E and I went camping/canoeing last weekend. It was a grand adventure. With P’s situation I’m afraid I/we lost track of E’s birthday. This losing track is something that I’m struggling with in this situation. Mostly it is anomalous sense of time passing, more than forgetting. I didn’t forget his birthday, I just couldn’t keep it in focus as the time elapsed – I’m not sure I’m explaining the experience. Anyway, I realized around Tuesday, that I wanted time in the woods, and I wanted something special for E. So, I noodled around on-line a bit and talked with a buddy at work and decided to go to Flagstaff Lake. In truth it is 2 lakes, nested crescents divided by a peninsula/island where there is a primitive campsite – about 6 miles from the Stratton boat ramp. Perfect I thought.

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So, we threw our gear together Thursday evening for a Friday morning departure – no school. The plan was to overnight and return late the next day. We had perfect conditions for our paddle out. The Bigelow Mountains filled the horizon to the south; the tops shrouded in clouds, and were dusted in early snow, the sides in full fall color. We arrived at the campsite about noon, set up camp, and then took a long slow walk. We saw partridge, ducks, and geese, lots of moose and deer sign. Our planning had been so punctuated that at the C store I stopped to fill the gas tank, and sent E in to pick out food for dinner – 2 cans of Chile, and a package of hot-dogs, as it turns out. Whatever. Time to cook it and I was up for cooking it all, but, E held me back he insisted he couldn’t eat that much. OK. So, one can and half the hot-dogs – and as we will find out this was a prescient thing. Indeed as the weekend unfolded I found myself trusting E’s misgivings and observations increasingly. He doesn’t have the experience to really articulate his concerns, but he has good gut instincts. Next day, I thought we would paddle out by going around the island on the other side, see some new stuff. We had a slow start, packed and underway, by 10. Cloudy and breezy with brief showers. As we neared the foot of the island we found that with the lake level being down 3 feet or so there were no channels back through to the main lake, just, mud and no real sense of how long a portage it would really be. We were left with the option of paddling back the way we came and the weather was worsening. By the time we got back to the head of the island the wind was howling and the waves were picking up. I in a fit of parental democracy in action I decided that we were done. Back to the campsite for another night, fortunately we had food for dinner. We set up a tarp to shelter the tent from wind and rain and went to bed early. At dark the wind died down, but the rain started in earnest, and poured for 3 or 4 hours. We awoke to silence, no wind, or rain – but, fog. Fog so thick we couldn’t see the far shore. Whatever, as my Grandfather used to say “If it aint one thing tis’a-nuther”. We made breakfast, and packed and by the time we were ready to go, the fog cleared enough that we could see the other shore. So, we paddled across and followed it out to the ramp, and we were home by noon. Refreshing, and exhausting, a good adventure all around, I thought my batteries would be recharged. But, I find myself still struggling with how slow P’s treatment seems to be going and how incredibly fast everything else is going,

A’s soccer season is almost over, responsibilities with the Boy Scouts, and E’s Jujitsu, all seem to explode on me. Work is the same way, minutes drag, and hours pass in kaleidoscope haze of speed. It is humbling to see the generosity of our friends. And I’m sure they would do more, or rather more precisely, if we knew what we needed and how to ask for it. But, that is the rub. I’m not sure what I need. Do I need more time, or conversely, fewer responsibilities? I’ve tried that, sort of, with the Boy Scouts, but, alas, that time is therapeutic, giving it up costs me something. But, I can’t pretend that I’m doing my best with what I’ve kept, again, because I can’t keep the passing of time consistent. I don’t think I’m dropping too many balls, or looking too awkward when I do, but, it is still an unnerving temporal disorder.