Started today off at my brother's house. Well, I should say my sister-in-law's house, as she picked us up last night from the train station where the shuttle dropped us off. None of us particularly wanted to arrive at the hotel orientation point at 8:00 am and wait for four hours, so we ended up in a taxi (whose driver couldn't find the house and arrived 45 minutes late - good thing we weren't in a hurry). We still arrived early, so we decided to dump our packs (oh, could I have been any more nervous about that?) and head to the local convenience store for more sunscreen and possibly a second pair of glasses for Andy, who had broken the frames of his current glasses bending over to grab my backpack.

On our way back, we looked for a place for coffee, any coffee, for Kris. I was hoping that this might be a trip where Kris addresses his coffee addiction head on, the way I'm hoping to deal with my sugar cravings by taking a week off from them. My hopes were misplaced (clearly), as Kris definitely needed his caffeine this morning.

For the record, Kris says Wicked AZ has great coffee, if you're in the Flagstaff area. They also allow walk-ups in the drive-through, much to the amusements of the vehicle drivers behind us.

Orientation went smoothly. I was quite entertained by how much I began to recall of my previous trip during the orientation. I recalled the post-river ice cream stop, as well as the rough drive out off the Canyon off the river. I also recalled the nights in the cabins and the showers in the halls instead of the rooms from last time. I also recall staying at Indian Springs, and being thrilled about being able to stop there on the way down to the river.

We all introduced ourselves to the rest of our group. I was about to just start talking and talking and talking, but realized I needed to keep it short. I'm pretty sure I annoyed Kris and Andy when, after their introductions were each about 5 words long, I piped up, "Andy is a World Champion. Kris is a National Champion. I'll let you figure out in what."

Eh, it's not like it's not true.

Kris doesn't think anyone will figure out the "in what" part.

I have faith.

We're on our way up to the Rim now. I left my computer and my internet-enabled cell phone at my brother's house. I am both officially on vacation, and away from the Intarweb™ With that statement, I'd like to point out that Andy is still ON, and unable to give it up.

So, if anyone on Mischief thinks I'm obsessive about my internet connections, you should know that Andy's worse.

Yo, passenger in 12D,

So, when you have a choice between putting your bags in the overhead compartment over the row in front of you or in the overhead compartment over the row behind you, choose the row in front of you. Especially when the one in front of you is empty, and the row is already full of people. You know, people who put their small carry-ons under the seats in front of them.

By choosing the row behind you, you prevent not only the people in the row you put your bags over, but also all of the people behind that row, to have to wait for you to get yoru bags. Worse, we have to wait for you to push your wabay back, then be equally annoyed when you believe you ahve the right to push your way back to your row before the line starts moving.

With all of your bags.

Next time, spare us all your anyoying lack of plane manners, and put your bags over the in front of your row, or better yet, UNDER the seat in front of you, so that you can gather them on your way out of the plane.

Oh, and your three year old child? Does she really need to push the seat all the way back? I rmean, really?

Okay, we're on our way!

This is the first vacation in a LONG time that's neither ultimate nor family required. I think our honeymoon was the last one of these kinds of trips we've taken, and we know how THAT one turned out (think "missed flights" and "birds pooping on me" and "bladder infections" and you'll be on your way to the joy of that trip).

We're off to raft down the Colorado River from the Bright Angel Trail to some place close to Lake Mead. I had done this trip ten years ago, with Mom and Eric and Guy and Guy's family. It was fun. I'm not 100% sure what possessed me to suggest it again, but a 10 year gap is long enough to have forgotten much of the adventure, and I wasn't writing at that point, so this'll be somewhat new to me. It'll be completely new to Kris and Andy.

In the car to the airport, I wondered out loud if I had enough memory for the camera, as well as enough batteries to make it through the whole trip. I have enough memory for 4700 pictures, and 4.5 batteries, all juiced up (the 0.5 comes from the crappy Lennar camera battery, which seems to last half as long as the Canon camera batteries do). When Andy's dad heard my lamentation, he commented I better start taking pictures.

Andy let him know I already had.

Someone tell me how the dogs know that we're leaving. I mean, yeah, I know that they can tell from body language and all, but, to turn on the "Don't leave us!" cuteness? Gah, it's so painful to leave such cuteness.

How many of you expect to die?

I read the post on the NY Times entitled "How many of you expect to die?" Haven't read it? Go ahead. I'll wait.

The line that struck me hardest?

"The reward for living past age 85 and avoiding all the killer diseases, she said, is that you get to rot to death instead."

The post discusses the three most common ways of dying, which doesn't include the tragic, often violent, accidents that people hear about for the young (car accidents, fires, etc.). Instead, the speaker offers cancer (your body eats itself), chronic heart failure or emphysema (your heart or lungs give out), or frailty and dementia (the slow decline of health and mental capabilities, coupled with a slow decline in the quality of life - in other words, rotting to death).

I've maintained for years that I'm dying on my 120th birthday. That's my plan. Kris isn't too happy with it, having promised to try to make it to only 75 himself, but granting me permission to kick his headstone if he dies before 75. Sometimes I say my 121st birthday. Sometimes I tell Kris he has to live to 80.

Regardless, the plan is much longer than my grandparents' 80 years.

Being able to look at my grandparents' deaths, and extrapolating, I'm looking at cancer, lung cancer, Alzheimers and a broken heart. Yeah, not kidding on that last one. I'm pretty sure that's how my grandfather died after my grandmother passed. The will to live didn't last long after she went.

I used to be completely terrified of dying. I know the source of that fear was that I hadn't lived. Stuck within myself, I didn't know how to be comfortable with who I was. I'm not explaining it well.

Kris on the other hand, just doesn't think about it. Guy didn't either. Part of their charm, I think. When I talk to Kris about, he'll say, "Well, I've lived a good life."

And that's the point. Those who live a good life, full of adventure and purpose and enjoyment and fun, those who see the world as a good place, there's not so much fear. I live in one of the safest places in the area, but I lock all my doors, and close all the windows before going to bed at night. I always lock my car door. I worry about the house. I worry about the dogs. I worry about my world crashing down around me, through no fault of my own, but rather because of a vindictive peripheral person, or a governmental computer error.

The world isn't a good place for me as it is for Kris (even though it's much better than it used to be, that's for sure). I worry too much. Even Kris says as much.

Yet, I worry less about dying than I used to.

I can't say quite yet that I've lived a good life. I've tried hard to be a good person, and surround myself with good people. I've done a great job with the latter, always working on the former.

I don't want to die, though I'm coming to expect it, to understand just how finite my time is. I'm finally less inclined to say yes if I don't mean yes (thank you, Andy, for that lesson), but still need to work on not collapsing into myself, to take chances, to head to social events outside of ultimate, outside of my comfort zone. That's a hard part for me.

You get 80 summers in this life, if you're lucky. You get 80 winters in this life, if you're lucky. You find love if you're lucky. You find good friendships if you're luckier.

So far, I think I'm doing okay.