MSI Press Blog

  In 1980, I fell down a flight of stairs. The day started out normally enough. Breakfast over, Donnie departed for work, and school lunches prepared, the kids and I were ready to take on the day, as usual. Lizzie had skipped off to her fourth grade class a few blocks from home. Three-year-old Noelle, dressed in a pretty pink dress and her blond hair tied up into two ponytails   with matching pink ribbons was tucked away in the back of our orange Pacer, where she could sit comfortably with her legs stretched out. (Those were days before the invention of seat belts.) Two-year-old Shane was seated on the outside stairs, waiting for me to bring out Doah, in his carrier, along with his suction machine for his trach tube. Doah was on the sofa, next to his suction machine. Everything and everyone in place – except that Shane needed a pair of socks. I quickly scooted down the basement stairs in search of clean socks that should have been on top of the dryer. And the, oops, I slippe...

On Donnie's bucket list since he was a child was hiking the entire length of the AT. Those who did so were called thru-hikers. Donnie aimed one day to be a thru-hiker. One day came after moving to Washington DC, where I had just landed a new job and Donnie was between jobs, Perfect time to hike the trail.  Shane at the time was ten, four years ahead in school, healthy, and strong. He had had a tentative relationships with Donnie, mainly bcause Donnie was big, strong, and imposing, with a bushy beard and deep voice. But, yes, he wanted to hike the trail with his Dad. The school agreed to let him have the time off (six months was the typical hiking time) since he was so far ahead and they did not know what to do with him, anyway. Thanks to his forestry training and days working for the US Forest Service, Donnie knew all the forest lore needed for a safe trip. He also knew what supplies were needed for a comfortable trip. So, off went father and son to the local version of LL Bean and...