Date: 2004-12-31
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

7pm12.31.04Happy Last Day of 2004! Squeezing in one last entry before the new year descends upon us. Rather arbitrary, isn¢t it, to choose this day, as opposed to every other day, to be The Day. And not just this day, but in particular the midnight hour, as if at that exact moment, some climactic, cataclysmic event occurs, some universal clocks tolls as both hands point vertically north, as if some unseen, disembodied hand flips a galactic calendar to January 1, wiping the slate clean for another go-round. Time for the pledging of new resolutions, statistically speaking not likely to w/stand a week, let alone 52 of them. And, to be honest, although we¢re all egocentric and believe the new year begins wherever we happen to be, 2005 has already been ushered in somewhere in the Pacific and is already over 12 hours old. Whoever resides on the International Date Line, one of those bold black lines criss-crossing every world atlas, but completely nonexistent in any physical sense (and another totally arbitrary designation?) truly gets to herald the dawn. But I suppose there are really 24 individual welcomings of each and every year, one for each time zone. Or maybe more, b/c aren¢t there a few ¢intermediate¢ zones sandwiched b/t the hourly divisions? But, there may also be less, b/c there may be zones where people don¢t follow the Gregorian calendar. Maybe their ¢new year¢ falls on our Septemeber 27. Or April 14. Regardless, tonight is the dawn of my new year. And I know this is typically a night of revelry and carousing. But I feel, for me, it needs to be a time of reflection, on the paths I took in the waning year, and of the journeys to come in the waxing one. So many changes. Last year, if you¢d forecast that I¢d be where I currently am, well, I guess I¢d say it had a good a possibility as any. And in a year¢s time, who can say where I¢ll be. Prognostication is futile, at least for me. Seeking a predictable, bounded course in life closes so many possibilities. Maybe unpredictability makes you more open and exposed, more vulnerable to pain and disappointment, but it also allows the chance for greater joy and happiness. And freedom. Don¢t impose limits on yourself. Explore the world. Explore your life. Explore yourself.I splurged my REI gift card this afternoon. Spent hours in the store, most of it dispensing advice to two frazzled, nervous mothers, whose not-so-frazzled, not-at-all-nervous daughters were soon departing on their introductory backpacking trips, one to Mexico and one to Bolivia. The younger women stuffed, squeezed, and shoved increasingly sore feet into boot after boot, tromping and trudging through the store as their mothers plied me w/ questions. Being a hiker, I was only too happy to oblige. I quickly settled on a pair of Montrail Hurricane trail runners for myself, to replace my much beloved but sorely abused Vasque Ions. They were out of stock in my size of the latter, and I wanted a lighter shoe anyway. So, now my feet are equipped for my hike -- Montrails through the cold weather and snow, then shift over to the Chacos. My socks, amazingly enough, survived the incessant use w/ very little evidence of wear, aside from the olfactory; repeated soakings in laundry detergent masked the smell somewhat, but hiker funk is a deep-seated odor, and one not easily conquered. But, I love those little Fox River socks, and I haven¢t been able to find them again. The Montrails are super-comfy though, w/ some new Super Feet in ¢em. Forgot how nice those insoles are. My current pair have been thoroughly quashed after 1000 miles of pounding steps. I took the new runners for a couple-mile walk, to begin the acquaintance b/t my tootsies and their new abode. New shoes just have that bouncy, springy feel to them, akin to the ¢new car scent.¢ Makes for a jaunty stride. I should have examined my socks a little more closely though. In emulation of Mom, there was a giant hole in the heel of one. (These were not my sacred Fox Rivers, just a generic Hanes pair. A matched pair, though, unlike Mom.) A brief explanation -- Mom has a bit of a sock obsession -- she can¢t throw any sock away (or retire it to the rag pile) unless the opening at the toe box (which, in a normal sock, is non-existent) is the same size as the opening at the ankle. So, at any given time, she undoubtedly is sporting at least 4 socks, 2 per foot, arranging them so that the holes in each don¢t overlap, ensuring full coverage of every toe and heel. This means that, for a 4-day trip, she totes along a minimum of 16 socks. Yes. I know. Weird. And she never gets blisters. Dad, on the other hand, who diligently wears his liner sock and then his brand-name hiking sock, and religiously tapes up at least 6 of his 10 toes and slaps on a big slab of moleskin over each heel, is still plagued and hobbled by blisters after a day or two of hiking. Life just ain¢t fair. Or predictable. Okay, that was a giant, huge, long, largely irrelevant tangent. The point was, I didn¢t follow Mom¢s example and double up my socks to cover the heel-hole. The result? An imminent blister on my right heel. Unlike Mom, I have no compunction about discarding socks, and the guilty party is on its way to the big sock graveyard in the sky.