A Love Post

un .... I. verse

Walking the lines between faith
Insanity
And a recombinant solution of the two

Discovering slowly through the travail of time
Isolation
Gave way to association, actualized, and later realized.

Pledging for years a senseless, vague, determined
Investment
On human terms, in the format of minutes, miles nearer.

Giving without expectation of reward, knowing that
Individuals
Create the beauty of the whole, within

Forming lines that however parallel may never
Intersect
Traveling freely at speeds of light or held fast

Observing and learning to be complete
Identity
Undefined in the course of others

Being, verbs, all of them, enacted by the
Insoluble
That is the I within the universe.

------------------------------------------

A shout out to the refining properties of time, the years of faith and determination that heal retroactively the wounds of a decade.

To friendship within blood
To relativity
To time showing the truth of all things
To being unaffected by old crutches
To walking freely
..... breathing deep
letting go.

[Renewal. Restart. Refresh. Rejuvenation. Welcome.]

Aluminum Echoes of Birdsong

Christmas was a blur of humanity and western landscape, a few of my favorite things. I flew home Tuesday night, played Christmas Wednesday morning with my sister Dami – I was too excited to give her climbing shoes and take them for a smear to wait until Christmas day, when the gym would be closed and I would be back in Salt Lake.

Our Christmas Eve climb date, following in the monthly tradition we’ve had going since September, was a trash-talking giggle fest, with a pleasant surprise this time; we met a new climb/ski buddy, a fellow Idaho native who we both agreed probably crossed our paths by divine inspiration. Family time was mellow, full of good humor about bad times, awful jokes and retelling of good times. The best part of family is nestling in to a world where people are irreplaceable, where you aren’t anonymous, where every interaction is tangibly laced with history and understanding. Christmas morning, I woke up hung over from a late night chat/debate with mom, drove across an unusually snow-coated Boise, built Lego creatures with my bro TJ for hours, breakfasting with his side of the family, and stopping to see Grace for the first time in over a year. (A year is far too long to go without being even remotely near my “other” sister!) After that happy chain of events, I set sail to the skies, being only briefly delayed in the Boise airport – which, if you’ve flown through there, you might know that it’s just a fancy glass birdcage. The resident birds of the east corridor were chirping away by the B gates, singing Christmas songs – foreshadowing for the flight, where an enthusiastic and off-key flight attendant chirped a “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on behalf of Southwest Airlines. Christmas night found me right at home in my present location, with another family I love dearly and treasure my time with. Holidays are special, not because of dates and obligation, but rather the collective good will and love that seems to reach through the Universe and tie people together, regardless of the "reason for the season."

Today, the barely-four, adorable little girl I was skiing with looked up and said, "This is fun, I love you." I looked right back at her and said "I love you too, McKenzie." Cheesy as that may sound, it was a simple, beautiful interchange. In my personal, non-public writing, I've been musing about that expression often, for months. Frankly, I've feared it, held it back, kicked it away from me and pretended I didn't hear it more than a few times. In my young adult mind, "I love you" had implications, expectations, held a certain level of the harnesses of the enemy: commitment. Over a year ago, I found myself in a house where that changed.

It was my first experience living with a family, a whole family whose ties and security hadn't been charred by the firestorm of divorce, for the first time in well over a decade. "I love you" was a liberally applied statement of affection, for those little moments simple greeting at the door, jubilant expressions during passionate conversations on any topic, part of the ointment routine for the bruises and bumps of children. "I love you" was written in the dish suds of that house, scrolled in the hardwood floors, placed in vases in the center of the kitchen table. Honestly, it made me uncomfortable for a while, and I didn't know what to say. The "I love yous" never abandoned me or begged a return of sentiment, no matter how quiet I was, how little heed I gave them.

In time, I had come to understand that reciprocation is not a requirement of a sincere "I love you," and tear-jerkingly emotional, expectation-laced yoking wasn't part of the game either. In fact, saying "I love you" isn't a game at all.

In a way, living there healed my negative associations with the words, and better yet, it healed the pathways between my heart and my brain, where "I love you" didn't send me running for the broom closet when I felt it bubbling to the surface of my own emotions, and the idea of someone feeling and expressing love for me didn't send me turtling into the collar of my own shirt.

Not that I've shouted it from the rooftop, or desecrated it with over-use or misapplication. I'm miles from that kind of behavior. But I have said it where it counts, and no longer fear the words "I love you" where they rightly belong and are backed by sincere feeling.

On a lighter note, I adore flying. For one thing, I get whole hours to sit still, uninterrupted. No matter how little I have in terms of luxury, even the cheapest flight feels like an opulence high. Something about being sardined in a sailing tin can with a bunch of folks I don’t even know, who clutch novels I’ve never read and share my oxygen, just seems oh-so exciting. The journey is always beautiful, in all my travels, but when I elect to take a plane, it usually means something about the destination is worth hurrying for, and I love the feeling of that energy coursing through me – anticipation, excitement.

I hope your year dwindles away in a sequence of beautiful winter days, and unfolds into an advent of re-birth, the turn of a pristine page on which you can write whatever you please.

In the traditional Icelandic way of saying goodbye, which I’ve become fond of…
Bless bless!

Here for the Holiday

After climbing indoors this eve, I was covered in dusty grime - I have no idea how that happened. Dami is killing me on the wall. She has some sort of natural aptitude for the sport that I lack. Where she sends gracefully, I muscle with deliberation and a little too much effort. Today was not a strong day at the gym, but we sure had a great time, and the mutual afterthought is that I should come home and we should get memberships together, and really commit/get into it. I don’t know if I can handle getting completely whooped by my kid sis just yet. ;) This pic is us, being ridiculous and loving every second of it.

Climbing was a good release from a tension-filled, uncomfortable lunch outing with Ma’s side of the fam. I don’t have much to say about it… but in the future, when the term Anti-Christ gets thrown into political discussion, I am going to silently back my way out of the room. I love my relatives, but we come at politics from a completely different frame of reference.

I chased TJ through a playground like a six year old yesterday. It was a fall day in Boise, the grey kind of day where fog clings to the trees, and steam rises off of the goose pond. We stomped across the playground bridge, dove head first through its tunnels. I followed his every move like there were no years between us, no separate planes on which we exist, no vague and uncomfortable connections. I was right there, right on his heels, flinging myself down the slide and tripping on the wood chunks, laughing, playing… I’m the only biggest sister he’s got. Why let fifteen years divide us?

And so it is in my time here, everything is a little richer, every emotion is a little deeper, every meal is shared. There is no, I repeat no, snow on the visible face of the mountains, so I’m running away to the Wasatch again on Friday, with only the memory of a day chasing bro, belaying sis, chatting with Pa til we’re both blinking back sleep, not wanting to stop the flow of dialogue dammed for so many years. A few more drops in the bucket of learning to be an individual, a complete and whole creature in the presence of Ma, with whom my allegiance has always taken part in my self-definition. A wonderful new friend, a reconnection with an old friend, some good advice, and some jaded politics. And of course, whatever delicious moments tomorrow brings.

This is Thanksgiving 2008, the beginning of a new season, the start of all things mayhem at work for the next month or so, the only November 26 where each of us resides at this age and phase…

The only day just like today. I can proudly say, I made the most of it, and loved every second.

The Fam

Climbing day with the fam. I don't know if I've expressed this often enough...


I love my family.

-------------------> PAPA __TJ__JH _ Dami__MA

That's us in JPEG form :) along with our blog names - how I reference them here.

Papa has the Iron Man emblem over his heart - he is a veteran triathlete and furiously training for the epic ski season knocking at the door. He and I make a point of knocking out as many powder runs as the daylight will allow at least once a ski season. As a first time climber, he sent a double over hang route with impressive one-arm-pull-up skills, and I'm looking forward to our next climbing venture around Thanksgiving.

Lil bro TJ is an intense kid, energetic and intelligent. Though we have different mothers, he is as brother as can be. Currently he is learning the rules of the basketball in his Y-Ball league -he made a couple of really great shots his last game, only one of which counted. Apparently, even in Y-Ball, you have to dribble rather than make a break for it, clutching the ball for dear life. Too bad, since the strategy seemed to work :) we were all still proud of him, his Mom especially.

When climbing, he scaled the first half of 5.6 rated routes very well - but the full ascent registered as a bit terrifying to him. 40 feet or so is a long way when you're hardly a tenth of that in stature!

Dami(enne). My sister is wonderful. She has an affection for France, and spent her last spring break there. She's learning the ropes of the young adult life, and has a lot of love to give. I am inexpressibly grateful for the opportunity to share most of my life growing up with her. She worked hard at climbing - initially going half way like TJ, but once she learned to trust the ropes, she finished her first routes quite gracefully.

Ma is as dedicated of a mother as can be. She put every ounce of her energy the past couple decades into my sister and I, and we're eternally grateful. She's on the brink of having ALL GROWN UP children, and I'm hoping her 'liberation' will allow her more time on the slopes with Zeppelin, on cassette if need be. :) Ma is not into combatting gravity on a climbing wall, but prefers to gracefully work WITH it in descending ski hills.

So, that's the fam! TJ and Dami were knocking out 5.6s by the end of our venture, and Papa is hooked, I am sure. He has immense experience rappelling and teaching rope rescue, but never got into climbing. I remember him telling me he wasn't interested a few summers ago when I first climbed in Moab, and I think I chided him, saying that if he wanted to rapp down, he had to earn it by climbing up. I saw the fire ignite in his eyes during our day at the gym - I have a feeling he intends to scale every route we came across, and won't stop til he does.

The City of Trees

Is alive and well on a passive skied, milky clouded day. I'm looking out across the valley, the Owyhees appearing misty in the background, the fiery colors of fall foliage speaking volumes about this place, adorning the resident maples, catalpas, elms...

Is it home? I don't know. I don't know where home is... Earth. Globally speaking, not regionally pinpointed.

Unless we were to speak of the habitats that constitute my collective childhood memory, in a time where home was more defined than just a feeling. The canopied streets of Boise, the sand and smell of its sage spangled foothills, the water of the arterial river that flows through it all and the days spent swinging into it from terrifying heights. The drive between here and New Meadows, that twisting, convoluted form of a house outside of McCall that seems to bow ever lower with each passing season. The footbridges and sparkling waterways and trails that carve through the Ponderosa forests, the local haunts we've danced the nights away at, whose borrowed letters helped us conquer the Alphabet Game on timeless road trips as children. The small cities, who in and of themselves have an identity to be missed and longed for - relatives of the soul, checkpoints on so many journeys - Banks, Lake Fork, Cascade, Smith's Ferry. The infamy of the Horseshoe Bend hill, the eerie reminders of the Cougar Mountain Lodge, the straight and broad, dusty road to Warm Lake. This area is what Idaho and I really have in common - our heartland. This part of the planet, even in a lifetime of travels, will forever be a beloved muse.

I'm going trick-or-treating with my sweet, wild little bro TJ this evening. At the tender, innocent age of six, he's elected to be a military Sniper for Halloween. My Dad (mistakenly, he admits) let him play Call of Duty on Playstation for a while, before banishing it for violent content. Aside from that, he comes from a proud military heritage on his maternal side - hopefully we'll play up the inspiration from the latter. :)

Happy Halloween to all!