where the trees stand still

Let it be known:

2010-03-21T17:39:00.003-08:00

I LOVE GRAD SCHOOL.

I love it, I love it, I love it.

If "with the fire of a thousand suns" didn't have a negative connotation, I would tell you I loved it that much.

I haven't gone to class yet (that's tomorrow), but simply sitting through all of our orientation sessions left me full of anticipation, hope, and an eagerness to maximize every inch of this opportunity.

I also have well over 100 pages left to read.

Tonight.

I figured now was the time for a public declaration of my motivation and excitement. As my community, please remind me of this post and statement during the long days, long weeks, final exams and paper writing ahead.

Thanks in advance for your support.

taking longer bends

2010-02-24T07:46:00.012-09:00

My doctor recently gave me diet orders, offering a "simple" list of things to avoid: caffeine, chocolate, dairy, excessive fruit, fake sugar, carbonated beverages, and alcohol.

...My guilty pleasures are my morning cup of coffee, a good piece of dark chocolate, ice cream, sugarfree gum, diet coke, and a great glass of wine. These two lists, as you can see, are having a bit of a clashing problem.

I'm a fairly resolute person when I want to be, so maybe the word is less "problem" and more "major change." It will be a commitment, but I never really have doubts about my ability to make a change when I really, really think it's worth it. If this will make me feel better, I'm in. I'll change anything if you show me the value.

I say that, but the process has started me thinking quite a bit about how I handle changes, major or seemingly insignificant. The past six months have not been ones of smooth sailing and consistent, trusted, steady ground. Within one week last fall, I ended a two and a half year relationship, completed studying for and took the GMAT, and moved into a completely new role at work. The months since have been FULL, not only with a massive learning curve and adjustment that was often a welcome distraction, but with the processing and healing work of re-learning who I was outside of my definition alongside another. Add in the acceptance to and then subsequent prep for grad school as well as a barrage of medical tests, and I'll honestly admit that often my emotions got the boot, only to later force themselves in by way of some really funny irrational decisions and many moments for which I beg my friends not to judge me. I thank them, too, for hanging in...wow.

In a recent episode of Grey's Anatomy (stop judging), one of the characters told another, "I'm unringing the bell. I know you can't unring the bell, but I'm unringing it." Ringing the bell right now would be proclaiming that I'm pretty proud of how I've come out on the other side of some of these events...which in most moments I am, but to say that implies that I think I'm done, and what I've learned along this way is that "done" is rather elusive. Unringing the bell is me saying "I take it back." I take back some of what I've communicated, mostly that I'm all thought out and fine and moving forward. Everything is STILL changing daily and I'm stressing about it (thank you, Mom, for that gene).

So I'm unringing the bell, not in defeat but by purposeful choice. I'm choosing to stay unprocessed and un- neatly repackaged. Why? Because throughout the past months, I've had the emotional space to realize that while I was busy stressing about other things, many parts of me that I'd prayed for years would resolve had quietly done so without my notice. Many other parts of me that I thought I'd moved past re-surfaced, planted their feet and stared me down. I hit a spot one day in which the only way I could verbalize it was to say that, "the curves are just so much longer than I expected," in both good ways and bad.

I put a ton of pressure on myself to notice something, deal, and round the bend. Move forward, lesson in tow, and keep going. I think what I'd rather be is very okay with corners that may take a little time to round. Noticing some of these things that have finally and rather subtly resolved has been a very sweet relief, and a source of a new and deeper-set trust. Maybe in some areas it's okay to move and heal a little bit more slowly, and even more okay to not be able to see around the corner. I'd probably just start stressing about it anyway:)

(photo courtesy of Carol Sweetman)

Where I Stood

2010-01-28T13:46:00.010-09:00

I had a heartbreaking lunch today.

It's a human desire to have another understand us. At the end of the day, we want to know that someone else believes the best about us, sees our intentions and forgives us when we fail. We want to know that someone else comprehends that we're learning from every part of the journey, and that necessarily implies that we'll take a few missteps now and then. Most of the time, we get the chance to explain ourselves, or say, "I'm sorry," or excitedly explain the thought process that led to actual communication and progress.

Time is repeatedly teaching me that I often won't get that chance.

Often, I will have to sit and rest knowing I may never get the opportunity to explain. I'll have to walk forward without being able to make excuses or justify my actions. I will have to sit comfortably with myself, and release the other person from the pressure to "get" me, or even to think well of me. I think maybe it's the starting point of learning a fuller meaning of the word integrity, and cognitively I know that's a lesson I want to learn.

Kim recently passed along a song to me that I confess I've had on repeat. It's something I wish I'd stumbled across five months ago when there were so many words I didn't know how to say, and so never did. Below are portions of it:

I don't know what I've done

Or if I like what I've begun

But something told me to run

And honey you know me it's all or none

...I don't know who I am, who I am without you

All I know is that I should

And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you

All I know is that I should

'Cause she will love you more than I could

She who dares to stand where I stood

See I thought love was black and white

That it was wrong or it was right

But you ain't leaving without a fight

And I think I am just as torn inside

...And I wont be far from where you are if ever you should call

You meant more to me then any one I've ever loved at all

But you taught me how to trust myself

And so I say to you, this is what I have to do.

Cause I don't know who I am, who I am without you

All I know is that I should

And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you

All I know is that I should

Cause she will love you more than I could

She who dares to stand where I stood

She who dares to stand where I stood.

-"Where I Stood" Missy Higgins

"doing things badly and loving every minute of it"

2010-01-23T20:51:00.007-09:00

I can't take the credit for those words. They're words that were said to my dear friend Monica, then shared with me, and I'm adopting them as quickly as she did.

Every year around New Year's, Monica and I take some time to evaluate the closing year and set goals for the new one. It's a process I've come to love, one filled with brutal honesty in evaluation and then a great deal of hope. It's a morning spent in a coffee shop with a journal and a really fantastic pen, at the end of which my swirling cloud of confusing thoughts exists as a clear, visual representation.

When we got on the phone to talk about it, we gave a lot of space in our conversation to the idea of fear, and what we're holding back from the world because we're too afraid to do it poorly. If a theme is starting to show itself from between the lines of my lists and conversations, this is definitely it. That's where the "doing things badly and loving every minute of it" comes in - doing things we'd both typically hold back from doing, not being afraid to jump out there and maybe fall flat on our faces, but celebrating nonetheless that we got out there at all.

So, being an all or absolutely nothing kind of person, and maybe just a little inspired by the recent conversations, I jump-started this new year of fearlessness by doing something completely out of character last night, and in all honesty it didn't go as I had hoped. In fact, I think I may have really crashed and burned. I'm still waiting to feel embarassed or disappointed by it, and I haven't yet.

The shocker is, I didn't wake up this morning feeling any of those things. I woke up nearly laughing, surprised a little at my own gumption (interpreted exactly like it is represented in "The Holiday"), and more than a little excited that I'd had the courage. I put my heart entirely out on the line, holding it so far out from my body that I might have dropped it, and while it wasn't received, I woke up the next day as the same intact, whole and vibrant human being. I hadn't held back, I hadn't played it safe, and at the end of the conversation I was still okay. I needed an answer, and I got it, and I can now walk forward (gosh, it sounds painfully simple when written into words) with freedom I haven't felt in a while.

I have spent today almost celebrating on the inside, because in 27 years of existence I haven't until this point been able to do that. I've always been very controlled in relationships, making sure my heart got nowhere near a point where anyone could hurt it. Turns out that I was rather arrogantly assuming I was the one in charge of protecting it, when the easier thing may have been to trust the God who designed it to hold it for me.

Mags told me that times like this are exactly why she's becoming a counselor. This is a single, momentary lesson I'll carry with me, and one that will make me hold onto myself just a tad more loosely. Experiences like this give you the trust to walk forward with the full, resting knowledge of who you are and of the God who made you to love deeply and well, and without holding back what you were made to offer.

So, 2010. It just may be the year of confidently doing things really, really badly. It may be the year that I finally stop wasting my heart on fear. Anyone with me?

my sister's home

2009-12-13T14:47:00.009-09:00

My sister's home feels like rest.

Maybe you don't read that as a compliment, but I mean it in every full and comforting sense of the word. I mean it in the way that feels like an exhale longer than any I've taken in a while. If someone said it about my home, it would be the largest compliment he or she could give me, and I'm fairly certain she'd feel the same.

I recently (I figure "recently" is more loosely defined in the blog world, right?) returned from a terrific thanksgiving and five days of just doing life with her, Ben and my nephew David, and the time couldn't have been better. We didn't schedule our days into the ground - we made waffles at noon, and had gelato before dinner because, well, that just worked better for David's schedule. I think I got more than eight of hours of sleep every night, and far more than eight hours of playing with David. My heart hurts every time I fly home from there without knowing the next time I'll see him, and thinking about how much he will change in that time.

All in all, a wonderful weekend spent with people I love dearly. Enjoy the photos.

knowing and being known

2009-11-12T13:58:00.011-09:00

I'm a big fan of things coming full circle. Maybe it plays into the control-freak side of my brain that likes everything neatly packaged, sealed, and placed back on a shelf. Maybe it makes it easier for me to categorize a section of my life, or at least to know how to line it up and define it next to other experiences. Maybe, when everything keeps changing on me, it helps me feel as though at least that one thing is steady. I used to thrive on change; now, I am not as willing to be so sure.

This past week, I sat beside one of my most longstanding, treasured friends at a small acoustic concert of an artist we first listened to in college. It was the beginning of our friendship, certainly a time when neither of us knew that life would keep us in the same direction for years to come. It was a time in our lives in which both of us were a little less jaded, and quite a bit less afraid. We became friends because of a similar nature to search, to seek out, to learn, and to change. I can't count the number of times I cried on her dorm room floor as yet another lesson pulled the rug out from beneath me, and forced me to recreate the constructs of the worldview upon which I was standing.

As we've grown up, we have done life in the same place for seven of the last nine years. In that time, I think we've both learned ourselves better as we've tested out careers, cities, experiences and relationships. What I absolutely know of me, in friendships and relationships, is that I do not feel loved until I feel understood. Something in my heart calms down when I stop having to explain, and when I trust that someone sees as much integrity in the stumblings of my heart as I, in turn, see in hers. Maybe it's a lesson that only time could have brought to the table, but I deeply know the value of a friend that has seen me at my brightest, shining best and also been present in the lowest of moments. I know her; I know when something pushes her left of center and I trust her process in traveling back. In turn, I know I am absolutely known by her, that she sees the core of my character and trusts its depth when nothing on display is trustworthy. She continually voices my process when I'm out of words to understand it myself, much less communicate it.

We sat in the concert, moved by the depth of the lyrics and the honesty of the music, much as we were when we first heard this particular artist in college. It made conversation come easy, and we caught up on the parts of us that were being re-shaped as of late. We fell into silence, and I rested in a deep gratitude for my friend, knowing that for all the times we've understood each other perfectly, each is matched by a time when either or both of us didn't quite get it, made assumptions, and failed to see. We've cried on a lot of porches as we figured out how much we misunderstood and questioned each other, and got back on the same page. I was overcome with the grace-imparting knowledge that I am human, and when dealing with other hearts that are human, there will always be times when I miss the mark on seeing another. I will always make judgments on some things too quickly, and I may always need the other to explain. As soon as I understand, I'm usually pretty incapable of holding back love. I'm thankful for friends like this one who trust my intentions enough to explain their own.

As we walked out of the concert, I looked at my friend and said, "there is no one I'd rather have shared this night with than you." Something in our friendship has come full circle, and is calming down into something very steady, and very constant-- something that feels a lot more like rest. In this season, I will claim it as a welcome gift, and remember to whisper a humble thank you.

At the end of a season, you dig things up.

2009-10-25T19:12:00.003-08:00

I dug up and "turned under" the garden this weekend. It seems inconsequential, mundane, really, and quite honestly not the way I would have chosen to spend my Saturday if I didn't believe it was going to be the last warm and sunny day to get it done. I talked to my mom earlier that morning, and she encouraged me to use the time to think and process through recent events that have left my thoughts, heart, and everyday motions nothing shy of just plain overwhelming (can I use this as a scapegoat for the blogging hiatus?).

I did think quite a bit as I pulled, chopped, and stuffed into bags the remains of what was once thriving and productive. I am fairly certain that when something takes that amount of work to take apart, it can only indicate that an even greater amount of time and energy went into its creation. When you have to fight to destroy something, you don't get the luxury of forgetting the hours spent digging, sweating, and working to create it. You don't get to forget the shared efforts that made it more than something you could do by yourself, and the feeling of knowing you weren't the only one excited and committed to reach the goal.

As I turned every shovelful under, I couldn't help but feel as though I was ripping up and then burying what I'd once fought so hard to build. I blinked back tears and let my dirty and scratched-up self just exist in the middle of the mess. I undid, row by row, what I put so much of myself into doing. I mourned a little, and if I'm honest I'll tell you that I mourned quite a bit. Lauren asked me more than once if I was doing okay. I told her I was and I meant it.

It's the end of the season, and at the end of a season, you dig things up.

You turn them over and start the process of laying the groundwork for next year. There's something to be said for mourning what you're removing, but a whole lot more to be said for the new ground that's turned over. I walked inside yesterday only after pausing at the door to review the work accomplished, and from my doorway I saw not a yard full of dead and dying plants but instead a plot of perfectly overturned and cleaned-up earth. Something inside me gave way to the thought that this just may look a little more like hope. It's a tentative thought at the moment, but hope nonetheless, and for that I am thankful.

commitment, revisited again.

2009-08-12T15:12:00.018-08:00

"Commitment" is an ironic term for me, in far more areas than one. While most of that we'll save for another (much longer) post, the irony here is that it's taken me three posts labeled "commitment" to finally get these pictures up here. My desire to work on letting my yes be yes and my no be no is getting somewhere, really. It is.

That wee disclaimer out of the way, here are the long awaited pictures of my summer commitment. I honestly feel like this is a glimmer of what having a kid is like-- as soon as I get around to posting pictures, it's already changed so much again. I'm still posting these, however, because what my garden has grown into defies all parts of me that like things in neat, orderly rows.

Here's an overview:

Cucumbers (we've already made pickles!):

Zucchini:

Tomatoes (we celebrated the first red one last week, when Mags was here to join in the triumph with some envy-inducing bruschetta):

Eggplants (!):

Tomatillos:

Heirloom Dragon-Tongue Beans (these, we've discovered, don't taste good. They just look pretty and grow in abundance. It's a little tragic.):

Jalapenos:

Lettuce:

Unpictured, but just as celebrated: basil, oregano, rosemary, green peppers, carrots and cherry tomatoes.

The first cooking endeavors, a batch of roasted garlic and jalapeno tomatillo salsa, and some homemade tomatillo dressing:

And for good measure, the friends that share in my excitement. I'm just so thankful for them:

Commitment, revisited.

2009-07-21T18:16:00.004-08:00

Remember my tiny garden pics in this post?

I left for a week to lead a trip at Timber-lee, and came back to SERIOUS overgrowth. I have more zucchini than I can eat (the plant is 4-5 FEET in diameter), jalapenos that smell hot, tomatillos, and an alarming amount of lettuce. My mom told me something about not letting the lettuce go to "flower,"... or was it "seed?" Due to this vague understanding of the term, I came out of the conversation only knowing that I had to move through the lettuce pretty quickly when it was ready. Add that to my already prone-to-stress personality, and it's me vs. the lettuce. I feel like I'm putting lettuce on everything I can, and those seven little heads just keep growing back!

Michael got me this book and we're already loving it for what to do with everything. Who knew that I can cook the blossoms on my zucchini? In true American style, you can actually beer-batter and fry them. While that makes me feel badly about my vegetables, you can cook them other ways (stuffed with ricotta-esque ingredients) and I am determined to try!

Pictures to come, along with the results of our first attempt at tomatillo salsa. So excited to share!

violation

2009-07-21T08:58:00.004-08:00

To the person who so unkindly entered my vehicle last night:

That was not yours to enter. At the very least, you could have cleaned up the mess you made. I'm quite sorry that you obviously did not find what you were looking for, but to leave all signs of yourself strewn about the floormats, including CASH, leaves me feeling three things:

One, you're not the brightest. Right there in front of you was not only a whopping $9 of emergency gas money, but a radio that everyone keeps telling me I should keep in my glovebox or purse for precisely this situation. Maybe something scared you before you got that far?

Thanks for not taking my fisheye camera-- there are pictures on there that are precious to me. Kind of you to leave my snowscraper and two crazy creek chairs as well, and I'm REALLY thankful you didn't do anything with my insurance cards or registration. Nobody likes the DMV.

Two, I'm annoyed. I hate a messy car. Know your audience. And really, do you think you could have at least shut the door? Thankfully my lights don't stay on, because to try and get to work with a dead battery might have been a trick.

Three, you scared me, and for that I'm honestly just angry. I'd like to think that in my driveway, all the way up by the house in our very-stereotypical-white-middle-class-neighborhood of young professionals who wear popped collars and play frisbee in the park on a Wednesday for fun, that things like this don't happen. I'd like to be able to leave my front door unlocked when I'm home, and not have my guests feel like I have to move a stick and undo 3 deadbolts to answer the door. I'd like to not have the mental picture of someone sneaking so close to my house at night while I'm peacefully sleeping upstairs.

And really, what were you looking for? I keep racking my brain of anything of value that might have been in there that I'm missing, but you left enough that it clearly looks like you were on a one-track mission. That's unsettling, and I sincerely hope that you don't have something you shouldn't.

I hope you find what you need, and more importaintly I hope you find it by an honest method. The violation tactic is simply unkind and scary.

thoughts on family

2009-07-03T10:48:00.009-08:00

I am absolutely convinced that one of the greatest things my parents have done is given their children freedom-- freedom to dream of far places, to set out on our own and build our own lives, be they close to home or not. My parents, with both my sister and I living over 1200 miles away (in different directions) have never once communicated any sort of resentment or invoked anything close to a guilt-trip. We've simply learned how to travel smarter, and to move making time and finances available to see family up on the priority list.

That being said:

I have very simple thoughts on family at this point, and the overwhelming theme is that it's always better to be in the same place.

Always.

on consistency

2009-06-11T07:17:00.002-08:00

My best friend responded to my post on commitment with words that suggested she didn't believe "consistency was one of her strong suits." Unlike me, though, instead of dwelling on her perceived lack of consistency, she's throwing her head up and facing into changing that perception with her unfailing glass-half-full optimism. When she learns a lesson, she doesn't stay in the often uncomfortable learning process. She simply says a louder thank-you for the discomfort, picks it up and uses it to change herself for the better.

I love her. And I love her response to her own inconsistency, and what she's doing about it.

...but I don't agree with her.

While she looks at areas she has been inconsistent, I'm looking at the places she's been more than steady, committed and unwilling to let go. Mags believes in relationships at her core, and even in the busiest of her working-and-going-to-school days she carves time to keep those intact, and to stay up to date on the daily lives and thought processes of those closest to her. It's something that has taught me, to be honest, and encouraged me to keep leaning in when the busyness of life tempts me to call it a day without returning a phone call.

For every phone call that I fail to return, Mags keeps calling. She's the one that ensures that we don't go weeks without catching up, and gently reminds me when I'm getting a little delinquent on it. Every gift in the mail comes very intentionally and artfully wrapped, and NEVER without a handwritten card. Some people probably don't notice, but it speaks volumes to me because I know she took the time. Even when she sent back my sweater that got mixed up in her luggage, I got a pretty little note.

For a decade (or is it longer?) now, she's been a more consistent friend than I think most experience in a lifetime. I can't exhaust her with the swirling thoughts in my mind and heart, and I can't outdo her generosity and empathy.

My favorite part is I know I'm not the only friend of hers that feels this way.

Happy birthday, Mags. Today I'm celebrating your consistency, and looking high and forward with you for your 25th year.

on commitment

2009-06-07T19:41:00.009-08:00

Within the past year, my sister and brother-in-law had a child, as did two of my dear, dear friends. July will bring two more babies, with countless others announcing they're expecting.

Easter and Memorial Day came with travel plans for weddings, as will the upcoming Labor Day. On Saturday, someone I absolutely celebrate as a friend is asking the lady he loves to spend the rest of her life with him.

Mags seriously contemplated getting a dog, which (really!) is no small undertaking.

I, never really known as the one who embodies the let's-jump-in-and-not-look-back mentality (please don't call me non-committal. I've heard that more than enough), took a fairly significant leap, considering my frame of reference, and started a vegetable garden.

Yep, I'm calling it commitment. Those little plants look to me and the sky to meet pretty much all of their needs, and if I'm honest I admit that even the fact that they need water twice a day seems a tad on the demanding side. What if I want to leave for the weekend? Need to find someone to water. What if weeds start growing around them? They can't pull them out alone. Hail storm? Helpless mother. Lost a tomato plant today to a near-golf ball of hail that sliced it clean.

The thing about this commitment is that I love it. It doesn't scare me or exhaust me. I LOVE coming home from work and unwinding my mind and my heart from the day by doing what needs to be done in the garden. I love the fact that digging in the ground, side-by-side, created space for conversation with my mom, and that it has done the same for Michael and I. I love knowing that it comes with a huge potential for failure, and doing it anyway.

Small steps, right?

today's thoughts.

2009-05-06T12:06:00.006-08:00

I read something today that made a lot of sense to my heart. I don't know her, but she writes on This Ordinary Day, a gem of a blog written by a group of people stumbling though this stage of life. Here's what she (Sam) wrote on April 30:

Lists
on 30. Apr 2009 in Sam.

I love lists.

Grocery lists. To-do lists. Student progress lists. Longterm goal lists.

You name it and I’ve probably written it in Sharpie and categorized it. I would be more in love with the Google Task List function if it weren’t for the fact that it negates the need for a Sharpie (something I just can’t get over).

Recently, we’ve been telling life stories in my Bible study. As I gave mine, I realized something: Somewhere along the line of grocery lists and packing lists I began to create a failure list in my head. I told my friends that I loved teaching in part because I was good at it, but largely because kids aren’t like the rest of the general public. For starters, they really don’t care about your resume — they care that you show up every day. And they forget. They let go of all the tiny little imperfections that come shining through each day – mostly because they don’t notice them in the first place.

They don’t notice the copies I didn’t make. They don’t care about the pile of laundry currently taking residence on my floor. They would most likely laugh at my dog who I’m becoming increasingly convinced will never learn to sit or stay. They don’t care that my lessons aren’t perfect or I that I never know where my phone is. For them, that’s simply not what me in their lives is about.

It wasn’t until I told my Bible study about the things I love about teaching that I realized that I love my kids because their lists are so different from mine. Their lists are about sharing mechanical pencil lead, grabbing a friends jacket before it gets thrown in lost and found and making sure everyone has a chance in kick ball. I could give you a list right now of the 10 things I’ve messed up this morning (and it’s only 9:30), but I probably couldn’t whip out a list 10 things I’ve done really well or 10 things I’ve done to impact people in the last week.

And the thing is, I know I have. I know that if I sit down and take some time to think about it, that list is there — and it’s longer than 10 things. It’s just so easy to focus on the screw-ups. It’s so easy to say I didn’t do it right. Or well enough. Or at all.

I’m starting to really wonder where all of that gets us. I’m all about self-critique. Teaching in a scores-driven education system certainly forces me to review, analyze and critique my own performance. But on a day-to-day life kind of level I’m not really sure my list of failures has ever gotten me anywhere. It has certainly blotted out my view of the total package of my life. I become too busy with the wrongs to see the rights. And my life is certainly a mixture of both.

To remedy this, I’m going to sit down and write my list of things I’ve done well this week. And I’m going to keep it with me — tucked in my bag with my shopping list and laundry list and four tubes of lip gloss. I’m going to think about those things and the things my students and the people I love would put on my list. And I’m going to worry a little bit less about the things I do wrong in a given day. I’m going to have a week driven by my positives list instead of a week haunted by my negatives, and I’m going to see how things feel at the end of it. Then I’ll decide what list to keep around for the long term.

Tell me, at the start of this week, what does your list look like?

http://www.thisordinaryday.com/2009/04/30/lists/.

This girl has figured out something I think I desperately need to learn. Hope it says a little something to your heart too.

And PS, yes I DO love Sharpies, post-it notes and lists a little more than your average bear.

fun facts about april 30

2009-04-30T07:48:00.004-08:00

Facts (fun ones) about April 30, as shared with me by Mags:

"1. April 30 is National Honesty Day (good one).
2. April 30 is also national oatmeal cookie day (LOVE IT).
3. if you can believe it, it's also the day, in 1904, that the ice cream cone made its big first debut.

NOT a bad day to be born."

She adds, "I fact checked online too; all three things are real."

Proud of my day. It stands for good things.

Honesty, cookies and ice cream, folks.
Honesty, cookies and ice cream.

free turkey, dessert and basil plant.

2009-04-16T19:30:00.008-08:00

I am unashamedly one of those people that gets a remarkable amount of sheer joy from a bargain. I mean, joy. I feel like I just won something, however tiny and insignificant. For that one little moment in my little world, I triumphed over the consumer market that constantly wants to take away what I work so hard to save. The grocery store? It's just about to the point of epic battle each week. I go in, coupons and weekly sale ad in hand (alongside a list in which I've carefully noted all the items on sale-- at two different stores, so I can see which one has better deals for me that week...I'm not kidding. I get it from my mom), and it's me against the store. I either come out elated or beaten down by the fact that food, really, offers me no return on investment. It just gets consumed, and then I never get it back.

Michael has actually had to point out to me that how much I spend at the grocery store and whether I stayed under my budget or not does not have to affect my mood for the next hour. For real.

Since Thanksgiving, we've had a coupon for a free Norbest brand turkey, up to 22 lbs, clipped to our fridge (where we faithfully clip all coupons we just might use. Again, the bargains). It expires at the end of this month, so we decided to celebrate Easter one week late, when all were back in town after family celebrations. Now, this coupon clearly states that if Norbest is not available, the retailer can submit it to the manufacturer for the cost of ANY BRAND (it's actually in caps on the coupon) turkey.

Well, march ourselves right to Whole Foods we did (quite a lie. To be honest I was whining. It's raining outside). And really, all they carry are the free-range, hormone-free, vegetarian fed kind. The kind that would cost $54.18 for those unlucky folks without our coupon. The kind that I feel so much better about eating because I know they didn't grow up smashed in next to 84 of their friends. Above, you can see the picture of our hen's childhood home, the Diestel Turkey Ranch in the Sierra Nevada. An obligatory shout-out.

The happy folks at the register took the coupon without even a question, and patiently rang up a $5 coupon code eleven times, as registers apparently aren't set up to offer fifty-four dollar discounts. ...and the joy I felt on the inside swelled. We definitely WON on that coupon, Norbest brand.

So gleeful were we that we stopped by the dessert counter, filled with rows and rows of beautiful creations (I think I could actually be happy being a decorative baker for the rest of my life if what I made was that pretty), treated ourselves to dessert and picked up a small basil seedling (#2 in my herb garden) on the way out.

Why a whole story about joy from a free turkey? Because today, the free turkey, tiny little basil plant and aesthetically pleasing dessert reminded me of small joys I too often look past. An entirely frustrating day at work was erased by a coupon. I'll take it.

untitled

2009-03-24T07:07:00.004-08:00

I haven't written lately.

It is not for lack of things to say, or for an absence of ideas and emotions swirling in my heart. It's not even lack of desire, because I've wanted to write. I am a far more settled, sorted out and honest being when I've had the chance to sit down and unravel into words what only swirls around in a tangle in my mind. My mom has told me more than once that I think too hard--that I think myself into the ground. This could be alarmingly powerful if I learn how to spend my thought-time well, and apply it to the things in life and in the world that could stand someone's attention. Often, though, my thoughts pour into things that matter more on the temporary scale, and I get stuck. I make these great intentions to write, and end my day instead so exhausted that sleep always sounds like a better choice.

Very aware, everyone, that it's always a better idea for me to be writing. I start most of my important conversations by writing it all first. With words it is organized, and important pieces are not forgotten or misplaced. Tone of voice is intentional, not wielded haphazardly. With words, it's black and white and in nice lines that feel a lot more manageable than the thousand grey shades and assortment of shapes and colors in my head.

The lesson as of late is that I am a person that believes strongly in communication, yet does not do it. I believe how you say something is just as important as the actual content of what you say, and that it matters immensely to how effectively it is received. I am confident to my core that it is always a better idea to communicate an idea in order to initiate a change. Yet, while I can say all of this in these magical and organized words, in my own sphere of influence and relationships I often choose against communicating, squeezing my eyes shut and somehow hoping that it will all change into a perfect situation.

This is a ridiculous idea.

It never works that way. What's more, I've learned time and again that it never works that way, and yet I keep trying. I even started to let it scare me that this was just the way I was, and that I was doomed to continually fail at relationships because I was not willing to communicate or ask for change. I started to discount other people because in my eyes-shut, communicating-only-on-the-inside world I didn't allow them room to respond in a different way than I had already decided they would.

So cheers to saying things out loud, and sooner rather than later. Here's to putting it out there-- not recklessly, but purposefully-- because once it's out there it actually asks for and allows things to happen, and people to grow. Here's to mustering a little bit of courage to face into the fact that I may not always like the results. ...and here's to giving people credit to respond well, and thoughtfully.

Funny that something so simple can make me feel so much like I'm out there on a limb.

ps: On a totally separate note: here's to the amazing Indian dish I cooked for dinner. Check it out here.

if my walls could talk, I can only hope they'd be this honest.

2008-12-10T07:21:00.006-09:00

I think this may turn out to be part "thank-you" and part wonder; maybe part relief.

Two nights ago, I sat in my kitchen with the three remarkable women who I share life with on a daily basis. Our kitchen is rarely a place to be alone, and countless conversations have moved through there - serious, funny, lighthearted, sometimes sad and sometimes loud. I love that place, and I cherish the friends that fill it. I would make my friends dinner on a nightly basis if it meant they'd come and share their lives and simply themselves with me like that.

I'm a little suprised by how closely you can live to others, and still be unaware of so much that is happening in their lives and minds. On Monday, one tiny leap of uncertainty was offered up without any idea of the response, and it opened up space for more honesty than has traveled between us up to this point. I wasn't the only one ready to burst with grace, with empathy, with maybe just a desire to communicate "I understand because I've been in that place." My natural bent is to assume I'm the only one feeling what I'm feeling, and time and again I am proven wrong. It happens weekly when I talk to my best friend thousands of miles away, and apparently the weekly reminder still hasn't quite sunk in that it might ALWAYS be a better plan to reach out and offer what's going on inside, on the off chance that it makes sense to someone else. It always does.

At this point of my life, I know enough about myself to know that what I need to feel loved is to be understood-- to be validated that I make sense and the things swirling around in my brain aren't really all that abnormal. It makes it a funny response, then, that when I'm unsure of something my first instinct is to hold it back, and keep that part away from the friends who know me best. Unless they see it, they cannot affirm that it's okay, and so then I continue on in a building tangle of uncertainty. On paper, I can see that it's clearly not the most effective option, and my response to friends in similar places is always, "why didn't you say anything sooner?"

Who knows how I'll pull through on the this one, but maybe I'm saying I'd like to take a step toward putting it out there rather than holding it back. I hope it makes my friends feel like they can too.

All that to say a humble and grateful "thank-you" to the women around me here in Denver. I'm impressed by you, sad to have never had that conversation with you all earlier, and hopeful for where we're going.

calling it quits.

2008-10-19T14:35:00.009-08:00

Sixteen weeks ago, I thumbtacked a training plan to my wall and started training for a marathon.

Three weeks ago, I ran 20 miles, the longest of my training runs.

Today, I sat in church when I should have been out running in the race into which I poured just about all of me for the past four months.

Long story short: stress fracture in my right leg. After way too many "I'll just push through it" runs ended after a half-mile of pain, I realized that the damage I would do by running a marathon on it was not worth the purely ego-based desire to finish what I started out to do.

I'm fighting with all I have not to take this in as failure. Everything inside wants to say, "If I'd just trained a little more slowly," or "If I'd just read a few more articles about how to do this well," or "If I'd just had my feet tested and shelled out the cash for high-end shoes..." Some days its, "Maybe I just wasn't tough enough to push through the pain."

That last one is probably irrational, but it's honest.

In college, I took a lot of time and care to learn from everything I experienced. The lesson this time is not that I'm unable to do a marathon. I'll pick another one, and train again. The lesson, which has surprised me a little, is the amount of identity I attached to my running during the training process. I was a runner, impressing myself at what my body could do, and loving being able to say, "oh, I'm training for a marathon." My days, thoughts, and relationships revolved around my daily run. ...and I've never been happier. I LOVED logging my times, watching my calories, hydration and hours of sleep, and mapping out new routes for the long runs. I loved needing to buy the little packs of energy chews because they actually were a need.

When the pain brought my running to a fast stop, I was shocked at the amount of time in my day, and the way in which I was not always certain how to fill it. I had extra space for thoughts, to-do lists and relationships I had neglected. I was smacked in the face with the priorities I had been choosing, and maybe the realization that I wasn't always proud of them. It's a balance I want to fight harder for next time-- the delicate line of pursuing a goal without getting so lost inside of it that you're blind to quite a bit of everything else.

I have a huge fascination to the things we all attach ourselves to in order to create an identity, a definition, a "thing" that we can claim as ours. I think that's human to do, and not necessarily bad, but I do want to be more aware of that by which I'm defining myself. I want it to be a conscious choice and careful intention, not a haphazard definition that I stumble into simply because my days are full and I'm rushing through them. I want it to be something not unlike the solidness and steadiness of Christ, something that is not so easily yanked out from underneath, leaving me wondering where I went.

Summary: too much running, got a little lost in it. Learned, picking up, and moving on.

PS: pictures from the raft trip (AMAZING) are here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=10651&l=0e45b&id=516329942

and here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=10676&l=71ad1&id=516329942

humility and reverence

2008-09-04T08:45:00.012-08:00

Yes, that is where I will be tomorrow morning.

Six of us will take four days and two rafts to do the 44-mile stretch of the Green River that winds from CO into the backcountry wilderness of Dinosaur National Monument in Utah. The section itself is called the Gates of Lodore. Google it; the pictures are unreal. We will travel through three canyons on Class II-III whitewater, with the canyon walls in some places reaching 2500 feet from river level.

In the same way that some folks get excited about a shiny new car or a fabulous dress on the clearance rack (don't get me wrong; I will ALWAYS be excited about a great dress on sale), something in the deepest part of me starts pushing outward at the prospect of seeing a new part of Creation, a landscape unlike any that I have yet experienced. My heart knows the quiet of feeling small before something so much larger and stronger than myself, and getting a little lost in the beauty that is my heavenly Father's work on display.

I'm feeling blessed, during a stage of life marked by change and uncertainty and never a huge amount of discretionary income, to be offered so many opportunities to see places and travel. I am blessed to work for an organization that supports adventure and outdoor pursuits to an extent that I barely had to ask for time off. I am blessed to have held jobs in which I earn income to take people on some of their first experiences in the wilderness that grabs more of my soul every time. I'm blessed to live where I can disappear into incredible places over the weekend. At the same time, I am blessed to have enough to buy a plane ticket to see my sister, who will only be pregnant with her first child once.

I think the world keeps trying to tell me that I need more, and that what I have is not enough, when really, I have so much more than I need or sometimes even want. That's why I keep going to these places-- out there, I remember what is important, what I love, and what simplicity still has to teach me. I feel small, a part of something big, with a mix of emotions both humble and reverent in the same quick breath.

My camera is in its Pelican box; I hope to post pictures when I get back on Wednesday.

stats.

2008-09-03T20:49:00.010-08:00

I don't run with an iPod.

The wires, the tangles, the constant fiddling... I can't even handle it, so I don't bother. I run a lot these days, getting ready for the marathon on October 19. People keep asking me if I get bored, and the honest response is "no," not even a little bit.

I feel as though a day does not go by in which I don't have something I want to write about-- something I see, feel, or overhear that stops me in my daily swirl for just a minute. To be honest, I think I blog and journal because if I don't write those things down I lose them (and that is the part where I sound like a premature old person), charging forward with all of the other buffalo and rushing into the next part of my day. I choose the "doing" quite a bit over the things of my heart-- the learning, listening, or pausing to change.

That being said, I've had so much to write about, and yet every night I choose to sleep rather than get the thoughts out there into this strangely comfortable blog world for all to see.

So, a few stats since the last post, that may come up in future entries:

1 trip to 14,000 feet.
3 perfect home-grown farmers' market tomatoes
0 changes made to the decor of my ugly blog
60 miles of running
237 dollars worth of airfare to Houston to spend time with my mom and pregnant sister
3 x-rays of my right knee and one of my left
1 MRI
countless "walks of shame" as I was in too much pain to run
3 blisters
1 trip to the store to buy medicine for a desperate neighbor's baby, only to have her not return for it. 1 step closer to a skepticism I wish I did not have.
5 miles of hiking with my roommate to a beautiful lake
1 incredible Labor Day grillout with dear friends, capped by
at least 7 elk in a funny early-season mating ritual
5 or more successful text messages from my mom. She is now 100% on board, even sending pictures. Look at her go.

Here's a few from Mt. Democrat on August 24. The top two are from the trail; the other is at the summit.

An apology

2008-08-20T07:12:00.002-08:00

I need make a statement of shame. Has anyone noticed how ugly my blog is lately?

I realize that some people don't even notice. They are the same people that don't notice if my house is clean or if the color scheme of my bedroom is pleasing to the eye, or if my pictures are hung with the right amount of consistency and diversity to be called "good design."

Indeed, my blog is in a freak state of puberty, in which part of it got pretty while the rest is taking time to catch up. I'm working on it, everyone, and I'd like to disclaim that I'm WELL aware that it clashes. I sigh each time I navigate to it and remind myself that I really need to finish what I started.

Please read my words and not my appearance, although I know that all too often they hold hands.

For those with any sense of aesthetic, I apologize.

I ride the bus

2008-08-07T09:15:00.003-08:00

I ride the bus to work these days, like a bona-fide commuter.

My work provides me a bus pass, and so I ride along feeling terrificly thrifty as I avoid the high gas prices. I like the thought of putting a little less pollution into the air as well, and maybe a little less fuel spent out into the grand equation. I know, I'm so green.

The bus is teaching me a lot about myself.

I think I've naively assumed that everyone out there was like me (did I grow up in a cave?). They're not, really. On the bus, you see the entire range of folks, in various ranges of clean and the whole gamut of "mentally there." Bus drivers, too. Some seem so inconvenienced that you're on their bus, while others announce every stop like a safari tour, describing it in extravagant terms and laughing all the way. Those are the drivers that know a little something about each of their "regulars."

Some passengers use the bus as their own personal audience, addressing everyone as they board with their latest thought or opinion. We've got nowhere to go, so of course we're listening. Some seem like the world may be a little too much today, and others, like life stopped being interesting years ago. Some have babies, and others have wheelchairs. Everyone looks tired.

The bus is a collective yet individual event. Everyone riding together, nobody talking, everyone thinking of their own agenda and plans. Not that I'm always up for a good, deep, soul-searching conversation on the bus; I'm usually thrilled to be left alone and read my book. I'm usually half-reading, though, as I watch what goes around me, lost in thoughts and lessons and sometimes a lingering sadness.

Yesterday a woman not much older than me got on the bus with a huge stroller, wide-eyed baby in tow. The bus was crowded, but there are seats in the front that fold up, allowing her to move the stroller to the side and secure it in. The folks sitting in these seats were not elderly, not handicapped, and appeared to be cognitively present. And yet, nobody moved. The girl looked around, asked some for help, and the seat-dwellers either looked away or did a quick glance around and decided the seats in back were too far away to move. Avoiding eye-contact, they left her still standing in the middle with her stroller, looking a little desperate as she almost fell with each sway of the bus. The baby's brow furrowed.

Finally, a man on the bus stood up, looked the seat dwellers in the face, and said, "Are you really going to sit there while this woman and a baby clearly need the seat that you're in? You, move over there. You, go to that seat." Still avoiding eye-contact, they silently moved. The woman kept her eyes down too, moving her stroller to the secure spot as she felt a shame that I'm not sure she deserved.

Cheers to you, man on the bus, for standing up when others were unwilling. I wish I'd done the same. Maybe I'm more like everyone else than I'd pridefully like to think.

And keep teaching, everyone on the bus. I have a lot to learn.

The Alaska Project.

2008-08-04T18:14:00.003-08:00

The thoughts of my heart and mind lately have been on how, when and where I can get myself to grad school, and then what in the world to study once I get there. I'm pretty sure those are in the wrong order. Please don't have concern... that was just perhaps my confusing way of saying I really want to put some time and effort into figuring out what may be the sum of my gifts, abilities and experiences, and then what to do with that sum once I find it. I love school, and would love to specialize in something that the very core of me finds to matter.

Whatever that may be.

I have this funny fear and maybe loss of a sense of determination and pursuit that I would have previously told you characterized my heart. I used to be a person that pushed forward with things, and raced toward the unknown with a willingness to be wrong along the way. I ran a lot, and fell down a lot. My parents have baby pictures of me with a lot of scabs on my nose.

Somewhere, I got scared. Of what, I'm not sure. Of being wrong? Of turning around and trying a new direction? Of having to admit that I hadn't quite made it, or hadn't done it perfectly along the way?

I know I'm not old by most standards, but I feel like I've let a lot of valuable years slip by in the name of "I'll just sit back a little longer and let myself figure it all out." I'll enjoy this time of life, diving into my community and the people around me. I'm certainly not done doing that, but I want to be done developing a habit and pattern of sitting back and letting things happen to me, rather than chase after them.

So, welcome in, as the people in my life. This is where I'm at-- ready to move forward without any idea what direction. I think I want to pray quite a bit, and maybe grab a bit of advice along the way.

AND in complete contrast to everything above, I have officially stumbled across what could be a terrific distraction. A guy called my office the other day with an oppurtunity, and yes, I did just hit "send" on the email to apply. Long shot, heck yeah, but how fun might it be if it happens? Check it out:

NOW SEEKING ADVENTURERS FOR NEW DISCOVERY CHANNEL SERIES

Discovery Channel, the network that brought you “The Alaska Experiment,” is currently casting its next Alaskan adventure. If you think you have what it takes to live and thrive in one of nature’s most brutal environments, then we want to hear from you TODAY! Our newest series raises the bar for our adventurers by sending them on an epic JOURNEY through the wild. THE CHALLENGE -- if you dare to accept it -- is to join a band of fellow explorers and journey through some of the harshest climates and roughest terrains in the world: the Alaskan wilderness. Both an epic quest and the ultimate test of courage, this amazing journey will test its participants in ways they never thought possible and, in the process, allow them to experience the raw beauty of nature and see the world like they never have before. Sound exhilarating? It will be! If you are ready to leave the monotony of your day-to-day life behind and push yourself to the limits, you can finally earn the right to say that you truly LIVED. Email AlaskaProject@gmail.com and include a recent photo along with your name, phone number, city/state, and a short explanation of why you feel you are up to the challenge. You can also call 818-752-5559 for more information. Join us. We dare you.

I know. Perhaps a bit unnecessary and maybe completely a joke but it can't hurt, right?

coming into my prime

2008-07-16T12:48:00.005-08:00

[[Aren't you excited about that title? So am I. More to come on that one in a bit.

You'll notice that sometimes I have to throw a title up there to remind me to get some of these thoughts on the outside.

Please wait in anticipation.]]

7.17.08
coming into my prime.

The all-knowing "they" have apparently put it out there that women between the ages of 28-30 are actually in their prime physical years to run a marathon.

I am jumping the gun, folks. Here I go at the pre-ripe age of 26 (kind of makes me feel like the peach that you leave on the counter for a few days to get soft), three weeks into my training for the Denver Marathon on October 19, 2008. Although I've been a "runner" since college, I have never participated in anything official, much less a race of any kind. I preferred to measure me against me, and the goal was more exercise, alone time, or simply space to think. I think I may have just patched up the world on a few of those runs, or at least my small portion of it.

Let's be honest. Having a goal in front removes the option of "eh, sleeping sounds better; I'll run tomorrow." Some mornings I'm downright mad that the little chart on my wall laughs at me if I don't roll out of bed to beat the Denver heat. A tiny part of me, though, really likes being committed to something. A huge part of me LOVES seeing what my body can do, and pushing it harder than I've asked it work before. I adore that it's just me vs. the path in the morning, pounding through miles and thoughts and watching my wrist to see if my pace is on target.

Last Saturday's run was 6.5 miles, which yes, I realize is fairly small in light of the 26.2 goal. Trust me, I understand that more than you. It was a milestone however, in the thought process of, "the whole race is just this, four times." I can do that, and I know it. I feel pretty terrific about that.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for the new shoes. They are amazing.

cherries and failure

2008-07-03T08:52:00.002-08:00

On Sunday, after a week away and a flight home, I decided that the best thing I could possibly do with my time was bake a cherry pie. We have a cherry tree in the front yard that is absolutely bursting with ripe cherries (I'm having this terrific sense of loss if they are at all wasted, and picking/pitting cherries has overtaken quite a few of my priorities in the last week), and I come from a family who KNOWS how to bake cherry pie.

So I call Grandma, who gives me the recipe out of the cookbook. Who knew after all these years that it wasn't some secret recipe, but one in the cookbook for the world to use?

Critical failure ensued.

I added everything I was supposed to, but for some reason the crust and taste were perfect while the filling stayed so juicy my friends asked for spoons. No thickening whatsoever. I think it actually got runnier in the oven.

The beautiful thing about my failing pie, however, is that I had the privilege of my closest friends willing to sit around the bowl of picked cherries and pit them, one by one, as they listened to the stories and moments of my trip last week. It was community at its finest, and I think we all realized just a glimpse of how great we have it right now. I felt loved, cared for, and like we were sharing a small part of something big.

I'm not sure I care if my pie looked great on the outside while hiding its sloppy mess on the inside. Me too, pie, me too. At least the sloppy mess has friends to love it along the way.

and it was beautiful.

2008-07-02T06:58:00.004-08:00

Thanks to all who prayed for us last week; it was amazingly felt! The trip was beyond my expectations or even hopes. Perfect weather, beautiful cliffs and beaches, and a team of 12 girls with hearts in such a moldable place. Each and every one of them had a story and a contribution, something they brought to the trip and I pray something new that they took home.

I was floored by their ability to come together and care for each other, and humbled by the flooding feeling of needing to pray for them. Some of these 13-year olds are carrying around more than I do at 26, and thirteen is definitely very different for them than it was for me. I'm not sure how in the world my friends are having kids without being scared out of their minds.

It turns out I LOVE being a speaker, which was a surprise and an unexpected joy. Something to think about, for sure, along with so many other things I came home having learned or simply remembered.

Pictured Rocks is a place that does not ever fail to make me remember what is real, what is important, and how to be small at the feet of a God who loves me immensely. It is somewhere I wish to bring everyone close to me to at some point along the road.

I'll throw in a picture when I get home.

Beauty in the Woods

2008-06-20T13:51:00.002-08:00

15 of them, actually.

Myself, 2 guides and 12 junior high girls are heading into the backcountry of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore (UP Michigan) for the next week, June 22-28. The trip is through Timber-lee, and we'll be teaching the girls about what it means to be feminine and God's daughters. Could I be any more excited? Such a cool age, and such an amazing place to spend time with them. We'll definitely be spending a lot of time on the beach:)

If you think of it, I'd love your prayers for the hearts of these incredible girls.

long time ago Lima

2008-04-08T19:28:00.009-08:00

[Remember that one time when I went to Lima, promised to write and post pictures, then never did? Yeah, welcome to my blog that really shouldn't be trusted to pull through for you all the time. These words were written a while back, but I stopped in the middle because the words and thoughts in my heart weren't coming out onto the page. In a book I read recently, the author mentioned that while her writing may entertain others, it often hurt her to write it because it wasn't communicating exactly what she wanted to say. I think I need to let go of needing to be understood by everyone out there that reads this. Maybe I need to ask for your grace, because I may come back an even an hour later change my position on a thought I wrote down for the the world to see. Does that scare anyone else?

For what it's worth, here's the unfinished post. Maybe it's unfinished because my thoughts were as well, and maybe still are.]

Here are a few of the long-promised pictures, and try this link to see the rest of them-- will someone let me know that it works?

I am finding myself frustrated at my own mind and heart for coming home and moving back into life so quickly that I think perhaps I haven't given enough time to processing through things I felt and saw in Lima. Why is it that nobody along the way warns you that when it comes to slowing down enough to learn what God is teaching you, you're going to have to fight HARD? That's probably untrue; I know a lot of folks who have warned me of that. I am learning that distraction is something I will always fight against, because most often that is the easier choice. It requires less thinking; it offers less chance of change.

And yet, life doesn't always offer hours upon hours to stare at the wall and think, so I'm going to have to learn to balance, right?

The week in Lima was such a mix of experiences. In part, it was just a week of time with Monica, a week to simply learn her life that I have only read or heard about; never seen. It was amazing, and perfect, and I couldn't have asked for more. Even if we had never left her apartment, it would have been incredible.

We simply went about her week; when she had to go in to work, we went to work. We went to her Saturday dance class at the gym. We went to meetings and watched LOST on a computer screen with her friends, who are some of the most honest, authentic and caring folks I've met in a while.

She took time off work so that we could go to some of her favorite spots in Lima, and really see the city. It was so much greener and lush than I expected! There were so many flowers, and truly beautiful places.

Directly countering the beautiful places, she also brought me to some of the hardest places in Lima. I met the kids on the streets that are her friends; kids that life has demanded to be more grown up at 14 than I am at nearly 26, and yet still kids just the same. They absolutely love her; it's incredible to see.

The ability to see both sides of this city was one that threw me for a loop; the question of "why am I privileged enough to be able to walk away from the streets and buy a fancy drink in the nicer part of the city?" played often. What do you do with that? What do you do with young girls dealing with things you were always protected from, and what made you so different at birth that you deserved to be protected? Maybe that's not the question, though. Maybe there is something very real about...

this is how it works

2008-03-27T21:08:00.002-08:00

"No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again"
-"on the radio" regina spektor

Sometimes things make sense to my heart at a particular time, maybe for a particular reason that I don't always understand until later. So, here it is. Lyrics for a song discussed while in Lima, about which I really will post more and add pictures. Until then, this.

marshmallow

2008-03-15T12:29:00.002-08:00

As it turns out, "Shmem," my nickname from college and the only way Monica refers to me, does not translate well into Spanish. The Peruvians just can't say it, as in, that sound just doesn't exist in their language. One of the Peruvian staff members of her work renamed me "marshmallow," because that's the closest thing he has to connect to the sound of "Shmem." The conversation to determine this nickname was about as funny as you might imagine.

Just an update to let you all know that I am safe and well and couldn't be more grateful for my time here with Mona-- we are basically just doing her life day to day, which is exactly why I came. A recap of a few moments:

Mornings start with tea and conversation on the roof, in a hammock. It's terrific and the "mas fuerte" sol is a pretty key part of this roof-patio thing they have mastered in Lima. Monica had to explain to one of the street boys she works with why I was red. Basically: "Well, she's white. In the sun, when you and me get brown, she gets red." I am a funny creature in this country.

This morning: dance class with Gustavo. By "class," I mean Gustavo dances wildly and quite fast in the front. There is no instruction, and the language barrier isn't quite a factor because, well, there is no instruction. Just do your best to follow Gustavo and he will salsa and reggae and shake and hip hop all over the place and you will find yourself facing the wrong way a good 80% of the time. It was awesome.

Last night, Monica took me to the streets of Lima, where the staff of Word Made Flesh visit each Friday night to spend time with the kids. I think I'll need more time to process the thoughts and feelings of being there. The kids seemed so much younger and smaller than I expected. For 2-3 hours we just hung out, talked, and just were there with the kids. I sat with one little guy and helped him do a word search, which he wrote his name on and gave me to keep when he was done. It's a life I don't understand and to be completely honest know very little about. So many of them have little babies and you just watch the cycle continue with nothing to be done. There is hope though, and they do see change... it is a process that takes an understanding that the pace will be slow.

Friday morning started with worship at the Word Made Flesh office and then ceviche (a raw fish dish) for lunch, followed by a couple errands and meeting more of the people and families that are a part of Mon's life here. The are incredible, resourceful and loving people and my only frustration is that I can't communicate well enough to feel like I'm even being polite.

We've spent quite a bit of time with Monica's co-workers and they community they share here is pretty incredible. I am learning so much just by watching, and remembering things that I seem to only remember away from my own context.

No pictures; I am sorry but I failed to bring the card reader to throw them onto Monica's computer. Hopefully i will post a few when i get back.

Thanks for sharing:) I'll get another update up soon.

what's next?

2008-03-10T22:09:00.002-08:00

When you set yourself up in this trend of changing jobs and places a lot, people ask with remarkable frequency, "what's next?"

To be totally honest, I'm not sure I want to be a person who takes her identity in that. I mean, think about it: the possibility of letdown is huge, and we all know I'm not good at handling that well. Maybe I want to start being someone that people aren't shocked when I say I'm not moving apartments, or going anywhere. I feel like maybe I want to be someone known for committing to something.

That being said, and left at what it is, I am leaving Wednesday morning for a week in Lima, Peru, with one of my dearest friends in life, Monica (she moved there in jan 06). Wanted to get the blog up and runnin' in case there are pictures or stories to share.

I couldn't be more excited. Sometimes you just hit a spot in life when you need to be with someone who understands you like no one else. I can't wait to see her life, her friends, and her community in Lima. This trip has been a long time coming:)

Hopefully I will share when I can.

endings and travels

2007-08-14T14:41:00.000-08:00

Rubber boots and puffer vests no more. A morning of packing, an Americano from the little natural food store in town, and a ferry ride to Juneau in sunshine that is rare to SE Alaska. We passed whale-watching boats and who would've guessed, right near them was a humpback whale. He came up twice, blowing his blowhole out each time. Incredible.

It feels a little strange, really...near the end of my time here I was definitely more ready to leave the glacier than to stay. I am ready for HOT days and to not worry about whether my feet are wet, dry, or cold. I am so ready for space to myself and something other than plywood or my hammock to sleep, when I'm honest. As the days got closer to the end, though, I remembered to look around me again with the eyes of when I first got here, and feel overwhelmed by the beauty of where I was living. On my last night up there, I left the hut we call the lounge to go get some water to drink, and just happened to catch one of the most beautiful sunsets, where orange and pink streaks were stretching across the sky above me. (We haven't really had a lot of sunsets up there until now, as it just now starting to actually be dark at night). Nobody else was outside, and I got both sad and grateful at the same time-- grateful that the Lord chose to bless me by reminding me of his drastic beauty, but sad that we've all gotten so used to it that if I hadn't walked outside I would have missed it. It was an amazing reminder that this place, this landscape, is truly amazing. I feel so small.

My last few days in Skagway were a whirlwind. On Sunday I flew standby on a heli-tour of the Chillkat Glacier, which was totally different than the Denver but still amazing. We flew about 20 minutes to get there, over icefalls, hanging glaciers, peaks as far out in either direction as I could see, and huge, huge glacial features everywhere. Once there, the pilot landed us directly on glacier ice right next to a mulan, a deep, deep hole in which rushing water bores farther and farther into the ice. Not for falling into, not at all. Amazing to see though. You can just hear water swirling around down inside of it.

Later on Sunday we spent a ton of time by the rivers that flow into the inlet because the salmon were running! It was incredible- more salmon than you could ever imagine (and they are HUGE...like 2, some 3 feet long) and they are all just swimming their little hearts out upstream to spawn and then die. Go, little salmon, go.

We got in the creek with them and Mike literally was catching them with his bare hands. He held one up and I think about 20 elderly tourists clapped and took pictures. We think they thought he was some sort of native Eskimo, part of their Alaskan experience. We didn't tell them otherwise and now they'll go home with great pictures. Everybody wins, really.

Fresh grilled salmon and Chardonnay for dinner = we win for sure.

The rest of the few days were a whirlwind of souvenir shopping, packing, laundry and phone calls to get my life back in order to be home. I've spent today at the Juneau crew housing (this company has a site in Juneau as well) and almost got to go up and visit a few friends on the Mendenhall glacier, but at the last minute the weights were all too high on the helicopter and there was not space for me to go. No big deal. I get on a plane at 1am and greet my beautiful mom at O'hare by 2pm tomorrow. After some time at home and a wedding in the UP, I'll be back in CO by Monday.

My family and my friends, thanks for your comments, prayers, and amazing cards and packages. Thanks for listening as I've learned and being on the other end of the phone when I called. You don't know how much that meant sometimes!

I can't wait to see all of you!

Check out the fog rolling into camp one of my last days there...it was eerie, and just creeped in on us out of nowhere. So beautiful--

This is the helicopter on the Chillkat Glacier:

...and the mulan right next to where we landed...

The view on the flight up--

The family on the tour...looking up the glacier
These are icefalls we were flying over. The scale is really hard to tell in pictures, but these things are stories and stories high, and tumbling as the glacier moves down the mountain
Believe it. I was a tourist and took this of myself in the helicopter. Love you all see you soon.

helicopters.

2007-08-03T21:17:00.000-08:00

7.31.07

[As I write this we’ve been fogged in for two days. All you can see is white. They say that August will be more and more like this.]

Sometimes I wish my brain didn’t have that thing that makes one get used to things, and start to think that they are normal. I wish I was incapable of taking anything for granted, and yet I think it’s just human to overlook the everyday.

I FLEW A HELICOPTER.

I was joking with the pilot when we got in after our day off about how someone else got to steer for a little while, and he says, “well, do you want to?”

Is he kidding? So he got us going and off the ground, explained to me how the controller (I’m going to call it like a joystick) worked, and told me he’d take over if he needed to.

Oh my goodness.

I think I smiled the whole way up to the glacier, and at the same time sweated because I was convinced I was going to make us crash. Piloting a helicopter has a lot to do with keeping the craft balanced, and the thing was unbelievably touchy. The major thing he told me was to make small adjustments, and the man was not kidding. I may or may not have roller-coastered us all the way, and if anyone was watching I think they might have called for help.

The flight is pretty short, and starts over water (where we saw WHALES the other day!! Two humpbacks are hanging around the inlet by Skagway) and then we turn in and up through a valley and over mountains to the glacier. I’m thinking he’s just going to let me fly during the straight part, and he just says, “Okay, take us up the valley,” so I was freaked out of my mind but got to turn us in and up 4000+ feet along a waterfall and over a ridge to our camp. Oh my goodness. An amazing feeling but seriously so scary!

So in light of that, this blog is for helicopter pictures, because I don’t want to not share what is such an amazing experience that I think we all take for granted. Some are just the view from the flight, some are of glacier, and you should probably pay closer attention to the ones of me flying:)

All for now…less than two weeks until I’m home!
em

This is what we fly over...I wish I could explain how beautiful it is.
Camp from above.
This is the "toe" of the Denver Glacier-- where the ice stops. Our camp is way up higher on this same chunk of ice.
The start of the flight, over the inlet.

..and oh my goodness I was so excited....

The last two are from way high above the mountains; from a flight down just yesterday. The pilot took us higher than we've ever been.

We got new pups on the glacier! They are about three weeks old, and the girl in the photo is Kate, a new roommate.

And I got new bibs in a package from a great friend. So warm.

...and this is sunlight on the mountains near the toe of the glacier...we went down to check out the glacier ice and the lighting was beautiful.

7.26.07

2007-07-27T13:40:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the time between posts-- I think somewhere in there I was starting to feel like I needed to have something spectacularly exciting to share or some great pictures to show you. It’s funny and maybe a little (maybe a lot) sad that even the most beautiful of places can become mundane and just a part of everyday life. I think it’s a good lesson for me-- I am always looking for my surroundings to be more beautiful, but in all reality it’s the people, relationships and the experiences of a place that make it meaningful. I like having the wanderlust that I do, but I fear becoming a “grass is greener” type of person.

The glacier has been a mix of ups and downs in the past two weeks. We moved our entire camp about ¾ mile higher due to melting snow, a task that is not small or easy with 280 dogs, their houses and equipment, and 13 huts worth of us and our supplies. And of course, we did it on a day of solid pouring rain-- the process started about 8am and I think the last crew finished working at around 10pm. Everyone was understandably cold, wet and crabby, but in all honestly the move was worth it; “site 2” is amazing. We have a 360 panorama of mountains around us, lakes to explore and an overlook of a winding glacial valley just a little way up a ridge. We’ve done a ton of exploring, basking in the size and grandeur yet intricacy of the glacial features around us. Most of the pictures I’m putting in are from these days.

Living here is also getting tougher as people are starting to crack from so much time in such an isolated setting. There have been a lot of changes in staff as people leave for various reasons, and staying removed from the drama has been kind of a task. I’ve seen a lack of character that makes me hurt inside, and in the same moment I have known that if I see it, it is probably because I recognize it and haven’t had the most shining moments myself. I’ve spoken when I should have been quiet, and inside have allowed other people to pull me to their level of immaturity. Patience has been a fight sometimes, but I have also learned a ton of what I don’t ever want to be—I am learning to be a lot more aware of the way my words can affect people, simply by tone or timing.

Mike and I borrowed a car last weekend and drove into the Yukon, just to check it out. It was amazing—so vast, with huge lakes and mountains rising right out of them. It gave me more of a feeling of wilderness than most places ever have…like if I wandered out there I’d be instantly alone, for miles. It kind of makes me feel good inside that there are still so many places like that. Our three hours across the Canadian border were good for the heart☺.

Not much other news this week… I got a new second photographer, and she’s been great and so easy to work with. Otherwise, glacier life is the same… thank you for all the care packages; they are amazing!

Em Kage…happy birthday on Friday! I will try to call; if it’s from the glacier it might be sketch but if you hear a lot of static that’s me saying happy birthday.

Love you all.
em

This is our camp at site 2...Skagway is up and over the other side of those peaks.
Those are the same peaks, just from an area of glacial lakes and crevasses.
When the lake drained, it left this ice cave...we couldn't see to the bottom of that hole but you can hear water rushing around in there.
This is looking back out of the cave...away from the hole.
Just beyond our camp is a ridge that overlooks what is called the "Valley of Death." I wish I had gotten a closer view of the bottom because you can see the glacier ice wind like a river in the bottom.
This is from a day of exploration, heading down to a lake.
Mom...no getting scared. We got everyone across safely.
This is another view of the Valley of Death on a cloudier day.
Real cool when people throw snow on you when you're already down in a crevasse:)

just quick.

2007-07-13T10:45:00.000-08:00

Not a lot of exciting news this week.

A whole lot of rain.

All the time, in like 40 degrees. Probably not my favorite days on the glacier.

But here's a picture from last weekend...we drove out to the flats in Dyea, a little town nearby where supposedly there are a lot of bears. We didn't see them, nor did we see any salmon. But hopefully sometime soon we'll try again. It was a gorgeous place though, with the amazing feeling of sand under my feet and the setting sun on my face. Beautifully peaceful.
Here you go. Love you all.

For the Moms out there.

2007-07-07T10:16:00.001-08:00

My mom requested pictures of what just normal camp looks like, and I know other moms have asked for pictures of their kids too. So, just so all moms know that we're safe and not in the bottom of crevasses...

This is the kitchen, with our amazing cook, Karen. Karis is showing off the fridge (it's just a hole down to the snow) on the right, Mike is getting water, and one of the pilots is just hanging out.
This is my bed in the front of the girls' ghetto. There are two other girls that live in there too, in bunks behind me. Cheers for the hammock; it's way better than plywood. Thanks Cal!
This is the guys' ghetto. A little messier than ours?

This is where I spend a lot of my time, printing pictures for the tourists. That is the other photographer, Andre.

Mrs. Bell, here you go:)

Mrs. Sanchez, I wish I could tell you that your son didn't sleep when he was supposed to be working :)

Here is a picture of summit we hiked to see Skagway's fireworks on the Fourth. We hiked about 1,000 feet up from our camp to look down about 5,000 ft onto Skagway and the Taiya Inlet. It was amazingly beautiful, and for once maybe a little too dark for pictures, so this one isn't great. Here are a few of the people up there, though, and then one of the view looking back onto our camp from the hike up.

The little dash of gray in the center of the picture is our camp...on the right hand side are crevasses that are opening as the glacier starts to bend down into the valley. I wish this did justice to the size or grandeur of what we could see from the hike.

All for now. Check the posts below; I added a couple pictures.

em

Not old enough yet where sticking my face in a waterfall doesn’t sound fun.

2007-06-29T23:00:00.000-08:00

6.29.07

Southeastern Alaska is FULL of waterfalls-- side of the road, running down glacial valleys, everywhere. On our day off today Michael and I hiked to the base of Reid Falls, a place where we hiked to the top of a few weeks ago. The falls itself is a HUGE vertical drop of glacial runoff, so to get close means you get covered in a cold mist.

Of course we got close. And not just close-- Mike found a ledge where the water was pouring over and we went IN. Jumped through the edge of freezing, rushing water and turned around to a wall of water-- COLD water. Walking back home in the freezing Skagway wind probably wasn’t the most comfortable feeling I’ve ever felt, but it was totally worth it. Mike stuck his face in for a few minutes and was seriously short of breath from the cold.

I am still loving Alaska, but a few phone calls to home and friends today made me ache for the people that mean so much to me. It’s hard to be so far away and hard to reach when big things are going on in people’s lives.

Love to you all; you mean a lot to me even when communication is few and far between. Thanks for reading and keeping up :)

(Mom and Mrs. Sanchez, glad you liked the people pictures…after lots of encouragement I’ll try to get more up:)

monday

2007-06-29T22:56:00.000-08:00

So remember the last time when I told you I was learning to handle dogs, to be able to do so one day a week? Well really, all the Mondays I actually had to do so ended up being days of no tours due to weather, so this past Monday was the first time I actually had to show the world my true dog skills.

It didn’t go the best. But, by the end of the day it wasn’t a complete disaster. Maybe a little more entertaining?

Here’s a little summary of how it went.

5:45am Alarm goes off, to be up and in the dog yard by 6:00.

6:02am Dog #3 pees on my leg.

A DOG PEED ON MY LEG. Did you catch that? Apparently I am now his. Property of Larz, make sure all the other dogs know. I asked him rationally why in the world he would think that was acceptable, and he just wagged his tail. Great response, Larz.

Made it through the rest of the morning chores just fine, including another round with the much-loved eyedrops. Great.

8:30am First tour arrives. Tourists + Musher ready to go, and ask me how many of the ten-dog team was ready. Maybe three. Rough start, but my musher had enough grace to trust me for the next seven tours, which actually did go fine and problem free.

11:00am Buck takes his turn at peeing. Don’t worry, he claimed the other leg; there will be no fighting over me. He also managed to get it IN my tall rubber boots. Really? Really.

Lindsey, we’re back to the old me. Don’t love dogs. Never felt pressure to do so.

BUT I can do it, one day a week, on Mondays. It’s not that bad, actually pretty funny if you watch the dogs and what they do. Clothes wash, and I do too.

Not much else to say this week…the days are becoming pretty much the same, all day, every day. Still devastatingly beautiful, and when I’m tempted to get tired or complain all I need to do is look at where I get to live.

If I get a picture up here it will be of Willie, one of Michael’s dogs that would totally be my favorite if I were to admit I had one. Coolest dog ever. Loves attention.

Hope all is well. Until next week.

just pictures today

2007-06-24T09:15:00.001-08:00

Not a lot to say this week, so in the absence of words here are a few of the always promised but rarely delivered pictures... funny how such a small thing like working internet that goes a bit quicker than it did in 1991 can brighten my day:) Life is still great up here...I have absolutely zero complaints and only a growing realization that my time here is growing shorter.

Here is a shot from the helicopter on our way into Skagway...the huge ships in the front are cruise ships, and sometimes there are six parked there. When we hike on our days off, we are usually up in the hills/mountains on the right side of the picture. The coastline that you see? Yeah, I go for runs along it:) It's incredible.
This is a shot of Paradise Valley from our camp...if you look closely in the foreground you can see a dogsled out on a tour, which really shows the magnitude of the view. Sometimes I forget that it's real.
This one is dedicated to Mom because she always wants to see people pictures...this is a picture of a bunch of us up on the ridge above our camp:

This is one of my hut-mates, Karis-- she graduated from Taylor in 2006 and is an incredible friend to have up here.

This is Michael walking up the ridge to a spot where you can literally see for miles... it was actually warm on the ridge that night so we were all up there for a long time. Sometimes we just sit up there and stare because the view leaves little room to do much else.

Here is my other hut-mate, Mattie. This girl knows more about life and herself at 19 than I do now. She's incredible. Again, I'm not a good rotater, so turn your head.

Here is my friend Nate...he's from Vermont and the one that constantly keeps all of us laughing. So thankful for him and his snowboarding skills that make me feel less embarassed about mine:)

All for now. Hope this finds everyone well! If you think about it, enjoy some sunshine and 90 degree days for me:)

a day of summer

2007-06-17T07:58:00.001-08:00

Just for the sake of posting as much as possible when I'm down.

Yesterday was the first day I've actually felt like it's really summer, and not just a joke that it's June 17 already. We went for a long hike on our day off (there are a bunch of trails in the mountains right above Skagway), and after being on a glacier so long it just felt like everything that is good and means summer. The day was actually HOT in town, and I think I'm wired such that a tank top really does make me feel better:)

Mike and I hiked up to Upper Reid Falls, a 3.5 mile hike up and then we probably made it 4 on the way down to go by another lake. The waterfall was incredible...probably the tallest one I've ever seen, and the trail lets you get so close that you're covered in icy mist. There was SO much water pounding down, I can't even describe it.

We took side trails, ran through the woods, smelled fresh things blooming, put our feet in the water, (painfully cold) and seriously just laid on a plank bridge by a lake letting sunshine wash over us. I think I felt like I was maybe about 9 years old...not 25. It was amazing. Hiking really made me miss my summers of guiding trips, and everything that comes with, but yet I know I wouldn't trade what I'm getting to do now. It just makes me thankful for warmth and trees and paths when I get them.

Happy Father's Day to my favorite guy in the world. Dad, I love you. Thanks for teaching me to dream and explore, and to go after what I want to. Thanks for letting me know you're proud of me.

6.12.07

2007-06-16T10:21:00.001-08:00

So yesterday I learned how to “handle” a dog team. One day a week, I’ll be switching off with one of the handlers, in order to allow myself and the other photographer more flexibility with our days off. She’s learning my job, and I am learning hers.

Ha. I wish people that know me could have been watching. Let me set the scene for you. First of all, I’m handling for a musher we all affectionately call “Pops” or “Papa Shane.“ He’s I think what I picture a musher looking like—a big, overall-wearing, scruffy-beard gruff looking guy who’s bark is ridiculously over the top for his bite. Inside, he’s the nicest, most simple and generous man up here, and he greets me with a “Good morning, Sunshine” every day.

Crazy, I know, but it turns out the work is totally not as glamorous as it sounds. “Here, take these 30 dogs that all don’t know you and put eyedrops in their eyes. Three times a day.” Dogs love eyedrops (please hear my sarcasm). Especially those given by strangers. And, it was of course raining, so I was absolutely covered in wet dog hair pretty much immediately.

Lindsey, you will never again tell me that I do not love dogs.

Handling also involves bringing a team of dogs from their individual houses and hooking them on a line for the sled—also a humorous situation when a small person is trying to maneuver an extremely athletic and beyond excited sled dog. Some just squirmed beside me as we walked to the line (all the while with me praying just to not let go till we get there); the more affectionate ones found it way more fun to stand up and wrap their front legs around me as we walked.

So I went with it. We danced all the way to the line. All I knew to do was laugh at that point.

I did get to mush a team myself at the end of the day, and the feeling was amazing. They are so fast! I’m not making plans to become a dog musher anytime soon, but it was amazing to learn and to be trusted to drive the dogs.

So many days I think of so many things that I love about this place and that I want to share, and I keep forgetting my the time I write, so welcome to the new ending for blog entries:

Things I am thankful for up here:

“Porch Parties” in glacier sunshine at the end of a long day. Does it get any better?

Warm boots that seemed way over the top when I bought them.

Packages from my sister.

Being here with one of my best friends—someone who understands me so well.

Time.

People that are different from me.

Trips to the ridge on the back of a snowmobile, and warm rocks to sit on when I get there.

My silk sleeping bag liner:) Sorry if you thought I was tough and roughing it up here.

Pictures for you: coming in a few. nothing here is fast.

from my front porch

2007-06-16T09:50:00.000-08:00

6.8.07

I think I am most in awe of how simple my daily life is here. I live amidst what I’m convinced is some of God’s finest grandeur, and yet my day to day existence contains nothing that is complicated. I treasure it, though when I’m honest I admit that I had to learn to do so. The first few days of such a laid-back schedule were terribly uncomfortable. I think I had made a habit of making myself busy when life got scary or didn’t make sense – usually it seemed easier than thinking through things I probably needed to.

When fog or clouds cancel our tours, we are still here, on the glacier, with sometimes hours or even days of absolutely nothing to do. There are only so many pictures I can edit, or books to read, and to be honest I’ve even not wanted to take any more naps.

It teaches you quite quickly to be simple, to enjoy simply hanging out in the company of others or spending a lot of time alone. A few days ago I sat on my front porch (and by porch I mean the few boards on the front of my hut; I’ll put a picture in) and held a puppy until it fell asleep. I think I sat with him for an hour and half—and that’s probably a conservative estimate. There really wasn’t anything else I was supposed to be doing at the time. Seriously.

And it was amazing. I won’t tell you that I had 90 minutes of the deepest thoughts of my life, but I am learning so much by simply allowing myself to relax, to not feel stress about anything or pressure to think those deep thoughts. I am becoming quieter on the inside, and more able to see and listen to others—and yet at the same time I’m speaking more too. The more time I spend with only my own echo inside my head, the more confident I am in the child of God that I am, or maybe just more willing to not need anyone else to approve.

I’m learning to treasure things like sunshine on my face or wearing sandals on a glacier. I am learning to take the time to give five minutes of understanding to someone having a hard day, or sometimes to just staring at what God has made all around me and being okay with feeling a little small. I am learning that I’m happier without all the things I keep trying to tell myself that I need.

Maybe I haven’t combed my hair in a week (sorry, mom), and maybe my outfit is more about quantity than it is about matching. I’m not really sure I’m bothered by that—in fact, I think I’m really enjoying it. It’s like most things that aren’t really necessary are not a part of my picture up here. My life is simple, and my God is big. And my heart is quiet.

pictures coming in a couple hours.

2007-06-03T13:17:00.000-08:00

Skagway smells amazing.

I go from a world of white and cold and very little smells to a world where trees are budding and flowers blooming and the breeze off the water is one of the best feelings to experience as I step off a helicopter.

This week brought a ton of “weather days,” which are days in which the clouds and fog drop down so low on the glacier that helicopters cannot fly into or out of camp. Sometimes it only affects a few tours; other times it cancels our entire day. For us, that means either a lot of work projects or chores, or a day of trying to find something to entertain ourselves.

First we javelin-ed and pole-vaulted with trail-marking poles.
(and by “we” please understand that I definitely mean “they.” My terrific athletic coordination didn’t allow for success at such glacial sports. I took the pictures.)
(um I can't figure out how to rotate. look sideways at this one.)

We tried “ski-jouring,” which actually is a real sport in which a skier travels harnessed to a small team of dogs running in front. A rough start, but Nate finally got out on the trail.

We did a ton of work around camp, using a snow cat to move all of our huts because they had started to melt too much underneath. Sounds glamorous, but really it just means we all shovel a lot to fill in the holes that are left. I shoveled a little, then took pictures of everyone shoveling.

I am still overwhelmed by the beauty. Especially after days of fog so thick that at times I can’t even see camp from the trail (seriously a creeping feeling, more alone than I’ve ever felt. I could see nothing around me but pure white), when the blue sky returns and the sun comes out the absolute grandeur and sheer magnitude around us is stunning. Just yesterday, our helicopter pilot took us “the long way” down into town, taking us deep into glacial valleys and around icefalls so large that our helicopter was a toy in comparison. Imagine a vertical expanse of ice and crevasses and an icy blue reflection that just seems more than my mind can get around. I have a different respect and understanding now for the people that take it upon themselves to climb those. I can’t imagine what that feels like at the bottom.

At the end of the week we had a course in crevasse rescue training, just so that we are ready should anything happen. It was interesting, and amazing how strong snow can be when you use it to your advantage. I was great to start to feel like the more rope-based sports and rescue skills I learn (crevasse rescue held a ton of similarity to climbing and cave rescue), the more I realize how similar they all are, and how the knowledge overlaps. It makes me way more confident, and maybe at the same time way more respectful of the danger and the severity of what could happen. These mountains, and the snow that is constantly moving around on them, are not a joke.

I am continually blessed by the people here, and more time up on the glacier has offered me more time to share conversations and get to know the people I live with day in and day out. There is such a variety, and so many different life experiences that bring people to a job like this. I am grateful for the girls I share my hut with, and the “girls’ ghetto” is starting to feel more like home☺. Excitement of the week: we ordered a heater, so we can actually be in our hut at night! Sometimes privacy is hard to find up there, so just the ability to be in your own place in the evening is huge.

That has to be all for now, as I am only down for less than 20 hours. There is so much swirling in my brain, so maybe get ready for next week☺.

(PS we just found out that as AIE employees who routinely work in connection with the helicopter company, we have free access to any of their heli-tours of the glaciers around us! Look forward to pictures and stories of that, because I am definitely going to try and take advantage)

(PPS thanks so much for your comments and encouragement! They are wonderful to read and make me feel a little closer to home.)

Here are a few pictures from the week…

the first one on the top of this post is the South side of our camp, and then the view beyond down Paradise Valley. This one below is the view to the North on a cloudy day. The rolling snow hills on the bottom are one of my favorite parts of this place...they are gorgeous and graceful in any light.

The one of Godzilla is more for the background than the dog, but he was in the mood to pose:)

This is a shot of a sled leaving camp against a hill-

This is up on a ridge above camp...

I am quite quickly running out of time, and again I haven't gotten to all the pictures I wanted. I'll try to get more soon! love you all!

my first day of wearing only one pair of pants.

2007-05-27T12:53:00.000-08:00

I am so blessed.

I think the past few years of my life have been characterized by a weird restlessness, maybe just a constant desire to be somewhere new and exciting, to do something important to the world, or maybe just to see one more part of God's Creation. I think the goal was to add more to my "list" rather than to add to my appreciation of His.

Being up on the glacier for a week (eight and a half days, to be more accurate, but really who counts days between showers), a spectacular view and time to think have made me realize that in all reality I am so blessed just to be able to be here. And past that, I am so blessed to have seen the places I have seen in the past few years, to have been allowed the experiences, and to have developed the deep, rich friendships that I have. I'm not sure whether I care anymore that these friendships are across so many different states, time zones and countries. I think that fact is beautiful.

I am beyond blessed to get to live where I am on the glacier. Sometimes I still stop and stare all around me because the 360 degree view around our camp is more than I can explain. We are camped on top of 24' of snow and 500' of ice beneath that. Around the glacier are mountain walls that go straight up to snow-capped peaks, and down the valley (where the glacier is moving) is a 150-mile view across the Chillkoot Range. On a clear day we can see all the way to 15,000+ Mt. Fairweather, a huge peak in Glacier Bay National Park.

People keep asking if it's cold. It's funny-- I think when I knew I was living on a glacier I thought it was this big glamorous idea and didn't stop long enough to realize that yes, it's cold. It's a glacier and it turns out those are made of ice. Early morning is not a nice time, and certainly not the time to change your clothes. That only happens in the afternoon. A nalgene bottle filled with hot water in my sleeping bag is a regular part of my night, and it's a race against impending coldness when the sun slips behind the mountain wall. In the same breath, however, I can say that the first time I ever went dogsledding I was wearing only a t-shirt. Intense sun glaring off of so much snow gives us a ton of radiant heat, so really we hit both extremes in a day. I'm not going to tell you it's hot-- I am for sure not there yet-- but it is definitely warm. SPF 50 happens on the hour, for everyone, and we still have sweet raccoon-eye tanlines. [Katie, I apologize now for tan lines at your wedding.]

I knew nothing of dogsledding when I came, but these people love what they do and I've learned so much already just by talking to the mushers and handlers. We have around 270 dogs in nine lots, each with a musher and a handler. The camp operates almost like a farm, in that there is always something to do. Everything comes in and out by helicopter, including tourists on the half hour. Our day starts at 6am, and on a busy day we sit down to dinner at 8pm. 9pm bedtime? Totally acceptable.

I share my job with another photographer, so we each photograph tours leaving the camp on the hour. I hike out to the trail, shoot four sleds as they pull out, hike back in, print them, and sell them before they get back on the helicopter to ride down. I absolutely love what I'm doing and while it's not the most creative, the people love seeing their facial expressions in the pictures. My job also gives me a lot of waiting time to shoot my own pictures, and I'm consistently amazed at how the sun lights up a different part of the mountains every day. This place is beautiful in the way that keeps you humble.

I love working with Mike again, and it's been great having him here. I also share a hut with a girl who graduated from Taylor as well, and that has been a blessing in itself. Sometimes in the evening a few of us will take snowmobiles up to the ridge that overlooks our camp and the glacial valley (the picture of Mike and I above), and we do have one snowboard in camp-- no one is too impressive yet, but we've got all summer, right?

I'm going to stop boring with words and get some pictures in here. There will always be more to come, but hopefully these will give a general sense.

This is 1 of about 8 pictures I took to make a panorama of our view down the valley.

This is my ride to work:) Behind it on the wall are the marks of small avalanches that happen almost daily.

This is an aerial view of the "South Park" side of camp. My hut is the long rounded one closest to the lower right corner.

...more of a small avalanche.

...and the internet has called it quits for pictures, and I haven't even gotten to put up ones that I love. I'll add more tomorrow; there is faster wireless at the helicopter base. I love you all; thanks for your prayers.

Really quick...

2007-05-17T20:14:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to get a post up to say I've arrived in Skagway! The ferry was more beautiful than I had imagined...pictures couldn't even capture the magnitude. I spent the entire time on the back deck with mist on my face and a view that changed so quickly it was impossible to think that I was done looking.

Skagway is a tourist town. I had fish for dinner because I felt like I was supposed to, and it was indeed terrific. It's a funny dynamic here, however-- the locals apparently aren't fond of the tourists, but it's moderately acceptable to be a summer worker. When you talk to people, then, it becomes a game of how quickly you can let them know your "rank" and they, in turn, can let you know theirs. Why I feel pushed in to this social pressure I do not know. Today I kind of want to be a tourist- I walked down the downtown street with my face to the sky pretty much spinning because the view is so pretty. The town is 4 blocks wide by 22 long, and then mountains jut up either side.

I will get on the helicopter to the glacier at 8am tomorrow, and from that point on it will probably be close to a week before I'm "down" again. Thanks for your phone calls and prayers!

Everything is not bigger in Texas

2007-05-17T10:15:00.000-08:00

Everything is bigger in Alaska. I've heard it's more because you see these mountains from sea level, but seriously they are huge. Sorry, Texans, I no longer believe you hold the right to this claim.

I've made it as far as Juneau, and in a couple hours I will take a ferry up to Skagway. I can't wait to see more from the water. Until then, however, a quick story for you:

So the packing requirements for helicopter travel mandate that our luggage be in one backpack and 2 18-gallon rubbermaid tubs. Not such a big deal until you realize that first you must fly with these things. Easy to check, tricky to get TO the place where you check them.

I think I'm being practical and terribly low maintenance by packing in just one tub (imagining the airport difficulty) and my pack. I put the pack in a duffel to check it, and sling it over my shoulder. Also over my shoulder is the bag that carries my laptop and camera, and I carry the tub in front. I'm doing great.

I get up to the counter to check in, greet the airline employee, and joyfully set down the 35lb tub. What I failed to realize is that I was rather balanced, and so at the same moment I set the tub on the floor, the duffel and camera bag whip all of my 5'3" frame down to the ground. I am now on my back in front of the check in counter. Great. Here's to starting off well.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yes, ma'am, just embarrassed."

I did better with my tubs in Juneau.

I will hopefully post pictures after the ferry.

"Seriously, Em, let's go live on a glacier this summer."

2007-05-14T22:28:00.000-08:00

To my family and to my friends, and to anyone that has blessed me by being excited for what I am setting off to do this summer: Here it is. Count this as my attempt to be a good communicator, to share pictures and stories, and maybe some thoughts along the way. I can't promise the frequency, but I'll try to keep it updated as often as I can:)

It turns out I'm not the best at staying in one place for long periods of time. As much as I love my home in Denver, when the chance came to spend the summer living in a remote (helicopter-access only!) glacier camp in Skagway, Alaska, I took it. From May 16 - August 3 I will be working for Alaska Icefield Expeditions, photographing dogsled tours the company offers to cruise ship passengers. I will be living on the Denver Glacier with about 25 other staff, coming "down" into town 1 day a week (hopefully the time when said updates will happen). One of my Timber-lee staff members and closest friends, Michael Sanchez, will be there as well-- which at this point is making a huge unknown a lot easier.

Get ready for pictures that I'm sure won't do justice to the beauty, but I will try my best to give you a glimpse. To test it out and perhaps just for good measure, here are a few of the folks' visit to Colorado last weekend...

my mom is a little lady next to big mountains. We took these in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Until next time from a little coffee shop in Skagway...