Hello, Mudduh; Hello, Fadduh

Well, the moment you've been waiting for--the moment I knew would arrive--happened. About a week ago, I had a Camp Granada day. My morning shift as kitchen helper/dishwasher/grocery runner stretched long into the afternoon. Rain fell steadily; Moose Creek poured past, the color of cafe-au-lait; and my evening waitstaff shift darkened the horizon, two hours off.

Details that should have been scored into my mind evaporated like drizzle on hot pavement. Admonishments piled up: when you do the grocery run to Camp, stop at the office for mail; you should be finishing your sweep and mop of the kitchen by 12:30; we're out of ground coffee. And we hadn't even gotten to the details I'd forgotten (or not yet mastered) about serving dinner: remember to ask who wants the vegetarian entree; remove the bread plates before serving dessert; start at position 1 and serve around the table to position 6; never serve only one person at a new table--take that entree back into the kitchen and pick up another so you can deliver two entrees to the new table. The list grew, as did my despair at ever learning all I needed to know to do the job correctly and efficiently.

Mosquito bites itched more than usual, my clothing didn't dry completely before the rain fell again--the cabin was festooned with cold damp clothing, the early morning temperatures never got about 45, making it nearly impossible to get out of bed let alone climb into cold underwear. My shoes were still damp, even fresh socks felt damp.... What have I gotten myself into? I thought. And though I've long coached myself not to say "I'll never be able to..." there I sat, damp, despondent, darkly thinking, "I'll never be able to...."

But then, as the song goes, "Wait a minute! It stopped hailing! Guys are swimming, guys are sailing." Miracle and wonder, the rain stopped, the clouds moved on, the sun came out. And there was the entire Alaska Range--capped by Mt. McKinley, Denali, the Great One--lining up on the horizon. The ridges closer in showed brilliant green with spikes of black-green spruce, and at the edges of trails bloomed clusters of Canadian dogwood. Bluebells found moist spots by freshets of water to hang their bell-shaped blossoms. Wooly Lousewort bloomed in Q-tips of purple, and Labrador tea showed its white blossoms frothy with stamens. On the walk back up the 1.1 miles of steep hill to camp the roadsides teemed with small blooms.

And then, miracle and wonder, the next morning on kitchen helper shift, I had my most efficient morning yet. I got the work done on time, I even managed to get to staff lunch on time. In the few hours between shifts I took a nap and a shower, changed for my evening server duties, and took off back down the hill, refreshed and ready for the next batch of detail-recall. And on the walk back up the hill, the evening sunlight warmed my back, a co-worker walked with me for a moment, and I struck up a conversation with a guest out to photograph their cabin on the last night of their stay.

The nice thing about tripping on your euphoria is that when you right yourself again, both the euphoria and the despair are tamed. The pendulum swinging between them assumes a more reasoned arc. You can see through clearer eyes.

So, thank you, Judy. And "kindly disregard [that] letter"!