The piebald finale

The blisters are finally starting to peel...I shouldn't complain though because our medicine cabinet has kept me relatively comfortable despite the frightful mottled look. I almost imagine myself as Ransom in the C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy...entering Paralandra after having traveled with one side of his sleeping body exposed to the sun and the other still white. What did the green lady call him? Piebald?

Excerpt from an email I recently wrote.

Ah, there I go again: messing around with my face while I'm trying to think. Any other time in my life (excepting some scenario I haven't imagined) it wouldn't be a problem to put my hands to my face while thinking alone, creature of habit that I am. However, this is one time my face will not take more abuse--for abused it I have.

It all began on Friday evening. Yes, in fact, I was spending an hour or so of my precious time, optimizing and posting those Twisp pictures two posts down. Kevin rang me up and asked me if I would participate in a hike he was planning (again) to Artist's Point the next day. I knew I should study. I knew finals were right after the weekend. Here I was, not even done posting the aftermath of the previous hiking success and I was now planning to take on another one. I said I was down with the idea. I really wanted to make it up there at least once before the snow was all gone. Accordingly, a party of five hikers made their merry way to the top of Artist's Point the very next day. Our supply of sunscreen stranded back at the car, I resigned myself to the inevitable as the sun came out in full force upon the perpetually brilliant snow.

It was a great hike--we milked it for all it was worth. We made every hill into a slide, every mountain into a ski run. Our backsides took all the beating as we raced several different slopes on our way down. I'll have some pictures pending positive contact with several of the Thompson cameras. They should be good.

Home again, and the burn came on, along with the typical raccoon stripe across the eyes where the sunglasses once guarded against deadly snow blindness. You should know that Kevin, although generally more exposed throughout the day, didn’t suffer the half of my final skin hue.

The continuing adventures…

Sunday evening: The brake pedal on my car goes to the floor. A little pressure to be sure, but not enough to stand up to the rigors of my typical commute the next morning. With all the needed fluid present, it seems the master cylinder is ready for the next life. As it stands now, the needed part is now finally purchased and my cousin Josh will install it tomorrow evening, but...since then, it's been a wonderful life.

Monday morning: I go over my options for getting to Western for my one final that day. With a certain amount of study still required before taking that exam, I finally settled on the bus. It's been two years since I took the bus. It wasn't too bad. They seem to be a little more efficient than they used to be. The down side? A commute that includes three buses, two transfers, and 1 and a quarter hour of travel one way. What better time to look like a transient—on the bus with a face that smacks of over-exposure.

Now…

Anyway, I’m sitting in Starbucks, Anna having kindly let me use her car today to get to work. Starbucks here in Sehome square is open 24 hours on finals weeks at Western. Hopefully that means I’ll get something accomplished when I finally stop writing this account…