on the final day of 2010

well kids, it's been quite the year. one full of movement, happiness, and blogging. i never could have imagined, at the beginning of the year, that my life would take me the places it has.

as i sit in my parents front room, listening to the sounds of my mother in the kitchen, i still maintain selling my house was one of my best decisions. the six months i spent living in a trailer with k, climbing everyday, seeing new places, touching the earth, were indescribably amazing.




2010 brought my sister home from the philippians, gorgeous and wonderful as ever. it showed me faces i never imagined i'd see again, and took away some i wasn't ready to part with.



there has been ups and downs. wrong roads, wrong climbs, sore muscles, and blistered feet. laughter, wine parties, music filling the trailer, dancing under the stars, brits, hippies, a whole lotta love, and sometimes a shower.



i hope i've also grown as a person, become more thoughtful, more loving, calmer, and logical.

i am excited to see what 2011 brings.

happy new year friends.

day after christmas blog

merry christmas.

here in northern utah christmas was not white. in fact, it was a gorgeous sunny day. so k and i did what any logical person would do on a sunny christmas, we totally abandoned our families and went for a bike ride.

i think it should be tradition.

though it may not count as abandonment since each of our families sent christmas on hiatus. as a truly dysfunctional, modern family we will wait until our sunshine has her turn with her dad, and my baby sister comes home from her top-secret mission.





both are totally worth waiting for.

so, we played a roof raising jam session on rockband, with mom on bass, k on vocals, and haders passed out in the chair like a true groupie. and spent a little time together.

by far, one of the best christmas's ever.

so, here's to you and yours. i hope your day was also lovely.

i'm feeling a bit grumpy this morning

it's been awhile since i've felt the sun on my face; worked my muscles into submission; or donned my harness. the joy of my summer travel is fading with my tan, and i am slowly losing sight of myself.

i have said before, (am i being redundant?) that the transition back to reality is a bumpy one. i think it would be easier if i had a goal, or somewhere to be, but i don't. i feel disconnected with reality, with my body, and with my sweet husband.

i think that may be the hardest part.

we were once a team, inseparable, very literally catching one another. but, now we part. he goes to the mountain, and i go to yoga. i guess this is how other couples live, each going their own way and coming together at the end of the day. many think spending an infinite amount of time together is a form of torture, likened to having fingernails pulled, or listening to nickelback*.

i don't.

i've always liked spending endless amounts of time with my husband. we did it while in alaska. living in a single room, in a single bed. we've done it every winter. we did it this summer.

i may just be having one of those type of days. the clouds are low, the sky is dark, and my mood emulates.

maybe it has nothing to do with k. he is really an innocent bystander.

maybe it is my dismal search for employment. i've never really had trouble finding jobs, maintaining yes, but finding no. (i become bored easily. perhaps you've noticed). i think that is why i write. it is the only thing that keeps my interest.....hmmm if only i had a degree.....or could somehow make people read my work.

nevertheless.

i am grumpy. you've been warned.

*side-note: nickelback is heinous. i just wanted to make that clear.

winter

something about winter is so cozy. the snow blurs out the dull gray of the sunless earth, the fires that warm and fill the house with the smell of oak, and everything slows down.






as we continue our residence with my parents, i feel k is slowly morphing into my father.



in great northern utah, winter has finally descended.

a moment of reflection

it feels strange to have gone from this

to this


i loved living in the trailer, in the way you love things that are inconvenient and cramped. i miss it, in the way that fantasizes the past.
i miss water as something that is hauled and measured; showers taken outside and the wind drying my body. when it got cooler, showers became less frequent, and where a debate of whether or not to unload the bathtub of all our clothes (in trailers bathtubs = storage) was worth the shower.
i miss the evenings, k cooking, and i reading, the dogs listening to the awaking coyotes as they howled their territory. i miss being worried about bears, thunderstorms, wet rock, and the weekends.
i always felt like i knew a place better; that i belong there more; that when others came it was my place they were visiting.


now we are back in the city, with its indoor plumbing, and hygienic requirements. with streets and houses and fence lines. we hike up the hillside, and look down on lights, airplanes, and houses strewn throughout the valley. bear must be healed or leashed, and reacts like an animal in a snare.
we drive two cars, and we separate, no longer together every moment. i buy coffee from a coffee shop; bread from a bread shop; and think about outfits, climbing clothes with holes are no longer appropriate.

it's an adjustment.

i miss the open spaces, the rivers, the trees, the red rocks, walking out of the trailer and seeing endless land. i miss the people, a community of stench, and uncombed hair.

i now check my email, and think about getting a form of employment. (which is depressing all in its own) the pollution smothers me, rips my lungs and throat open. and i am again left to face my purpose.

i think, in the end, that i've discovered the way i really want to live. i want a life that is more simple, more organic. one where my feet and hands are dirty with chalk and land. one where my weekday attire is a harness and a gear rack. where success is reaching the summit and standing, for a moment, on history.

where the two of us, and bear, makes the perfect party.

to my dad, on his birthday

another year passes, and i reflect on the many things you've taught me.

1. if i go hundreds of miles over, you will change my oil for me. then wash my car, and give me a lecture about oil.

2. playing is a wednesday activity.

3. naps are best when taken on the floor.

4. growling is an acceptable form of communication.

5. popcorn must be made with precision, and cleaning the popper is out of the question.

6. work days should begin slowly, with coffee, and jammies at the computer.

7. it takes talent to ride a bike, and you kick my ass every time.

8. 6 am is the only time to waterski.

9. anytime is a good time for bloody mary's.

10. when talking to babies; stomp, smile, laugh and make crazy faces, they love it.

love you dad. happy birthday

when it snows

we snowboard.

as we are momentarily back in northern utah, we will momentarily put down the climbing gear, and pick up the snowboards.

it seems, everyone else remembers clearly what it is like to be strapped to a piece of wood and hurl down a hillside. i however, will need a little practice.