the matchstick leaving me alone on the forbidden side of hell.
....."I walked, do you want me to come back and get your pack?"

.....It was a noble gesture, but I was not about to be defeated and was not about to ask my beloved to risk that slippery stick again. I dropped to my knees and began the death-defying crawl. Huge mistake. Tidal waves hammered my body, blades of frigid water tore flesh from my fingers; the insides of my nostrils were blocked. I was gasping for air and the pulverizing water sealed my eyes shut. Inch by horrifying inch I slithered across that slimy stick. Mud never felt so good. I flopped over, my saturated pack pinning me to the soggy earth. "Go ahead, say what you're thinking. " I mumbled helplessly. "I'm not the rugged type you thought."

.....Marti mused for a moment, "No your're not, but your'e tough enough for me." He hoisted pack and female into an upright position, adjusted the pack and kissed the girl. We trekked on. Kokanee Glacier would have to wait for another day. I counted misery points in my head as I ambled on and couldn't find a single one. I counted pride points and I'm pretty sure there were at least three.

Chapter 2: Surviving the Aftermath