Humility FAIL
Security FAILSunday, April 26, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Fake Bake'n
16 days and counting until my friends' wedding. I kind of ski a lot, as you may know. In the spring, when it's 60 degrees out, snowmelt and sweat compete for drenching rights. The days are lovely and feel like being on a beach surrounded by endless, free slushies. A few of the noteworthy, possibly less desirable consequences include...
1. Stinky boots in the locker room. 100+ pairs of em can almost knock you out on a humid spring afternoon, seriously. Boo.
2. Funky tans. Usually only on the lower face and hands, if they're glove-free. These can be interesting conversation pieces.
Case in point: I did not manipulate the colors in this photo at all. Spring 2008's goggle tan.
Normally, I'd sport the spring ski tan with pride. However, something tells me it would be impolite to show up in the bridal party rocking a stark white chest and arms accented by a dirty tan lower face and brown hands. Especially noting that the dress I will be wearing is sleeveless, and these are my friends, and this is their actual wedding, and they probably want the photographs that are costing them thousands of dollars to look nice.
So, I did the preposterous. I paid to be locked in a light bulb coffin with the intent of turning colors. I am going to do it a few more times before the wedding, even though it is ridiculous. The cute, energetic salesgirl actually tried to pitch a $100 bottle of lotion to me - right. No. I'll only go so far with vanity in the name of friendship, that is over the limit. As if I would piddle away money that will otherwise go toward climbing gear, real life, etc on lotion, of all things.
Go ahead, play the game.
"What do these items have in common...?"
1. Tanning Bed
2. Space ship
3. Toaster Oven (buns not included.)
[Hey, you soon to be newlyweds, now you know how much I love you. ;) ]
1. Stinky boots in the locker room. 100+ pairs of em can almost knock you out on a humid spring afternoon, seriously. Boo.
2. Funky tans. Usually only on the lower face and hands, if they're glove-free. These can be interesting conversation pieces.
Case in point: I did not manipulate the colors in this photo at all. Spring 2008's goggle tan.
Normally, I'd sport the spring ski tan with pride. However, something tells me it would be impolite to show up in the bridal party rocking a stark white chest and arms accented by a dirty tan lower face and brown hands. Especially noting that the dress I will be wearing is sleeveless, and these are my friends, and this is their actual wedding, and they probably want the photographs that are costing them thousands of dollars to look nice.
So, I did the preposterous. I paid to be locked in a light bulb coffin with the intent of turning colors. I am going to do it a few more times before the wedding, even though it is ridiculous. The cute, energetic salesgirl actually tried to pitch a $100 bottle of lotion to me - right. No. I'll only go so far with vanity in the name of friendship, that is over the limit. As if I would piddle away money that will otherwise go toward climbing gear, real life, etc on lotion, of all things.
Go ahead, play the game.
"What do these items have in common...?"
1. Tanning Bed
2. Space ship
3. Toaster Oven (buns not included.)
[Hey, you soon to be newlyweds, now you know how much I love you. ;) ]
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Hello April
It's nice to see you again this year, you radical old month. The Utah powder hasn't stopped yet but is no longer light and fine in texture; it sinks into the melting phase with decreasing delay. The creeks have started thumping with the rush of the daily melt, my hands are tan from hanging out the sleeves of my instructor jacket, arms still white.
April used to be depressing in high school, as the ski season would wrap up and I would have to focus back in on school to salvage my grades from absentee days. You know how some people say "I'd rather be skiing?" I took it seriously. Medical notes, activity absences for ski team, whatever I could manage. I swear my best memories of high school are of avoiding it for something better - a day skiing, lunch with my grandparents.
April doesn't depress me anymore, now that I'm a daggum "grown up." It's become the segue between my long-term winter love for skiing, and my recently acquired taste for wild summer flings with whitewater, mountains and rock faces. It's the bring-it-on month. Out with the old for now, the new comes parading in, life is gorgeous.
Random subject change: I'm in a wedding party in 16 days. I spent five hours addressing invites to the shower and bachelorette party. Some people have printers for this sort of thing... I kick it old school with a fine point Sharpie. Getting high, JH style. ;)
Speaking of kickin it old school, I caught sight of my old (read: 35mm) Pentax sitting lonely and cold in my closet the other day. I missed it fiercely, and will be going out for a photo op once I've skied myself silly in the powder that is falling on the Wasatch right this minute. I can hear the rain drumming on the slanted 'beach' house roof, and were it not for the cloud cover, the full moon would be illuminating the peaks which are undoubtedly being blanketed in thick, heavy snow of spring.
I love this state, I really do. It's incredible. I see something literally breathtaking, every day.
I still can't wait to get back to Idaho though, my soul craves the mountains and rivers there with distinct intensity. And the people... can't say it enough. I need the simplicity of good Idaho folk. If you don't know what this means, you probably never will.
I met the author of this book in my childhood, when my mother bought a condo in the north end of Boise. His daughter and her mother lived down the street, and we became fast friends - my first 'real' job ever, at 15, was nannying for them. They're wonderful people, I could dedicate a whole blog post in this sitting alone to what I have learned from and admired about them.
About the book though, Idaho Loners. I didn't actually read it until 2006 when I took off in the spring to become a river guide for the summer.
My first stop was at the base of the Tetons, to get my Wilderness First Responder certification from the Wilderness Medicine Institure, hosted by NOLS Teton Valley. Long story short, I spent 9 days at the base of the Tetons in and around a building that was once an old LDS church, sold and remodeled as the base camp for NOLS courses. The building was awesome, and even featured a whole room of bulk food - perfect for gearing up, great classroom, bunk beds, and a very nice updated bathroom. Taped on the back of one of the doors was a segment of Idaho Loners, about Jenny and Leigh Lakes and their namesake, Richard Leigh, aka "Beaver Dick."
The bathroom reader was interesting enough to fuel further reading at my second stop that spring, the family cabin, which is nestled appropriately in the heartland of Idaho. The cabin has a library host to a blessed specimen of mountain literature - Idaho Loners was right at home between some Vardis Fisher and Pat McManus gems.
I found something in those pages I identify with in ways I cannot explain. When I envision this summer, it's Idaho. It's the Salmon river, my grandparents, the cabin library, true love for life and swimming, literally, in my own transcendentalist experiences. Add a little bit of Moab to that and I am set.
And, I'm still going to wake up and ski a foot of powder. Oh yeyaaa. I love you, April.
JH
April used to be depressing in high school, as the ski season would wrap up and I would have to focus back in on school to salvage my grades from absentee days. You know how some people say "I'd rather be skiing?" I took it seriously. Medical notes, activity absences for ski team, whatever I could manage. I swear my best memories of high school are of avoiding it for something better - a day skiing, lunch with my grandparents.
April doesn't depress me anymore, now that I'm a daggum "grown up." It's become the segue between my long-term winter love for skiing, and my recently acquired taste for wild summer flings with whitewater, mountains and rock faces. It's the bring-it-on month. Out with the old for now, the new comes parading in, life is gorgeous.
Random subject change: I'm in a wedding party in 16 days. I spent five hours addressing invites to the shower and bachelorette party. Some people have printers for this sort of thing... I kick it old school with a fine point Sharpie. Getting high, JH style. ;)
Speaking of kickin it old school, I caught sight of my old (read: 35mm) Pentax sitting lonely and cold in my closet the other day. I missed it fiercely, and will be going out for a photo op once I've skied myself silly in the powder that is falling on the Wasatch right this minute. I can hear the rain drumming on the slanted 'beach' house roof, and were it not for the cloud cover, the full moon would be illuminating the peaks which are undoubtedly being blanketed in thick, heavy snow of spring.
I love this state, I really do. It's incredible. I see something literally breathtaking, every day.
I still can't wait to get back to Idaho though, my soul craves the mountains and rivers there with distinct intensity. And the people... can't say it enough. I need the simplicity of good Idaho folk. If you don't know what this means, you probably never will.
I met the author of this book in my childhood, when my mother bought a condo in the north end of Boise. His daughter and her mother lived down the street, and we became fast friends - my first 'real' job ever, at 15, was nannying for them. They're wonderful people, I could dedicate a whole blog post in this sitting alone to what I have learned from and admired about them.
About the book though, Idaho Loners. I didn't actually read it until 2006 when I took off in the spring to become a river guide for the summer.
My first stop was at the base of the Tetons, to get my Wilderness First Responder certification from the Wilderness Medicine Institure, hosted by NOLS Teton Valley. Long story short, I spent 9 days at the base of the Tetons in and around a building that was once an old LDS church, sold and remodeled as the base camp for NOLS courses. The building was awesome, and even featured a whole room of bulk food - perfect for gearing up, great classroom, bunk beds, and a very nice updated bathroom. Taped on the back of one of the doors was a segment of Idaho Loners, about Jenny and Leigh Lakes and their namesake, Richard Leigh, aka "Beaver Dick."
The bathroom reader was interesting enough to fuel further reading at my second stop that spring, the family cabin, which is nestled appropriately in the heartland of Idaho. The cabin has a library host to a blessed specimen of mountain literature - Idaho Loners was right at home between some Vardis Fisher and Pat McManus gems.
I found something in those pages I identify with in ways I cannot explain. When I envision this summer, it's Idaho. It's the Salmon river, my grandparents, the cabin library, true love for life and swimming, literally, in my own transcendentalist experiences. Add a little bit of Moab to that and I am set.
And, I'm still going to wake up and ski a foot of powder. Oh yeyaaa. I love you, April.
JH
Monday, March 23, 2009
Alta Gala 2009
Some photos from a gorgeous night at La Caille, in celebration of Alta's 70th anniversary. A tapas dinner, silent auction, and funk dancing into the night to the sounds of Lake Effect, 3/5 of whom are Alta season pass holders.Out of normal ski garb, goggle-tans glowing, we were all pleasantly suprised to become acquainted under the greenhouse canopy, a drastic change from our usual elements.
The sensation of feeling as if one is
in the right place at the right time is so elusive, and relentlessly pursued. In some cases, ignored for years until it rears as an instinctual longing. The confining ideal of fate dictating the course of one's life is popular, like all things that are easy tend to be. Life is way more complex than that, and because of the one-dimensional limitations of fate and destiny, I am quick to dismiss them. Skew it a little differently, like a scavenger hunt where you make all the calls but may or may not come upon the right opportunities, and I feel more inclined to embrace.I feel that in coming to Alta for the past four years, I've landed myself in the right place for me - met the people who would teach me the applicable lessons of this chapter of my life, experienced the natural beauty of the Wasatch in a way that will forever change my energy and zest for life.
Love these folks. So very much.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Image TAG-arooski
I got tagged. Supposedly, you're supposed to go into My Pictures, pick the sixth photo in the sixth file and blog about it. Participate at will and do it as you please... here is my attempt.Sometimes I wish I had stats on things, such as the total number of days I've skied, rides I've hitched, hitchers I've picked up, how many times I've traveled some favorite stretches of highway. Etc.
This image is a snapshot of the mouth of Spanish Fork canyon at sunset last December, as I returned from my beloved Moab.
Over the past three years, I've traveled that road dozens of times. I've laughed, conversed, and even seen death over its painted lines. The surrounding vistas have stolen the breath from me, inspired thought, been grounding in their constancy, and given confidence during change.
I look back on some of the most whole, raw moments of my life, and recall the beauty of the west - the Tetons, the red desert, Montana forests, all viewed through a dusty, bug-encrusted windshield. Windows down, with no regard for the presence of rain, snow, gale force highway wind shrieking in and through the vehicle. The kind of heat that could melt cosmetic presence from my face in salty droplets and rise in blurry currents from the dashboard and hood for months, with no relief from a failing AC unit.
Unconcerned for the conditions, I'd sing loudly, sometimes savagely, lyrics of liberation. The acoustic accompaniment to some sunsets, sunrises kneading peace and contentment into wearied, taut musculature.
Dirtbag vagabonding has been a significant part of life as I've known it the past few years.
JH
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Summertime
My own private Idaho.Thinking about and planning for this summer is the number one survival tactic I have for this semester. I traded a lot to go to school right now, and it's really been a bummer. BUT....
I have a lot to look forward to. I'm going home.
My friend somehow roped me into a half marathon in May. Admittedly, she didn't have to try, I want to do it. A good kickstart to the summer and tangible goal to work towards. I have two triathlons scheduled for August - that as a first training milestone of the season seems appropriate. Anyone wanna join in? May 16, Boise, Famous Potato. There's a whole and a half, Lucky Peak to Ann Morrison. Badass. ;)
My grandparents, all four of them, are stunning people - I can't wait to spend more time learning from them. It's amazing to be able to know them well and hear their stories, collected over rich lifetimes of experience. They all have a great sense of humor, and are the best company. Tonight my mom's parents were laughing about their memory slipping. Grandma said "We have a new policy. If I can't remember it, and he can't remember it," points at Grandpa, and both say "to hell with it!" laughing and grinning from ear to ear.
Thanks to the help of a former supervisor at the first ski school I worked for, I've landed my summer dream job. It looks like I'll be crashing at the family cabin, riding a road bike to and from work, and getting paid to raft a favorite section. Best of all, I get to be in IDAHO. Shh, don't tell, but it is by far the most immaculate of all states. SHH! ;)
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Eyelashes Beware!
It's always seemed counter intuitive to put these things reallllly close to my eye and clamp down.
Recently, that feeling has been justified. Did you know that if you squeeze hard enough, it's possible to bust through the little pad and lop your lashes right off? It is. Just thought I'd pass that on, while I'm sitting here waiting for 1/4 of them to grow back.
Recently, that feeling has been justified. Did you know that if you squeeze hard enough, it's possible to bust through the little pad and lop your lashes right off? It is. Just thought I'd pass that on, while I'm sitting here waiting for 1/4 of them to grow back.
Monday, February 16, 2009
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.]
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.]
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Icetastic Valentine's Day
S
leeplessness, likely due to the 65% cocoa chocolate consumed in V-day quantities, has me awake at this hour, taking a break from reading to indulge in my other favorite pastime. Blogging, duh!
leeplessness, likely due to the 65% cocoa chocolate consumed in V-day quantities, has me awake at this hour, taking a break from reading to indulge in my other favorite pastime. Blogging, duh!My sister is a Valentine's day scrooge. Weird, since she's a total sap (sorry Dami, you know it's true) - she'll cry at just about any movie, likes roses, touchy-feelyness, romance, and is pretty dang affectionate in general. Plus, she's in a relationship. Still hates Valentine's day. None of the former really apply to me, yet I love Valentine's day.
I've never been in a relationship for V-day. I'd just broken up with someone a week or two before, years ago - he pulled into the alley of my apartment complex, left a rose and card, intending to knock and ditch. I lived on the third floor, and opened the door to hear him thunder down the last stairs and watch as he realized he'd locked his keys in his still-running car. I drove him to his house for the spare, we laughed about it.
Valentine's day wasn't a couple's affair in our house. Mom, sis and I would leave messages and doodlings on bathroom mirrors, and we'd get a vase of flowers just because. In high school, my seminary teacher (who is now my uncle-in-law, if that is possible) had us make BARF bags. Like their grade school inspiration, these would be filled with candy and cute notes. BARF stood for "Be A Real Friend," and it was a pleasant, thoughtful exchange. Usually.
Today was delightful. My girlfriends and I went ice skating, ate delish home-made chili, and dark chocolate. No make-up, no pressure, no nonsense. The company of good friends I already know and love, good food and fun conversation.
Much love!
JH
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Blessed America
A shout out to the First Ammendment and the tenants protecting freedoms of speech and press. I love this country, turmoil and all.
Life as a journalist so far has been trying and rewarding. My articles have made the cover twice in the three weeks I've been writing for the Globe, and the article I'm currently working on will probably be up next Monday. Struggling to adapt to the massive style and structure shift from creative to journalistic writing, I am constantly learning and trying not to drown in the process.
The snow in Utah has seen some spring lovin' this week, sunshine and blue skies almost every day. Word on the web is that a storm is en route, rolling in to dispense some fresh powder sometime tonight.
Summer is not far enough away to avoid getting the spring chickens in a row, so I've been scoping out the prospects. There are two places that I see my Chaco-tanned, rowdy summer self: Moab and central Idaho. God willing, I'll get to spend a healthy amount of time in both places, and everywhere between. (ie Boise, the Wasatch, City of Rocks.) Ecstatic at the thought of straying the confines of the smoggy urban oven that is Salt Lake in the summer, relishing in thoughts of cold Idaho rivers, family and close friends at arm's length... YES, I will survive this semester.
Life as a journalist so far has been trying and rewarding. My articles have made the cover twice in the three weeks I've been writing for the Globe, and the article I'm currently working on will probably be up next Monday. Struggling to adapt to the massive style and structure shift from creative to journalistic writing, I am constantly learning and trying not to drown in the process.
The snow in Utah has seen some spring lovin' this week, sunshine and blue skies almost every day. Word on the web is that a storm is en route, rolling in to dispense some fresh powder sometime tonight.
Summer is not far enough away to avoid getting the spring chickens in a row, so I've been scoping out the prospects. There are two places that I see my Chaco-tanned, rowdy summer self: Moab and central Idaho. God willing, I'll get to spend a healthy amount of time in both places, and everywhere between. (ie Boise, the Wasatch, City of Rocks.) Ecstatic at the thought of straying the confines of the smoggy urban oven that is Salt Lake in the summer, relishing in thoughts of cold Idaho rivers, family and close friends at arm's length... YES, I will survive this semester.
JH
Friday, January 23, 2009
Surfing Cloud
Check this out! On our way into work, my pals and I got to watch this splendid little cloud formation curl over Devil's Castle like a breaking wave.
FYI - gret skiing yonder them cliffs.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Write and Ski
Spring Semester 2009 is ON, full intensity. Busy is good, and an exceptionally "good" week it was. To the demanding load of 17 credits, add teaching skiing 1-2 days per week, running a small business, writing for the school paper, social events, and come what may... eeesh.
On a positive note, every class session was filled with that vague, euphoric sense of having so much to gain from the coursework in the syllabi - nerdy but thrilling to sit and know that over the course of months, my understanding is going to be kneaded, spread out, formed into something new and increasingly comprehensive. Learning is awesome.
An unexpected highlight of the week: officially being hired on for my first paid writing job. I am now a stipend earnin' Campus Reporter for the SLCC Globe. This thrilling little twist in the plot of my spring term marks the advent of my next phase as a writer.
This blog has been a refuge for me, a place where my writing has gone public for the first time, albeit with limited scrutiny. SLCC boasts a ballpark enrollment of 60,000 students, and the Globe is available at every door of every campus. A fantastic opportunity to step into the public eye and begin building a portfolio, but seriously?! Bye bye academic wallflowerism.
Other than that, the second week of the 2009th year bearing the post-fix A.D. looks a lot like: smog in the valley and sunshine and soft, melted snow in the slopes. My favorite ski conditions... the air is pure, the wind on hiatus, my favorite runs are steep and soft and I can lose myself wholly in those moments of rhythmic reaching downhill, carving, finishing, flattening, reaching, repeating. On a particularily glorious ski day, Tuesday, I was riding solo on the lifts and contemplating the feeling of gratitude - how much I feel for health, recreation, deep breaths, good friends, long hard days of calorie torching shredding, followed by wholesome nourishment.
Being alive is great! Cheers to my faith in sustaining it through this semester. :)
JH
On a positive note, every class session was filled with that vague, euphoric sense of having so much to gain from the coursework in the syllabi - nerdy but thrilling to sit and know that over the course of months, my understanding is going to be kneaded, spread out, formed into something new and increasingly comprehensive. Learning is awesome.
An unexpected highlight of the week: officially being hired on for my first paid writing job. I am now a stipend earnin' Campus Reporter for the SLCC Globe. This thrilling little twist in the plot of my spring term marks the advent of my next phase as a writer.
This blog has been a refuge for me, a place where my writing has gone public for the first time, albeit with limited scrutiny. SLCC boasts a ballpark enrollment of 60,000 students, and the Globe is available at every door of every campus. A fantastic opportunity to step into the public eye and begin building a portfolio, but seriously?! Bye bye academic wallflowerism.
Other than that, the second week of the 2009th year bearing the post-fix A.D. looks a lot like: smog in the valley and sunshine and soft, melted snow in the slopes. My favorite ski conditions... the air is pure, the wind on hiatus, my favorite runs are steep and soft and I can lose myself wholly in those moments of rhythmic reaching downhill, carving, finishing, flattening, reaching, repeating. On a particularily glorious ski day, Tuesday, I was riding solo on the lifts and contemplating the feeling of gratitude - how much I feel for health, recreation, deep breaths, good friends, long hard days of calorie torching shredding, followed by wholesome nourishment.
Being alive is great! Cheers to my faith in sustaining it through this semester. :)
JH
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
School, Novel, Love and the New Year
So, I did it. I registered for Spring Term.
I know I said I wouldn't. I know I said other things were going to take precedence over my education this Spring.
But in the final moments where I scrambled the funds together, made the payment, and registered for the 16 credits I'll be taking, the thoughts going through my mind were right on track.
The thing is, in my old age of 22, I've become increasingly goal oriented. It isn't as much about the cash-out value or trade-offs of going to school anymore - yes, I just eliminated the probability of skiing in Europe, Jackson Hole, and a handful of other 'really exciting adventures' - but I'm making a permanent investment in a long range goal, that ultimately serves to make adventure more accessible, life more stable, etc. I think of the quote "Pay me now, or pay me later, but either way, you're going to pay me." I see the face of The Man in that saying, a rasp in his voice. I'm going to pay that old bastard now, walk down the line and take my diploma a year from May, a document that may or may not make my skills more marketable, my abilities more recognizable... but will symbolize a fulfillment of a commitment I made to myself, and embody the unlocking power to achieve future goals. I could rant on and on about school, but in summary, I'm going! And I LIKE it! :)
Novel, the second subject of this post. I've had some characters growing in my brain the past few months. It's like being pregnant... I assume, I have no idea what that actually feels like, but I swear these characters kick the back of my forehead and lean on my hypothalamus til my sleep patterns go irregular and my appetite buckles. They want out. I want them out. I'm going to write them into being this spring, in the company of a writer's group I've been invited to join, which I am thrilled about.
Love. I hesitate to write this... but because things like this need to be borne, not suffocated in the confines of my skull, I shall. I've had this ongoing crushlikething for a while now, for a dear friend. I was talking to another dear friend about it a few days ago, and he said that this 'crush' is the one thing that makes him question my otherwise admired (by him) intelligence. Kind of stunning, really, like a bee sting on a pleasant summer day, the worst part of it being that I knew exactly where he was coming from. A few other good friends have made a similar point. I don't think that it's a particularly good look for an independent, whole woman to wear - this waiting, almost pining, thoughtfully patient "love." Dear friend #2, bee sting guy, says I should be 'putting myself out there more' - and he also scolded me for paying for my own dinner on dates, my typical policy. To all of this, I respond that sure, I could be more engaging in the possibilities of romance with random dates, and I guess I could let strangers pay for food I consume and would rather pay for myself, and I suppose I could forget for a while how every second I spend in the company of dear friend #1, crushguy, feels like home the way I remember it from age 9... unpretentious, comfortable, right. But hey, I don't have the time or energy to change my ways today. I'll think on it though.
And lastly, the New Year. Instinctively, I wanted to say "I hope it's good to you all." Instead, I say decide now what you want it to look like, summon your courage, fill your lungs, and press forward. 2009 is bound to be filled with unseen obstacles, challenges, trials, pain.... and possibly as much happiness and fulfillment as your soul can contain. This first week of it is the part where we address what we want the content to look like. The headlines will make themselves, the paragraphs that follow, where we record our reactions, express our rhythms, draw our character - that's all open, and is largely determined by habit.
With love,
JH
I know I said I wouldn't. I know I said other things were going to take precedence over my education this Spring.
But in the final moments where I scrambled the funds together, made the payment, and registered for the 16 credits I'll be taking, the thoughts going through my mind were right on track.
The thing is, in my old age of 22, I've become increasingly goal oriented. It isn't as much about the cash-out value or trade-offs of going to school anymore - yes, I just eliminated the probability of skiing in Europe, Jackson Hole, and a handful of other 'really exciting adventures' - but I'm making a permanent investment in a long range goal, that ultimately serves to make adventure more accessible, life more stable, etc. I think of the quote "Pay me now, or pay me later, but either way, you're going to pay me." I see the face of The Man in that saying, a rasp in his voice. I'm going to pay that old bastard now, walk down the line and take my diploma a year from May, a document that may or may not make my skills more marketable, my abilities more recognizable... but will symbolize a fulfillment of a commitment I made to myself, and embody the unlocking power to achieve future goals. I could rant on and on about school, but in summary, I'm going! And I LIKE it! :)
Novel, the second subject of this post. I've had some characters growing in my brain the past few months. It's like being pregnant... I assume, I have no idea what that actually feels like, but I swear these characters kick the back of my forehead and lean on my hypothalamus til my sleep patterns go irregular and my appetite buckles. They want out. I want them out. I'm going to write them into being this spring, in the company of a writer's group I've been invited to join, which I am thrilled about.
Love. I hesitate to write this... but because things like this need to be borne, not suffocated in the confines of my skull, I shall. I've had this ongoing crushlikething for a while now, for a dear friend. I was talking to another dear friend about it a few days ago, and he said that this 'crush' is the one thing that makes him question my otherwise admired (by him) intelligence. Kind of stunning, really, like a bee sting on a pleasant summer day, the worst part of it being that I knew exactly where he was coming from. A few other good friends have made a similar point. I don't think that it's a particularly good look for an independent, whole woman to wear - this waiting, almost pining, thoughtfully patient "love." Dear friend #2, bee sting guy, says I should be 'putting myself out there more' - and he also scolded me for paying for my own dinner on dates, my typical policy. To all of this, I respond that sure, I could be more engaging in the possibilities of romance with random dates, and I guess I could let strangers pay for food I consume and would rather pay for myself, and I suppose I could forget for a while how every second I spend in the company of dear friend #1, crushguy, feels like home the way I remember it from age 9... unpretentious, comfortable, right. But hey, I don't have the time or energy to change my ways today. I'll think on it though.
And lastly, the New Year. Instinctively, I wanted to say "I hope it's good to you all." Instead, I say decide now what you want it to look like, summon your courage, fill your lungs, and press forward. 2009 is bound to be filled with unseen obstacles, challenges, trials, pain.... and possibly as much happiness and fulfillment as your soul can contain. This first week of it is the part where we address what we want the content to look like. The headlines will make themselves, the paragraphs that follow, where we record our reactions, express our rhythms, draw our character - that's all open, and is largely determined by habit.
With love,
JH
Friday, December 26, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Moab Getaway
Matrimony Springs, Moab, UT. "As the legend goes, if you drink from it, you will be married to Moab, and always return." I drink deeply, every visit.Closing the door on the Red River was a little heart wrenching, the symbolic prelude to leaving town - indefinitely.
Moab couldn't be more gorgeous, the La Salles are cloaked in brilliant white, reigning majestically over the red plateaus, the martian landscape, the floor of this valley that gently rises to rub elbows with the sheer cliffs that surround it.
I love this place. It is one of my homes, a place where my soul has been set free time and time again.
I was sleeping in my car one spring night earlier this year, in a town that shares some of the same nuances of Moab, yet hosts a distinctly different flavor, and operates at a perennially lower volume. It was a frigid desert night, and I snuggled into my 0* down bag, listening to the whistling, whispering desert wind draw its fingers over the roof of my well-beat Civic. Lost in my thoughts, I came up with the idea that the desert doesn't offer much, doesn't extend its hand to feed and nourish. Rather, the desert stands stoically, silently, the liberty of interpretation and self assertion lying in the heart of the beholder. Like a backpacker appreciates food on an empty, calorie torching venture, a soul appreciates the lack of propaganda in the desert, the mind cleansed of input and free to process its own products. It takes a few days for the gunk to clear out, and that's why I came.
Cryptically speaking, a synopsis of the experience would fit nicely in these limited words. I found a life altering book on the 50cent paperback shelf at the library yesterday, which opened the vacuum sealed fluids of my brain to look at some "things" a little more constructively. In so doing, I realized the words that go along with the actions I've been taking, and how it all fits into the collective psychology of women, in my generation, with regard to my personal history. I'll make a post about it sometime, when I've finished the book - it presents some really powerful concepts I'm excited to share.
Anyhow, this voyage into the desert yielded thousands of words of progress on some writing projects, a new haircut (pictures, later) and some time with old friends. And, the soul-soothing vistas of a familiar landscape, which kind of brought it all together in the first place.
(Oh, and a desperately needed kick in the ass, dually brought to me by the deity and human hands that wrote the little paperback into being, and placed it on the discard shelf, and the allowance I gave it to rock my monotonously fog enshrouded little boat.)
I love, love, love teaching skiing. But this live out of a car, sleep on couches and in random trailers life suits me quite well. Travel writing would be ideal for me for the next few years, I need to find the words and means to unlock that opportunity, reconfiguring my off-season rhythms.
Speaking of which, I'm going to hop back into my car now, cruise to Salt Lake, and take my belated shot at some of the new powder in the Wasatch. More to come this weekend, and my beloved cousins are coming to visit soon - backcountry jump, anyone?
Life really is grand. :)
JH
Moab couldn't be more gorgeous, the La Salles are cloaked in brilliant white, reigning majestically over the red plateaus, the martian landscape, the floor of this valley that gently rises to rub elbows with the sheer cliffs that surround it.
I love this place. It is one of my homes, a place where my soul has been set free time and time again.
I was sleeping in my car one spring night earlier this year, in a town that shares some of the same nuances of Moab, yet hosts a distinctly different flavor, and operates at a perennially lower volume. It was a frigid desert night, and I snuggled into my 0* down bag, listening to the whistling, whispering desert wind draw its fingers over the roof of my well-beat Civic. Lost in my thoughts, I came up with the idea that the desert doesn't offer much, doesn't extend its hand to feed and nourish. Rather, the desert stands stoically, silently, the liberty of interpretation and self assertion lying in the heart of the beholder. Like a backpacker appreciates food on an empty, calorie torching venture, a soul appreciates the lack of propaganda in the desert, the mind cleansed of input and free to process its own products. It takes a few days for the gunk to clear out, and that's why I came.
Cryptically speaking, a synopsis of the experience would fit nicely in these limited words. I found a life altering book on the 50cent paperback shelf at the library yesterday, which opened the vacuum sealed fluids of my brain to look at some "things" a little more constructively. In so doing, I realized the words that go along with the actions I've been taking, and how it all fits into the collective psychology of women, in my generation, with regard to my personal history. I'll make a post about it sometime, when I've finished the book - it presents some really powerful concepts I'm excited to share.
Anyhow, this voyage into the desert yielded thousands of words of progress on some writing projects, a new haircut (pictures, later) and some time with old friends. And, the soul-soothing vistas of a familiar landscape, which kind of brought it all together in the first place.
(Oh, and a desperately needed kick in the ass, dually brought to me by the deity and human hands that wrote the little paperback into being, and placed it on the discard shelf, and the allowance I gave it to rock my monotonously fog enshrouded little boat.)
I love, love, love teaching skiing. But this live out of a car, sleep on couches and in random trailers life suits me quite well. Travel writing would be ideal for me for the next few years, I need to find the words and means to unlock that opportunity, reconfiguring my off-season rhythms.
Speaking of which, I'm going to hop back into my car now, cruise to Salt Lake, and take my belated shot at some of the new powder in the Wasatch. More to come this weekend, and my beloved cousins are coming to visit soon - backcountry jump, anyone?
Life really is grand. :)
JH
Monday, December 1, 2008
I lied.
Fall is not over.
Today's weather makes me question whether or not SUMMER is over... I might go hike Olympus in a bit, seeing that it is bathed in 70 degrees of sunlight.
December first. Come on.
Today's weather makes me question whether or not SUMMER is over... I might go hike Olympus in a bit, seeing that it is bathed in 70 degrees of sunlight.
December first. Come on.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Fall 2008
The last day of JH's nanny career, for the time being. 
Ski season has started off to a dull roar. There's not much snow in the Wasatch, the south facing side of Little Cottonwood is remarkably dirty for this time of year, but the runs are soft and the skiers have come into their shells, out of their eastern abodes.
Seven seasons in, I love teaching skiing more every day.
I spent this weekend in the wonderful company of a beautiful little girl from St. Louis and her family. It's amazing to be in a place where individuals and families come to enjoy life, and I get to be a part of their experience. I am truly blessed.
On one of our rides this afternoon, we shared the chair with a man from Manhattan. He asked a lot of questions about my life - and the picture I painted for him was (my reality) : I ski in the winter, am taking my time through school, and have spent a good part of the past three summers running rivers.
The man looks at me and he says "What do you think you are, some kind of diety, that you get to take the best of life and just do that?"
And I'm sure I laughed, and was pleasant, and didn't gloat too much.
Choices
Whirlwind weekend. I have slept, oh, 7 or 8 hours total since Friday. I taught the equivalent amount of hours in ski lessons, and AS OF TODAY, finals week is ON.
Finals Week To Do List:
Film - Present critical analysis of stereotypes and class/race issues.
Lit - Essay critically analyzing 3 pieces of Feminist lit.
Folklore - Portrait of a Folk group and its material folklore. My topic - climbing (might as well enjoy it... and I've already written about skiing a time or two.)
Note the lack of exams. Lucky me. I love, love, love majoring in English and dodging Math courses.
Next semester game plan? You tell me, I have no idea. I have a sample schedule made up, a tentative trip to Europe in March, a hundred other things I want to do, and a burning desire to get a degree as quickly as I possibly can. Registration starts tomorrow... and I don't think I'm going to make up my mind for a few weeks.
School is such an investment of time and focus. I've been enrolled every semester of 2008, three in a row. I was looking in the mirror about a month ago and realized there were things about myself that I hadn't even been conscious of for months - weirdest feeling. Like I'd been in survival mode for so long that I didn't really stop to think about the details. Or if I were to wake up in the morning and do whatever I wanted, what I would actually choose - without impending deadlines and looming projects. Or how I might have more to give my friends and family, in terms of minutes and sincere, undistracted listening, if my mind wasn't always straddling the chasm between disciplined time-management and liberal indulgence devoid of urgency.
Although I haven't chosen a set path yet, at least I can look at all of the options I've honed down and honestly say, there isn't a bad one in the bunch. Each of my choices has pros, cons, merits for achieving goals and unique gratification.
I believe that when you are living well and being conscientious of who you are, what you want, and how you might attain it, it's usually the case that the choices in front of you are all good, and given time, one will likely emerge as the best or most desirable. Uncertainty is okay, and probably temporary. If you're working towards a goal, with persistence, it will be attained -the amount of time and the details of the journey are the variables. They count. But shouldn't dethrone or detract from the goal... just make the story of attaining it more interesting.
Just some contemplations from the evening, I felt it fit the purpose of the blog well, seeing that balancing school and EVERYTHING else seems to be an integral part of the quarter-life process.
Finals Week To Do List:
Film - Present critical analysis of stereotypes and class/race issues.
Lit - Essay critically analyzing 3 pieces of Feminist lit.
Folklore - Portrait of a Folk group and its material folklore. My topic - climbing (might as well enjoy it... and I've already written about skiing a time or two.)
Note the lack of exams. Lucky me. I love, love, love majoring in English and dodging Math courses.
Next semester game plan? You tell me, I have no idea. I have a sample schedule made up, a tentative trip to Europe in March, a hundred other things I want to do, and a burning desire to get a degree as quickly as I possibly can. Registration starts tomorrow... and I don't think I'm going to make up my mind for a few weeks.
School is such an investment of time and focus. I've been enrolled every semester of 2008, three in a row. I was looking in the mirror about a month ago and realized there were things about myself that I hadn't even been conscious of for months - weirdest feeling. Like I'd been in survival mode for so long that I didn't really stop to think about the details. Or if I were to wake up in the morning and do whatever I wanted, what I would actually choose - without impending deadlines and looming projects. Or how I might have more to give my friends and family, in terms of minutes and sincere, undistracted listening, if my mind wasn't always straddling the chasm between disciplined time-management and liberal indulgence devoid of urgency.
Although I haven't chosen a set path yet, at least I can look at all of the options I've honed down and honestly say, there isn't a bad one in the bunch. Each of my choices has pros, cons, merits for achieving goals and unique gratification.
I believe that when you are living well and being conscientious of who you are, what you want, and how you might attain it, it's usually the case that the choices in front of you are all good, and given time, one will likely emerge as the best or most desirable. Uncertainty is okay, and probably temporary. If you're working towards a goal, with persistence, it will be attained -the amount of time and the details of the journey are the variables. They count. But shouldn't dethrone or detract from the goal... just make the story of attaining it more interesting.
Just some contemplations from the evening, I felt it fit the purpose of the blog well, seeing that balancing school and EVERYTHING else seems to be an integral part of the quarter-life process.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
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.
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