The Fastest Shoe

~JennWren

Once, I was the fastest shoe.
You should’ve seen the boy —
new laces, wild joy,
zipping through the store,
yelling, *“Mom! Watch me soar!”*

We were a pair —
two soles with a mission,
burning playground rubber
with toddler precision.

He believed in me.
Said I made him *fly*.
Belief, you see,
is better than wings —
it makes small boys defy
everything.

But now…
Here I am,
marooned and weathered,
one half of a team
no longer tethered.

No foot to fill my soul,
No match beside me in the sand.
Just me — laces limp,
washed up on foreign land.

Where, oh *wear*, is my twin?
Where’s the rush, the spin,
the boy who believed
that I could win?

I am a sneaker,
but more than a shoe —
I once held dreams.
Now I just hold dew.

“Grow Anyway”

~Jennwren

I landed on concrete—
no soil,
no softness,
just heat
and the silence of being unseen.

I had two choices:
grow
or vanish.

So I cracked the stone.

Now, when others ask
how I stand so happy,
I smile.

Because I know
for those who grow
through concrete
carry strength
the soft earth
can’t teach.

Man makes concrete
Thank you, man!

Whispers of the Summer Pines

The summer pine forest,
riddled with green and brown needles,
waves wildly in the trade winds.
My footsteps fall silent,
lost in the hush of the earth.

Light weaves through the green,
needles hanging soft from ancient limbs,
while brown needles rest in peace below,
a carpet of memory on the forest floor.

The wind sings through the branches,
a calming whoosh, a whispered song.
I hear poetry in its breath,
see art brushed across the colors,
statues rising from rooted dreams.

The music of the wind surrounds me,
a symphony spun from needles and sky,
a dance of silence and sound,
where every gust is a verse,
and every shadow, a dream.

The Sea Urchin

The Sea Urchin at Home,
Never alone,
In the tidal pool zone,

Prickly and free,
Nobody bothers me,
Unlike you fools fighting for coffee at three.

I sit on my throne,
A rock of my own,
While you battle for Wi-Fi and overpay loans.

Deadlines? Promotions?
Your frantic emotions?
I’ll pass — I prefer drifting slowly with the oceans.

No ties, no shoes,
No rent, I must lose,
Just a spike here or there if you give me bad news.

So enjoy your commute,
Your overpriced suit —
I'll be here, living lazy and giving no hoot.

The Rays Burst

The rhythmic hum of bicycle tires against the pavement blended with the soft evening breeze as I pedaled home. The day had been long, filled with work and responsibilities, but this was my time—my daily ritual of exercise and purpose. Running errands on two wheels was a simple pleasure, but tonight, something was different.

As I neared the industrial zone, passing the looming silhouette of the local power plant, I caught sight of the sky. The sunset began blooming, its warm hues deepening against the encroaching dusk. It was one of those moments when you just knew something special was about to happen.

Up ahead, a small group of neighbors had gathered along the trail. They stood quietly, heads tilted toward the horizon as if they, too, anticipated the spectacle. I slowed my bike and joined their silent vigil.

The low clouds pressed against the rugged peaks of the mountains, leaving only a narrow slit open to the sun. It was a doorway, a final chance for the day’s light to break through before surrendering to night. Then, as if nature had held its breath, the moment came.

In an instant, the sun’s last rays burst through the gap, illuminating the valley with a golden fire. Beams of light splayed outward, cascading over the middle loch, drenching the water’s surface in liquid gold. Shadows stretched long and dramatic, dancing against the industrial structures and the quiet figures beside me.

Breathtaking.

No one spoke. There was no need. We were all caught in that fleeting, radiant embrace—a perfect convergence of time, place, and light.

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the sun dipped beyond the horizon. The colors softened, the golden brilliance faded, and twilight settled over the land.

BA 923 STR TO LHR

I arrived at the airport in plenty of time. It had been a long, hard week of work. I had traveled to the European continent for work, and the work hours, dark to dark, left no room for much personal time. Arriving at the airport in time to fly home, I found my seat, ready to dive back into my book. I found my bookmark and started reading where I had left off. I recall the airplane reaching cruise altitude. That was the last thing I remembered before hearing the crew announce preparations for landing.

Sitting next to me was a lovely seatmate and his daughter. She sat beside the window, and her Dad sat in the middle. This Dad earned the title of "lovely seatmate" because my head flopped onto his shoulder when I fell asleep. I stayed that way in my exhausted state for nearly 40 minutes. Additionally, a snack wrapper fell onto my lap during trash pickup. I have no recollection of snack offerings. I was out.

When I came too, first imagine my embarrassment. My seatmate was very kind and did a fantastic job playing off my invasion of privacy. My seatmate assured me everything was all okay. But then I noticed a snack wrapper in my lap. Perhaps my seatmate had dropped the wrapper in my lap during snack trash collection. Sure enough, when I picked up the wrapper, he shared that the wrapper had accidentally dropped on my lap while handing the fly crew member his trash. He was embarrassed. I returned the favor equally and ensured my seatmate that all was okay with the snack wrapper. He took it from my hand and quietly stuffed it into his pocket.

With the chocks under the wheels and seatbelt sign-off, I wish my seatmates a wonderful weekend and hustle away to customs, burying this little episode into my deep, dark secrets closet.

Rise over Run

There was a time when the run was risen just as it was with no rise to reason.

One day while on the run, a simple mind came to reason,

the rise and run can be strung to become even.

Divisions applied to the rise and the run, producing all steps in the rise even.

Faded are the days, when the rise and run did not so much matter,

and when the run was a bit odd, one could short step and rise to the occasion.

The walk is so, that the rise along the run, seems odd when the rise is the natural uneven.

Even though a walk along the run in the wild, will surely give stress to legs knowing only even.

Many things made by they that walk, that give rise to the run of what is in nature truly even. ~jennwren

Perspective Like No Other

Observation from a Journey: Owning a rare perspective can be a complex and oftentimes paradoxical experience. It can be both a profound gift and a significant challenge. The value of a rare perspective usually lies in how it is navigated and shared with the world. ~Jennwren

Bonus content: I have more profound reflections on your unique experience that you can read in more detail.

A. The positive side of a rare perspective is that you see things others miss. You can connect dots that are invisible to the majority, leading to innovative ideas, creative solutions, and a deeper understanding of complex issues.
Innovation and progress are rare perspectives but often the seeds of progress. Questioning assumptions and seeing beyond the conventional can drive change and contribute to new discoveries.

Deeper Understanding. You might have a more nuanced or profound understanding of certain subjects due to your unique way of processing information or your different life experiences.
Authenticity. Your perspective is your own, fostering a strong sense of individuality and authenticity. You're less likely to be swayed by groupthink or popular trends.

You can approach problems from angles others haven't considered, potentially leading to more effective and creative solutions.

Appreciation for the Unseen. You might find beauty, meaning, or value in things others overlook.

Personal Growth Navigating the world with a different perspective can foster resilience, critical thinking, and greater self-awareness.

B. The Challenges and Difficulties of a Rare Perspective

Misunderstanding and Isolation: Your views might be met with confusion, skepticism, or even hostility. It can be challenging to communicate your perspective effectively and feel understood by others, potentially leading to feelings of isolation or alienation.

Difficulty Connecting. Shared experiences and common understandings form the basis of many social connections. Having a rare perspective can make finding people who truly "get" you harder.

Frustration and Impatience. You might become frustrated when others don't see what seems obvious or conventional approaches seem inadequate.

Self-Doubt. When your perspective consistently differs from the majority, you might question your own sanity or the validity of your thoughts, even if you have good reasons for your views.

Resistance to Your Ideas. Bringing a rare perspective to the table can be met with resistance, especially in established systems or groups that value conformity. It can be challenging to have your ideas taken seriously.

Emotional Toll. Constantly feeling like an outsider or having to defend your perspective can be emotionally draining.

Communication Barriers. You might struggle to find the correct language or analogies to bridge the gap between your understanding and that of others.

Potential for Being Dismissed. Your ideas might be dismissed as "outlandish," "unrealistic," or simply wrong because they don't align with the prevailing viewpoint.

C. Navigating a Rare Perspective.

Owning a rare perspective requires a unique set of skills and coping mechanisms:

-Strong Self-Awareness: Understanding your perspective, origins, strengths, and weaknesses is crucial.
Effective Communication: It is essential to learn to articulate your ideas clearly, patiently, and in ways that resonate with others (even if they don't fully agree).
-Empathy: Understanding why others hold the perspectives they do can foster better communication and reduce frustration.
Resilience: This is paramount. Developing the ability to withstand criticism, misunderstanding, and isolation is vital.
-Discernment: Knowing when to share your perspective and when it might be more prudent to listen and observe. When you have a doubt, please listen. This is so hard.
-Finding Your Tribe: Be careful not to get too deep, or the reverse is true. Seeking out others who share similar perspectives or are open-minded and value different viewpoints can combat feelings of isolation.
-Self-Compassion: Be kind and understanding towards yourself when facing the challenges of having a rare perspective.

D. In Conclusion:

Owning a rare perspective is a double-edged dagger. It offers the potential for profound insights and contributions but can also lead to significant communication, connection, and validation challenges. It requires self-awareness, resilience, and a commitment to understanding both your own viewpoint and the viewpoints of others. Ultimately, the value of a rare perspective often lies in how it is navigated and shared with the world.

An Incredible Hike

The night was far from over when we set out from the trailhead, our courageous group of four guided by the glow of headlamps and torches. The first hour of our three-hour ascent was shrouded in darkness, the path illuminated only by our bobbling battery-powered lights. The trail was narrow, winding through dense jungle vegetation, clinging to the ridges of the steep mountains. Even in the dim light, we could sense the island’s beauty surrounding us.
Several sections of the hike demanded our full concentration—one misstep could mean a dangerous fall. Of course, we knew this. About a mile into the hike, we passed a sign that practically begged us to turn around and go no further. The mountain peak, our destination, was known for being unpredictable, often vanishing into a thick shroud of clouds at a moment’s notice. Fortunately, the sun proved strong enough to keep the summit clear, rewarding us with a breathtaking view upon arrival. As we reached the peak, a panorama of the island unfolded before us.
We unpacked our lunches and settled in, savoring the meal and the scenery. The eastern cliffs plunged dramatically to sea level before leveling into a broad plateau that stretched toward the beach. Beyond the shoreline, the ocean floor dropped into the abyssal depths of the Pacific Ocean. This side of the island, a mere three million years old, was still young in geological terms. Its youth is readily apparent in its smooth, relatively limited flora and fauna.
Not long after, another group of five hikers joined us at the summit. We exchanged stories of past treks, each of us reveling in the camaraderie that only fellow adventurers could understand. Cameras and phones emerged, capturing the moment in countless photos and selfies.
Eventually, it was time to begin our descent. The hike down was just as thrilling as the climb up, with new perspectives of the island’s beauty revealing themselves at every turn. The descent demanded careful footing, the steep drops and twisting paths keeping our adrenaline pumping.
The sky darkened as we reached the car park, and a sudden tropical rain shower swept the street and parking lot. We took shelter under a pavilion, watching the storm stop as quickly as it arrived. In its wake, the sun reemerged, painting the sky with brilliant rainbows. It was the perfect end to an unforgettable hike.

Thoughts that require no mind

Light that requires no ray

Flower that requires no pedal

Wind that requires no air

Queen who requires no king

Stairs that require no steps

Roof that requires no thatch

Rain that requires no water

Queen who requires no king

River that requires no bed

Dreams that requires no sleep

Soil that requires no planet

Queen who requires no king

Path that requires no trail

Moutnain that requires no valley

Fire that requires no flame

Queen who requires no king

How many flights do I have?

Have you ever traveled by air on a full moon? The first full moon I recall flying was the Full Harvest Moon on October 2, 2001. Yes, just a few weeks to the one month after September 11. I flew from Fresno to Tampa, Florida. I may have flown earlier during a full moon, but the 2001 Harvest Moon is the one I remember as the first.  

I flew during a waxing moon this week, six days from being whole. So it was pretty bright. As I stared out the window at 33,000 ft, the moon appeared bright and large, reflecting off the left wing. Snapping a few photos for my memoirs, I pondered my flying life.  

Flying for me started with that first flight from Illinois to Connecticut in 1984. Travel served as a significant component of my journey. The number of boarding passes bearing my name I can only determine with painful research. However, I noticed that my Apple Wallet contained many of those passes since 2017. It's too bad Apple Wallet was not around in 1984.  

A quick sort of my Apple wallet revealed 92 boarding passes. Indeed, many have traveled more, but I have many miles flying around the planet. I only sometimes choose to travel. Travel was a function of work, time off work, and simply seeing friends and family. Work was a condition of employment, which put me in a position to travel as a function of living.  

For the record, I never missed a flight; I have had many on-time arrivals and several unexpected adventures due to travel disruptions. The weather causes the majority of disruptions, with the occasional airplane maintenance. My bags made it with me almost 100% of the time, and if they missed the plane I was on, they caught up with me in a day or two.

When I travel, I can appreciate my experience. I carry a relaxed demeanor and a sense of mental preparedness to accept disruptions. I welcome disruptions and an opportunity for unexpected exploration. 

Journey onward.    

My soul hangs on the soles of my shoes.

I reflect on all that I have done and not done.
My reflection, I stand on my soles.
My soul hangs on the soles of my shoes.
On shoes, I picked, buckled, and laced, maybe not.
My reflection, woven through yours, maybe not.
A pedestal or a pylon, either, if flipped around.
You can judge how much pedestal or pylon, hopefully, some of both
I have a judge, but I deny you not.
My reflection has judgment fractures, too.
Your reflection is not mine;
well, maybe I did block your light, sorry.
Maybe I gave you light, that feels good.
I reflect on all that I have done and not done.
But not too much, just enough to know,
My reflection stands on my soles.
My soul towers into the stars.
Maybe not.
My soul stretches into infinity below my soles
Maybe not.
I reflect on all that I have done and not done.
~jennwren

A Winter Sea Side Town

The sun had recently set, and the remnants of the ebb suggested this seaside town was ready to pull the shades and slumber. A brisk offshore wind picked at my garment seams for a way to get inside and chill my skin. The occasional gust did manage to lick my neck. The idea of hot tea or coffee lurked in my immediate wishes. Despite the cold sensations, the homes and restaurants glowed. The foreboding weather emptied the streets, and the village seemed indoors, performing end-of-day routines such as dining, visiting, and winding down.

The last family outside passed across the courtyard, struggling to keep their dog focused on getting to the front door. My dog-loving traveling girlfriend, Sarah, did not necessarily help. Her gentle demeanor attracts everything in his world, including the young, slobbery-snouted dog. The happy dog paid Sarah handsomely in slobbers from head to toe. We spent five minutes wiping the drool off her new all-weather jacket.

I love to experience and share moments like these. Come with me or invite me, and be ready to explore.

Up a Creek

Stepping into the world against the normal currents may seem complicated, scary, and impractical. Perhaps not. It is a bit of work. But the work does have rewards. The secret is to keep paddling and rest in the eddies. Keep moving upstream, swimming, resting, and repeat. No promises, but one day, you might reach the source of life for your river or solid muscles and good bone density. No matter what, paddling upstream will elevate you to new heights. Otherwise, there is nothing wrong with kicking back and floating down the river. Drifting with the current is a suitable way to pass the time, taking in beautiful scenery. Enjoy, encourage, or taunt the occasional passing paddler going in the opposite direction. Floating down the stream is less work. No paddle is required; keep going downstream until you eventually flow onto a stagnant body of water and settle to the bottom, taking place among the fossil records.

Gray and Gray

It was many moons since my most valuable treasure sailed away from the shores of my soul. Every day, I walk these piers alone, hoping that perhaps one day, my gem will sail home. I may miss my treasure, but I know that my treasure is also missing me. The feeling grows even harsher, like a giant storm roaring in from the sea, knowing that your ships and shores may never pass again. Some understand this feeling well. Some may know what it is like to leave the metaphorical shores of your daily beloved. The feeling in the heart comes from the longing to connect with the missing pieces.

The Daily Wave

Unlike the other tourists, I headed out to see the city of York in the very early hours of the morning. I seriously enjoy seeing places in the early morning hours. There is something to be said about watching a town or village waking up.

Ponder the thought that every day, every hour for millions of years, we have formed a human wave around the planet by waking up in the morning.

I take part daily in that wave from my small, self-centered view of life. I cannot see the wave. It's not like our Stadium of Life is shaped like a bowl.

I walk the area during the day and nonpeak hours as much as possible when I visit a place. Seeing a place at least twice affords me the license to say I actually visited.

The scene is from Clifton Street facing South East. Time of Day 0728 and the sun rising (0732)

Shambles

The tour guide asked, "Do you know why they call this the shambles?" I mumbled too loud, “Because they are a mess?” “Not exactly, but I will share with you shortly,” said the tour guide, throwing mystery words and rolling his eyes back in my direction.

The street is called the "The Shambles" because the road is full of shambles. I was like in my head, “Duh,” I am still not there. What the heck is a shamble? The suspense was stringing me along. Finally, we arrived at "The Shambles." Filled with anticipation, I was ready to see my first shamble. Was it metal, wood, or a combination of both? Turning the corner onto The Shambles, my eyes scanned high and low, looking for anything I had no term. The medieval scene drove us tourist imaginations into a curiosity of the life in those years long gone. The human’s ability to manage and interrupt the world in the 12 and 13th centuries was very different from the 21st century. Reading medieval history often feels cruel and unusual. So, what could a shamble be in the context of my literature readings about the early centuries when people believed in ghosts, evil spirits, and demons as real entities?

The guide stood before a shop window, leaning slightly on a large window ledge. Or at least what I thought was a simple large window sill. Then he explained using a visual illustration that the window ledge is the shamble. I spoke up; that shelf is a shamble? Yes, this is a shamble. The merchants hung their meats over the storefront window shelf. Above the shamble was an old rod with original metal hooks. The meat hung from the hooks, and some smaller pieces for sale were sorted on the shamble. The tour guide added that these hooks were originals and, in medieval days, hung meat for sale and that the large shelf below was also original and held other meat items for sale. The street became known as the Shambles, named after the storefront window ledge.

So, the word shambles entered my vocabulary with meaning and a visual. I had wrongly assumed that Shambles met something, being a hot mess. That was yesterday. Today, the word has meaning. :)

Avoid the Belly Button, Thank You

There is a story behind why I eat this way. It was October 2021.

"Jenn, you seem to be more alert today. You're doing well"" noted the doctor. "Do you have any questions for me today?" asked doctor. "I do. What happened to me?" I replied.

I listened intently as the doctor explained, "Yes, of course, let me tell you about what happened. You have a part of your small intestines that does not rotate correctly. It's a malrotation that creates a severe life-threatening twist in the intestine. It's called midgut volvulus.”

Although my wits had returned, and I could listen to music and read, I could not understand the words midgut volvulus. I asked the doctor to spell out the medical term for me. I wanted to research the condition after he left to finish his rounds. He kindly scratched the diagnosis onto a piece of paper and left it in my hand. Fortunately, my purse and phone made it with me to the hospital. I was able to contact the kids and research what had happened to my body.

I was lying in a hospital bed on the 8th floor in the Darmzentrum (Intestinal Center) Marienhospital (Yes, it's one word), Stuttgart, Germany. Lifting my hospital gown, I could see the fresh wound on my abdomen. The staples gave the appearance of a railroad track that carried shots of pain the length of my core. It was not a straight line but a scenic railroad that curved through the terrain of my skin, making a gentle curve to avoid falling into my belly button. Tubes extended from a bag on my bedside through my face, down my esophagus, and into my stomach. An IV with painkillers and meds dripped into the back of my right hand. Another tube stitched to my skin served as a drain tube for fluids in my internal cavity.

Lowering my gown, I began to learn about my situation and surroundings. I decided to start from the beginning and revisit how I got to this bed in the first place. My sudden hospitalization started from my desk at work. A sharp abdominal pain rapidly took all my time and energy. Office mates dialed 112 (911 for Europe). Within an hour, I was full of morphine and utterly reliant on the skills of a medical team to save my life. The world had collapsed around me, and my ability to think and take care of myself completely vanished. The only route to safety was the operating room.

I recall thinking a hot, jagged steel rod had to be jammed through my abdomen. The pain seared through the morphine. The technician demanded that I lie still for the entire CT scan. The technician dove behind a protective wall as the machine roared to life and slowly swallowed me whole, tasting vigorously for the hidden morsel causing my pain. The ultrasound in the ambulance ruled out appendicitis, leaving the emergency medical team and doctor puzzled. I could hear the doctor ordering the CT Scan from his handy (Mobile phone in German).

I was rolled to a small room where a team of nurses began preparing me for surgery. The doctors held a conference call in another room to review my scan. They found the problem. Later, I learned that the distinctive "coffee bean” shape on the scan was my small intestine knotted, blocked, and swelling fast. My small intestines became deprived of vital blood and oxygen, and the swelling and pressure-filled my body cavity, cutting off room for my organs.

The world and words blurred, and my head dizzied when the doctor, who I later learned performed the Ladd Procedure, told me I needed immediate surgery. She held my hand and arm to let me know that they would operate and that my life depended on it. At that moment, I felt my entire life flash across the back of my eyelids. I realized quickly that without action, I was on an immediate path to the end of my life. I had zero control, little agency, and even less constitution. The familiar triangle-shaped gas mask lowered over my face.

I learned afterward that the surgery lasted well into the night. Later, the doctor who performed the surgery told me the team worked on me for about five hours. By the light of a nearby window, I knew that it was about mid-day. The anesthesia slowly wore off, finally freeing my brain to comprehend my situation. I was still among the living; however, I had yet to learn about my body and what went wrong. I could not move. Tubes surround me, either giving my liquids or taking away fluids. The room was a typical recovery room with ever-present staff and monitors. Beeps, hissing, and soft shoes walking the floor were the only sounds I could hear. I could not see, and I had no idea the whereabouts of my eyeglasses.

By evening or 24 hours after my arrival, I was wheeled to my home for the next two weeks. Initially, I would not eat for three days. My digestive tract required time to heal and reduce swelling. The trauma to the small intestines meant a drastic dietary adjustment for months and years to come.

On day two, the nurses had strict orders to get me on my feet. My first task was to stand. It was hard to believe that a few days earlier, I rode my bike nearly 46 km a day several times per week to and from work. As I sat up, I immediately became schwindlig (dizzy). Using the wall and IV stand, I lifted myself and quickly became overwhelmed by dizziness. I promptly returned to my bed, feeling a little sweaty but encouraged. I passed the first test toward recovery. By the end of the next day, I would have not only stood but walked to the door of my room with the aid of my IV pole and its three bags and tubes connected to my body.

The staff fed me soup and a Jell-O mixture on the third day. On day four, the food service served a mushy mix of potatoes. I woke on the morning of the fifth day feeling uncomfortable. The staff delivered another no-fiber soft breakfast. However, my stomach and abdomen felt under pressure, and I could not bring the food to my lips. I tried to eat a few portions but quickly had to stop.

The staff returned about 30 minutes later to collect my untouched plate. The food service staff noted my untouched food, and the accompanying nurse asked if I felt okay. I told her that I had felt pressure in my stomach, and despite very little food for three days, I had no appetite. She asked me if I needed more nausea medicine, and I said, "No, it's not nausea." She asked if I needed more painkillers. I replied, "No, it's not a sharp pain. it's more like pressure." She checked my IV and vitals before leaving the room. The pressure continued to increase.

The doctor's rounds were not for another hour. A second nurse stopped by my bedside. She seemed frustrated with my inability to eat. I told her the pressure was getting worse. Taking my news, she left my room. Within a few moments, that pressure spiked, and I felt like I would burst. My head instantly filled with beads of sweat. I was not experiencing nausea, but I could tell that I was about to lose everything inside my system.

The wound was screaming at me and tugging hard at the staples muzzling its lips, which should never again open. I needed to get up to find a bucket or sink fast. After mastering standing and moving with three bags and an IV pole the day prior, I got myself to my feet and started the 100-mile journey to the sink. My trip halted after three steps. My body convulsed, forcing me to the floor. Landing on all fours, the pressure inside my system released just as the nurse returned. I was unable to comprehend much around me as I fought the pain of the wound and the pressure on my organs. After what seemed like years, I realized that a nurse was asking me questions I could not hear and that a dozen legs and feet moved in the scene before me.

After several attempts to get her words to my brain, she shook my shoulder hard enough to drag me back into the moment. Suddenly, words accompanied her moving mouth. She was asking me if I was okay. I found a yes that meant I was in the moment and not lost to the world and by no means conveyed that I was actually okay. Her eyes were blue, revealing urgency reflecting my dependency on her actions. Seconds later, a small crew entered the room and moved me back onto the hospital bed.

The bed suddenly became a transformer and shifted from a luxurious bed fit for a queen to an operating table. A nurse was ordering me to swallow while she was guiding a tube back into my nose. Instantly, the clear plastic tube filled with a high-volume flow of green liquid. The tube led to a two-liter bag. The level in the bag was rising fast, and the nurse ordered another nurse to get another bag quickly. Halfway through the second bag, the pressure in the room eased as the fluid in the clear tube slowed to a trickle.

After a slight pause, the doctor issued new orders that I understood too well, back to the CT scanner. The second CT scan was much easier than the first. I was in less pain and with more painkillers. I lay slightly relaxed as the big machine tasted my body for the same morsel it found earlier in the week. I was hoping that the machine would go hungry. Unfortunately, the scan revealed that my intestines were again mal-rotated. The chief surgeon, previous doctor, and another doctor approached my bed in the acute care room and informed me that they needed to repeat the surgery immediately. It was a matter of saving my organs and life.

It was only moments before I was in the surgery preparation room. I specifically recall the pleasure of having my body wrapped with a hot cloth blanket while several people moved with purpose and intention. I heard my vitals called out loud just as the familiar triangle mask lowered toward my face with the command to take a deep breath. My last thought felt like I had just drawn the go straight to jail card with no way out while playing Monopoly.

I woke again in the recovery room. I cried, and that was a good thing in hindsight.

Great Allegheny Path (GAP) and the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal (C&O)

The flight from London to Dulles passed quickly. Good reading and light headwinds found our triple-seven arriving early. After collecting my bags and catching the Silver line to Foggy Bottom, I hopped a quick Uber to the historic Watergate apartments. I entered their lives after completing chapter 17 of the author's book. Sue greeted me at the door like a daughter returning from a long vacation. Welcome home!

My friendship with Sam led me to the door at the end of a long, curved hallway. Earlier in the summer, we planned to ride our bikes from Pittsburgh to Washington, DC, using a combination of the Great Allegheny Path (GAP) and the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal (C&O) trails. Unfortunately, Sam became ill hours before our tag-up at the Watergate and follow-on Amtrack train to Pittsburgh to start the trip.

I had no reservations about going solo, and Sam provided remote support despite having a nasty bug. And besides, the overall logistics for the trip were already in place, so why not go and enjoy it.

Landing in D.C., I relished fantastic hospitality, food, and opportunities to see bits of history. Sue and Sandy have a vast network of friends and experiences. They are a Smithsonian of history all to their own. I wish I could have visited more, but I had to assemble my bike and catch a morning train to Pittsburgh.

I rose at my usual time of 0500. The Potomac from the guest room's window reflected the light between mean twilight and sunrise. Cyclist were already commuting to work along the bike path, and rowing crews were preparing for their daily training. Finding my way downstairs to the kitchen, I found myself to coffee and cereal. I soon had my bags on my bike and headed to the train.

The route to the Union Station took me along the Mall and around the White House. I recently read up on John Brown's Raid at Harper's Ferry, knowing I would stay overnight in a local Harper's Ferry, West VA hotel on my bike ride back to Washington, D.C. Given the current division among the Union, I could not help but reflect on the challenges we faced in 1859 over abolition compared to modern perils reflected in our contemporary politics. Traveling does offer priceless perspective and observations.

Eventually, I boarded my first-ever Amtrak train. My life's train experiences come primarily from the Deutsch Bahn (D.B.) in Europe. The Amtrak train was short and double-stacked as compared to the DB. The DB rides across Germany and Europe from stop to stop without blowing a horn. In contrast, Amtrak lays hard on the horn at every rail crossing. I could only imagine living in one of the many homes along the tracks. I wanted to run up to the conductor and quiet them. The railroad crossing safety mechanisms in Europe may be why the trains do not use their horns so often in Europe. Who knows? I just noted the difference and returned my thoughts to the upcoming ride.

The following morning in Pittsburgh, I rode my bike to Heritage Park, the western terminus of the GAP. I took a moment to soak in the three river scenes and admire the words on the terminus marker: Point of Conflict, Point of Renewal, Point of Confluence. I had never been to Pittsburgh. The destination from here was a five-day ride to the "0-Mile Marker" terminus of the C&O trail in Washington, D.C.

The stops included overnight stays: Connellsville, PA; Cumberland, Maryland; Berkley Springs, West Virginia; Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. The route from West to East route on the GAP trail offers two days of climbing on a gentle grade from Pittsburgh to the Eastern Continental Divide. The GAP traces along the Youghiogheny and Casselman Rivers and terminates at the start of the C&O Trail in Cumberland, MA. Once over the Continental Divide, the trail is a steeper and fun 20-mile descent into Cumberland.

In Cumberland, the C&O terminus is well-marked just outside the city visitor center. The C&O follows along the Historic C&O Canal and Potomac River to its terminus behind Thomas Boat Center in Washington, D.C.

The CAP and C&O route is approximately 350 miles in total. The course is in excellent condition, minus two rough sections. Cumberland East for about 25 miles and the last 15 miles into Washington, D.C.

I recommend 38mm tires operating slightly soft for maximum comfort. I drove a Cannondale Topstone with 35mm tires about 10% low from maximum pressure. I used a rear pannier system to carry my food, clothes, and safety and repair items for cargo. Although the Topsctone can mount front panniers, I chose not to mount anything on the front fork. I did carry two standard water bottles. Water is no problem on the GAP; however, on the C&O, I recommend keeping two more water bottles in the panniers to make comfortable leaps between towns on hot days.

Speaking of which, I rode on sweltering days. During my 5 days on the trail, I had full sun with daytime highs around 33-35 degrees Celsius (Mid 90 F).

I would love to ride with you; feel free to recommend and plan a multi-day trip with me. ~Jenn

John Cobit (1450-1498)

Have you ever wondered how North Americans came to speak so much English? You can credit Italy. I knew English came from the English, but that little history lesson about how drifted far into my old memory. Far away, of course, until I came across a statue of John Cabot while strolling through Bristol, England, last weekend with Sarah. Sarah suggested we stop to get some chips along the old harbor, now lined with restaurants. I chose an outside table adjacent to a statue. Reading the nameplate, I discovered it was a statue commemorating John Cabot (1450-1498). My brain went into high gear, digging into its old archives, wondering where I had heard of this name.
In 1496, King Henry VII commissioned John Cabot to discover the Americas for England. John Cabot was looking for a shorter trading route to Asia. John Cabot was born Giovanni Caboto, a Venetian. As an Italian maritime explorer, Giovanni gained extensive navigational skills by commanding sailing ships throughout the Mediterranean and South Asia along the naval silk trading routes.
Giovanni Caboto (aka John Cabot to the English) moved to Bristol seeking financial support to explore the Atlantic. With King Henry's help, John Cabot sailed 7 ships from Bristol, England, to North America. John Cabot arrived in North America on 24 June 1497, landing near northern Maine and New Foundland. After returning to England with his findings, which included 3 Americans, the European migration to North America (the New World) began. And in doing so, he started the settlements that led to England's claims in America and brought English to the American continent. And if you are a North American, you most likely speak English as your native language. Minus the French and Spanish-speaking parts, of course.

So how did I get this photo? Funny Story. We were sound asleep in our hotel. At midnight, a prankster pulled the fire alarm. What a great opportunity. I threw on my clothes and grabbed my camera. I knew it would take time for the fire department to arrive and clear the building and alarm. I walked the waterfront area returning to the statue among many spots of interest. The street lights spread the gold hue. I took the shot, handheld 1/15 sec, 30 mm, f2.8 ISO 10000. Once home, I masked the statue and inverted that mask. I dropped the saturation removing the gold hue to everything but John Cabot. And there it is.