home, sick.

searching boxes underneath the counter
on a chance that on a tape i'd find

a song for
someone who needs somewhere
to long for

homesick
cause i no longer know
what home is
[kings of convenience]

last night there was a confusion between me being home, sick, and homesick. there is a difference, wide and deep, between the two, but i wonder if i can bring them together. i'm intrigued by hearing "homesick" by the kings of convenience today, after that confusion, because the song talks about some feelings that i have about my work that i'm doing and where i want to be. and i know i'm not homesick for michigan, but i could be homesick for california. well, i mean, i'm absolutely homesick for the stanislaus.

so, let's talk about being sick at home and homesick. the former is somewhat antithetical to the latter because if you're home, sick, then you're obviously at home, wherever that is. it is definitely more literal, and doesn't require much of a definition because it is tangible. both being sick and being in a physical space called home are objective (for the most part). but being homesick is entirely abstract, because you are missing a place that physically does not exist. in a way, you can't prove that that place exists because you cannot see it, and whatever your ideas about it, you can't define what it is or what you miss about it. being homesick is in your head, while being sick is entirely within your body.

so at this moment, i suffer from physical sickness. i suppose if i felt like pondering it, i would admit that i miss a place in my memory that no longer exists for me in any physical sense. now that i'm thinking about this...does what i think about place also apply to people? are friends that live thousands of miles away any less because of the space between us? perhaps that is the beauty of communication, because i can still verify their existance through our phone calls and letters. i can't really check in with the trees and deer in the stanislaus to make sure they're still alive and well. i'm tempted to bring in the old addage, "if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound?" just because i have no contact with my mountains, does that mean i can't remain connected to it? is it all in my head? who knows.

this is what happens when i take the day off to recover from illness. i make no sense and try to grapple with things beyond my brain's current functioning capacity. i shouldn't drink coffee when i'm this sick...

amigos

this weekend, i finally felt that i have friends here in rochester.

on thursday night, betsy, greta and i went to a valentine's party at one of rochester's living co-ops. we didn't know many people, but we found a few people we had seen around, and had a nice time. then we went to the bug jar and saw melissa from church, tim, and greta's friend pete. the dream team (betsy, me, greta, jenna and jessica) was back together again, and it was so much fun. we got our dance on, majorly. then on friday i went to member development day for americorps and had fun with everyone there, and got to talk with ceridwen a bit. she's awesome. friday night was game night at jenna's and we had a rocking good time. we played "a thousand white cards" and it was so hilarious. definitely a good game for our crowd. i love them the most because they are so creative, funny and comfortable in their own skin. they are my people :) afterwards betsy and i went to sean's for the 90s party and we also had a great time there. then saturday i went out late with starbucks people and we had a ridiculous time. it started with darts at the keg (embarrassing, i know) and ended drinking coffee at 3am at jason's, hanging out and playing guitar. sunday afternoon i went with betsy and charlie to the 20s/30s group outing to the bagel bin with people from my church, and had a great conversation with some people i didn't know, and then got to talk to adam, the amazing (and apparently famous) vegan animal rights activist who just screened a movie he directed in hollywood. it's about the egg and chicken industry, and it looks really incredible. i can't wait to see the screening here in rochester. the best thing is that he's coming over for dinner next sunday! i'm so excited to get a chance to talk to him more. we're going to have a vegan fondu extravaganza....sweet!!

finally, last night i went out with matt, tucker and andy and we had a great time playing darts. now granted, i went out thursday thru sunday nights straight, and that probably was not the best idea, but it was fun and made me feel so much better about finding a place among these various rochester crowds. i feel comfortable with these people, and feel affection and companionship with quite a few of them. it helps to have my "posse", charlie and betsy to discover these wonderful people. i could not have done it without them.

this is a random post, but i just had to say that i finally feel at home here (it only took four months...) and that i'm looking forward to better weather to enjoy with my friends.

time to read!

for peter

"Listening Well"

He had the gift
of stopping time
& listening well
so that it was easy
to hear who
we could become

& that was the future
he held safe
for each of us
in his great heart

you may ask, what now?
& I hope you understand
when we speak softly
among ourselves
& do not answer
just yet

for our future
is no longer the same
without him

[Brian Andreas]

"painting by chagall" - the weepies

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a quiet intensity
I am willful, your insistence is tugging at the best of me
You're the moon, I'm the water
You're Mars, calling up Neptune's daughter

Sometimes rain that's needed falls
We float like two lovers in a painting by Chagall
All around is sky and blue town
Holding these flowers for a wedding gown
We live so high above the ground, satellites surround us.

I am humbled in this city
There seems to be an endless sea of people like us
Wakeful dreamers, I pass them on the sunlit streets
In our rooms filled with laughter
We make hope from every small disaster

Everybody says "you can't, you can't, you can't, don't try."
Still everybody says that if they had the chance they'd fly like we do.

wild rivers, steep cliffs and storm clouds on the horizon

in early july, i had an itch to get back to upper relief valley. we had worked that trail up and down, from relief reservoir down at 7,000 feet all the way to the whitesides meadow junction and back. the steep climb to upper relief became routine, and i had enjoyed our daily hike through a patch of mountain sagebrush. now as we turned toward the lunch meadow trail and inched our way closer to our final camp at emigrant lake, i felt the urge to return to something familiar.

we left in a group of six, my friend grace and i the only women. our supervisor, brian, also joined us on this weekend trip. we made the easy, familiar way through hot, exposed granite stairs and cool, shaded ponderosa pine paths. john, our foreman, had described how to find an old ccc camp, down in lower relief valley near the base of granite dome, and we found it easily.

the next morning, i woke to a crisp clear sierra nevada sun. it was early, and the light was still blocked a bit by the mountains that rose up around us in all directions. checking in, i saw that i was the first one up, as usual. i grabbed my journal and my turquoise beanie and scrambled up the granite rocks near our camp to get a better view of the rising sun. i knew i had at least an hour before anyone else awoke, and so i began some sun salutations. my body was sore from a week of trail work and a fast hike with all my weekend gear, but it felt good to stretch out my tired muscles. it had been two months since i joined the crew at our strawberry camp, and i'm sure if i could have looked at myself in a proper mirror, i would have been shocked by the tanned, muscular girl in front of me. nothing can make a girl prettier than abundant sunshine, fresh mountain air and miles and miles of hiking for months on end. that morning, stretching and breathing the crisp alpine air, i felt beauty emanating from me, from the depths of my soul. it was time to write.

as often happened on our weekends, i was soon joined in my solitary morning by owen, or professor ridings as we like to call him. in fact, there were many times when i was startled by his presence; he had awoken and was meditating twenty yards from me on another rock. sometimes our eyes would meet and we would simply smile, and return to our private thoughts and meditations. this morning, he sat in silence for a long time. he had suffered and fought so much in his life; i thanked the universe that this morning he knew peace.

after a quick breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, and my failed attempts not to wake everyone else up, we all slowly made our way to the river, and those magnificent waterfalls.

the water was freezing cold. snowmelt. it fell fast over several pools that were walled in on both sides by steep rocks. we played in the crisp cool water for more than an hour, swimming under the falls and taking pictures as the water pounded down around us. it was slippery and the whole time i was there, i felt on the edge of danger...deliciously risky. life in the wilderness often feels that way. we are wild creatures in our deepest core, and survival instincts begin to show themselves in the face of wild rivers, steep cliffs and storm clouds on the horizon...

as the morning slowly crept towards noon, justin, mike, owen and i found a small plateau of brilliant white granite on which to sunbathe. i had spent so much time with these boys that i felt only a bit bashful in stripping completely and lying fully nude on the hot rocks. they did the same. we lay there for an hour, drying off and warming up after our exhilirating time in the waterfalls. sometimes the wilderness gives you too much time to think. especially on a saturday afternoon smack in the middle of a summer in the mountains, i blissfully thought about nothing. not a care in the world...

eventually our stomachs beckoned us back to camp. the boys headed down the rocks to follow the river back, but i had to cross over the falls to get my towel. i made it across the water without too much trouble, but i found myself in a tough position. the spot where i had left my things was a bit downstream, and although i had climbed down from this point, it was much more difficult to climb back up. in my sandals and underwear, i scrambled up a few rocks, grabbing roots and small cracks in the granite to help myself up. eventually though, i was almost entirely cliffhung, sliding on an angled platform. there was barely enough room for me and my sandals did me no good on the sandy rocks. precariously, my heart beating fast and thoughts of imminent death racing through my mind, i loosened my sandals and slung them around my wrist. using my bare feet for better grip i awkwardly reached for a handhold on the rocks above me. somehow, thanks to my survival insticts, i made it up to the top of the rock face, and sat panting in the hot sun. and for the second time that day, i thanked the universe for her mercy and saving grace.

gathering my things and carefully climbing the rest of the way down the granite rocks, i noticed some dark stormclouds building up. we would not escape this storm, i knew.

the rest of the afternoon was spent under a tarp, in sleeping bags, listening to music and laughing at dumb jokes and silly stories. grace, mike and i had become pretty close and we had fun waiting out the rain in our makeshift shelter. not much rain fell that evening, but by the next morning the rain was inevitable, and we wondered when we should head back to our camp.

rain fell around ten in the morning, and by noon we figured there would be no break. loading our already damp packs on our backs, we started out on the relatively short hike home. by the time we reached the stanislaus river crossing, the rain had been falling for hours, and the river had risen significantly. it was too high and too fast to cross. we waited by the river, heating some water for hot chocolate and using what dry wood we could find to make a small fire. we had no idea what to do. john had advised us to wait it out if ever we found a river too high to cross. it would be better to return late than to attempt such a dangerous crossing. but it was pointless to wait. besides, we were hungry.

at brian's suggestion, we swung on our packs and hiked back about a mile and half up the trail to a wider point in the river. it would be slower and shallower, for sure. but would that be enough for it to be safe to cross? brian, our resident "captain america", dropped his pack and inched out into the river, testing the current to decide whether we could cross. he determined it was possible, and we prepared to cross. the boys went first, with very little trouble. then it was my turn. at five foot two, the river was more than waist high on me. the boys made a sort of assembly line to pass my pack over to the other shore. we sent across grace's and brian's as well. as soon as i stepped into the swift river, my feet went out from under me. by this point i probably weighed no more than 115 pounds, and could not get a grip on the slippery rocks beneath me. brian grabbed me and tried to straighten me out, but it was hopeless. i could not get a firm stance in the river, so the men passed me down the line, gripping me by the lapels. zach yelled, half jokingly, half worriedly, for me to stand up. i laughed and looked at him hopelessly. there was no way i could. they safely passed me off until finally i reached the other shore. they saved my life. and we all were in fits of laughter. grace fared a bit better, though not much. finally we all gathered on the opposite shore, tried to dry off and then began the cross-country trip back to camp.

it was a rough hike, scrambling over rocks and slipping on slimy, mossy logs. at one point i was lost in a patch of tall bushes next to the river, stepping into deep pools and getting caught on pokey branches. we were all tired and wanted to get home, so we scattered and then got frustrated when others went in different directions. at last, we made it to the trail that would take us back to camp.

despite the danger, despite the setbacks and despite the unforgiving nature of the wilderness, we managed to live through these trials not only safely, but laughing all the way. we survived because of the intense commitment we had to each other, and because of the individual fires that burned inside each one of us. we had a personal desire to survive, and a collective desire to succeed.

i never made it all the way up to upper relief valley that weekend, nor anytime for the rest of the season for that matter, but i made peace with that reality. the first moment i had seen upper relief was etched in my brain forever, and no doubt it would never again be as beautiful. you can never go back to those moments. especially if you're looking for something that was there before. we must live each day to the fullest and take what we can from the time we have. no use looking for what was there before.

i finished desert solitaire today, and i'm happy and sad, feeling empty and full, all at once. it was wonderful, albeit tough for me to get through. mostly because i didn't want it to end. i didn't want him to have to leave arches, to go home and wonder, when he goes back, if he goes back, will it be the same? will he be the same?

i sat in a cafe for an hour, eating a croissant and sipping on delicious coffee with lots of cream, and i pondered these questions. of course, i don't plan to return to the backcountry to do all the same things, to be with the same people and see the same sights. i know it would be different, just as i would be different. but in some ways, the wilderness that i left behind is more dependable than anything i could hope to find here in civilization. and the girl that left the mountains was more confident, more energetic, more alive than the one sitting here now. if i did return, i would be older, wiser. i would look at the time i have there in a different light, knowing how precious it really is. if i returned, i would know better than to ever leave again...

if only...

my saving grace (which is also the bane of my existance) is my routine commute by foot around the city of rochester. today, i tried to catch the bus home from teen city, but, realizing i was really early for the bus, i decided to walk part of the way. that turned into ALL of the way. it was just easier, faster, and cheaper than waiting 20 minutes in the cold for a bus that would take 2 minutes and cost me a dollar. my hands weren't numb, so i continued on. i'm proud that i walk everywhere. it's actually not as cold as riding my bike, i've found, since the wind blows so cold on my face. and it gives me time to think. too much, maybe.

i, like ed abbey, like to be alone. my sister is gone with charlie to seattle until next week, and i'm starting to savor my solitude, and the silence it brings me. in silence, in solitude, i have room to stretch my brain. to think long and hard, and sometimes to think of nothing at all. mostly to daydream, a skill i honed from needing something to distract me from 2000 ft climbs up a mountain with tools on my back. i had lovely daydreams while hiking. when it got REALLY bad, i would just think of those damn sheep that surrounded gage and me and woke us up on the morning of the summer solstice. the thought of those sheep would make me smile and even laugh, even on the most grueling hike to work. now, i think of a lot of memories of the backcountry, and dreams of returning to the sierras. i plan wild escapes in winter to warm places with no people, just me and the sky. i can almost smell the sagebrush and juniper and cedar, hear the wind blow through the canyons and taste the dust from the trail in my mouth. i can feel the mountain air. i also think a lot about trails we worked for weeks at a time. i go over in my head every turn in the trail, every incline, switchback, obstacle and view, picturing each step as if i had taken slides of the whole way up the mountain. i don't think i could ever get lost in that part of the stanislaus. i probably know it better than the back of my hand (who ever studies the back of their hand, anyway?)

i started out just wanting to mention that i finished desert solitaire, and that i wished ed abbey had offered me a better handhold out of this hole i find myself. "a hole as deep as my regret." i wish he hadn't left me hanging on the hope that he would return, so that i might return, and find things not necessarily the same, but more familiar than this strange world in which i find myself now. i wish i didn't have to read about all those beautiful arches and rivers and sunsets, and then return to this icy white jungle. i wish i didn't have to wake up at 4:00 in the morning tomorrow. peace...

lifenow radio

my church produces a radio show that is simply fantastic. the shows are a little long, usually about a half an hour, but they're well worth the time. i recommend them to anyone, especially those who are interested in living this life to the fullest and not focusing too much on the next. the show is called LifeNow because that's exactly what they look at: your life, now. mostly, it's what npr could be if they felt bold enough to put a little heart and soul into their stories. check out the website and browse through stories that seem interesting. i just listened to "heart buzz" and loved it. i downloaded a couple and plan to listen to them on my mp3 while i walk to work and run. definitely worth checking out...

let there be peace and peace and peace

have i mentioned that i love sunday mornings? i really love them. today i'm thinking about a lot of things. i'm listening to andy mckee, a favorite from this summer. one sunday morning, one of our last at our relief reservoir camp, and the last time that we saw peter, we all sat around eating breakfast in near silence, drinking tea or coffee and listening to andy mckee's happy acoustic guitar instrumentals bouncing off rock faces and enormous pines. the fire was down to a low crackling and clouds drifted slowly across the sky. we hardly EVER had clouds, and it would eventually rain that day. but at that moment, in the clear july sun, we were completely at peace.

i sit here this morning with my coffee (made in a french press, not cowboy coffee) and listen to andy mckee stream through my laptop. i am alone, and indoors. but i am still happy. i'm about to go to church, and i can't wait. kaaren is preaching today and it's sure to be inspiring. the theme for this month is "think", and i'm looking forward to this challenge. i'm glad that spending time with this church is turning out to be everything i hoped it would be, and more. i love the ministers, and feel inspired in everything i hear and see in my beautiful little church across the street. i couldn't be more blessed to have found these people at this point in my life.

i'm going to finish my coffee, get dressed, bundle up, and take a little walk up to church. i love sunday mornings...