[stylist] feedback/critique request
KajunCutie926 at aol.com
KajunCutie926 at aol.com
Fri Jun 8 13:08:09 UTC 2012
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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