Summer's passing quickly. It's the middle of July, the fireweed are blooming, the salmon are heading upstream to spawn, the last of the snow is finally melting off of the mountain tops, and it's time to start planning berry picking trips. August is almost here. Alex and I talked during the winter about all the hiking trips we would love to take after work. To date, we haven't taken any!
We were talking yesterday about the fact that I am the planner, he's the executor. I come up with the plans, he follows through on them. I haven't come up with any plans, hence, no plans to execute. I'll have to remedy that.
This week is already filled with activity. Tonight is camping gear purchasing night (we are going with friends to stay on their property near the Kenai River to do some fishing and camping this weekend), tomorrow is karate practice, the weekend is booked. I'm going to sit down tonight and go through my "Hiking the Chugach: 50 Hikes" book and find some hikes for us to start doing after work. I know he'd be really excited if I put some bicycling excursions on that list, but he'd better not hold his breath. There won't be any "Bird to Gird" trips in my near future. Maybe I'll plan a few bikes around the neighborhood, or a few to the bridge on the highway over Eagle River, but I'm not planning a mini Tour d'France for us around Anchorage any time soon.
I've decided to stop doing karate for a while. It's a sin (it is, really, I read it in the bible somewhere) to not be outside in Alaska during the summer when it's sunny. It read something like "Though shalt not waste beautiful Alaskan summer days!" Maybe I paraphrased what I read, but I'm sure it's something like that. Since I won't have karate tomorrow, I'll take the dog(s) and head up Hiland and check out part of the Symphony Lakes path.
The thing I'm learning about activity is that I'm a leader when it comes to planning. If I plan it, they will come. If I don't plan it, and no one else does, then I'm the one at fault for my wasted summer. The only one better at planning than I am is Angie! She's already got the camping trip for the girl's to Kennicott booked, complete with a mine tour, for the weekend of August 11th. And, if nothing else comes up (meaning if nothing else is planned by me), she's wanting to make another girl trip the weekend of August 17th up the Denali Highway to camp and enjoy the views. The colors at that time should be amazing! They will be fall colors, which means possibly the last trip of the "summer." Again, full circle, back to pondering where the summer went!
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Dream a Little Dream
Since returning to Alaska, the land of my birth, the fact of my mortality has really been pressing upon me. I'm only 36, but sometimes I feel very old indeed. I realize on a deep level that this life I'm living is the only one I get to live, that this isn't a practice for a later try, that this isn't a dress rehearsal for the real show. This IS the show. Instead of considering all that I have accomplished during my life, I think at great length about the things I haven't accomplished, the things I want to accomplish, the things I dreamed of accomplishing and becoming when I would dream when I was younger. I can't help wonder if it's too late to still do most of the things I wanted to do when I was a child and adulthood was still far away and a part of my future.
When I was young, my mother collected magazines. Specifically, she collected old National Geographic magazines. I would spend hours rummaging through the garage in search of magazines with pictures and stories from places whose names I still can't pronounce, places that sounded magical, full of people who didn't look like my neighbors, and teeming with plants and animals I didn't even see at the local zoo. I would remove the maps from the magazines and tack them up on my bedroom walls. I'd clip the pictures and make collages on different themes, peoples, animals, ancient ruins I wanted to explore. I'd go to bed with the images on my walls the last images I saw, and have the most amazing dreams as I slept, dreams of finding hidden caves in hillsides that held treasures that even Indiana Jones couldn't imagine. I'd dream of meeting head hunters, I'd dream of swimming with hippos, I'd dream of finding the Fountain of Youth and living forever on Mount Olympus with the gods. My mother supported me putting the pictures on my wall, supported my dreaming, and didn't mind me slaughtering her magazines, but she stopped short of encouraging my digging up the backyard in search of buried treasure and didn't appreciate it much when I would wash my dirt-covered finds off in the kitchen sink. Somewhere during the years though, my dreaming was replaced by a focus on school, growing up, boys, career, marriage, parenthood, 401Ks, benefits, taxes and grocery shopping. When did that happen? I don't know where the years went. I remember days passing, but years? How did I end up with a paralegal degree? How did I end up with a business degree? How did I end up with a 15 year old? How did I end up with these hips? None of these things were part of my youthful dreaming! Where did the buried treasure go? What about seeing Petra in Jordan, and excavating ruins in Peru? What about watching snake charmers in India and walking on volcanoes? What about writing that next great poem, article, story, or novel? What about playing the cello?
When did I start taking the easy route and give up dreaming? I haven't put any real effort into doing anything in my life for quite a while, other than moving to Alaska. I've been floating along down the river of life, letting it take me wherever it wanted, the path of least resistance. I've drifted into jobs, drifted into unchallenging schools, drifted into relationships. They say God only gives you what he knows you can handle. He gave me a child who is easy to parent, close to trouble free. What does that say about me? I don't give myself credit for leaving home at 16 and moving to Montana to help start a church as a junior in high school. I don't give myself credit for growing up without doing drugs or getting into trouble or getting pregnant in my youth, living in a discipline free home. I don't give myself credit for joining the military and serving for 6 years during Desert Storm/Desert Shield, completing two years of electronics school, and being honorably discharged after completing my enlistment. I don't give myself credit for living through an abusive marriage and having the strength to leave him, and all my worldly possessions, behind and start over with a 4 year old. I don't give myself credit for hanging in there and finishing college with two degrees at 35. Most recently, I don't give myself credit for ending a 5 year, go-nowhere, relationship and following one dream and moving to Alaska. I'm also not giving myself credit for finally finding and maintaining a relationship with a wonderful man for the past year.
I'm painfully aware, as an adult, of the limitations of being human and not omnipresent. I'm more than aware that youth is wasted on the young, and unfortunately my youth was wasted by me also. I made choices during my youth that may not have led to the fulfillment of my youthful dreams, but I like my life. I love living in Alaska. I love being a mother to both of the children in my life. I love Alex. I love my friends. I would have done a few minor things differently, but if doing things differently means I would have a different life, than I'd choose to do it all the same. Knowing that, I also realize that I can still accomplish some of my dreams. I'll never be a concert cellist. I won't discover any ruins in Peru. I won't swim with hippos in the River Nile. I won't probably see Petra in person. I will just have to determine the things I can accomplish, and let go of the things I can't. I'll have to focus my dreams and focus on the things I can attain, and let go of the things I can't. I can't ever get those years back, I can't live all my dreams, but I can still dream. I am 36, but I'd rather start changing what I can now than look back in another 20 years and wonder where those years went and pine for the things I didn't accomplish.
I may never be the modern world's Indiana Jones, but I'll be damned if I'll keep these hips!
When I was young, my mother collected magazines. Specifically, she collected old National Geographic magazines. I would spend hours rummaging through the garage in search of magazines with pictures and stories from places whose names I still can't pronounce, places that sounded magical, full of people who didn't look like my neighbors, and teeming with plants and animals I didn't even see at the local zoo. I would remove the maps from the magazines and tack them up on my bedroom walls. I'd clip the pictures and make collages on different themes, peoples, animals, ancient ruins I wanted to explore. I'd go to bed with the images on my walls the last images I saw, and have the most amazing dreams as I slept, dreams of finding hidden caves in hillsides that held treasures that even Indiana Jones couldn't imagine. I'd dream of meeting head hunters, I'd dream of swimming with hippos, I'd dream of finding the Fountain of Youth and living forever on Mount Olympus with the gods. My mother supported me putting the pictures on my wall, supported my dreaming, and didn't mind me slaughtering her magazines, but she stopped short of encouraging my digging up the backyard in search of buried treasure and didn't appreciate it much when I would wash my dirt-covered finds off in the kitchen sink. Somewhere during the years though, my dreaming was replaced by a focus on school, growing up, boys, career, marriage, parenthood, 401Ks, benefits, taxes and grocery shopping. When did that happen? I don't know where the years went. I remember days passing, but years? How did I end up with a paralegal degree? How did I end up with a business degree? How did I end up with a 15 year old? How did I end up with these hips? None of these things were part of my youthful dreaming! Where did the buried treasure go? What about seeing Petra in Jordan, and excavating ruins in Peru? What about watching snake charmers in India and walking on volcanoes? What about writing that next great poem, article, story, or novel? What about playing the cello?
When did I start taking the easy route and give up dreaming? I haven't put any real effort into doing anything in my life for quite a while, other than moving to Alaska. I've been floating along down the river of life, letting it take me wherever it wanted, the path of least resistance. I've drifted into jobs, drifted into unchallenging schools, drifted into relationships. They say God only gives you what he knows you can handle. He gave me a child who is easy to parent, close to trouble free. What does that say about me? I don't give myself credit for leaving home at 16 and moving to Montana to help start a church as a junior in high school. I don't give myself credit for growing up without doing drugs or getting into trouble or getting pregnant in my youth, living in a discipline free home. I don't give myself credit for joining the military and serving for 6 years during Desert Storm/Desert Shield, completing two years of electronics school, and being honorably discharged after completing my enlistment. I don't give myself credit for living through an abusive marriage and having the strength to leave him, and all my worldly possessions, behind and start over with a 4 year old. I don't give myself credit for hanging in there and finishing college with two degrees at 35. Most recently, I don't give myself credit for ending a 5 year, go-nowhere, relationship and following one dream and moving to Alaska. I'm also not giving myself credit for finally finding and maintaining a relationship with a wonderful man for the past year.
I'm painfully aware, as an adult, of the limitations of being human and not omnipresent. I'm more than aware that youth is wasted on the young, and unfortunately my youth was wasted by me also. I made choices during my youth that may not have led to the fulfillment of my youthful dreams, but I like my life. I love living in Alaska. I love being a mother to both of the children in my life. I love Alex. I love my friends. I would have done a few minor things differently, but if doing things differently means I would have a different life, than I'd choose to do it all the same. Knowing that, I also realize that I can still accomplish some of my dreams. I'll never be a concert cellist. I won't discover any ruins in Peru. I won't swim with hippos in the River Nile. I won't probably see Petra in person. I will just have to determine the things I can accomplish, and let go of the things I can't. I'll have to focus my dreams and focus on the things I can attain, and let go of the things I can't. I can't ever get those years back, I can't live all my dreams, but I can still dream. I am 36, but I'd rather start changing what I can now than look back in another 20 years and wonder where those years went and pine for the things I didn't accomplish.
I may never be the modern world's Indiana Jones, but I'll be damned if I'll keep these hips!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Girl Power!
Kay and I made it back from our camping trip safe and sound. Our weekend at Montana Creek was a total success.
Angie picked us up on Friday night, just a little after 7. After packing our belongings into the car like tightly fitting puzzle pieces, we were off to the campground. The weather in Eagle River was overcast and raining. The closer we neared to the campground, the bluer the skies got. It was promising to be a beautiful weekend.
Angie had the perfect camping set up. The tent was easy to put up, she had everything organized in type-specific storage containers, and the cooler was packed with the perfect camping food. I felt totally spoiled! Rachael got there just after we'd gotten the tent up, and after we helped her get her tent up she and her dog (Wally) joined us for a night of chatting around the fire and s'more making. After we finished the s'mores, we headed to bed. Angie had brought a sleeping pad, but Kay and I slept without one (something I'll never do again on the rocky ground of Alaska). According to others, the only thing louder than my snoring was the fighting that erupted a few campsites from ours at about 3 a.m. Ah, the joys of camping near inconsiderate jerks.
Saturday morning found us heading to the local VFW for a breakfast of biscuits and gravy, and pancakes before we headed to the bustling town of Talkeetna for the festival celebrations. The best part of the morning was the home made rhubarb and strawberry jelly. I was scraping the bottom of the dish to get the last drop.
There's really nothing like a small hometown parade. The floats are all unique and there's none of the flash and glamour one sees on parades that are televised. While I was watching the parade, I thought to myself, "The Macy's Day Parade has nothing on this parade." Without the two-story hot-air balloons, without the glitzy floats carrying Miss America, without the celebrity announcers telling us with float was up next, this parade managed to hold the fascination of locals and tourists alike as we watched it proceed down the center of Talkeetna. Containing such local elements as a cage of geese (complete with a for sale sign for interested parties), the local red-hat brigade, "floats" carrying the decorated 'moose on parade' moose, and the town's rescue squad (what would any hometown parade be without the local fire truck), the celebration wove that hometown feel that wrapped itself around every element of the day's festivities.
We walked around Village Park, perusing the vendors. They made certain to keep me away from the bookseller (don't want to feed my addiction), but I did buy two t-shirts. We caught the Joe Page Band and Melissa Mitchell & Homegrown in concert. Melissa Mitchell & Homegrown is a group that I first heard the weekend before at the Girdwood Forest Festival. I really like her music, the style reminds me of Ani Defranco a bit, but with more bluegrass elements. We skipped the Scottish Pipe Band, as there was one member we were avoiding, for Angie's sake (nuff said). We ate lunch at Mountain High Pizza, which is always a treat. I always end up eating too much at fairs, and this time was no exception. The pizza, soda, ice cream and cotton candy did me in, and by the time we got back to the campground I felt bloated and tired.
The last event we attended was our purpose for going to the Moose Dropping Festival: the moose droppings dropping. Earlier in the day, I'd purchased four $5 tickets, each cooresponding with a same-numbered dropping. For each ticket, I also got a "poo pin" with my number on it. Kaylee wouldn't wear her dropping pin, so I proudly wore all four. After we heard Melissa Mitchell & Homegrown perform, we made our way back to the VFW and joined the throng of people surrounding a very large circle that had been roped off where they would be doing the drop of the droppings. The tension and excitement were thick in the air. The VFW members brought out the droppings, contained in a black back, and hoisted them up into the air. As the countdown began, the anticipation mounted. At the count of one, a rope attached to the bottom of the bag was pulled, and the moose droppings rained from the sky into the circle below. A roar erupted from the crowd! Ok, so I'm embellishing a bit, but it was a lot of fun, and with dollar prizes from $100 - $1000, it was pretty exciting. Two very precise veterans measured the distance of the droppings from the center, with the closest 8 receiving prizes, and the furthest away getting a $250 prize. At the end, the kids in the crowd rushed in to pick up the remaining droppings from the ring. It was like a bad Easter Egg hunt, watching those kids rush in to grab droppings like they were gold filled eggs.
Back at the campground, we turned in early after a very long but fun-filled day. Kay and Angie got to sleep ahead of me, as I had a few chapters of the sixth Harry Potter novel to finish before turning in. Sunday morning, Angie introduced us to "boiled omelets." For those who have no clue, like I didn't, boiled omelets are made by placing eggs and omelet fixings into a ziplock bag, mixing them well, and then placing the bag in boiling water for 8 - 10 minutes. The omelet comes out of the bag looking and tasting like any omelet you'd make at home. They were delicious, and a great start to the morning before packing up and heading home. We opted not to attend Sunday's Mountain Mother contest at the festival, and decided to try and catch it the next time it's held at the Talkeetna Bachelor Auction in December.
I really enjoyed camping with the girls. We are planning another trip to Kennicott Mine the second weekend in August. We had such a blast this trip. Even with the totally full outhouse across from the campground, the too-wet-to-make-a-fire wood I purchased at the campground store, no showers at the campground, and jerkoff males who insisted on displaying their manhood loudly at 3 a.m., the trip was relaxing and made me appreciate just hanging with the girls even more!
Angie picked us up on Friday night, just a little after 7. After packing our belongings into the car like tightly fitting puzzle pieces, we were off to the campground. The weather in Eagle River was overcast and raining. The closer we neared to the campground, the bluer the skies got. It was promising to be a beautiful weekend.
Angie had the perfect camping set up. The tent was easy to put up, she had everything organized in type-specific storage containers, and the cooler was packed with the perfect camping food. I felt totally spoiled! Rachael got there just after we'd gotten the tent up, and after we helped her get her tent up she and her dog (Wally) joined us for a night of chatting around the fire and s'more making. After we finished the s'mores, we headed to bed. Angie had brought a sleeping pad, but Kay and I slept without one (something I'll never do again on the rocky ground of Alaska). According to others, the only thing louder than my snoring was the fighting that erupted a few campsites from ours at about 3 a.m. Ah, the joys of camping near inconsiderate jerks.
Saturday morning found us heading to the local VFW for a breakfast of biscuits and gravy, and pancakes before we headed to the bustling town of Talkeetna for the festival celebrations. The best part of the morning was the home made rhubarb and strawberry jelly. I was scraping the bottom of the dish to get the last drop.
There's really nothing like a small hometown parade. The floats are all unique and there's none of the flash and glamour one sees on parades that are televised. While I was watching the parade, I thought to myself, "The Macy's Day Parade has nothing on this parade." Without the two-story hot-air balloons, without the glitzy floats carrying Miss America, without the celebrity announcers telling us with float was up next, this parade managed to hold the fascination of locals and tourists alike as we watched it proceed down the center of Talkeetna. Containing such local elements as a cage of geese (complete with a for sale sign for interested parties), the local red-hat brigade, "floats" carrying the decorated 'moose on parade' moose, and the town's rescue squad (what would any hometown parade be without the local fire truck), the celebration wove that hometown feel that wrapped itself around every element of the day's festivities.
We walked around Village Park, perusing the vendors. They made certain to keep me away from the bookseller (don't want to feed my addiction), but I did buy two t-shirts. We caught the Joe Page Band and Melissa Mitchell & Homegrown in concert. Melissa Mitchell & Homegrown is a group that I first heard the weekend before at the Girdwood Forest Festival. I really like her music, the style reminds me of Ani Defranco a bit, but with more bluegrass elements. We skipped the Scottish Pipe Band, as there was one member we were avoiding, for Angie's sake (nuff said). We ate lunch at Mountain High Pizza, which is always a treat. I always end up eating too much at fairs, and this time was no exception. The pizza, soda, ice cream and cotton candy did me in, and by the time we got back to the campground I felt bloated and tired.
The last event we attended was our purpose for going to the Moose Dropping Festival: the moose droppings dropping. Earlier in the day, I'd purchased four $5 tickets, each cooresponding with a same-numbered dropping. For each ticket, I also got a "poo pin" with my number on it. Kaylee wouldn't wear her dropping pin, so I proudly wore all four. After we heard Melissa Mitchell & Homegrown perform, we made our way back to the VFW and joined the throng of people surrounding a very large circle that had been roped off where they would be doing the drop of the droppings. The tension and excitement were thick in the air. The VFW members brought out the droppings, contained in a black back, and hoisted them up into the air. As the countdown began, the anticipation mounted. At the count of one, a rope attached to the bottom of the bag was pulled, and the moose droppings rained from the sky into the circle below. A roar erupted from the crowd! Ok, so I'm embellishing a bit, but it was a lot of fun, and with dollar prizes from $100 - $1000, it was pretty exciting. Two very precise veterans measured the distance of the droppings from the center, with the closest 8 receiving prizes, and the furthest away getting a $250 prize. At the end, the kids in the crowd rushed in to pick up the remaining droppings from the ring. It was like a bad Easter Egg hunt, watching those kids rush in to grab droppings like they were gold filled eggs.
Back at the campground, we turned in early after a very long but fun-filled day. Kay and Angie got to sleep ahead of me, as I had a few chapters of the sixth Harry Potter novel to finish before turning in. Sunday morning, Angie introduced us to "boiled omelets." For those who have no clue, like I didn't, boiled omelets are made by placing eggs and omelet fixings into a ziplock bag, mixing them well, and then placing the bag in boiling water for 8 - 10 minutes. The omelet comes out of the bag looking and tasting like any omelet you'd make at home. They were delicious, and a great start to the morning before packing up and heading home. We opted not to attend Sunday's Mountain Mother contest at the festival, and decided to try and catch it the next time it's held at the Talkeetna Bachelor Auction in December.
I really enjoyed camping with the girls. We are planning another trip to Kennicott Mine the second weekend in August. We had such a blast this trip. Even with the totally full outhouse across from the campground, the too-wet-to-make-a-fire wood I purchased at the campground store, no showers at the campground, and jerkoff males who insisted on displaying their manhood loudly at 3 a.m., the trip was relaxing and made me appreciate just hanging with the girls even more!
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