[stylist] feedback/critique request

[KajunCutie926 at aol.com]

Yes!!!  Great job on this and you never know  what will or will not win.  
What is still more important is that you put  your work out there!  A fine 
piece of writing, Chris!
 
Myrna
 
 
In a message dated 6/8/2012 7:44:20 A.M. Central Daylight Time,  
ckuell at comcast.net writes:

Thanks,  Shawn. For anyone interested, below is the final version that I 
sent 
into  the contest, after receiving feedback from this group. It's a big 
contest,  so I'll never win, but the exercise is good for the writing  
muscles.

chris

*   *    *   *


A Grand Perspective

By Chris Kuell

I  stepped outside the ophthalmologist's office, squinting in the sunshine. 
 
People walked briskly by as I stood dumbfounded. Another surgery. Nothing  
could
have scared me more.

I became diabetic at age nine, and  hadn't been very careful about what I 
consumed growing up. Mountain Dew,  Ring Dings-I ate whatever the other 
kids 
ate. At thirty, I developed  diabetic retinopathy in my right eye. I began 
a 
strict diet and daily  exercise, but still needed surgery to fight the 
destructive vein growth.  Despite the efforts of the best retinal 
specialists 
on the East Coast, I  lost all sight in that eye. Two years later, it was 
happening again in my  left eye.

I ambled down the sidewalk, keeping my emotions under  control. My dilated 
left eye focused on a neon sign that read "McCarthy  Travel." The window 
showed off colorful pictures of Cozumel, Hamburg,  Prague. A bell jingled 
as 
I went inside.

Back home, my wife asked  about my appointment. "Not good," I said. "Think 
you can take off work  Friday?"

The spoon dropped into her coffee. "Do you need to go back to  the doctor?"

"No. I bought us tickets to Phoenix, departing Friday  morning. I want to 
see
the Grand Canyon."

Our ten-month-old daughter  cried through most of the flight, and our son, 
who was almost five at the  time, didn't understand why we were even going. 
"Isn't the Grand Canyon  just a big crack in the earth?"

"Yes, but it's a really big crack," I  told him. "Trust me, you'll be 
impressed."

In Phoenix, we ditched  our jackets and headed north on I-17. Our first 
stop 
came after only  twenty minutes, at a cheesy tourist trap called Frontier 
Town. There were  several old, crooked buildings, some folks dressed in Old 
West garb, and  even a simulated gun fight every other hour. The most 
excitement came when  my son kicked a small barrel cactus and ended up with 
a 
sneaker full of  thorns and a newfound respect for the native flora. We 
also 
paused to take  a family photo in front of a twenty-five-foot saguaro 
cactus 
with a base  the size of a beer keg. One particularly good shot became our 
Christmas  card photo that year.

We continued a hundred miles north to Sedona,  which was as close to Mars 
as 
I'll ever get. We climbed around the  brick-colored terrain, amazed at the 
beauty of a world so different from  our native New England. Without trees 
or 
vegetation, it appeared as though  the hand of God had reached down from 
heaven and ripped everything off,  exposing the rocky red innards of our 
planet.

We spent the night in  Flagstaff, heading for the Grand Canyon the 
following 
morning. As my wife  drove, we saw a beautiful, snow-capped mountain peak 
rising up from the  desert to our right. It looked to be ten or fifteen 
miles 
away. The desert  is deceptive, though, because the mountain stayed off in 
the distance for  more than an hour before
we passed it.

We arrived at the South Rim  of Grand Canyon National Park and stopped at 
the 
first scenic overlook we  came to. As we left the parking lot, a gust of 
wind 
blew off my Red Sox  hat. The temperature was somewhere in the 
mid-eighties, 
and though the sun  was shining brightly, the wind made it almost chilly. 
My 
wife carried our  daughter and reminded me to hold my son's hand tightly.

We made our way  to a railed overlook extending thirty feet into the 
canyon. 
The view was  magnificent, the rock wall a yellow-gold color with many 
striations  visible across the way on the North Rim. With nothing but 
awe-inspiring  space to the east and west of us, this was definitely one 
hell 
of a big  crack. The slope was such that we couldn't see the Colorado River 
below,  so I followed my son's lead and stuck my head through the railing 
to 
get a  better view. The wind was so strong I could barely hear my wife's 
shouts  to get our heads back in.

We walked the Rim Trail the rest of the day.  Much to my wife's dismay, the 
trail ran without any railing just feet from  the edge of the canyon. When 
she stopped to drink some water or change the  baby, my son and I went 
off-trail, climbing out onto rocks that jutted out  into the canyon, 
thrilled 
as much by the danger as the breathtaking  view.

We drove and explored the various vistas along the South Rim,  enjoying 
occasional views of wildlife as well as the canyon itself. The  park is 
home 
to mule deer, which are very different than the deer we see  in 
Connecticut, 
as well as elk, rock squirrels, and small lizards. At one  point my son 
pointed skyward and asked, "Dad, is that an eagle?"

I  looked up, but my vision was so bad I couldn't see anything. "I'm not  
sure," I said. "Could be."

The sunset at Mohave Point was  spectacular. As the light grew low, the 
canyon walls turned amazing shades  of red and orange. After eating buffalo 
burgers in the village, we checked  into our lodge, which was more like a 
hotel than some national park cabins  we'd camped in. Exhausted, we all 
slept 
like bears, and in the morning  were greeted
by a shocking surprise.

While the previous day had been  sunny and in the mid-eighties, we woke to 
an 
inch of fresh snow on the  ground, a few flakes still meandering earthward. 
The view from the rim was  completely different-a sheen of white 
everywhere, 
with vortexes of snow  blowing around like stationary tornadoes within the 
walls of the  canyon.

My son found deer tracks and we followed them while my wife  packed up our 
gear. A half hour later, the deer tracks disappeared as the  snow melted 
and 
we helped
load up the car.

When all our  belongings were packed, we walked to the rim for one final 
look 
at the  canyon we'd traveled 2700 miles to see. I held my wife's hand, 
grateful  for her
love and support.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"You go  ahead. I'll join you in a minute."

I stood and gazed into the vastness  of the Grand Canyon, humbled by the 
work 
nature had performed. An ancient  river carved this masterpiece over the 
course of seventy million years. It  was beautiful, it was awe-inspiring, 
and 
it would likely be the last time  I ever saw such a wonder. A mist of tears 
clouded my waning vision. As I  blinked them away, I heard a soft snap to 
my 
right. There, not five feet  from me, was a deer. I stood, motionless, not 
even breathing, as it bent  its head, nibbled on a plant, and paid me no 
mind. Although I had no idea  how, in that instant, I knew everything would 
be  okay.


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