Not so long ago, this trip seemed far off. Now it is a month away. I am both excited and intimidated at that prospect. There is so much to think about, so much to do. Not that we (Mary and I, mostly, since we see
each other most frequently) haven't talked a great deal about it. There have been some concrete details like flight arrangements. And shopping for gear (see the pictures!) - more of which remains to be done. And thanks to friends (like Fred and Chuck & Christene) who have loaned us materials, learning Spanish as best as possible. Getting our pilgrim credentials (like passports) which will get stamped in each of the villages and be our admittance into the hostels. Reading books and articles (see links and references). And talking to real people, like Nita & Joe, Wallace, Lucas and Scott, who have actually been there and hiked it and must be filled with words or wisdom for us, or so we hope. And then there's the breaking in of the hiking boots, the getting used to the feel of wearing a backpack, figuring out how to pack the back pack (just as soon as I get brave enough to take it out of its plastic bag). Deciding how little stuff we can really manage with for over a month. Taking care of details at home, like paying bills ahead, making sure my mom will be okay, making sure there will be someone to look after the cats, and the yard gets mowed. For me, making the technological leap to a netbook from my 8-year old home computer, then figuring out what to do about 
internet access oversees, wifi, downloading pictures onto the netbook, learning to create a blog and all of that, all because I know myself well enough to know I won't spend the time with a blank book and a pencil to journal - all of which would take about 14 seconds if I was 20. But I'm not.There are so many questions - what will the hostels (a.k.a refugios or albergues) be like because many don't have good reputations, how crowded will the trail be this year, are we in good enough shape for it, will another volcano eruption interfere with our travel plans, how are we going to work out communication with our families back here and with each other on the camino, are we really going to be able to get edible food because some of the books don't make it sound very available, am I going to be able to sleep at all in these hostels, and the list goes on. I suspect the important questions will all find answers in good time and the others won't really matter. Or else, as in the rest of life, we will learn to live without the answers.
We will do what we can do, given daily life and its demands, until the day comes when we board the plane. At that point, preparations end and the adventure begins. Or maybe, the adventure has already begun. I think it has. This week, as I was hiking in the mountains of North Carolina while I was there for a conference (and breaking in my new boots on real mountains with real mountain dirt!), I was thinking about my pioneering forebear, my great aunt Blanche. A woman who left behind a first hand memoir of her journey across the midwest plains, written in the hand of her daughter, Jean, to whom she told it. In the year 1886, when she was about 8 or 9, Blanche moved with her parents and four sisters (including my great-grandmother, Myrtle) from Indiana to Nebraska via horse and wagon and foot. It was a distance of about 640 miles by modern routes, probably longer then. She, and they, had the courage, as so many people did, to just strike out and walk miles upon miles to a new place and start life anew. I had the chance to meet Great Aunt Blanche just once, the summer of the year she turned 100. She was an amazing woman - almost blind, but still sewing quilts for 'old people' in nursing homes because they needed them for comfort. She lived to be 107. A sweet, gentle spirit with a lovely smile and laugh. I want to think that I have some of her appreciation for people and places and good times in me. I think that she would like that I am going on this adventure...
