Post 3: Hey Dude
Hey Dude
We spent a week on a remote dude ranch in Montana. Like our life it was wonderful... and really hard. Fortunately we brought part of our village with to help- Eben’s parents and our dear friends Melissa and Derek and their kids. How did you choose this niche vacation you ask? Eben’s sister Sally and her husband Kameron run the 9 Quarter Circle Ranch so this way we get to see them and experience their unique lifestyle. They are some of the most badass people I know.
The hard: Since the terrain is craggy, I ride from spot to spot in a Gator (extreme golf cart). Eben helps me with nearly everything. I feel jealous that people around me can ride horses, carry their kids, walk on grass, and perform dozens of other simple actions. Weirdly jealous of the elderly woman with Parkinson’s who proudly tells me she walked up a few stairs (Must be nice, Edith!!!). I can’t move around as independently as at home so my muscles get extra stiff and painful. Dust in the air coats my throat and nostrils, exacerbating breathing and talking issues.
But still. Still I loved this trip. All of the hard parts are the price of admission for:
The beautiful: I try to focus on what I can do here- feel the breeze while sitting in a rocking chair staring at a mountain range, eat my cut-into-small-pieces food, connect with my adorable baby niece, get a manicure while watching the guys fly fish, sip on porch beers with loved ones while cracking up under a bedazzled sky, watch the kids experience a different world. Being fully present for all these things mostly negates the hard parts.
Witnessing Mae (6yo) ride horses for the first time was the best part. She is often cautious, nervous, and/or dramatic with new physical activities (as we are seeing currently with swimming and biking), and had declared that she was not going to ride prior to the trip. But she did it for 4 hours a day, loved it, and even won an award for “Bravest Cowgirl.” It brought to mind the quote from John Wayne: “courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” Applicable to all things in life but conveniently literal here. I hope she always saddles up anyway.
Reuben (4yo) did a little riding, and happily went with the flow as is his usual MO. One day he left the flurry of activity at the playground and on his own, big kid that he is, made his way to our cabin where I was resting. There we played superheroes, cuddled, tickled, and I watched as many “watch this mom!” bed jumps as he had in him. I was overjoyed because out of all the fun ranch hubbub he chose to be with me - the me who often feels like an inadequate mom due to my new limitations. For that hour I was all he wanted and needed and it was heavenly. It reminded me of when he was 2 and would need a diaper change and others would rush in to help but he would demand “No, mama do it!!” And even though it was harder for me I was so happy to be needed and capable of meeting the need. One of the cruelest by products of ALS is stripping a parent’s basic need of being needed.
Midway through the trip I realized I was missing connecting and chatting with strangers. So I enlisted Eben and Melissa (classic Chatty Catheys) to bring interesting strangers in and facilitate conversation. Then I was really in my element. Whether banal, awkward, or with the most unpleasant conversation partners now I soak it up because at least there is something interesting in their terribleness, a reminder of the spectrum of human personality. I would rather the awkward and terrible than banal. They are one episode characters on the massive Seinfeld set of earth, ones to have a great mishap with that will turn into a reminiscent laugh for years to come. Besides I am positive I have been that cringeful stranger someone got cornered into talking with, especially when I was younger and or drinking with no regard to tolerance (quite possibly neither of those things). The key with talking to how-did-I-get-cornered-with-you is to not judge them too harshly and view them with curiosity about all the beautiful and dark worlds that exist within them (to paraphrase Neil Gaiman), and find an exit as soon as you can’t do that anymore. In short, as many have seen from pandemic isolation and I have seen from not being able to speak well, human interaction even when really hard is beautiful.
