a new direction

the light

2010-01-21T17:50:00.002-06:00

I have written here for nearly 5 years. I started this blog in high school and through these posts I have transitioned from a teenager, to an adult. From a high school student, to a college graduate. This blog has served as my outlet, both for topics of frustration and for emotional and creative posts. I used to be a much more diligent blogger (stupid word) but I found that returning to this page left me uninspired. Old posts depressed me, and because of that, I found it hard to write new, interesting ones. There are some posts that I am very proud of still, I think that having this space allowed me to grow some as a writer. It gave me a place to try new things, or more often, just write for the sake of writing. I am thankful for that, and I will not delete this blog but rather keep it as an online vault of my coming of age, so to speak.

But now I am entering a new phase in my life, and with that comes new challenges and difficulties. I wish to continue writing because it is something that I have always enjoyed. However, I don't think this is the proper forum for my thoughts. I need a fresh start. I thought about moving to wordpress, but I didn't like the layout. So, I have created a new blogspot page, still accessible from my profile. I hope for brighter posts, but I know that dark days are inevitable and they may still come out.

So please, to any of you who may follow this blog or read occasionally, accept my apology for my lack of posts over the last year. I am sad to think that I am closing the door on this blog, but if you wish to follow me still I have created a new page.

http://throughthewindandtherain.blogspot.com

waters revisited

2009-11-06T02:09:00.003-06:00

Nevermind the subject matter. Unable to sleep, I got out of bed and starting writing for the first time in months. For better or worse, our events together have inspired me like no one else ever has. It is kind of a response or a part 2 to the third section of an essay I wrote two years ago entitled Making Waves. http://solitarypalm.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html

Though true in every word, read this as a creative piece.

Virginia Beach – 2009. It was different this time. Instead of holding your hand as we walked toward the beach front, I opened the door so you could pull out the stroller for your son. I stood anxiously in the sun, watching from the sidewalk as you lathered him in sunscreen. Walking with you I couldn’t help but feel the eyes of everyone on the sidewalks or passing by in cars upon us. We looked so young. We are so young. And I know those people thought he was mine. I wish he were mine.

We crossed the street and stepped out onto the edge of the boardwalk. Atlantic Ocean straight ahead. I had wanted to come here, being so close, and you did just about all you could to keep me happy. We had to stash the stroller by the ramp when its wheels clogged in the loose sand. I had my camera, and I took a picture of you smiling so bright. We took one of us together too. There weren’t enough pictures last time. You carried Landon on your arm and I held your free hand as we searched for some open space to leave our things.

At the ocean's edge, the first touches of water greeted our toes. Each wave’s farthest reach ended in a foamy fizzing sound as it disappeared into the wet sand. Out deeper to the breakers, they crashed into our thighs. I was surprised by the lack of concern in Landon’s eyes. We edged out further, waist deep and the waves broke right at us. Water would splash up onto his face and he would not flinch. He seemed uninterested in the ocean’s attempt at intimidation. You took him back to the shore and sat with him between your legs while the water rolled in and out to your knees. I waded out deeper, past where I could touch and floated alone in the sea. It was different this time. I kept thinking you might come swimming up to me, and hang on my shoulders like you did before. Looking back, I could see you glowing in the sun. Your so beautiful. Your hair tossed by the breeze, I’d catch you gazing out at me between brushing sand off Landon and corralling him before the waves pulled him out to sea. I knew you couldn’t come in with me. I knew it wasn’t like the last time.

I couldn’t stay out long. It just didn’t feel right being away from you. You stood up as I walked toward you, I waited for you to turn and then I kissed you with my salty lips. I wanted anyone watching to see. To any observant eyes, this beautiful girl is mine.

We took Landon back to our towels and stretched them out over the hot sand. Last time we laid for a while with our backs to the sky and you brushed sand from my shoulder as we talked in the timeless summer afternoon. You gave him to me and I held him as he balanced awkwardly on two feet. Looking at him I could feel his tiny hands grip my fingers. Gently, I took my hands away, keeping them at each side in case he fell. And as I let go, you turned to see him stand on his own for the very first time. He balanced for a few seconds, standing on the least stable of surfaces, and when he dropped I made sure to catch him. I felt so special in that moment. To have a hand in his standing for the first time was as pure a feeling as I have ever felt. You smiled. "Oh my god, he's never done that before!" I could see how proud you were of him.

There were no sand castles this time, no wasting the hours away just the two of us on a towel. Our parking meter was running low, and dinner and bedtime were fast approaching. We packed up all our things; towels, shirts, shoes and baby and we walked back to the stroller stalled in sand. It was very different than the last time. But I came back for you, just like I promised. Even if it wasn't just you and me.

bear with me

2009-08-04T13:58:00.004-05:00

Dusk. Driving eastbound down I-90 from Idaho into Montana. The road dips left as we roll down a 5% grade, 80 miles an hour. "No brakes!" I say. Round one curve, then another, out of the mountain pass, nimbly maneuvering through the Northern Rockies. Off to the right side of the road a small creek runs cold clear water that reflects the dark moonlit shadows of evergreen pines. If not for the wind through the windows or the hum of my engine maybe we could hear it's trickle. Maybe, if we stopped to listen. No brakes. Sean and I sing to the 90's radio rock coming through the speakers.

Out of the pass the road stretches out to occupy its share of the narrow Clark Fork River Valley. Emerging from the darkness, a lumbery figure comes loping across the median and the Eastbound lanes. Illuminated by my headlights, I pull gently to the left lane as the figure vanishes into the night. It's shape, unmistakable. He has passed safely.

"Dude...that was a bear!"

An adrenaline fueled celebration ensues. The same kind of rush you get in your veins when you see the lights of a cop car in your rear view mirror, pull to the side only to watch him blaze on down the highway. Heartbeat speeds up, stomach muscles tighten. Anxious relief.

I've never seen a bear before. A real bear. I've seen them at the zoo. I've seen bear shit in the woods. Claw marks on a pine tree. Foot prints in the mud. But this bear was right in front of me. A black bear, not full grown. Probably an adolescent male looking to establish territory. I wonder where he was going, or if he had ever crossed the road before.

I'm glad I didn't hit him with my car. That wouldn't have been fun for anyone.

The road drags on, following the winding river all the way into Missoula. Turn the music up. Sing a little louder. We know all the words.

announcment

2009-07-30T20:16:00.001-05:00

Real posts coming again in August. Promise.

my mind

2009-06-28T23:53:00.002-05:00

How many tomorrows must pass before I sit down and write a real post? Each day I open this page and each day I move on. I open it as if to check to see if I updated in the middle of the night. When I notice I haven't, I think "Hm, I should do that now." But I don't. I wander on through the web, wasting time.

Here's whats on my mind:

Girl. Love. True love. Virginia. Future. Graduation. Graduate school? Virginia Tech? Job. Need a job. A real job. Debt. Loans. Money. I hate money. I don't have money. Bank account. $28 until the 1st. July. Sean. Friend. Best friend. Fun. Adventures. Until August. August. No friend. School. Last semester. 15 hours of Geography. Worth it? Probably. What good is a minor in Mountains? I like mountains. There's mountains in Virginia too. Virginia. Girl. Love. Life.

Repeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeat...

one heart

2009-06-22T00:59:00.002-05:00

Worth the risk
A chance taken
The unknown awaited
An answer found
The possibilities ahead

If it only happens once
I want it to be you
If it only happens once
I promise to see this through

I will love
I will wait
I will smile
I will be there
I will be here

For you

Everything for you

Now we know
What we feel
Now we know
This time is real

We have one heart

my bed in missoula

2009-06-05T01:15:00.005-05:00

I wake up not knowing where I am.

I'm spinning, eyes closed, spinning faster and faster. An adrenaline rush. I can feel my heart beat on edge. A quickening palpitation. I'm hot, sweating. Suddenly it climaxes and I jolt myself awake. Where am I? What am I doing? Am I safe? For a few long seconds, I don't know the answers.

But I'm in my room. I'm on my bed. I'm safe. Safe from whatever it was in my mind, for now. These are strange sleeping habits I have been keeping.

Many times I have awoken like this, in the early morning or the middle of the night, unsure of anything. A quick panic. A sharp gasp. And then I realize where I am. Or where I am not. I'm not outside, not in the desert anymore. It's my apartment. I am okay.

I remember my first night out on the ground back in March. It was a cold night and I submerged my entire body into my sleeping bag, my lone chance for warmth, and closed my eyes. Minutes later I felt a panic setting in. A sense of claustrophobia. Have to get out, need air... I can't breathe, I'm going to suffocate myself! I jolted awake and broke through the small hole to air. I had never felt a panic like that while asleep. I was conscience, but in a semi-sleep state. It scared me.

I had lots of strange dreams while I was out. Many realizations. Some dreams translated into my life. Sometimes life translated into my dreams. Sometimes the line was blurred and I thought for a while that maybe the whole thing was just a dream. Once I climbed up over a ridge enroute to a lunch spot. I was hungry and am a faster hiker than most, especially uphill. I eclipsed the top and decended down the other side. Once down, I turned expecting to see the others not far behind me but there was nothing. It was silent. Just the windy desert and I. I kept watching for what felt like a long time. Still nothing. I started to think...this must not be real. I'm not really here... The silence of being alone continued on until finally they too crested the ridge.

I slept well most of the time. I got pretty good at sleeping on the ground with nothing but my bag and a thermarest between me and the Earth.

But I'm home now. And these strange sensations still occur on a somewhat consistent basis. Maybe my mind is not settled. Maybe my mind is trying to warm me of something.

I'm on edge in my favorite place. My bed in Missoula.

crow city, crow crow city

2009-02-23T16:19:00.002-06:00

When I looked out my window yesterday afternoon I saw a large murder of crows strutting through the golf course behind my apartment. There must have been a couple hundred of them stretched out in a big group. They were moving mostly on foot as a unit across the soft wet grass. Crows are always a lot bigger up close than I expect them to be. They can be intimidating birds. At least, I think if I were another smaller bird and saw a crow I would be intimidated. Maybe that is why there are so many negative connotations associated with Crows. I have never really understood why they are so often despised. Their presence is considered to be a sign of death or bad luck. Even the name for a group of Crows, Murder, is laced in a negative light. The vocalization of their call is eerie, a sharp and quick "caw!" that they call out over and over again. It's spooky for sure and not as pleasing as the cheerful whistles that song birds usher out. Of course these Crows have at least stuck around for the winter, while those song birds took their music and fled South for warmer weather. Crows seem to be many things, but mostly I think they are survivors.

They were making a lot of noise, cawing back and forth to one another. I tried to focus on one and observe his movements but I could only keep my eye trained on one for a few minutes before I would wander to another Crow. I didn't really matter. They were all doing mostly the same thing. They were pecking at the ground and taking high, single steps across the leaf covered grass. As they walked, they flipped over leaves with their beaks and scoured the undersides and the moist ground for food. I don't' know what Crows eat. Bugs? Worms? Maybe they are opportunistic eaters and will eat whatever they can find.

I was able to concentrate on one Crow long enough to watch him move from one area of grass to another. As he left to fly, a mass of leaves were stuck to his foot. The leaves hung on until the Crow landed a few feet away and then the Crow shook his foot and pecked at the leaves until they fell off. With the annoyance gone, he continued pecking at the ground and another Crow flew in to take his previous place.

They all moved in a slow Southerly migration across the grass one after another filling in over and over again. Something spooked them. They all took off immediately, lifting themselves from the ground with their big black feathered wings and flew back to North to the safety of some nearby trees. I don't know what it was that scared them, but they were not sticking around to take any chances. I watched them fly high up into the air and circle down to the tree branches. They landed effortlessly onto the narrowest of branches and sat in the trees cawing back and forth to each other.

I wonder what they say to each other, if there is a leader who sounded the alarm, or if they act with some sort of group mentality when danger may be near. How do they choose what trees to land in, and who gets first pick of the best branches? It would probably be easier for me to list what I do actually know about Crows than to wonder on about what I don't.

Still, I don't mind their presence. And I wonder if they ever wonder about me.

letterman's top ten list, minus letterman

2009-02-19T23:02:00.005-06:00

These last two weeks or so I have been talking to Tori a lot more than I have in the past. I have been bringing her music each Monday and last week I stayed in her room and we ended up talking for about two hours. In the midst of our conversation she mentioned how she loves to make lists so she is thinking of becoming an estate lawyer. We also talked about her spring break where she plans to travel to Edmonton, Alberta. And my spring where I will be in southern Utah for a two month spring semester. And also about how she is going to study abroad in Ireland next spring. Before I left we agreed to make lists for each other of things to do in each of these places. I found making them to be very educational because I knew practically nothing about either Edmonton or Ireland. The lists themselves turned out pretty good, especially hers, so I think posting them as a blog is an acceptable move given my recent blogging drought.

Things to do in Edmonton

1) Ride the mindbender in Galaxyland inside Edmonton's Mall, the worlds largest indoor triple loop roller coaster.

2) Supposedly this mall attracts roughly 55,000 people per day. Not including yourself, count them.

3) Visit Fort Edmonton Park and experience life as a Canadian pioneer.

4) Ride the Edmonton Light Rail Transit system or the LRT as it is called by locals. On your ride, discuss with a local the convenience of the recent expansion of the rail.

5) Go see the Edmonton Oilers play a hockey game. Or, at the very least, find the Rexall Place where the team plays at 7424 118 Ave. N.W., Northlands, Edmonton and take a picture of it.
* Special Note: Under no circumstances should you attend the Nickelback concert on April 1st at Rexall Place. I find their music distasteful.

6) Visit the Royal Alberta Museum. Specifically, find the mountain cave exhibit that leads visitors under a real waterfall in the Wild Alberta section of the museum.

7) If you have money to spend, take a ride on the Edmonton Queen Riverboat and get a picturesque view of Downtown Edmonton from the river.

8) Eat at a restaurant in Edmonton's Chinatown North.

9) Your first stop for nightlife should be Filthy McNasty's bar and lounge. I just like the name.

10) Go ice skating at the Ice Palace. If possible, round up a group of particularly rough looking Canadian youths and challenge them to a pickup hockey game.

Things to do while in the Southwest

1. Make a snow angel in the red dirt. This fallen angel will be named Lucifer, or, more endearingly, Luci for short.

2. As you canoe through the Green River Labyrinth Canyon, make clever references to either Pan’s Labyrinth or The Labyrinth. (If I had seen either of those movies, I could give you an example. As it stands, I’ve got nothin’).

3. Find a cactus. Poke it. If it hurts, stop poking. If it doesn’t, poke it again. But just once more. You don’t want to be the weirdo poking cacti all day.

4. When you explore prehistoric human dwellings at Hovenweep National Monument, be sure to ask exactly what the Hovens were weeping about.

5. Ask your Navajo host family to teach you how to say, “I love cacti” in Navajovian. Or whatever their language is called.

6. Find a pet lizard. Name him Gomez. (It sounds exotic).

7. You will apparently be participating in a sweat with the Navajos. Be sure to complain loudly that you didn’t think it’d be so hot, and is there perchance any air conditioning nearby?

8. As you backpack through the Dark Canyon Primitive and Wilderness Areas, your only task it to not succumb to the dark side and remain somewhat civilized in those wild areas.

9. Instead of doing any of the readings for the course, burn the writings in the nightly bonfire. Say it was done as an act of survival. That hot dog isn’t gonna cook on lukewarm coals, after all.

10. During your mineral identification lessons, find a rock with the mineral talc in it. Keep it as your lucky rock. If it is not composed of talc, say it is anyways. If anyone disagrees with you, throw your lucky rock at them.

Things to do in Ireland

1) Cork is nicknamed "The Rebel City" so while you are there, don't do anything anyone tells you to do. You will want to fit in, you rebel you.

2) I assume that you will be attending University College Cork. Upon your arrival, schedule an appointment with the dean and tell him that the name is ridiculous. They should pick either Cork University or Cork College. Historically they have had a pattern of changing names so this should not be a problem.

3) Fiona Shaw is an alumni of Cork. She plays Petunia Dursley in the Harry Potter movies. Depending on how you feel about that character, find where she used to live and either create a shrine or throw eggs at the door.

4) Sneak into the Crawford Observatory and discover a new planet. Name it Toritopia.

5) Master that pesky Metric system and remember to spell words like "color" or "flavor" as "colour" and "flavour" no matter how silly the look with that extra letter.

6) Scour the Irish country side in search of leprechauns and their magical pot o' gold.

7) It may be in your best interest to create an Irish alias for yourself while you are there. Go by Tori O'Ainsworth. I think it sounds natural.

8) See if you can discover what locals call the Four Faced Liar.

9) If you are ever asked a question in class that you do not know the answer to, stand up confidently onto the top of your desk and start singing Danny Boy. The whole room is sure to join in with you.

10) Lastly, smuggle me into the country with you. I will have graduated by that time and be looking for new adventures.

destinations

2009-01-11T19:33:00.010-06:00

Chapter One: Winter Wonderland

I was slowly packing my bags the night before we were to leave. Anxiously, I watched the 10:00 news for the weather forecast. When they said snow was likely to start falling sometime after midnight, I texted Kelsi and suggested we leave for Nebraska now instead of early tomorrow. She thought that was a silly idea and didn't think it would go over well with her family. I countered that I would much rather drive on clear roads at night than on snowy roads during the day. No, no, no was all I heard. Besides, there is only supposed to be an inch maybe a little more in places in the morning. We will be fine. I gave up. Probably a bit too easily but I thought I had learned something a long time ago about arguing with women. Even when I know I'm right.

My alarm went off at 4:50 am. A couple minutes later I rolled out of bed and walked briskly to the back room to glance out the window. I turned on the light and shuddered at the snow falling through the air. Even worse, there were already several fresh inches of snow covering everything. The goal was to leave by 6. I turned on the weather channel and watched the local doplar radar closely. A low pressure system was right over Southeast Wyoming but all the moisture was falling directly over the Billings area and most of I-90 to Sheridan. Fantastic. The predicted 1 inch of snow had turned into 10 inches to a foot of snow in some places.

I loaded the car anyway and said goodbye to my parents. Kelsi and were going to try to leave anyway. The roads had not been plowed and I peered carefully through the windshield of my car as I made my way to her house a mile away. With all of her stuff loaded we ventured slowly to the interstate which had also not been plowed. I was driving 35-40 mph with my hands gripped tight to the steering wheel. Snow was coming down heavily and dawn began to crack a white-gray sky. South of Billings the road goes up and down over some big hills. I didn't feel safe driving. I looked at Kelsi and finally told her "I don't think we can do this right now." She responded "Yeah I know...We should have left last night."

I turned around 30 miles from home and headed back. Of course, somehow it was my fault for not better convincing Kelsi that we should have left last night to avoid the snow. Now we were at risk of being a day behind schedule. It was supposed to stop snowing sometime in the afternoon. We would just have to wait and see how things looked then.

I went back to bed. Around 3:30 the snow had stopped and the skies had cleared. I wanted to get back on schedule so I proposed leaving and driving either through the night until we got to Lincoln or just down the road until we could go no further. Against my mother's will I left for the road again.

I really don't mind driving at night. I have done it enough by now to be more than comfortable with it. The roads were not too bad for most of the way. There was ice on the road through Sherridan but after that they began to clear up. We stopped for coffee in Buffalo and as I merged back on to the interstate I had to slow down and swerve past two deer all without panic or spilling my cup of coffee. We encountered rogue snow flakes for about ten minutes that passed through the headlights despite our urgent cease and desist protests. Somewhere between there and Casper we rolled through what Kelsi and I described as Glitter Fog - really thick fog that seemed to Glitter in my headlights. But once we were beyond Casper we were out of the worst of it.

Back at our coffee break in Buffalo, we each bought one of those five hour energy shots that are always advertised on tv. We consoled with the lady at the register and she assured us that they do actually work. In Cheyenne, we decided to do our best to make it to Lincoln, Nebraska. It was midnight and we had a good 6 hours of driving left to do. We each took those energy shots there and continued on down the road. I guess they worked as we both stayed awake for the whole ride. When we stopped at Ogallala, NE to get gas I told Kelsi that if she could just drive the 55 miles from there to North Platte I would be fine to drive the rest of the way to Lincoln. I just needed a little break from the road since I had been driving for 12 hours straight. Kelsi took the wheel after adjusting the seat to its minimum difference to the pedals and then sat on a pillow so she could see over the steering wheel. She drove all the way to Kearney and then I made the home stretch to my Aunt Norma and Uncle Jerry's house in Lincoln.

We knocked on the door at 7 am sharp and they led us inside and downstairs to the guest bedrooms. "Just give us 4 hours or so and if we are not up by 11, come wake us up." They did and Kelsi and I both woke up refreshed. However, something wasn't quite right because neither of our stomachs felt very well. We went to Valentino's for lunch and I barely ate anything, just a few slices of pizza and half of a cookie bar. We blamed those 5 hour energy shots from the night before. To offset them, we stopped at Walgreens on the way out of town and bought a bottle of peptobismal to settle our stomachs.

Chapter Two: Ozark Mountain Roads.

On our 17 mile stretch through Iowa, I happened to observe a man dressed in camouflage who had pulled his truck over onto the median and was approaching a dead deer with a big bowie knife in his hand. That's funny, I thought.

It started snowing again between St. Joseph and and Kansas City. The snow wasn't bad though and didn't slow us down. Once through Kansas City it looked like things might clear up for a while. However, that was not the case as we drove right into a heavy rain system. At least it was rain and not freezing rain.

We reached Columbia around 7:30 and decided to eat at Fazoli's. It was there that I called Emily to get more specific directions to her house. I met Emily in one of my environmental studies classes this semester. We always sat in the same seats next to each other and about a month into class I finally initiated a conversation with her. I waited all the way until finals week to actually ask her to go do something outside of class. We met at a coffee shop for a good hour or so. At that time this trip was still in pre-planning phases and I mentioned it as a possibility over this up coming break. She immediately volunteered her house as a place to stay along the road if we wanted. She lives in Southeast Missouri in a little town called Annapolis. It is not really on the way to anything, but for a free place to stay, I decided to make it on the way.

I was confident enough in my driving abilities and in my trusty Rand McNally Atlas that I could successfully navigate all the way to her town. When I asked what the best way to get there was, she paused for a moment and said "hold on...I'm going to let you talk to my dad." Her dad gave me step by step directions from Columbia all the way down. Unfortunately, I didn't have a pen with me to write them down so I did my best to remember each one. It was decided that Emily would meet me at the school, and since there is no cell phone service in that area, I would call from about 45 miles away.

The rain dissipated somewhere outside of St. Louis. It was a welcome reprieve as it seemed like we had not had a break from the elements nearly the entire trip. Heading south on 55, we exited the interstate and began our adventure onto Missouri state and county highways. We zigzagged across the way, turning onto a road we weren't sure was the right one but it seemed to be going in the right direction. It turned out it was the right one. Then I had to make a decision to stay on route B or turn on route BB. I couldn't remember. I later found out they actually end up going to the same place. The road we took seemed like a classic Ozark road. Two narrow lanes, tight curves and lots of ups and downs. Kelsi gets car sick easily and had to wear these bracelets with a pressure point around her wrist to keep her from getting sick. I put those things to the test because I was having fun flying over the roads. There had been a lot of rain in that area today and in many places water seeped from the uphill side of the road and ran down across it. Somewhere, Kelsi saw her first opossum loaf across the road just in front of me.

We eventually made it to our destination. Emily met us in the parking lot and we followed her out of town and over another Ozark mountain road to her parent's house. It is a beautiful old schoolhouse that they have remodeled. Her parents were there to greet us and talk with us a little bit, and then we headed downstairs where there were two pullout couches to sleep on. We stayed up talking a little while and watched the end of Old School on tv.

In the morning we were served a delicious breakfast. Outside the sun was shining and the sky had returned to its regular hue of blue. We weren't in a big rush and Emily's dad proposed that, if we had a few minutes, would we like to see the area a little before we left? That sounded fine to us. I went back downstairs to get my shoes and before we left, Emily's dad showed me the back room of the basement where he has his potting studio. We walked in and he opened up a big secret vault like door that revealed a little shelved room that housed his rock collection. Crystals and all kinds of beautiful, carefully selected rocks adorned the shelves. He said he had found about half of them and then traded for the other half. It was quite the cool collection and I wished that I had known more about rocks so that I could have made some smart sounding comment.

We climbed in to his big truck and he drove us down to Big Creek near their property where they spend some good time in the summer. Then he drove us up to the top of a hill where there is an old church and a cemetery that looks out over the small valley where they live. It really is a beautiful area, even in winter when all the leaves are gone.

We left the house around 9:30, but not before they sent us away with two home made sandwich's for the road. Emily led us out on a dirt road that splashed over a creek running high across the road from last nights rain. She was in that same big truck and just went right through it. I looked at Kelsi and said, "Well, I hope my little car makes it..." and followed right behind. At the stop sign we got out and she gave me some quick directions to Sikeston and the interstate. Then we hugged and said our goodbyes, of course we would be back in a few days.

Chapter three: Driving Through the Southland

I like the Ozarks. It is a nice part of Missouri, much nicer than the interstate. I'm really glad that we decided to venture off the blue roads a little and onto the back roads. I'm also glad that Emily lives in such a remote area and was kind enough to over us a place to stay on our trip.

It was a beautiful morning as we drove out of the Ozarks and onto the Mississippi delta. Soon, I told Kelsi, we would officially be in the South. We merged back on to 55 and crossed into Arkansas, and then crossed the mighty Mississippi River into Memphis, Tennessee. We weren't there for long though because we soon crossed into the state of Mississippi. We were looking for a BBQ place to eat in Memphis but somehow, on the exit I picked we couldn't find one that was open. Technically we were in Horn Lake, MS so that could have had a little to do with it. We settled on Zaxby's, a restaurant I was most looking forward to on this trip. Zaxby's is a chicken restaurant and they do chicken right. At the counter an attractive looking blonde girl took my order. She had that sexy southern accent that wasn't too thick and I just about melted when she asked me what I would like today. I was tempted to just have her read the menu to me so I could listen a little longer.

Kelsi got her order taken by the black lady working, who not to sound raciest, but if you are a little Montana girl who has had very little exposure to Southern culture, can be a bit difficult to understand sometimes. We got our food though, and it was just as amazingly delicious as I remember it being in Georgia.

I let Kelsi drive through most of Mississippi. Mississippi gets a bad name sometimes but the state is quietly beautiful. I love the pine forest lined roads and the simple subtle beauty of the state. I wanted Kelsi to get some kind of big city driving experience and I decided that the capital city of Jackson would be a good warm up. She tried to revolt against me and gave me many death glares but eventually settled in and accepted what she had to do. I lied to her and said it will be easy you just have to stay on this road. Actually you have to exit onto Eastbound I-20 and then exit again onto Southbound Highway 49 towards Hattiesburg but what she didn't know didn't hurt her. Traffic wasn't bad at all and all of the roads were handled quite smoothly. "Was that so bad?" I asked. "No, no I guess it wasn't."

It had started to rain again and I took over driving for the home stretch. Once through Hattiesburg it really isn't that far to Mobile, Alabama. I remembered this road from when James, Mike and I met my friend Chris in Panama City, Florida right after we graduated high school. That was a fun trip.

We crossed into Alabama and quickly came upon Mobile. Last time I was in Mobile I managed to get us a little lost but this time I sailed right through problem free. Government Street in downtown Mobile is probably one of the most beautiful city streets in America. Big Live Oak trees with hanging Spanish Moss line both sides of the street and behind those majestic trees sit many classic plantation style mansions.

Sean lives in the little boot of Alabama that sits between the Florida panhandle and Mobile Bay. I had been there once a long time ago to Gulf Shores, but didn't really remember the rest of the area. It is a nice part with a little more money than the rest of the state, which makes sense because of the location and proximity to the coast. After some shaky directions from Sean we turned into his subdivision lot where he stood outside his house waiting. We got our stuff inside and soon enough we were back driving, this time in Sean's truck, to the nearest Sonic for a cream slush. After that we went out to the Mobile Bay pier and walked out to the end. When we got back to the house we decided to put in Tropic Thunder. I tried to stay awake but about half way through I stole the bed that Kelsi was going to sleep on and fell asleep.

Chapter four: Sea Side Sunsets

Sean's parents got us up early for breakfast. Kelsi had her first true experience with grits. Mmm, grits. If prepared correctly, they are quite good. We decided to go to the beach that day as Kelsi had never seen the ocean before either. It is only about 20 miles to Gulf Shores from where Sean lives. By the time we got up and out of the house it was close to lunch time. The first restaurant we stopped at was busy. We sat out on the deck in the sunshine and for some reason they forgot about us and never served us. After about 20 minutes of sitting there I looked at Sean and said "Let's go somewhere else." So we drove down the street a ways and found an even better sea food restaurant.

Later, we finally did make it to the beach. The air was warm enough and if I had brought my bathing suite with me, which I stupidly had not, I would have gotten in the water. Instead we waded in up to our knees and let the waves push past our legs, scoured the shore for interesting looking shells, examined washed up jellyfish and I eventually made a fantastic sand castle as the afternoon faded away. The sunset was fantastic the first night there and I took a whole bunch of pictures and then watched as the very top of the sun sunk below the ocean.

On the way back to Sean's house we stopped to pick up his mom from work at Walgreens. It was the first time that I really met his mom. She was there briefly the night before but went to shortly after getting home. She was very nice and has a really thick accent that Kelsi could not help giggling a little about.

Sean's parents decided to take us out to a fancy seafood restaurant that night called the Oyster House. It was a two story building and inside there were pictures covering all the walls. Along the entry there were pictures of the building during and after hurricanes had come through. Along the walls were pictures of famous people, athletes and others who had come to the Oyster House, and along the walls were we sat were pictures of people and giant fish they had caught.

To start off, Sean's dad insisted that we all have a cup of Gumbo, which I had never had before. I was suspicious at first, but it was one of the more delicious things I have eaten. Another appetizer of fried crayfish tails was also on the table. I had never eaten that either and was equally suspicious but they were also very tasty, much better than I was expecting. As an entree' I ordered fried shrimp in a sweet chipotle sauce. The sauce was fantastic. I even tried an oyster from Kelsi's plate. It tasted more or less how I imagine the sea floor would taste if you put a spoonful into your mouth. As everyone finished up their meals, the waitress came by and asked if anyone would like a dessert, maybe a slice of key lime pie? Well, that sounded great to me. I looked around and said "I think I will have a slice of key lime pie." That got everyone started and she returned shortly with several slices of key lime pie. After that we all had a cup of coffee and sat for a while digesting our delicious meal. It was the best seafood I have ever had and Sean's dad must have dropped between $150 and $200 on dinner for all of us.

The next day we decided to drive out to Fort Morgan. Fort Morgan is an old civil war post that has been preserved like many others in the region and turned into a national historic site. On our way out we stopped at Krystal for lunch. If you are not familiar with Krystal it is kind of like White Castle. They make tiny little burgers that are really moist and delicious. We ordered the 12 pack that came with two large fries and two large drinks. Kelsi wasn't feeling well so Sean and I devoured the burgers on our way out to the fort. These old civil war forts are really cool because there are so many little rooms within them. They are fun to explore and wander through.

We returned to the beach that evening. This time we had brought our bathing suites with us but it was just a little too chilly to get in the water. Instead, we more or less repeated what we had done the previous night at the beach. The sunset this night was even more spectacular and I got some really great pictures.

Chapter five: Football in Florida

The true purpose of this trip was to venture to Jacksonville for the Gator Bowl and watch Nebraska beat Clemson in person. It all started from a facebook message I sent to Sean that simply said "let's go to the Gator Bowl in Jacksonville on New Years Day." He responded a couple days later with "That sounds very fun, and possible at the same time." After that, I just made it happen.

The next morning we left Alabama and headed East on I-10. It was New Year's Eve Day and we planned on spending that evening on Amelia Island with my friend Kristen who was driving down with her dad to Miami to watch Virginia Tech play Cincinnati in the Sugar Bowl. We were racing, more or less. They were driving down from Roanoke, Virginia and had about 120 more miles to cover.

We stopped for lunch at Sonny's Real Pit BBQ in Tallahassee and from there made good time through the green, pine lined interstate all the way to our Days Inn a block from the Atlantic. I had booked the room online and was somewhat skeptical that it would all actually work out but when I walked up and told them my name they found my reservation and everything was set.

We won the race because Kristen was stuck in traffic about an hour behind us. In the mean time we decided to walk down and check out the beach. I like the Atlantic ocean a lot more than the gulf. The beaches are so much bigger and the waves are better. It was also a lot colder here than in Alabama. We had just missed the sunset, but on the East coast the sunrise is the better one to catch anyway. We walked back to the motel and changed into our swim suites so we could sit in the hot tub for a while. After about 15 minutes in the hot water I walked out over to the pool, determined to jump in. I convinced the other two to come with me. I didn't test the waters and instead jumped right in. When I did, a shock came over my body. The water was ice cold! I came up and tried to restrain the shock so that Kelsi would jump in. I was impressed because she came jumping right in too and as she was in mid-air I looked up and Sean and said "Dude, it's like an ice bath!" But Sean had to jump in too and after he did we rushed back to the safety of the hot tub.

Kristen's dad made reservations in the same motel as us so when they finally arrived I walked up the stairs to their room to say hello. I had suggested that the group of us go out and eat dinner at the grille on the beach but her dad was intent on ordering Chinese and watching football in the room.

The restaurant we went out to was a little more classy on the inside than it looked from the outside. The menu was a little higher priced than I was expecting. Kristen ordered an appetizer of calamari which it turns out is just a fancy word for squid! They were little breaded and fried squid and they actually tasted alright. Our server's name was Bo and he was an interesting character. Kind of hard to describe without being there but at one point he took away a couple of used plates and then took out a napkin and wiped away the crumbs from Sean's side of the table...very slowly and deliberately. It was a mixture of awkwardness and hushed hilarity as it happened.

We returned to the motel after acquiring some beverages for the evening from the local Food Lion. There we talked and watched the end of some college football games. When it got close to time we flipped the channel to watch the ball drop in real time as the new year came in. It wasn't the most exciting New Years Eve because not a whole lot happened but it was probably one of my favorites. I'm glad 2008 is over and gone.

Game day. We were not the only Gator Bowl fans to stay at the Days Inn. The night before I talked with a couple of fellow Nebraska fans about the game and noticed several vehicles adorned with Clemson gear. During the night and early morning hours I remember hearing several chants of "Goooo Biiiiig Reeeed!" and a Clemson chant where they apparently just spell out Clemson.

At 9:30 my alarm went off and by 10:30 we were out the door and driving toward Jacksonville. I had brought extra Nebraska clothing for my two friends to make them Husker fans for a day! We parked a good half mile or so away from the stadium in a $10 lot. Mine was the only Nebraska vehicle in there and when I got out I said hello to the group of Clemson fans I had parked next to. They took a look at my car and then my liscense plate and asked "Did you really drive all the way from Montana?" I laughed and said "Yep. Took us a good four days." They laughed and said something about how this must feel like summer to us. We were dressed in tshirts and flip flops and they were wearing sweaters and wrapped up in a blanket. "I just knew that even if it was a little cold down here it would be a lot warmer than what we have been having up there. Might as well make the most of it!"

We walked toward the stadium and wandered through the parking lots full of tailgaters. After an inept search for food from a nearby restaurant, we just decided to walk into the stadium and get something there. I am sure that we could have easily walked up to any Nebraska tailgating party and told them how far we had driven and they would have happily fed us. Instead, I payed $4 for a mediocre hotdog. It didn't matter though. It was nearly game time!

I think we got lucky because we were in a great section of Nebraska fans. I ordered through the Nebraska ticket office to make sure that we didn't end up in a mixed section. Instead, this section was vocal and vibrant! We stood when standing was neccessary and sometimes even when it wasn't. We yelled until it hurt and then we yelled some more. We laughed, we cried out in disappointment for our team to better preform. We chanted, we clapped and we celebrated. We carried our defense just like they controlled the game and encouraged our offense to the best of our abilities. We slapped fives in celebration and finally... Finally we shared our collective happiness in sweet jubulent victory!

It was a fantastic game. We definitely got our moneys worth. Nebraska won 26-21 in a thriller that came down to the last possession and finally culminated in Nebraska lining up in the victory formation for a kneel down. Not only that, but I made life long Husker fans out of both Kelsi and Sean.

Walking out of the stadium we chanted, no, proudly yelled "HUSKER!" "POWER!" through the ramps all the way out of the stadium and down the street. We high fived strangers and yelled with what little voice we had left. It is pretty cool to think that just having a Nebraska red shirt on instantly makes you friends with 30,000 other people in the area who would gladly help you out if you needed it or be more than happy to answer a Gooo Biiiig Redddd chant.

Once back at the car the same group of Clemson fans were standing back by their vehicle. I said hello again and "It's a long drive back to Montana." They laughed a little and one said "At least ya'll got the W..." "That does make the drive a little better" I wished them well and they to us the same and we drove off. Into the sunset, I would like to believe...

On our way back to the island we ate at Chilis before returning to the hotel. There were fans from both sides dotting the seats. In celebration I decided to order a strawberry Daquiri. A few moments later the waitress came out with two tall glasses in her hand. "Oh I just wanted to order one," I said. Turns out it was two for one night! I handed my keys over to Sean and sipped away on the taste of victory.

Chapter six: Back to Bama

When we left in the morning, I drove not South on I-95, but North. We were so close, I thought it would be silly not to drive in to Georgia so Kelsi could mark off an 8th state from her list. We just crossed the border to Kingston and then took some back highways over to Folkston and then down through the little bootleg of Georgia. I had never been to this part of the state before either. We skirted the edges of the Okefenokee Swamp but we saw very little swamp and no alligators, though we kept a close lookout. Most of what we saw was planted pine pulp wood that grew in nice little rows. It seems that that is all that is down there in that region. I partially wanted to visit this region because of a book I had read for one of my classes called Ecology of a Cracker Childhood. Janisse Ray grew up just north of where we were and talked about the longleaf pine forest that used to cover this region but has been largely cleared to make room for the pulp trees we saw. That area was pretty in its own way. I like driving on a narrow highway with pine trees lining either side of the road.

When we got back to the interstate at Lake City, FL we stopped to gas up and inside bought a cup full of hot boiled peanuts. We had seen signs up and down the roads since Mississippi and Kelsi had never tried or even heard of them before. We should have bought from someone along the side of the road but the gas station ones were just as good.

Once back in Alabama at Sean's house, we decided to drive to the beach around 10:00 in order to go crabbing. There was heavy fog all the way down to the waves and it was eerily cool to watch the moisture and fog roll off the waves and up onto land. Our crabbing hunt was unsucessful, we didn't even see one. We drove out to the pavillion where there were less lights and still did not see any crabs scutteling across the sand.

Instead, it was quite picturesque sitting on the beach at night. Watching the stars through the light rolling fog, listening to the waves wash up on shore. It was beautiful. It was romantic. By this point though I was a little tired of watching Sean and Kelsi flirt all day and night. Being on the beach was a little hard for me because of all the memories from the last time I was there. I didn't want to say anything to them because I know how much they missed each other and if it would have been me I would have been doing the exact same thing. I just felt a little left out some of the time. This was partly why I had suggested to Emily the idea that she come with us about a week before we were to leave. She told me she would really consider it but in the end, she decided to stay in Missouri. Still, that night I wanted to sit alone for a little while in the sand and reflect, but even that didn't last long.

Before going back to the house, it was imperative that we stop at Waffle House. It was about 1 am - in other words, the perfect time for Waffle House. I ordered the Pecan Waffle and a cup of chocolate milk. I have discovered, in my varied experiences with Waffle House, that through the first quarter of the waffle I think "Yes, this is delicious! Keep eating!" By the time I am half way done I slow down and think "I'm in a pretty good place right now." When the waffle is three quarters consumed I start to realize "Now would be a good time to stop..." And finally, when the entire waffle is devoured I feel like death is a real possibility if I eat anything else.

The next day we spent lounging around the house most of the day. Somehow I slept in until noon on the living room couch. Sean and I kicked a soccer ball for a while and then tossed a football back and forth outside. For dinner we decided to go to a local Mexican place. There were several in the area and I suggested we go to the one that looked the worst from the outside. Usually they have the best food inside. The burrito I ordered was about the size of my forearm, maybe a little thicker. Quantity was backed up with quality, it was very tasty.

Some good thunder storms were rolling through and we decided not to do much else with the day. We went back to the house and watched the Alabama vs Utah game on tv. After that, I pretty much called it a night.

Chapter seven: The Long Road Home

We left at a decent time that morning. As I loaded up the car I was starting to sweat a little. It was 9:30 am and it was already over 75 degrees and humid. It is easy to forget that winter is actually a season down there some times. We exchanged goodbyes, no tears this time. I will admit that I could not help but let a tear or two fall this past summer the night Sean moved away. This time though, we all parted ways in good spirits.

The goal was to get to Emily's house by a decent time that night. The sky clouded over in Mississippi and rained most of the way from Jackson to Memphis. This particular stretch of road seemed to take forever to cover going back where as before it went by fast. I stopped about 10 miles outside of Memphis at a Waffle House around 4. I was tired and had a strange craving for a waffle and a cup of coffee. Inside I got just that. I told Kelsi to pick a city; Memphis, St. Louis, or Kansas City because she was going to drive through one of them. She threw her usual fit about this being unfair and dangerous and a terrible idea but eventually she succumbed to the notion and chose Memphis. I think she picked Memphis just to get it out of the way early. She got lucky again because the traffic was hardly even noticeable.

She only drove about 30 miles before she wanted to switch across the border in Arkansas. It was dark but I wanted to take some back highways that looked shorter on the map than the interstate up to Popular Bluff, MO. We exited toward Jonesboro, AR and when we pulled through town I was shocked to see a Zaxby's. I wasn't really that hungry but I decided it was necessary to have that delicious chicken one last time. We got our food to go and ate on the road. I had pretty much exhausted my choice selection of ipod music so we decided to surf the radio. One of the station there was 96 "oink" 1: The Pig. We coudn't stop laughing about it.

Eventually we cruised into Missouri. I had called Emily's house from Memphis but she wasn't home so I left a message with her sister to let her know we would be there in about 4 hours. I called again from Popular Bluff but the line was busy. I tried a third time in a smaller town right before we turned onto the real back highways to her house. Still, the line was busy. Well, I thought, now I will have to put my directional and memorizational skills to the test to see if I can find her house. I got us back to the road she had pointed us out on, but could not remember if the dirt road we followed her down had a name. Kelsi and I guessed three different times and each time decided that this was not the one and turned back around to the highway. I had no cell phone service. Eventually, we decided to just drive back into town and try to find a high spot to see if we could get service. If not, I was planning on stopping at a house with a light on and asking for directions. Both her parents taught at the school, so I was sure someone would know them. But as luck would have it, I got one bar back at the school parking lot. My call went through and she even answered the phone. She gave me brief directions and off we went again.

Since we got in a little earlier, we decided to watch Semi-Pro in the basement down where our beds were. Kelsi fell asleep half way through and then somehow woke up for her favorite part of the movie when the bear escapes and Will Ferrell shouts out "If you have a small child use it as a shield!"

In the morning Emily cooked us breakfast and we left by 10:30. We didn't have as far to drive this day so we decided to tour the St. Louis Arch. Once I got into the city I exited downtown and found a parking garage to park in. We walked down a couple blocks to the Arch and took some pictures from the outside. When I walked down into the museum that sits below the arch, I was surprised to see all the 9/11 style airport security that we had to pass through before we could enter. If we had had more time and were willing to pay the $14 a piece ticket we would have taken the little space shuttle ride up to the top where there are windows to look out over the city.

It was around 3 by the time we left the Arch and we had somehow skipped lunch. I knew of a restaurant in St. Charles that I had wanted to eat at on the way down but wasn't able to fit in because of our mixed up schedule. I stopped at a gas station and asked the lady behind the counter if she knew where the restaurant was. She did not but was more than happy to look through the phone book and find out for me. Kelsi was skeptical again about my insistence upon eating at a certain place. It just so turns out though that I may have saved the best for last. We found Locos and upon having our fill of an appetizer, delicious sandwich and fries decided that Locos may have collectively been our favorite food stop of the entire trip.

It seemed like the stretch of road from Kansas City to the Iowa border was in some sort of time warp where it kept looping over and over and we would never get out of Missouri. When we finally did cross the line, I calculated that we should arrive at my aunts house at 10:00. 9:55 if we were lucky. We pulled into their drive way at 9:54. If nothing else, I was impressed. We also were just in time for the thrilling 4th quarter conclusion of the Texas vs Ohio State game.

In the morning we got away early and made good time across the state. We were in North Platte by lunch and decided to stop at a Runza. There were about eight cop cars in the parking lot and they were all eating together in a little back conference room. As Kelsi and I were about half way through our meals a group of construction workers came and sat across from us. I looked at Kelsi and said "If an Indian Chief walks in here next I am going to start singing the YMCA." She thought that was pretty funny but was too worried to start laughing because she thought they migh have overheard us.

I let her drive from there all the way to the interstate in Wyoming. There is pretty much just one road that goes from Scottsbluff to Wyoming. Somewhere at the very end of Nebraska I was looking at the map. I pointed out the last Nebraska town as we were driving through it and then said that next is Torrington so the Wyoming border must be about a mile or two away. I never did see the sign welcoming us to the state so when the signs for Torrington appeared I kept a straight face and said "We are already in Torrington? That's funny I never saw the Wyoming sign...we must have made a wrong turn somewhere." Kelsi immediatly pulls into a gas station parking lot and I just start laughing because I can't believe she really believed me. "Where could we have possibly turned?" I said. She wasn't very happy, but forgave me shortly after.

In Casper we ate a nice dinner and prepared ourselves for the home stretch. Four hours home, we thought. The roads were a little icy the rest of the way home and in the small mountain pass between the Montana and Wyoming border snow started to fall and cover the roads. This slowed us down and forced me to drive extra cautiously, which of course cut into our original anticipated arrival time.

Thankfully we made the whole trip problem free. Soon enough we were pulling into my driveway and already wishing that we hadn't even left yet and were just about ready to start all over again.

snow blindness

2008-12-23T02:51:00.002-06:00

Midnight rolls around the clock. I'm sitting in the living room watching Craig Ferguson by myself. Everyone else has gone to bed. I'm bored. My legs feel like walking. I stroll to the back rooms where the dogs sleep quietly on the floor. It is 3 degrees outside and a nice steady snow is falling faintly through the night. I'm thinking. I'm planning. And soon enough, I find myself putting on snow boots, a sweat shirt, my winter coat, hat, heavy gloves, and digging a scarf out of the closet to wrap around my face.

I shut the door behind me. The dogs inside watch me quizzically through the glass. I smile and turn away, my face toward the snow passing through the light and the dark. Low clouds and a dull orange-pink glow linger in the clouds in directions above my head. The snow flakes are small and the air doesn't feel too cold.

I walk. Stumble through the snow. My footprints trudge through the snow behind me, trenching my way through the smooth and clean white topped surface. There is a good 10 inches on the ground it seems like. Maybe more. I'm wandering. I'm wondering. I'm looking for something in the snowy, dark and cluttered night.

Walking through what seems like a road, I'm not really sure, a make slow steps. I'm aiming for a line of trees several hundred yards ahead. My steps are uneven and when I wander too far left or right, I slide into snow below my knees. I'm still not cold. My scarf is wrapped up over my nose and my hat has slid down just above my eyes. I look through a narrow window at the world surrounding me. This landscape. This snowscape.

When I get to the trees I walk among them. I was hoping for a low branch to sit on but there are no good prospects. Instead, I walk to the end and climb up a few feet off the ground, wedging myself between a low split in the trunk. I try to keep quiet. I try to listen to the snow and to the night. The snow taps lightly on my coat, a soft pat that dashes in front of my eyes. This isn't the optimum reflecting place. I-94 is not too far away to the South. I can see lights glowing in the distance. There is a train track that wraps around me in every direction but East. The silence is cluttered.

The trees lose me on my own accord. I have grown impatient with myself. I walk along them on what I am sure is a dirt road now. There are rabbit tracks everywhere. They are a lot more elegant in the snow than mine. I follow one for a while, tracing it between the trees and criss crossing the road. I'm not sure if I am following it forwards or backwards.

Somewhere, I lose the twisted tracks amongst the tangled trees.

I walk East along the road toward the canal. The snow is deep up along the bank. I hold onto a metal tee-post in the ground as I lean over. If I fall, I might have trouble finding a decent place to climb back out.

Instead of venturing further, I decide to turn back toward the house. I meander through the ag station's barns and buildings. I walk toward a light. The snow on the ground shines and sparkles like a white blanket emulating the stars covered by the clouds. I stop every third step or so to stare at the snow flying through the light. I tried to write a poem once about falling snow a long time ago. The only part I like has always stuck with me. Maybe it will find it's place someday.

The snow seems to fall
With no direction at all
but down

Past the light, I turn into the Lyon's Club park area. The snow must be a foot deep here. I spot a swing set standing near the fence and trudge through the snow in that direction. I'm still not cold. I still don't feel like I have wondered nearly enough. I edge closer to the swing and notice the snow stacked upon all three seats. This would make a good photograph. Instead, I knock the snow off and sit down to swing. My feet push through the powdery snow and I dig a whole with my feet beneath me with each pass.

I swing. Up and down. Back and forth. Forward and back. I laugh because I am taken back to the last time I was in swing set. Not that long ago, some time this past summer. In another state. Another place. With another face. This night won't end like that one. Not a chance in the world.

I leave the swing set and continue my wandering out to the road that parallels the train track. I walk back toward the house. I hear the train whistle blow and echo through the valley from the South. There is a coal train making the big turn up ahead. It is moving slowly across the tracks. As the length of its cars make it around the bend, I hear the engine pick up steam. Its bright light shines in my direction and I am frozen. I want to move to the bushes for some reason, afraid that the train might see me but I don't. I stand still. The snow appears to be falling more heavily in the light of the train. It moves closer toward me and lets out its first whistle. I am expecting it. But the sound is so loud that it scares me and makes me jump. Seconds later, the whistle blares again and I just as surprised. The engine is right in front of me and it lets out a third, short blare that races into my ears and I jump a third time. Wow. It's just a coal train but it looks like something out of a dream in the snowy night. I take steps off the road and move closer toward the tracks. I am wary of venturing to close but I am entranced in the motion of the cars, the light and constant sounds that shake the air from the wheels and the rail. What if something happened and one of these cars flip over? I would be crushed for sure. I'm sure I wouldn't have time to react and run away fast enough. The motion and power in front of me is entrancing and I stare as the cars go by. Soon enough, the last engine rolls by as it pushes from behind.

I stare off to the East in the direction the train has rolled off to. I look up. All around. I feel like it is time to go back inside. I don't feel like I have found anything tonight.

Snow blindness.

solstice

2008-12-22T00:37:00.002-06:00

Winter solstice. The shortest day of the year, and the "official" beginning of winter. Considering the last two weeks or so, if today is the first day of winter, I am a little nervous as to what is in store for the rest of the season. I'm already shaking, but that could just be the temperature. Last night the low here at the house in Huntley was -27. I should specify that that was the temperature outside the house and not inside the house. Inside it is a different kind of cold. It is a cold that creeps into you and seeps up through your toes and shoulders. Wool socks are a must. I have been wearing the same pair of sweatpants and long sleeved shirt since I have been home without shame. At night, the bed I sleep in is brisk upon entry to say the least. I don't really feel like I am sufficiently warm until mid to late morning when it is time to get up. I like sleeping in cold rooms, but last night I was covered in three blankets. -27 is nothing to take lightly.

That is really cold.

It's so cold that it hurts to breathe when I step outside at night.

It's so cold that the dogs have been sleeping inside the house at night. Most of the day too. There is hair everywhere...

My job has been to let the dogs out and pee before I go to bed. I walk into the back room where they are supposed to stay to wake them up. "Come on dogs! Let's go, let's go!" They think they are going on an adventure. But Zip is always timid to exit the house if I am still standing inside, thinking he might be on the receiving end of a bitterly cold trick. So I have to walk out with them through the gate and stand in the driveway while the quickly go about their business. It's interesting that they always go to the same place in the yard. I guess I always go to the same place in the house though.

The best thing about the Solstice is that, although there may be many more freezing days and nights to come, we are back on the upswing in terms of daylight. The sun set here around 4:30, at least that is what I was told. The sun never really made a real appearance from behind the clouds. It was just gloomy and cold all day long.

There isn't a lot to do around here. Fortunately there are a lot of movies and football that need watching, and a big HDTV to watch it on.

Really though, I am counting down the days until December 26th. The day after Christmas is the day that Kelsi and I will embark on a cross country journey to the fabled Deep South. We will drive across the high plateau and scrub lands of Montana and Wyoming and then parallel the Platte River of Nebraska all the way to Lincoln, Nebraska. From there we journey south and east where we will eventually arrive at my new friend Emily's house in the Ozarks of southeast Missouri. The next day, with or without Emily in tow, we traverse across the south along the Mississippi Delta all the way to Fairhope, Alabama to Sean's home. But Alabama is not the final destination, on New Year's Eve Day we will leave for Fernandina Beach, Florida which is about 40 miles north and east of Jacksonville. The next day is the heart of the matter. On New Year's Day, Sean, Kelsi, and I will attend the Gator Bowl and watch what should be a great match up between Nebraska and Clemson. I have secured Nebraska shirts for all involved and have the tickets waiting on the desk in my room.

I'm excited about the trip. I'm excited to drive, to eat at the regional restaurants I love so much, to visit the beach, to feel the warmth of the winter sun, to experience New Year's Eve on the beach, to go to the game, and to see a great friend.

Happy Solstice!

december's midnight breeze

2008-12-04T02:08:00.002-06:00

I heard my blinds shake

A winter whisper through my window
I felt your heart race
Summer solstice in a slide show

I saw the bright light
And your brown eyes
Finally felt right
Under city skies

I felt rain drops
Watched your tears fall
Heard the music stop
Held you through it all

I ignored everyone
And remembered everything

I heard your soft voice
Tell the sweetest lie
In the white noise
Heard the truth die

Smelled the ocean's breath
And the mountain's pine
Wondered what the future held
Lost track of time

I heard my blinds shake
Some sleepless December breeze
Blow across the night
Trigger memories

journals

2008-12-02T00:28:00.006-06:00

The first night I was home over Thanksgiving break I was lying in bed unable to sleep. I felt the urge to write, but I had left my notebook at my apartment in Missoula. It was late, my ears were ringing for some reason, and I didn't want to keep laying there. I scrounged around the room and discovered a stack of notebooks on one of the bookshelves. To cure my craze, I picked it up and wrote. I liked it so much that I kept what just might look like to another as a "journal" while I was home. It was nice to translate the jumbled thoughts in my mind down onto paper and reflect.

11/25/08

It's good to be home. For the first time since the move to Montana I actually do feel like this is home. We left Missoula today a little after 5:00 and journeyed across I-90 in the dark all the way here, arriving around 10:30. I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving and the days to come. I guess I didn't realize how much I've missed my parents until I walked in the door. They were glad to see Caitlin and I too, but from the way they have decorated the house it is easy to see that they are glad to have us as visitors instead of full time residents. To be honest, I'm glad it is that way too.

My ears are still ringing from the drive. This writing is a nice way to pass the time and focus my brain elsewhere. The static just grows louder when I try to ignore it. I haven't really been sleeping well for the past couple weeks anyhow. I don't know why. A train just blew it's whistle and I can hear it rushing by on the tracks outside the house. There is a train that I always hear out my apartment window in Missoula around 2:30 am. It is softer, and I only hear the sound of the whistle a few times before it is gone. I tried to write a poem about it last night but I stalled a few lines in. I guess it is some consolation that if I am inspired by train whistles I will get plenty of practice these next few days.

I have been slacking in my writing lately. There is no excuse, I just have not been motivated. This journaling feels good though. I rarely push pen to paper anymore. I suppose it is also good practice for this spring when I will be out in the canyon country of Utah for two months. I'm looking forward to the change of pace, change of lifestyle, and change of scenery it will bring.

I feel like I'm doing a lot of looking forward. It's probably better than looking back which is about the only way I have been looking for the past year. Then again, it is nice to have something to look forward to rather than nothing at all. Still, I feel like I don't do enough looking at the "now." I don't really live in the present enough. I'm always holding out for something better. Something later. Maybe just something else. I want to start doing less of that and more of this. The present. How do I do that? I don't really know, but I like that I have identified something and I like the sound that this pen and paper creates.

Well, it seems like I am stalling again, which is bad because my ears are roaring with static even worse than before. But I have written about 3 pages now and the clock is moving in on 2am. I should try to get some sleep. If I'm lucky it will come easy. If I'm not, maybe I will be back to work on that poem some more...

Good night. JM

11/27/08

Today was Thanksgiving. Preparations started yesterday with the making of the pies, the orange jello salad, and the thawing of the turkey. I slept in this morning. I probably didn't get out of bed until 11:30 or noon. I was awake, but comfortable. Also, my phone kept buzzing with people sending me happy Thanksgiving messages. Getting out of bed late has its advantages though. I only had to wait a few hours for the actual Thanksgiving dinner to take place. As has become tradition of sorts these past several years, in absence of a prayer, we go around the table and each say what we are thankful for this year. There are always the usual good health, togetherness, food on the table which are for sure more than enough to be thankful for all in their own and perhaps more than many people in the rest of the world can say. In fact, it is strange to think about. It is like I so often take those simple, integral things for granted in search of something more. I said I was thankful for a new president, Barrack Obama that will soon (not soon enough!) lead this country in a hopefully more responsible and respectable manner than what we have seen these past 8 years.

But I am thankful for so much more. It is hard to quantify everything into a list. There is one thing especially. It came in one of my texts this morning. It said "Happy Thanksgiving, darling." I responded by wishing her a happy Thanksgiving as well. I thought about saying more, but I didn't. I feel like there is always something more I could say to her. Several minutes later I got a response; "I am thankful to have shared love with you." Exactly what I was going to include in my previous message. And I am thankful. Very much so. Everyone says she is or was bad for me but no one really, truly knows but her and me. I am so thankful for the experience we had because when it was good I can't possibly imagine anything better. I am thankful to have been loved by someone, and to have felt love, Real Love, for someone else. People say you just know and when I was with her I felt it. I knew. There is no real way to describe the magnitude of emotion that I felt. Love. That was it. And to have it reciprocated made it complete. True. I am thankful to have shared Love with her, even if it is to remain in the past tense. I am thankful to have shared love with her.

It gets dark so early here. Some time after 4 the sun was already sinking fast, and by 5:15 its last lights were receding. At this pint I was also recovering from the tryptophan induced stupor that I had forced upon myself earlier. The meal was delicious as always and there will be plenty of leftovers for many days to come. The short daylight is an adjustment from the summer when the sun sticks around until 9:30 or 10. But now I get falsely tired early and think it is bed time at 7.

Well here I was earlier tonight contemplating whether or not I really had anything to talk about and I am already spilling over to page 4. I guess words really get rolling once I get started. A train is roaring by again and it is already getting close to 2am so I should do myself a favor and get some sleep.

Good night. JM

challenge

2008-11-25T03:05:00.004-06:00

Here is where I lost myself
Under my own intentions
Miraged in some new found wealth
It took the best of me
Love translates to loneliness
If anything remains
Torn though I continue to be
You still have what's left of me

washington state

2008-11-07T15:26:00.002-06:00

I made my first trip to the Seattle area last weekend. I left Missoula around 3 and headed West in my car across I-90. It felt good to be in my car again. I haven't really driven much since this summer, and even then it wasn't in my car. The fall colors of the mountains are fading fast, dropping leaves with every swift breeze. I think the western Larch might be one of my favorites. It is a deciduous coniferous, an evergreen that drops its needles. Before they fall, they turn yellow, gold, and beautiful. Lighting up the mountains amongst the dark greens of the pines and firs. In the spring they are bright, almost neon green. There was a certain section of the mountains that the sunlight hit just right as I crossed into Idaho. If I hadn't been driving, I would have taken a picture.

My first stop was in Post Falls, Idaho, just west of Coeur D' Alene. I discovered last winter that Post Falls is home to the closest Sonic. There are no Sonics here, yet we are still tortured with their delicious drink commercials. As soon as I pulled in I gave my Mom a call. "Mom," I said trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, "I have a question for you."
"Okay, well, what is it?"
I tried to remain composed as I responded, "Well, I'm here at Sonic, and I just don't know what flavor cream slush to get! I mean should I get grape, or orange, or cherry? I just don't know!"
Laughter ensued as she called me names but I think it was worth it. It's not like she wouldn't do the very same thing if she had been in my place.

After Post Falls I drove into Washington state and through the city of Spokane. From there I took my first turn South on highway 91 toward the little college town of Pullman where Washington State University is located. In Montana, the speed limit on the interstate and most highways is 75. I'm used to driving that fast and it is convenient because I can travel long distances in shorter times. Along this stretch of highway however, the speed limit was a lowly 60 miles per hour. I felt like I was crawling and I was too worried to speed with out of state licence plates. I navigated the rolling hills of the aggregated Paluse region of Eastern Washington and finally rolled into Pullman after dark.

Dan, my old roomie, was waiting outside the apartment. He is in a sort of college limbo right now. He graduated from Montana last spring and moved to Pullman so he could go to vet school at Washington State. But before he can enroll into the vet school he has to take a number of gen eds that he somehow missed at Montana. It is weird, and he doesn't really enjoy being stuck in a class full of freshmen. This semester he is taking chemistry, physics, and biology, all with labs. It is funny to imagine Dan with his flannel and lumberjack beard sitting in a desk next to some 17 and 18 year olds who barely even need to shave yet.

Although it was dark, it was still early when I got there. Also it was Halloween night. Dan said we had three options for the evening. 1. Go out to a party with one of his roommates. 2. Head out to the bars for the evening. Or 3. Go out and find our own beverages to bring back to the apartment. After some thought, I suggested option 1, which would be later followed by option 2.

Pullman has a population of about 27,000 people, and the University has a population of about 22,000, so when the students are in town it effectively doubles the town population. The town is also built on rolling hills so it reminded me of being in Lawrence again. Students were out and about wondering the streets and party hoping everywhere as the evening settled in. I went with a group of about 6 other people. The party we went to was alright. I wanted to go out and see what the atmosphere was like since I didn't know anyone but Dan. There were lots of interesting costumes and some scantily clad ladies. Dan, almost by magic, kept finding drinks of something called Washington Apple. I later discovered that it is Crown Royal, sour apple schnapps, and cranberry juice. In any case, it was surprisingly tasty.

After a good hour or so at the party and several Washington Apples later, we decided it was time to go to the bars. After one of the girls we rode with parked the car, we split up although we were supposed to meet again later, but it never happened. Dan and I went to his favorite bar Rico's, to play pool. In side there was a band playing and we walked the stairs up to the loft area where the pool tables were. There, we ordered a jazz cocktail which had orange juice, sprite, and Baileys Irish Cream in a cup of ice. It was also quite tasty and may have aided my pool playing abilities. Once we decided not to spend any more quarters on pool, we wondered downtown in search of the rest of our group, who happened to have the vehicles, but were unable to find them. So, with our options limited, we were forced to walk uphill back to Dan's apartment. By this time it was after midnight and the people out wondering the streets were pretty intoxicated. I have discovered that all girls pretty much sound the same when they are drunk - one loud voice with no volume control and repetitively whinny. We passed many on our walk back.

In the morning, we left Pullman in Dan's car on our way to his Mom's house in Seattle. We crossed the Paluse, the Columbia River, and the part of central Washington that looks an awful lot like Wyoming - bare, treeless, shrub land, only with an occasional apple orchard. Finally, we reached the Cascades and Snoqualmie Pass. I liked all the names of the places in Washington. Snoqualmie, Wenatchee, Issaquah, etc. It was raining, not surprisingly, and that made for poor picture taking opportunities. But it was still an enjoyable view most of the way.

When we made it to Dan's Mom's apartment, we both sat down in front of the big flat screen tv for some much needed football watching. To supplement for lunch, Dan made his famous Corn Dip, along with a variety of other snack foods provided by his Mom. The Corn Dip was as delicious as I remember it being, and I think I ate a good 1/3 of it.

At half time of the Nebraska v Oklahoma game we left the apartment and drove into town to meet Dan's brother Tim, at a sports bar. There we watched the rest of the miserable Nebraska game over a pitcher of Blue Moon, and the exciting finish of the Texas v Texas Tech game. After that, we spent most of the rest of the evening playing pool in the back. Later, and after a few more drinks, the Karaoke machine was set up. Tim walked up to Dan and I after we finished another game of pool and said "Ya know what, I kind of feel like singing some karaoke. I think we all should." I was not all for the idea but I thought what the heck, I don't know any of these people here, why not! Tim walked up to inquire about getting us on the list and did so successfully. When they called our names we walked up to the stage and sang what amounted to probably the most beautiful three part harmony version of Afternoon Delight that bar has ever witnessed!

Sunday brought the real reason for my trip in the first place. We had tickets to the Seattle Seahawks v Philadelphia Eagles game for that afternoon. We awoke early, and after a delicious house breakfast made our way through the downtown traffic. We sat in traffic for at least an hour and a half waiting to turn toward Quest Stadium, but we finally made it. I was surprised that Dan's Mom was not the least bit hesitant to pay $40 for parking. All four of us were dressed in green Eagles shirts and we made our way through the mass of Seahawks fan to our seats. And they were really good seats, which they should have been for as much as they cost! The stadium is designed to be one of the loudest, and I must say, it lived up to the reputation. The first play for the Seahawks was a 90 yard touchdown pass which sent the crowd into a frenzy. After that though, it was all Eagles who scored 26 unanswered. By the fourth quarter, and after a near fight just three rows ahead of us, most of the Seattle fans had cleared out and us Philly fans moved down closer to the field. At the conclusion of the game we all moved over to the tunnel where they players left the field. As they did, many of them waved and threw their gloves or hats up to the fans. I tried yelling at Correl Buckhalter, and Stewart Bradley, but they didn't hear me. I should have yelled something about Nebraska to get their attention. When Andy Reid, the Eagles coach, walked under waving at the fans, I yelled for him to toss his majestic mustache to us, but alas, he did not. The very last player to walk into the tunnel was Donovan McNabb. He ran to the entrance and bent back letting out some primal sort of yell that got everyone even more excited. Watching at the end was easily the best part of the game.

On our way back to the Apartment, we drove through downtown Seattle so I could get a good look at the city. I saw the Space Needle, and probably 10 Starbucks, amongst other things. I wish that I would have had more time to spend there so I could really experience the city. The next time I go there I will make sure to allot that kind of time, as well as maybe enough for a trip over to the Olympic Peninsula.

The trip was definitely worth the money and the time. I had a lot of fun with Dan and Tim and wish I could have spent a little more time there. Maybe most importantly of all, on the way back from the game that night, we stopped at Panera Bread just so I could order my favorite sandwich and a half dozen Cinnamon Crunch bagels. Mmmm!

festival of the book

2008-10-26T23:45:00.003-05:00

I tricked Kelsi into watching the Nebraska game with me Saturday morning. Sometime Friday I sent her a text message asking if she would be willing to have breakfast with me at 10:30 on Saturday.
She replied by saying 10:30, that's awfully early. Can't we go later?
No, I said. It has to be 10:30.
Why?
I don't think I can tell you why...
Oh. Awfully secretive aren't we? Well I guess I can do that.

I didn't tell her where we were going and I didn't tell her why. Only that she needed to go with me. I knew if I told her why and that we were going to a sports bar to watch football she would have likely said no.

So we went and enjoyed a nice omelet breakfast, some football, and each others company. She even stuck around for the whole 4 hours the game lasted. I was quite impressed.

That was morning.

It's nice to get out once and a while.

Saturday afternoon I was just sitting around watching football - the usual. I knew that the Missoula Festival of the Book was going on because it had been mentioned in one of my classes a few times and Mark had attended one part of it on Friday. But I was really comfortable on my couch.

I called my friend Carmen, who I haven't really heard much from this semester even after we agreed this summer that we should spend more time together. I called partly because I wanted to see her and partly because if I didn't go with someone I wasn't going to go at all. She more or less gave me a "maybe." Saying she was waiting on another friend and they might be doing something but she wasn't sure. This was around 4:30 and the main event of the festival started at 7:30.

Okay. Maybe.

So I laid around in the living room, getting up only to pour another glass of iced tea or too scour the kitchen for something to eat. At 6:45 I decided that she probably wasn't going to call and that probably meant that she had made plans with her other friend. Figures, I thought. At 7:10 I was laying comfortably across my couch with my head on 3 pillows and my feet on the opposite arm rest. I was thinking now would be a good time for a nap.

Right as I was about to turn the volume down on the Alabama - Tennessee game, my phone rang. Carmen. The night was back on only we would be a few minutes late.

We walked in to the Wilma theater right as some lady introduced Pat Williams, who was to introduce Rick Bass, the nights first author.

I have read one book by Rick Bass before and enjoyed it, so when I saw his name on the list of the three authors to read that night, I was most inclined to see him. Rick looks a little and talks a little like David Sedaris. He read a chapter from one of his books titled The life of Rocks called "Her First Elk." It was a great reading about a subject, hunting, that I was initially disappointed would be the subject of his reading. Instead, it gave me a new look at hunting through a really good narrative.

The second author was a lady named Kim Barnes. Her story was also interesting, though I found it a bit harder to follow just by listening. Her speaking pattern was similar to the way Hillary Clinton talked at her campaign speeches. The third author was very good, and had the crowd laughing and following right along the footsteps of the life of a ranch-hand set in eastern Montana.

Missoula's Festival of the Book was a classic example of community pride. Missoula is the only town in the state that could wholeheartedly support an event like that. It has such character and culture and I'm always glad when I allow myself to get out and experience a taste of it every once in a while.

static

2008-10-14T17:37:00.005-05:00

I had a strange conversation with one of my friends from class today. We have 3 classes together this semester, and had 2 last semester when I actually got to know her. We walked to the UC after class and sat down to talk for a while. At one point she asked me how the girl search was going. "Terrible," I said, "Nothing is going on. I need a girlfriend..." I was about to add "because it is going to be a cold winter and I don't want to keep sleeping alone," but before I could she started laughing. I said "You know that's not supposed to be funny."

She kind of stopped and said "I know, I'm sorry, but you know its weird, when I first met you I thought you were gay."

It was a dumb thing to say, and right away she thought I was upset and kept saying "I'm sorry I'm sorry. Why did I say that?" But really, I was more curious. When I asked why, she said "I don't know, because you dress nice."

I thought that was weird, especially since I don't really dress that nice. But I do usually put some thought into it. Eventually she kind of saved herself when she tried to explain again on the way to her next class that it was only the first time she met me and she had thought "Oh, he's cute but he is probably gay."

Like that was supposed to make me feel better. And she had to tell me this on the day that I actually did wear a half way nice button up shirt. It's a given that she is a little strange herself, but the conversation made my afternoon weird.

If she thought that, maybe other people think it too. I told Kelsi this story later and she consoled me a little, but not much.

It seems to me that most girls don't want a guy who already dresses well and takes care of himself and knows how to cook and not be a general slob. They want a project. They want somebody they can change and mold to be the kind of guy they think he should be and dress him up in new clothes and buy him soap in case he is unaware that soap is actually the most important part of bathing. Again, Kelsi said that this isn't true. Girls do like a guy that dresses nice.

They don't seem to be noticing me.

I think I need to start doing something different. I just don't know what. But whatever it is I am doing now doesn't seem to be working for me. I'm not making any progress. I need to change some part of myself.

I'm lonely. And not just because I still don't have a girlfriend, though that would certainly help. I miss my friend Sean. This semester could have been so much more fun than it has turned out to be if he were still here. Instead it is just going. We talk about once a week, which is good, but it's not the same. I have two good friends in Missoula, and several people I know but don't care to be any closer to.

Sean might maybe could possibly probably be back here for the summer. And Kelsi is planning on moving into Lewis & Clark Apartments where I live too. That would make the summer better than this past one. Fingers crossed.

I'm going to be 22 soon. Next Monday actually. I don't have any plans, nor do I really want any plans. Kelsi might come over and make me an angel food cake, and I might get a thing or two in the mail, but that's about it.

The semester is already half way over. Soon people will be registering for spring classes. I still need to turn in my Wild Rockies Field Institute application for this spring. That will probably be here before long as well. I guess I am excited for it, it will be a welcome change actually. I feel like a static character this semester. My schedule is pretty boring. The days run together. I'm coasting. I am doing well though, so it doesn't really matter. It will be over soon enough.

Most of the time it just feels like I am getting old, and running out of time and opportunities.

waters

2008-09-27T01:50:00.003-05:00

waters grown still
the object of my reflection
our young love was filled
with promise and misdirection

dancing waves out in the ocean
entranced in our collective motion
swimming pools and shower faucets
dripping wet intentions implicit

our rain soaked hotel window view
looking back right into you
maybe somewhere we both knew
beautiful things pass all too soon

melting away
like august ice
never to be
of what was right

so we skipped
like a rock across the surface
and slowly dripped
over how we thought we could work this

until somewhere in
the rising flood
the truth was lost
with what you had done

washed away
to an unknown land
the day you took
anothers hand

now here I am
all alone
caught between
the ebb and flow
if these crystal waters
could only show
the path my heart
does not know

delma elsie

2008-09-24T00:44:00.002-05:00

I knew the second I picked up my phone Saturday morning. I don't know how, but I knew before my mother spoke the words what the call was about. It almost didn't need to be said, and through the tears in her voice my premonition was confirmed.

The funeral was Tuesday. We drove into the tiny town of Tobias like we have so many times before, and I felt funny pulling into grandma's driveway and walking into her house knowing she wasn't inside. I love that house, its like a safe home away from home, something that I thought would always be there no matter what. Family members were everywhere inside, in the process of putting on the 'nice' clothes. Cousins, grandparents, second cousins, aunts and uncles and people that I am not sure the exact relation, just that it if we traced, it would come back to great grandma. She was the keystone of the family, and likely the only time that so many of us will gather in one place at one time again.

There was a meal at the fire station downtown, with enough food, coffee, tables and chairs for everyone to sit down or move about conversing with one another. Conversations were light, at least for me. But there was delicious chili to keep my hands and mouth occupied.

After lunch was the viewing in the church a few blocks over. I walked in the late summer Nebraska sunshine down the cracked sidewalk through the ghostly deserted downtown. The casket was up the steps, through the door where men handed out the paper with great grandma's life story and to the right of the entrance. I wasn't really prepared, and unsure of how I would react. But as a few ahead of me couldn't bare to look, I looked in. I wanted to look in and see. I stood there for a few seconds and thought she looked so good...tried to say some kind of goodbye. So I sat down in the pews, my eyes swelled and I felt the lump in my throat but I didn't let any tears roll down. I don't know why.

The burial was some time after that. I rode over with my parents, Caitlin, Grandma and Mose. The service was brief and mostly light hearted. But for some reason it always bothers me when the preacher goes on and on about jesus christ. Maybe because I have no religion I am biased, but I feel like that takes away from why we are all really here. Standing there silent as thirty some family members eerily recited the lords prayer I felt a part of some strange cult. I didn't cry at the burial, but from the preachers last words I felt it from everyone else.

It was the service back at the church that got me. Because the tiny little church was filled to most capacity, I didn't sit with my parents. Maybe that was good, I don't know. But as she talked about my great grandma I didn't try to hold my tears back. And when some other family went up to tell some of their favorite stories and funny memories I laughed with my heavy heart, soggy tissue in hand. The stories were great and really made the memorial service special. The last words from the preacher really got me. Something about how we try to be the person she always thought we were. Still, that gets me. Grandma found no faults in us, hers was a pure and undivided love - ever present and constant. Be the person she thought we were. I can only try and hope to be as close.

Row by row we exited and I was almost okay. Walking down the steps and out onto the lawn the youngest of the great grandchildren handed out tulip bulbs wrapped in fabric with a message attached. It read "Plant this bulb in remembrance of Delma, that it may bring beauty into your life as she brought beauty into ours." And that was too much. I choked up and let tears fall again. While some people gathered together, I couldn't. I had to go stand in the ditch, in the sunlight, hiding behind my sunglasses for a few minutes. I couldn't speak, and I knew if I did I wouldn't be able to say anything, just cry.

It wasn't just me though. I overheard my dad say that he felt like he needed to run a couple laps around the block. Something to get back.

Great grandma was truly great. She was the perfect grandma. I'm glad we spent time down here only a month or so before she passed. We all knew that the day was coming, but at least I didn't think I would be back in Nebraska so soon. She always seemed invincible to me, and why not, she had lived such a happy and healthy life. Even at age 92, she was sharp as a tack. She never lost her edge and she was a wealth of family knowledge as my mom and I found out in the late nights on our last visit.

After another meal reception most of the family gathered back at the house. Great grandma's last quilt was one she had just finished all the blocks for, and my mom proposed that each family member take a piece for their own remembrance. So in order from age, the 4 children, the 10 grandchildren, and the 11 great grandchildren all drew a block, then again until all but one were gone. The last to be saved for whoever the next great, or great great grandchild is born. It was my mom's idea and a great one that everyone seemed to enjoy.

I can still hear hear voice, and her laugh in my mind. She was a part of my life for so long that I think I always will.

One of the best parts of visiting grandma was the food, oh the food. The pot roasts, dumplings, klatches, pies and the perfect perfect cinnamon roles that greeted us in the mornings, how they too will be missed.

So along with the happiest of memories there are the the tie quilts, patch quilts, and afghans all quilted over the years... grandma's presence still keeps so many of us warm at night.

But it was her smile that may have been the warmest thing of all.

first response assignment

2008-09-03T16:35:00.000-05:00

I sometimes wonder “what right do I have to disturb the universe?” Or I think how one simple action left done or undone may affect the future – chaos theory thoughts. Like smashing a bug buzzing around my face, or tossing a rock back up a mountain, reversing that rocks journey by an immeasurable time. Chances are these things don’t alter much, but I can’t help to wonder what if… It is a tough thing to ponder, with answers that are often times unattainable. What difference does my simple interference make? And how is it possible to see all the potential outcomes so that it becomes easier to pick the right one? I suppose there is no answer, and that we must simply go through life doing what we think is best. Because as Betsy Hilbert said in her piece, “there is no way, any more, not to do something.” Even the smallest stone creates a ripple.

I had an experience striking similar to the sea turtle story told by Hilbert. One night walking along the beach of St. George Island, Florida with my family, we encountered a mother Loggerhead Turtle up on the beach. There were signs in our rental house when we arrived placed to briefly educate visitors about the nesting season. “Don’t disturb nesting turtles,” I remember it saying. My dad saw her first, turned off our flashlight and told us all to stay quiet. We watched in hushed awe, I never thought I would see a turtle so close. But it was too close; she sensed our presence and retreated slowly, making the long, heavy, arduous haul back to the safety of the salty waves, disappearing into the water and the night. We called the number the next morning to report our spotting. I sometimes still wonder how our simple evening walk may have changed things. Though we acted in good conscious, we still prevented a mother to nest in peace. Maybe she came back the next night, or maybe the stress was too much and she stayed away for good. I will never know, nor will I know if our act of disturbance changed things for better of for worse. All I know is that we created a ripple that rolled across the water and out of sight.

watching

2008-08-16T23:48:00.005-05:00

I make it up in time to watch the sun die. Sinister rouge, it melts the horizon. No stars yet, only city lights and the hanging shades of blue, purple, and rustic orange that surrender into a smoky maroon balm that sits like a distant western cradle in the valley between the mountains.

Cicadas hum on the mountain side. Cars exhaust the roads, engines and horns a-blare. I can hear them so clearly up here. Dogs bark, domesticated beasts, channeling their inner instinct of protection for their leader. And these cicadas, they sing on in symphony, oblivious to the rest.

Two young bucks watch me from below, passively. They eyed me as I walked by them on my way up. I watched them through the corner of my eye, letting them think I didn't know they were there.

All gone now. The blood red sky has soaked away. These draining colors will evaporate into the dark night. Behind me there are stars. A rusty barb wire fence parallels the path I followed from the mountain base.

There are four deer down below me and to my left. They eye the two on my right. One of the young bucks is edging toward the others. Not a sound is made, but I watch and he knows I am watching. He reaches the trail, this worn path through the grass and stops. Looking left, right, and ahead, he takes a step back. He is out in the open, no grass to cover him now and it is too much. He is vulnerable and he knows it. Another step back, and finally he turns, walking away, slithering silently, gracefully through the grass.

The earth is warm beneath me. It warms my body, though the breeze still feels like it carries the breath of the sun.

I look back down the trail in time to see a figure cross. A deer. One from the other side. Did he jump the fence? I never heard a sound. He moves slowly across and into the grass. I let my eyes drift carelessly toward the city lights. I look back down at the trail, and again, another deer floats past. Moving slow, painfully slow, it takes soft steps over the dirt. A new shadow emerges on the trail. Low, quick, and short in stature. It lurches back into the grass after a moment in the open, a moment before my eyes can identify it. A fox? A raccoon? A rabbit with a big bushy tail? I will never know for sure. I watch the spot where it disappeared but nothing re-emerges.

The breeze changes. Grass twitches all around me. I look left, through the fence, across the grass - looking for sounds. Did I hear something? Am I being stalked? Nothing comes.

I rise, up on me feet and off of my warm seat on the earth. City lights twinkle and shine, the whole valley is alive.

I walk back down the trail, retracing my steps in an awkward steep stepping fashion. I hit a hole in the ground, stumble, and kick rocks out in front of me.

At the base of the mountain I stop. A beam of light is shining on me, like a spot light. I turn around and see nothing in my former path. But up above, cresting the mountain, shining through the changing sky like the first glimpse of a burning light house from a dark and turning sea, I find the moon. Or rather, the moon finds me. It is so bright my shadow lies against the ground. I've never seen the moon so bright. I watch it emerge from behind the mountain, revealing its full shape and familiar face, taking control of this growing starry atmosphere. This glowing moon - a second sun, a watchful eye, a gleaming beacon illuminating the early night sky.

Shine on moon, shine on. Shine through the night.

stream of consciousness - acceptance

2008-08-15T12:20:00.001-05:00

I find that in the absence of friends close by, my mind ambles away with certain thoughts. In the absence of someone or ones to help fill my mind with the now, the present, the enjoyable emptiness of today – I leap into the next, the tomorrow, the pressing future, the burden of the unknown answer.

And I stay there. The wheels in my mind spin hopelessly, thoughtlessly thoughtful, meaning well but rolling unchecked until that impossible path is so well rutted that I am stuck in my own cluttered and unwelcome company.

But for how long? How long will I endure this extra burden? These open, hopeful scenarios that play on repeat, golden and optimum in the beginning until I analysis the faults, the chances, my own lacking capabilities, the actual likelihood that something like this could play out in reality.

And it is not something I should bother myself with at this point in my life anyhow. It’s still years away, and until a week ago, I had never even considered the idea so specifically. I still need to get through this first step, this step that so many complete that I can’t help to see myself as an unimpressive number getting lost in the lottery. Tens of thousands of people graduate from college every year. What makes me special? Colorado State only accepts 10 to 25% of its Graduate school applicants into their Ecology program.

Why do I care now? I’m not even 100% sure that that is what I want. But I am interested. I have been scouring their website over the past three days, soaking up information, as though I were planning to apply tomorrow. Fort Collins fits the bill as far as a town where I could see myself living. Maybe even an upgrade from Missoula. And I love Missoula. The campus was pretty, but big. There’s nothing wrong with a big campus – 25,000 Students – that is smaller than KU. But then again, I wasn’t that happy at KU. This would be different though, and I happen to think I look good in green.

Maybe I am trying to shield myself from potential disappointment. If this is true, what does it really say about my character? Am I not confident enough to think that I am better than 75 to 90% of these other people who might apply? Am I trying to talk myself out of something because there is that chance that I wouldn’t make the cut? Maybe my major isn’t quite what they would be looking for, and my math and chemistry scores are the very definition of average. Those factors alone surely weigh on my potential. And with all these inner quarrels and questioning of my own character, am I the type of person Colorado State would even accept?

Despite these worries, for some reason people seem to be impressed by me. The current job I applied for was not suited for me at all, yet during the interview the man in charge was so impressed that he wanted to hire me for something anyway. He effectively created a new position just because he thought I was a “bright young man.” In every interview I have ever had, I have always been offered the job. That must say something.

Am I bright? Sometimes I feel like I am. I know I am smart, it just doesn’t always show up on paper as high as it should. And I know I could look a lot smarter if I truly applied myself. I have had teachers in the past that were impressed by my abilities, both in high school and in college. I think my intelligence only appeals on certain levels to certain people – people who are actually interested in what they do. Maybe that is the type of person, better yet the type of program I need, the type of program in which I would shine. Working closely with someone who is interested in not only what they do, but in my abilities to do similar things as well.

I know I am capable. I know I am better than the average person. I know I have gotten somewhere, or at the very least, am on my way to getting somewhere. Visiting Kansas provided that perfect window of enlightenment. As one old friend put it “Nothing has changed here, you’re lucky you got out.” I look at him and I look at myself and think back to where we were in the 7th grade. We were basically taking the same baby steps through the beginning of adulthood. He went one way and I went the other. I got out. He got sucked in. And there we were, sitting at the same table discussing life as we each know it to be, and I felt like I was in a better place. I know I am in a better place. There is no way I would trade places with him, but I know what he would do if asked the same question.

There are others from back home. Some who are seemingly afraid to leave, afraid to take a chance or perhaps just too unsure of what to take a chance on. Still living at home, going to college just because it’s something to do. I can’t imagine still living at home now. At times on this vacation just being in the same vehicle with my family was enough to drive me crazy. Crazy enough to jump out of the car with my knees up and head down and tuck and roll into the ditch. I would rather walk back to Montana if my legs aren’t broken. Living at home would rob me of experiences, of the education not found in a classroom or workplace. Most of all, it would stall my independence.

But do I think I am better than these friends. Not really. Just different. What is it that is different though? What made me not want to drop out of high school, or made me eager to move out from home and excited at the idea of change?

Likely, it is a myriad of things. Conviction. Determination. A hunger to pursue something I thought was important, and worth my time and energy. Or maybe it was boredom. Regardless, I was never afraid of the changes I was making. I was often nervous, even apprehensive at times, but never was I afraid. And I was never afraid because I knew I would succeed. Then, ironically, was an err of confidence that would not let me down.

Besides, I must have briefly examined my options if I didn’t move out and on with my life. My life would not be my own. Slave to the grind, the man, the clock, the system and lacking the audacity to confront change. That should be inspiration enough for anyone.

There are so many things that I want to do, but I just don’t know how. For example, I would like to bike across the country someday. But not by myself. I’m so picky at who I let myself get close to. With whom I let become an actual close friend. On the surface I am friends with everyone. I’m a good person. I’m a nice guy. People don’t usually have bad things to say about me (at least that I know of), and if they did I wouldn’t care anyway because these people don’t matter to me. And I know some people who honestly do think the world of me, amazing as that sounds. People want to be friends with me. But within the first couple minutes of meeting someone, I have usually already decided how much I enjoy their company. This is not always the case, occasionally people grow on me, or they break down walls I may have mistakenly put up. Much of this is my own fault, and for these people I am thankful. But I think this all goes back to trying to protect myself. I don’t want to risk getting hurt by someone I whole heartedly trust – once is enough – so I block people out. I don’t want to get stuck being friends with someone who isn’t really a friend at all, or someone who just plain annoys me.

So who am I? I feel like I have a good sense of who I am as a person, I’m just not sure I could write it out in a nice sentence or paragraph for someone to read. Or maybe I already did. In any case, I accept who I am. I am happy with who I am. On Colorado States website, they say that a personal letter of interest is what they will weigh the most in terms of acceptance.

Acceptance, what a beautiful word.

the crown of the continent

2008-07-30T00:19:00.015-05:00

That's what some call Glacier National Park today. The nickname stuck after Anthropologist and Naturalist George Bird Grinnell visited the area in the 1880's and was so inspired by the scenery that he dedicated the next two decades of his life to establishing the area as a park. In a description of the region he referred to it as the crown of the continent. The Blackfeet Indians called the mountains of Glacier National Park "The Backbone of the World." Just across the border lies Waterton Lakes National Park in Canada. Together, the two parks create the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park, the world's first, designated in 1932. The two parks are both designated Biosphere Reserves and World Heritage Sites by the United Nations. This pristine region, encompassing over 1500 square miles is known as the as the Crown of the Continent Ecosystem.

Stark and surprisingly lush. Sublime mountain scenery. The superlatives could go on forever. As could my alliteration.

Whatever the name, I call it breathtakingly beautiful.

About a week ago, I asked Hiro if there was anywhere he wanted to go before he left the United States. He mentioned Yellowstone. After discussing a few of my previous trips to Yellowstone I mentioned that there is another park to the north which I had never been to named Glacier.
"You have never been?"
"No, never been to Glacier."
"Well lets go there."

It was as simple as that. We set a plan to drive up on Saturday, two days before he left for Japan.

It was a simple day trip, though it would have been nice if it could have been longer. A short drive, only 170 miles up to the west entrance. Hiro had not really ever been out of Missoula much, and I had never been north. Watching the mountains unfold as we drove was amazing. Around a corner another range would emerge still, capped in snow, reaching toward the sky.

We reached Flathead Lake, the largest freshwater lake in the West. The eastern shore of Flathead Lake is snuggled up against the mighty Mission Mountains and is also home to the famous Flathead cherry orchards. We drove past many roadside orchards all selling fresh cherries, but for some reason, never stopped at one. After viewing several scenic vistas through the windshield I decided I had to pull over. We walked down to the shore where there was a metal dock reaching out into the water. The water is unbelievably clear, even at the end of the dock the water must have been 10 or more feet deep and I could still see every detail of the rocks on the bottom. I'm sure I could have placed a newspaper down there and still have been able to read the print. At the shore, I slipped off my flip flops and stepped in. The water was surprisingly refreshing. Warmer than I was expecting and definitely warmer than the water from the Clark Fork River which I have been swimming in a lot lately. I wanted to jump in, right off the end of the dock and into the perfectly clear water, but I resisted.

We drove on, and soon approached the entrance to the park. It was around noon, so we stopped at a local restaurant just outside the gate for lunch. With our stomachs filled, and Hiro's first taste of homemade country style french fries, we crossed into the park.

We chose the most popular route for our tour, Going-to-the-Sun Road. The road is the only one that crosses the entire park, twisting and turning right through the middle offering splendid views on every curve. The road, completed in 1932, is in itself a designated National Historic Landmark and an Historic Civil Engineering Landmark. Had we arrived in Glacier a month earlier, most of the road would have still been closed due to a mid June snow that brought several feet to the area. As a consequence, the forest that we saw was lush and green. I saw ferns growing on the forest floor. Of course, there are reminders of how dangerous the area can be when conditions are dry enough. The north shore of McDonald Lake, which the road parallels at the start, is dominated by the skeletons of trees burned in previous years. Our first of many stops along the way was at McDonald Lake, the beautiful mirror for the mountains to reflect. The water here too was surprisingly warm.

We traveled on up the road, into the valley, gazing out the window as the trees passed by. Finally we reached a spot where both our jaws pretty much dropped. I pulled over and we stepped out of the car, our heads looking up. The mountains stood up like glistening green, silent giants over the valley below. I had no words. This was the sublime. The sense of wonder and fear that only nature can provide. The indescribable. The picturesque that ironically, is too big to capture in one single picture. It's like pictures of the Grand Canyon. Everyone has seen them, but until you actually see it, you don't understand. It just doesn't register the same as seeing something of such magnitude with your own two eyes. Even then, it is hard to take in all at once.

Our next, and perhaps most mentionable stop was at the Weeping Wall. A spot on the side of the road where water comes crashing down over stair step rocks from melting snow. Cars edge off the road to ride underneath, and just ahead there is a pullout for visitors wanting a closer view. Hiro and I walked up the little trail to the edge of the water. About halfway up, there was a group of people enjoying the water first hand. One guy, as they left said to me. "Go ahead and get in there, the water ain't that cold." "I think I just might," I replied. I sat my flip flops, shirt, and camera on a rock to the side and walked toward the falling water. Standing there enjoying the spray, I cupped water in my hands to wash my face. Hiro came over and stuck his head right under some rushing water. I was a bit surprised at his lack of hesitation, so I followed suite and stuck my head right under one as well. The feeling was sensational and relieving. At the end our of journey, we both agreed that the Weeping Wall was the best stop.

Logan Pass is the highest point on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, at 6648 feet, it straddles the Continental Divide. Pulling into the parking lot of the visitor center that sits at the pass, I realized that this must be the first time Hiro has ever crossed the continental divide. I announced this, and then attempted to explain what that meant. Eventually I pointed to a mountain with snow to the west telling him the snow melting off that mountain will drain into the Pacific Ocean, then I pointed to a mountain in the east explaining that the snow from it would eventually flow into the Missouri River and drain into the Gulf of Mexico.

In the parking lot a group of people where by the cars staring up toward a mountain. "Over there, above those rocks," I could hear someone explaining. I looked up toward the rock myself attempting to see what everyone was looking at but with no luck. I asked one man what he saw, and he told me there were two mountain goats laying up high on the mountain. He gave me his binoculars and directed me to where they were laying. It took me a minute to find them because the blended right in with the color of the rocks. While the man was trying to point Hiro in the right direction I attempted to find them again with my camera only to lose them in the graveled face of the mountain.

We decided to leave Logan Pass and return in the same direction we came, instead of continuing across to the East side of the park and looping all the way around the south end to return home. Once we got back down to McDonald Lake, I pulled over for one last view. At the waters edge I again yearned to swim. I waded in up to my knees and looked back at Hiro. He stood ankle deep and laid out his hands as if to present the water, "Go swim," he said. Turns out that was all the encouragement I needed. I waded in up to my waist and passed the point of no return. My shorts were wet and I was 100% committed now. I looked back and told Hiro I was diving in. As I turned around to face the water, I closed my eyes and did just that. Ahh, splendid refreshment. "Hands down," I said "this is the most beautiful place I have ever swam." With the cool lake water in the foreground rippling in the breeze, I eased back and floated, trying as best I could to take in the majesty of the mountains before me. Trying my best to appreciate fully, my place in the world.

Drying off took a little while. Out of the water I was shivering, as I usually do almost regardless of what water I am in. To pass the time I scoured the shoreline for rocks that looked interesting. Collecting some as I went about, the idea of creating my very own rock stack popped into my head. I started collecting large, mostly flat rocks and piled them up high on top of a much larger rock. The end result was nothing too impressive, but a small piece of rock architecture now stood, at least for a little while on the shoreline of McDonald Lake. My very own cairn, marking a portion of a trail that leads into my memory.

Making memories is what life is really about. Socrates said that the unexamined life is a life not worth living. I think that it takes visiting a place like Glacier National Park to really start to piece together your own place in the world. Beauty abounds here, and it's crystal waters are a wonderful place to reflect. That's what I tried to do out on the water, looking out over the McDonald Valley, and standing atop Logan Pass. It reminded me that the world is large, and I am very small in comparison. Small in a good way. So small that my problems are even smaller.

Though I may be small as a single person, people together are a big force. A planet changing force. Hiro pointed out the irony of people driving their cars to the park to see the glaciers that are disappearing because of that very problem. It is true, the glaciers of the park are soon to vanish, maybe in as little as 10 years. Along with the arctic and the polar bear, Glacier has become a symbol of the effects of a changing climate. Pictures of Grinnell Glacier at the turn of the 19th century and today are popular slide show photos for scientists presenting their case.

These glaciers will inevitably be lost, there is nothing that can be done about that now. Still, the world is always changing, and the planet will adapt. Nature is constant, we are only an interrupting force. Just something to think about for people who insist on drilling for more oil, sacrificing the beauty of the natural world for a temporary fix. It is not just oil, but timber cutting, housing, and general growing encroachment into nature. Perhaps some re-examining is in order for those blindly making these calls.

There are many places in the world worth saving. Glacier is one.

The Crown of the Continent. The Backbone of the World.

balancing donuts to a falt

2008-07-23T00:30:00.004-05:00

Balance is the key to riding with no hands. Balance the core of your body over the seat and ride along smoothly. Often times on my ride home from work I forgo the use of my hands on the handle bars. Instead, I let them hang to the side with ease. Or maybe I will place them on my thighs to move up and down with each push of the peddle. Passively peddeling past the pavement below, I let my mind wonder away. I don't care to concentrate because I know I'm not going to fall. And if I start to lose my balance, its not that far of a reach to regain control.

----------

It is another Sunday evening in search of the nights meal. As I walk through the bakery section of the grocery store, a box of discounted donuts catches my eye. All these donuts for $2.99. What a deal! I am a bargain shopper after all. How could I say no?

Carrying the donuts, I realize that the box was too big to fit into my backpack, this being only a small obstacle on my way to potential pastry satisfaction in the oh-so-near future. "I will just carry the box in my hand" I think. Seconds later, I agree with myself and compliment me on my creativity and my ability to problem solve. I pay for my other items and shove them into my bag, donuts in hand.

Outside, I move slowly onto my bike, left hand on the handle bar, right hand holding the donut box. Steadying myself, I peddle slowly out of the parking lot. Riding one handed with ease, I peddle across the bridge where I meandered through a crowd of recently beached tubers, through campus, across Arther St, and finally take a left onto Helen. The home stretch, 12 blocks of easy riding in a straight line. No problem.

Just then, I move my right hand down, carefully attempting to wedge the donut box between my body and a few fingers so I can shift gears.

A strong tilt to the right. Losing balance. No panic. I look up, attempting to steady myself, trying to find my center. Tilting farther right. Farther than I am comfortable with. The handle bars start to swing and I realize I am going down, fast.

Fast is the best way to describe it. I fell fast, faster than what seemed to be real. Because of the pace with which I fell, my exact motion of events is difficult to recall. I think I ditched the donut box with my right hand, fell hard onto my left palm, and rolled over my right shoulder onto my backpack, knowing in a split second that it would soften the fall. When I stopped moving, I had rolled all the way over back onto my chest.

"Ouch, are you alright?" I hear a voice say. It is a man standing next to his car outside a coffee shop. I pull myself off the pavement, and sit back on my ankles, eyes to the ground. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." I look up, but stay sitting to gain composure. I look to check the damage. The donut box is okay, one jelly donut has smashed against the top and into another, but it is okay. I find a cut above my right elbow, a nasty pavement burn on the outside of my left ankle and a long line and cut on my right shin from what I think must have been the peddle dragging against me as I fell. My bike is fine, the right gear shifting box has been smashed up higher than the left, but no damage.

Reluctantly, I pull myself and my things off the ground, and reposition back on the bike. I can't do anything about any injury at this point anyhow. I still have to ride home.

My body stings. I haven't crashed like that since I was a little kid. My ankle burns worst of all and my hands are tingly. A few blocks later I take a look at my left palm and notice it is covered in a bloody mix of black pavement pieces, and frazzled skin. "Oh no..." I think. Quickly I put my hand back down onto the handle bar. "If I don't think about it, it's not there," I think, continuing to peddle home. My hand throbs but I ignore it. Because it isn't hurt. It's not there. I am fine. In my mind I congratulate myself on solving yet another problem.

I roll toward the bike rack beneath the stairs. Gently I take myself off, and walk upstairs to my apartment. I put my things down and walk into my room. I pull out a five dollar bill and knock on Hiro's door. He answers quickly.

"Hey...would you mind riding my bike down to the gas station and buying me a box of band-aids?" I ask. He gives me a quick glance of confusion. Showing my hand I explain, "I had a little accident on the way home."

"Oh, yes!" Quickly, he slips on his shoes and as he walks toward the door I explain in quick detail my crash, and offer him a donut. "They might be cursed," I warn. "Maybe you should wait until you get back to have one."

As he leaves I walk into the bathroom to wash off my wounds. I run cold water over my hand in the sink, while I stick my foot under cold water rushing out of the faucet from the tub. "This is just great..." I think to myself. "Maybe I'm not as immortal as I thought."

I feel nasty and dirty so I abandon the sink and hop into a cool shower. When I get out, some change and a new box of band-aids waits at my door.

Picking them up, along with a tube of Neosporin, I walk into the living room and reflect on the events of the last 30 minutes. I wish I had a girl to feel sorry for me and put bandages on my wounds. As it is, I will have to take care of myself. He's a great roommate, but I'm not about to ask Hiro to do all that as well.

On top of all this, I still need to cook dinner. I indulge in a pre-meal donut to stave off my hunger. It's a little messy, but so am I at this moment.

fire on the mountain

2008-07-10T00:31:00.010-05:00

My channel flipping had gone awry, I was in the dead zone of Wednesday evening television. Past the 6:00 Family Guy on TBS and before the 8:00 Scrubs on Comedy Central. With dinner eaten and the dishes cleaned, I was staring into the oblivion of my 20" tv screen. The uneasiness of wasting away another day under the big sky sun was beginning to sink in and weigh on my conscious. But what to do?

I picked up my soccer ball and headed out the door of my apartment toward the green grassy Dornblaser Fields. Turning the corner, I looked up and saw an unexpected sight. Fire raged over the dried brown grass of Mount Sentinel, burning its way up the steep slope and leaving behind a charred black path that grew like a cancer with each menacing flame. Smoke billowed into the clear blue Missoula sky, fed by southerly winds that carried it up in a wave over the peak and into Hellgate Canyon. I looked on with my fellow Lewis & Clark residents who were also lured out of their hiding, either by simple chance or word of mouth. The news of the wildfire spread like, well, wildfire as Missoulians stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the East where flames grew increasingly closer to the beloved M trail. Cars began to pull into the park and ride lot, and people emerged from all directions to take a seat and stare at flames.

Between the "wows," "oh mys" and "who dun its?" I raced back to my apartment to grab my camera returning just in time to see three firetrucks take off on the old Forest Service Road that so many jogging and dog walking enthusiasts frequent. They looped their way around Sentinel and back to where the grass burned, slowly bumping up that old road. From a distance they looked like little white bugs crawling up a burning hay stack, bound to make a difference despite their inferior size, shrinking by the second.

But just then, with a roar in the distance, a thundering perpetual boom in the sky, a hero arrived. A helicopter, equipped with what amounted to a sophisticated bucket on a sophisticated string flew overhead and into the flames, disappearing behind a cloud of smoke. Circling, the chopper flew over a line of fire and released the bucket, dousing cold water onto the hot flames. Water that only seconds earlier had been rolling calmly toward a date with the Pacific Ocean. Again and again the chopper returned, bouncing in the sky, carrying river water in its bucket like a person might cup water in their hands to fling at a burning drape.

From the field, I wondered down South Street, edging my way closer to Sentinel's base, closer to the very flames themselves. I made it to the back of the married housing buildings and gathered amongst the other fire gawkers standing on the edge of the parking lot. I could hear the flames crackling as they ate up the dried grass. Firefighters shouted out to each other as the dug trenches and tried to get enough hose to reach where they were standing. When the helicopter came rushing back in, they called out to back away. But they could only go so far, many became the recipients of a Clark's Fork mist to cool their faces. I'm sure they didn't mind. Just to the South, where one house has encroached its way onto the mountain side, four fire fighters stood on the deck, watching the flames, just in case they crept too close.

No one really payed any attention to the sun as it set in the West. Missoulians were strung out on their lawns, street corners or anywhere they could get a view keeping the eyes trained East and up. Even the sun seemed to realize that it was playing second fiddle to this fire in the sky tonight. It sunk away, over the horizon quietly, with little display and with no one noticing its absence.

By night fall the blaze was mostly contained. Distinct lines of fire glowed over Sentinel as I walked back to my apartment discussing the evening's event with my roommate. The poor mountain looked like a big marshmallow someone carelessly stuck too close to an open flame, still smoldering and burnt to a flaky black crisp. We walked in the door just in time for the 10:00 news, flipping from station to station, we didn't learn any more than we already knew. The fire would burn through the night, and they would resume with the helicopter in the morning. Expect a smokey valley when you wake up, one reporter said.

The fan in my window was blowing hard, attempting to maximize the cool night and afford me the ability to sleep comfortably. But with the cool night air came a little something extra, a strong smokey smell. As cool air slid down the mountain it carried with it the distinct scent of burning ambers that seeped right into my room.

It was a perplexing trade-off, a hot room or a smokey smelling room. A smell that for some reason, brought back melencolic memories of a fire my father and I fought, or at least passively fought back in Missouri, and the cookies and juice that my mom brought to us for a break.

A memory once long ago logged and stored away, reborn. Much the same, I left my window open.

Oh how a day can change in an instant. The fire was the talk of the town, and as we would later find out, who knew that a stolen lighter and phone book could be so exciting for seven year old boys with nothing better to do?

For now we breathe easy again, though a toasted black mountain now sets the temporary back drop. A stark reminder that a change in the air is only a spark away.

seeing things

2008-06-30T16:10:00.003-05:00

I am at work listening to Jakob Dylan's solo album Seeing Things. The entire album is streaming for free on his myspace page. http://www.myspace.com/jakobdylan If you are in the mood for some stripped down acoustic folk music, check it out.

I am also seeing things, but it could just be because it is so damn hot. I have a tough time sleeping when the temperature is over 73 in my room. Last night, well after midnight, my room was still holding onto 76 degrees. There is no air conditioning in the apartments, although many people have purchased their own window units, I'm thinking I might need to do the same. Friday I bought a big 20" five blade fan for $12 at Wal-Mart and stuck it in the living room window. It helps some but can only do so much, and in the afternoon it just blows in 97 degree heat.

I shouldn't complain though. Many people would be happy with less.

Yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far, summer truly has arrived. Honestly, I can deal with the heat as long as the fires don't start springing up too soon. I am not looking forward to the smoky skies that are sure to come. We had a late snow here, in early June, so that should push it back some. I read that this is what a normal year should be like, and that the last several have been drought ridden, welcoming an early summer, and active fire season.

Last August when I moved up here it was like driving into the cauldron. Missoula was blanketed in a thick layer of hot smoke from fires in just about every direction. It was so hot in my apartment that one of the first things I did after unloading my care was take a cold shower.

Yesterday afternoon I rode my bike downtown, not sure of where I was really going. I crossed over the river and rolled into Caras Park where many kayakers frequent one portion of the river known as Brennan's Wave. The water flows down a rock shelf and creates a whitewater wave that rolls back on itself. I stayed there watching guys kayak for about two hours. Some people are really good, pushing the front of the kayak down so the current sucks it down and springs them back up allowing them to attempt a full flip. That was impressive. I really want to try kayaking there some day.

There was another guy who went into the wave with a body board like I have used at the ocean. He handled it pretty well and was on for quite a while. I talked to him afterwards and he said its pretty easy to learn after a couple dozen tries, and it is even more fun than it looks. I saw another guy wade in upstream of the wave and just dive in for the ride. That looked pretty good to me too. When I go home this week I am going to bring back my board with me, and maybe get brave enough to try out Brennan's Wave for myself.

Until then I will just keep seeing things.

a cluttered state of mind

2008-06-27T15:37:00.004-05:00

This week has been slow and strange. I haven't done much. I'm not sure what there is to do. I'm lonely here. That's all there is to it.

There have been a couple of strange scary things this past week.

I found out my cousin who is getting married this month might have Lymphoma. Today I learned that he doesn't, just some weird lumps on his neck. But it still makes me think. What if he did get that or some other cancer. Hes only 10 years older than me. What if I get some kind of cancer?

My friend Brennan crashed his car earlier this week. He was on his way home from work and slid off the gravel and into a tree. He is fine. But he is not having the best summer.

This has been the first full week here with Sean gone. Apparently he isn't doing much in Alabama right now. I talked to Kelsi last night and she told me he might have Appendicitis. I went through that several years ago and it really is awful. Surely this is a sign that he should have stayed in Montana.

And most worrisome of all, Mity started going into labor early Tuesday morning. The only way I really have contact with her anymore is through myspace. She posted a message that said she was trying to wait as long as she could to go to the hospital and she would write again soon with news. Wednesday. Thursday. Most of today passed and I heard nothing, even though I had asked her to have her sister or mother call or text me so I knew she was ok. Today she sent me a message telling me she had been in the hospital all week and was in labor for 40 hours. As soon as her son Landon, was born he had to go into ICU. Thankfully they are both fine and healthy. She posted pictures of him. He has her eyes. It's so strange to think about... It's all real. I miss her so much. Her life just changed forever, and I hope she can find happiness again in her son.

I never thought things would turn out like they have for her.

Just a few things that have been on my mind...

blue skies and tired thighs

2008-06-16T11:33:00.005-05:00

This weekend was perfect for bike riding. I took my bike off the rack Saturday afternoon not sure of which direction I might ride. Riding through the parking lot, I spotted a couple girls out tanning by the basketball court. I slowly cruised by two or three times before leaving them behind. I turned out of the parking lot and head up Pattee Canyon Drive. This is the road that leads up to all the rich houses that dot the South Hills. Later, it leads to aptly named Pattee Canyon. Having never been back there before, I was unsure of what I might find. I was off to explore new territory.

The road is an uphill battle on two wheels and I had to shift down to the low gears to make any real progress. I passed through the residential area and continued to ride around turns until I traded high priced houses for patches of ponderosa pines as the road narrowed to two lanes. It didn't really take long to get out of Missoula and the scenery suddenly looked like I was on a highway in the middle of the mountains somewhere. The trees looked greener, the sky looked a deeper shade of blue, the stream running along the side of the road bubbled and flowed past by on its eventual quest for the Pacific Ocean.

One thing my bike doesn't have is the water bottle attachment to the frame. My through was dry, a bit parched, but I peddled on. My thighs and calves felt thick and tight from the uphill motion, the constant pumping, but it felt good.

I entered Lolo National Forest. I kept telling myself to keep going just a little further. Maybe just to see what was around the next curve, the next curve, the next curve. Eventually, a turn revealed a promising brown sign that read "Welcome to Pattee Canyon National Recreation Area: Picnic Area 1/2 mile, Trailhead 3/4 mile." I convinced myself to ride up to the picnic area.

At first I sat on the table just to recover, but then I started to take in my surroundings. The picnic area was set up like a campground, at each pull-in there was a table and a fire-pit, but also a sign that warned of no overnight camping. I sat on the table looking up at the ponderosa pines, natures swaying statues against the blue mountain sky.

I watched a raven fly towards me through the trees. He navigated fifteen feet off the ground between the pines. I could hear the sound of air moving out from his wings, a rhythmical flapping sound like paper bags rubbing back and forth against each other. As he approached me I think we made eye contact, or at least as much eye contact as one can make with a bird. We exchanged silent, beleaguered hellos. He flew right past me and with each push of his wings I could actually hear him panting, beak open, hard and heavy breathing. He flew past, and disappeared into the trees.

With my legs refreshed, I felt the urge to hop back on my bike. I rode over to the trail-head just to see what could be found. The sign foretold of a series of cross-country skiing trails now devoid of snow. Seasonal hiking trails. I didn't have the energy to explore any of these new found trails though. They would have to wait for another day.

I was looking forward to my return ride, the descent. All uphill in one direction means all downhill in the other. I cruised down the mountain. I flew past the ponderosas and felt the rush of the wind against my body. I was going faster on my bike than I ever had before. In a matter of minutes I was back among the houses and rolling down toward my apartment. My quick descent back to civilization made my original struggle uphill seem slightly trivial but exhilarating nonetheless.

In and around Missoula, a change of pace is only a bike ride away.

slow movement

2008-05-27T02:04:00.005-05:00

movement. slow. direct.
softly sliding in this. this fleeting moment.
a touch. felt. fingertip caress.
shivers. goosebumps. a hushed moan.
filling. endless.
moonlight. through an open blind.
moving. skin to skin.
i am yours. you are mine.
a whisper. a turn. in the darkness.
in the fragile light.
eyes open. meet. lock. ignite.
passion. promise.
if only for tonight.

water and light

2008-05-25T22:13:00.005-05:00

Missoula breaks through the clouds.
Sunlight makes an appearance after a long, gray, four day absence.
Striking the ground.
Sent from above.
Illumination.

rattlesnake

2008-05-19T12:27:00.003-05:00

Melting snow from the mountains has filled up all the creeks and rivers. I should go take some pictures. The water is raging brown, full of tree limbs and tree trunks. Temperature reached 86 degrees yesterday.

----------

Maranda and I are sitting in our living room. She is studying medical stuff. I am reading a book I bought the day before. At 4:00, I walk outside for a stroll through the apartment complex and over to the soccer fields, just to get out. When I come back inside, I ask Maranda if she wants to ride out to the Rattlesnake. She is up for anything she says. So we do. Call Sean, who is busy, and tell him he should meet us out there.

The Rattlesnake Wilderness area is just outside of Missoula, and surrounding its south side is the Rattlesnake National Recreation Area. There are some technical differences between the two. For instance, there is no mechanized use inside of any Wilderness Area. It's part of what makes a Wilderness a Wilderness I guess. But in the Recreation Area, bikes are allowed.

We leave the apartment on our bikes and ride across town. We cut through campus, over the river, and under the interstate. It is about five miles out to the main trail head. Three of those miles are mostly up hill. Cars blow past us, leaving a dusty draft in their wake. We pass a deer on the side of the road. We pass over the fast flowing, tossing and foaming Rattlesnake Creek that marks the entrance. We make it. When we get there, Sean is waiting in his truck with his bike, which used to be my bike, in the back.

All together, Maranda and I catch our breath and loosen our legs a little from the ride. That felt good. Should we walk or ride some more? Sean is taking his bike out of the back as Maranda and I silently decide. Looks like some more biking.

The parking lot is near capacity. Cars are parked on the side of the dirt road leading up the lot. This is a quick, easy escape from city life. Trees lean tall and green into the sky. Everything is turning green now, finally, after such a long winter. The smell is piney fresh - fresh life renewing. A perfect day to be alive.

We take off down the main trail. Sean leads the way. The old bike clinks and clanks, gears shift and struggle to hold, but do. For better or worse. He peddles on, a bit too big for the small frame. Sean doesn't seem to mind the extra energy exertion. A big smile of eager yet simple determination crossing his face.

Trees fly by above. The rocky path rolls beneath. Blood pumping. If Maranda and I were tired before, we aren't now. The fresh green air has breathed new life into our lungs, and our legs.

The trail follows Rattlesnake Creek, in all its melting madness, upstream. Our trail ascends, leaving the creek below and taking us up for a scenic view of the valley below. We shift gears and navigate the trail to avoid the rocks that make for a bumpy ride as best we can. Churning water roars through the valley. An impressive display of power, force, and flow.

We continue. Past meadows that open up from the sheltering pines. Past tiny creeks filled to their max flowing straight down to the Rattlesnake below. Other bikers pass by from the opposite direction. Friendly "hellos" are exchanged. From Maranda, the "hellos" sound extra friendly. She hangs in the back, a little slower than Sean and I. Never in a hurry. Never rushing.

After five miles of following this trail, we come face to face with Rattlesnake Creek again. Here, we leave our bikes on the trail and walk the rocky bank down to the waters edge. Not surprisingly, it's ice cold. What is running liquid now was probably snow this morning. Or last night. Wind picks up and a cool spray flies off the stream through the air, landing on our skin, cooling our faces - cooling our core.

I feel it now. My legs are Jello. We still have to get back. Back up to the trail, we contemplate turning around. A little further, we have come so far. Maybe just see what is around this turn? Another turn. More rocks. We all agree to turn back.

This direction is mostly downhill. I lead the way. We fly over the rocky trail. Coasting. Peddling and coasting again. Around turns, over the small, gushing creeks. Blood pumping. Back toward the trail head, back toward Missoula.

Just like that we are back where we started a mere three hours earlier. We breathe. We shake our legs, one at a time. The Jello shakes back. We load our bikes into Sean’s truck.

Our excursion closes. In the wind, the tall Ponderosas wave. The water roars. We drive away.

summer time

2008-05-16T18:58:00.002-05:00

Oh blogger, how I have missed you.

I always say in the back of my mind, "I need to blog again." But for some reason, I never do. There are no more excuses now though, the semester has finished and I am free - in theory. I'm really not that free. I still have to work, which is annoying. I long for the summer breaks of old when school ended and my schedule was cleared completely. Sleeping in, lounging around... Come to think of it, I was actually quite bored most of the time. Work at least makes me get out and do something halfway productive with my day. And the weather has been nice, which means my bike ride to and from work is typically the best part of my day.

I am not really sure what to expect this summer. My roommate Dan moved out last Wednesday. Over the course of the last two semesters, we have become really good friends. Dan is easily the best roommate that I have ever had. Thanks to sports, scrubs, south park, the office, the daily show, and the college football game on my xbox, our bonding was focused primarily in the living room around the tv. But not just there. His girlfriend who lives in Helena would come in to town every other weekend or so. For a while, I was seeing a girl here too and we even went on a double date type thing. Then I dumped her and we had great jokes about that as well.

The week before Dan moved out his whole family was in town. For the last few nights, his brother Tim stayed with us here at the apartment. Last week was a lot of fun getting to know Tim as well. I kind of wish that they were staying and Tim was moving in. On Saturday, two of my good friends came over and the whole group of us had a little get together-drinking-movie watching-extravaganza night. It actually turned out to be the most fun I have had in a long long time. Then on Tuesday, Tim made his "world famous" Jalapeño Burgers. They were quite simply, amazing. And now they really are world famous because our other roommate Hiro who is Japanese enjoyed one as well.

Unfortunately, Hiro is leaving at the end of July as well.

I tried to get my good friend Sean to move in here, but instead he has decided to transfer back to Alabama and attend Auburn next year. He is staying in Missoula until June 19th. It's really disappointing, 3 of my closest friends are all leaving me. And they are all guys, which means that I have to replace guy friends now. It is hard to explain but I have found that is important to have at least one close guy friend to hang out with. I didn't really have that the first semester, because I was still getting to know everyone. Now I do, and they are all leaving.

I just hope whoever moves in this August will be as good of a roommate as Dan and Hiro have been.

I want to get out this summer. I don't want to work at all. I didn't get the internship that I was almost positive I was going to get. It was through the same people that I work for right now and would have paid $400 a week for eight weeks. I was really bummed out about not getting it because I was counting on the money, and it was going to fill the internship credits that I need to graduate. I could graduate next year if I really wanted to. But I don't think I want to. I am almost sure now that I am just going to do it in three semesters, I don't want to kill myself with classes and I want to take the time to actually enjoy myself this last year and a half.

But first, I want to enjoy myself this summer. I need to meet a girl that is also staying here. I'm lonely... Hopefully Sean and I are going out on the town tonight, maybe something exciting will happen.

making waves (revised)

2008-04-28T00:18:00.002-05:00

When I close my eyes to think back, I can still see the shining azure water and feel sand sift between my toes. I feel the security of my father walking me to the waters edge. It is my earliest memory, and this illustration has somehow stuck with me like a series of slow frames ever since. Even though I was only two years old at the time, I can recount the scene as if something from a movie. San Diego in what must have been 1989; I was strapped in, sitting in the backseat of our car. I was searching for something, looking out the window as cars passed and tall palm trees flew by.

Finally, there it was. An endless blue, sparkling under the sun. The palm trees outlined the road and I could just make it out. I asked for reassurance with wonder in my voice.

“Daddy, is that the ocean?”

This brought a simple response from my father, tired from the long drive and somehow missing the importance of this life forming event.

“Yup, that’s the ocean.”

I smiled, my gaze immersed out the window. The ocean. We were finally here.

We ate dinner that evening at a restaurant that had a black and white checkerboard patio stretching onto the beach. The ocean reared up and its waves crashed where the water met the land in a violent but steady rhythm that pulsed into my ears, engraving itself into my mind. This was the start of something.

I watched this ocean, gleaming in the distance as the water swallowed the sun and set the clouds aflame in a blazing orange and red glow. The clouds sat satisfied, perched on the horizon, holding onto the light even after the sun sank out of sight.

----------

Sitting on colossal driftwood tangled amongst twins on the Oregon coast, I watch the same sun set over the Pacific Ocean 14 years later. The air is warm and the breeze carries fresh salty air my direction. This sunset isn’t much, I think to myself. But that hasn’t stopped a group of what I assume are Mennonites from crowding together to watch near by. I can’t make out their conversation, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. The men congregate together, clothed in long black pants and jackets. The women do likewise. They are dressed in long white skirts, and wear little white bonnets that cover their hair. A clean slate. Fittingly, there are no clouds in the sky. The sun is but a drowning orange ball tonight. I wonder if this is the first time they have ever seen the ocean. I wonder what this moment means to them.

“Mom wants to know when you are coming back to the campsite,” interrupts my sister. Despite my efforts, she has found me, but I mostly ignore her.

“Later. When the stars come out.”

“Whatever. What’s your problem anyways?”

“I don’t have a problem. I just wanted to watch the sunset over the ocean and be alone for a while. What is wrong with that?”

“I don’t know. You’re weird,” she says before she runs off.

She is weird. We have been in the car all day. I am quite tired of my family. Being alone with the ocean is something I rarely get to experience. Kansas is a little short on beach access, and this trip has provided me with one of those rare opportunities. Ever since I was two years old I have wanted to be here. Not here, specifically, but ocean side in general. The Pacific, the Atlantic, the Gulf of Mexico. If I can find a way to get there, I usually do.

That is why I chose this tree. This massive piece of driftwood that the ocean has smoothed, softened, shaped, and placed right here on this beach just to accommodate me tonight. I love this. The crashing waves, the natural salty smell, the seagulls flying overhead calling out their presence, even the sand that finds its way into everything.

The ocean is simple. The happiness it brings me is simple. Most of my favorite memories are set on the coast. And often times, my dreams too. Maybe it is because I have spent much of my life so far away, wishing I was here. Every time I go it is for a reason. To forget life’s constant nagging. Relax. Have fun. Live simply for a change. Despite the persistent miles in-between, the ocean has shaped who I am. I find stories in the waves, and now those stories are a part of me. I want to share this. I want to find someone who appreciates this simplicity as much as I do.

----------

Virginia Beach – July, 2007. Mity and I walk east out of the parking lot toward the Atlantic Ocean. The beach front is dominated by giant hotels; Hilton, Marriot, Clarion. Even Best Western and Comfort Inn play the part. No one owns the ocean, but they own the view. At least at this locale. Tourists line the street in their out-of-town clothes and make their slow, leisurely steps across Atlantic Avenue gawking at the scene. The air smells like salt water and sunscreen. I am probably a tourist too, but Mity is a local and with her by my side I wouldn’t feel out of place anywhere.

As we walk through the corridor that opens up from the street to the beach, an ocean of people, towels, and colorful umbrellas engulf our eyes. Mity gives me a look as if to say “I told you so.” We walk hand in hand down the beach in no particular hurry. The sand is warm between my toes and the sound of the waves is refreshing. This is where I wanted to be, with the only person I wanted to be here with.

We find a spot and leave our things among the clutter. Much like the sandy beach, there is competition for swimming space as well. I follow Mity as she wades out deeper into the water, perhaps in search of her favorite spot. We wade past the first break where the small children play, past where the waves begin to crest, out into the open swells – past where she can touch. She turns to kiss me, holding onto my shoulders. We float in the calm and quiet, up and down with each wave.

I think I love this girl.

As we swim back to shore, I decide to catch a wave, body surf style. I miss a few, but I am waiting for a good one. Finally, one curls up behind me and I stretch out, swimming just ahead of it until the wave catches me, taking me for a ride. I put my arms out straight with my head down between them while my feet kick behind me. The wave carries me with speed to the shore where I, after making it through the break, proceed to collide with a hefty middle aged lady who was only shin deep at the time. Now she is down on her back, laughing. I laugh too and help her up, thankful she isn’t hurt.

“Wow, I am really sorry about that.”

“Oh no, you are just fine,” she says, laughter still carrying her voice. She seems to have actually enjoyed getting knocked over into the water.

Mity waits for me at the water’s edge. Her skin glows in the early afternoon sun and she greets me with a coy smile.

“Smooth,” she says.

We build sandcastles just inches beyond where the waves come rushing up to shore. They don’t last long. It turns into an attempt to see how long we can keep one from being washed away. Not long enough it seems. Moats and walls fail to protect what lies behind. The waves are constant and unforgiving as they devour our sloppy sandcastle attempts.

Walking back to where our towels lay, I am glad no one has run off with our things. We lay on our backs for a while, soaking up the sun and drying off. We talk as she brushes sand off of my skin. I am glad we came today.

As late afternoon approaches, we pack up our things and abandon our precious beach claim. Hand in hand again, we walk at a slow pace. I remind myself to enjoy the smell, the sound, the sight, and especially the company because I know it may be a long time before I see the ocean again. Especially this ocean, the way I have today.

There is a family of four walking out of the tunnel as Mity and I walk back toward the parking lot. The mother and father look tired, presumably from a long day’s drive. The father carries the chairs and towels while the mother has her baby in hand. Out in front runs their son, maybe four years old. As he takes his first steps down off the walkway and onto the beach, his pace quickens despite the faulty footing that soft sand provides. He runs, stretching his arms out as if to embrace the ocean in a long overdue hug.

“We’re finally here!” He yells as relief and wonder overcome him. His pace slows and he collapses knee first into the sand. His whole body moves with the air inside his lungs – in and out. Sitting in the sand, his eyes close while his mouth opens slightly. I am sure he is beginning to grasp everything, as though this day would never come.

I sense a circle, and I hope this circle continues. I hope he will someday see the ocean as I have today, and find someone to share it with. Each ocean wave carries a story, waiting to be made, forgotten, and remembered.

Mity and I never broke stride as we watched, but I am lost in my memories. I stop to look back at the ocean one last time.

After a moment, she squeezes my hand, bringing me back to her. We walk away. But this memory will never fade.

Waves roll in, and back out again. Beginning to take shape. The ocean. Finally here.

I will come back for you.

night

2008-04-24T02:37:00.004-05:00

hung up on bad dreams
and outdated thoughts
trading confines
for a late night walk

past restless trees
that stir in the breeze

the un-minding sky
is blanketed tonight
in a closure of clouds
wrapped up tight

inching my steps
toward recourse and reason
feel like I'm trapped
in the changing of a season

I ponder sleeping habits
of quick footed rabbits
and the fluid fear
of white tailed deer

rushing from side to side

out of the shadows
back between the sheets
closing my eyes
in search of relief

good night
good night

one for me

2008-04-14T01:53:00.002-05:00

all these old memories
still strong enough
to bring me to my knees
like the honesty
of our first embrace
or late that night
the look on your face
staring into you
bathing suits
in the swimming pool
legs wrapped around my waist
counting the freckles
on your face
looking for a motel
from exit signs
having a hard time
making up my mind
hand on your leg
face with a smile
wondering why
it took me a while
ordering pizza
eating in bed
rubbing lotion
on your skin burned red
twirling my fingers
in your hair curled
oblivious to every other person
in the world
and that late afternoon
when the storms came
where we gazed out
from the window frame
our reflection together
and lightening above
I fell for the first time
I fell in love
how you slipped away
I'll never understand
you are married now
to another man
I get lost with dreams
dancing in my head
sleep at night
in my empty bed
remembering our moments
and secrets shed
while hearing your voice
between the breeze
I try to replace
the only one for me

canyonlands

2008-04-06T00:30:00.008-05:00

What started out as an idea, a thought in my head like so many of my other roadtrips, quickly took root and grew into something bigger. I wanted to go somewhere for spring break. Somewhere. Anywhere. Utah, I decided. Maybe Arches National Park. I asked a few people, two friends, Maranda and Kelsi wanted to go. Word spread and it turns out there was another group planning a similar trip to Utah. They were going to Zion. Then they weren't going at all. Then they were going to Canyonlands. The plan seemed to change with the day.

Everything was figured out by Monday though, when their group of four left for Canyonlands National Park. We would drive down and meet them at the main campground and then the next morning, embark on a 3 day 20 mile loop backpacking trail through the Island in the Sun section of the park. We were up late packing bags and getting everything ready. My group of 3 left early Wednesday morning.

We left Missoula as the sun started to break into day. A hazy gray day. I drove east on I-90 into an orange glow of a sunrise. As I turned South onto I-15 at Butte, clouds thickened and soon snow flakes started to fly. Before too long I was off cruise control and driving 40 mph in near white out conditions. Snow fell hard and blew across the interstate, leaving just enough of a wheel track in the left lane for my knuckles to turn white from gripping the steering wheel. We drove through the snow into Idaho. Finally, we opened up onto the Snake River plain and were greeted with a break in the clouds.

Missoula, and Montana as a whole for that matter has no Sonic restaurant. Yet, their commercials run constantly on tv here. It is pure torture. I do know that there are Sonics in Idaho, and coincidentally, as lunch time approached we found ourselves in Idaho Falls just in time to take advantage of the opportunity. Kelsi had never eaten at a Sonic before, she was impressed mostly by the creme slush. Mmmm, creme slush.

Idaho was cloudy, and smelled like cows. I was more than happy to cross the state line into Utah. I was under the impression that I would be issued two to three Morman girls as soon as I crossed the line. This turned out not to be the case. Very confusing if you ask me. Maybe they will arrive in the mail soon. The opportunity of standard issue Morman girls wasn't the only reason I was excited to be in Utah. The other reason, Mexican food! Along with a lack of Sonic, Montana is seriously lacking in authentic Mexican restaurants. I guess they have not made it this far north yet. Parts of Utah used to BE Mexico, so I was sure I would find what I was looking for.

After meandering through six lane traffic of what has become the never ending metropolis of Salt Lake City, we stopped at a gas station to refuel. Inside at the fountain drinks I found Orchata, a Mexican drink, there were three different kinds! I got the Orange Orchata and I am pretty sure it tasted like an orange creamcicle.

Further down Highway 6, we stopped in the little town of Price, Utah at a restaurant called El Salto (The Jump). The food was authentic and delicious. Everything I was hoping for, except for the chips and salsa. But I can make exceptions in this case. They were even speaking Spanish in the kitchen! Kelsi and I both indulged in some authentic dishes. Maranda, on the other hand, ordered a salad. I noticed on this trip that she doesn't eat much, but she loves to snack. She is also a dedicated studier. She brought her books and studied her medical stuff the entire trip, occasionally poking her head up to look around or ask a question.

Green River, Utah was the last stop of civilization that we would see for a few days. We stopped at a truck stop just as the sun began to set and watched as the light set the desert sky aflame behind us. 90 or so miles later we drove passed the Canyonlands National Park welcome sign and into the park. Bridger recognized us pulling up to the main campground, Willow Flats.

We unloaded the car and greeted everyone else sitting around the campfire. We set up the tent under the brilliant starry night sky. Oh, the stars! I have never seen them so clear and so bright. Later, as small talk fanned the campfire flames, my eyelids began to get heavy. I was tired from a 14 hour day so I headed to the tent to attempt to fall asleep a little earlier than the rest. Falling to sleep was not easy though. I missed my mattress and pillow. I was really just listening to the conversation outside with my eyes closed. Outside the conversation eventually died down. Maranda, Kelsi and I had our own inside the tent until we all just stopped talking and fell asleep.

Since we drove in so late at night, I really didn't know what the place looked like until I woke up in the morning. It was prettier than I was expecting. The campground was framed with some low trees, Junipers and Pinyon Pines mostly. Just beyond the road there were sandstone buttes layered with many shades of tan. When I turned and looked south I almost fell over. Just down the road, maybe 50 yards was a lookout spot for the Green River canyon. Kelsi and I walked down to the vista with cameras in hand. Once everyone returned to the campsite we began to load things up for the trip. As I was the only person with a car, I had to shuttle people and backpacks to the trail head. (The first half of our group had been dropped off on Monday) It only took two trips and we took our time getting ready to set off from the parking lot. Maranda and I downed a bottle of water each right before I locked the door to my car.

My bag must have weighed over fifty pounds. The straps started burning into my shoulders within the first ten minutes of walking down the trail. Then we discovered that we were actually on the wrong trail. An older lady, probably taking notice of us all with our big backpacks, informed us that this wasn't the trail we were looking for. "No, no. This was just a warm up hike. I think we are ready now," I said. The one we were on was a half mile walk to meteor crater overlook. It was kind of cool, but not where we were headed. We broke a rule and cut across a wash to the trail we really wanted to be on.

The first part of the trail was a six mile hike to our first campsite. This trail went mostly down, with carefully placed steps, into the canyon and then a few miles through another dry wash before climbing up to the campsite. We had to stop for a break about half way down for lunch. And then a couple other times for a water break and a quick rest to get the weight off our shoulders.

We made it to our first campsite around 4:00. It was placed in front of the Half-Dome formation. It was a breathtakingly beautiful spot to spend the night. In this picture our campsite is in the bottom left corner. We were surrounded by a wall of canyons in each direction. I attempted to take pictures to capture the essence of our location but nothing really did it justice.

We spent the first few hours exploring the area around the camp. There was a really cool wash area just below our campsite. We ended up cooking our dinner there to avoid the wind. That night we had a feast! We made Macaroni and Cheese as well as CousCous (look it up). And for dessert, Andy made bread and fried it up for us all to share. The sunset came and went in a period of about five minutes. It was pretty while it lasted. I climbed up to the top of a little butte above our campsite to watch it. Unfortunately I didn't bring my camera with me.

That night in the tent we played a rowdy game of spoons that ended when we could barely shuffle the bent up cards any more. Then we formed a massage line to sooth our aching backs. Although we brought two tents with us, we only set up one for the night. We were stuffed pretty tight with six people in Maranda's tent. Bridger chose to sleep out under the stars. Although the days there were in the low 70's, the desert gets cold at night. The tent didn't insulate a whole lot of heat. My sleeping bag was somewhat effective though. It is a weird feeling to wake up to your head and neck being freezing cold while the rest of your body sweats. It must be confusing for my body to react to that. But that is how it was each night in the tent.

In the morning we cooked up a giant pot of mixed oatmeal as fuel for our nine mile hike to the second campsite. The trail was through the wash again for the first four miles. We met the Green River where our wash ran out. I was pretty excited to see so much water in one place! We ate lunch there and explored the area above the banks of the river.

The next five miles were on an old dusty road. Walking was a lot easier and we made better time on the road. About half way down though we took a nice long water break underneath the shade of a lone tree. In truth we all pretty much clocked out. We laid on the sand and watched a couple of young Big Horn Sheep grazing on the side of the canyon in front of us. They seemed to be more interested in us than we were in them. They made their way down fairly close to us but no one had enough energy to get up and go greet them. In fact after ten or so minutes of sitting in the sand Andy suggested we get going again. Everyone seemed to quietly agree but no one moved. We just lay in the shade for another thirty minutes.

We arrived at our second campsite an hour or so after we finally left that wonderful spot beneath the tree. Most of us were exhausted from the long nine mile hike. A few with more energy wen off exploring again while Kelsi, Maranda, Bridger and I just relaxed at the camp. This camp was once again pretty, set up in a beautiful valley but didn't quite stack up to the scene from the night before. Once everyone returned we started getting set for dinner. We were all hungry and by no means short on food for the trip. There was more than enough food to go around. The trouble was we were getting a little low on water. Most of what we had to cook required at least some water to cook on the camp stoves. We got everything sorted out though and had enough food for the night with what we hoped would be enough water for our hike out.

The next morning we woke up early to get a head start on the day. We only had a little more than five miles for the day to get back up to the rims. Andy set a solid pace that got us up out of the little lower canyon. We made our way along the trail, I kept looking at the canyon walls ahead of us and to the right, wondering which side we would be walking up. We were all tired and thirsty but I don't think anyone wanted to stop until we got to the base of the canyon. Finally, we came to the spot. We took a water break and began the steps up. This part of the trail took the most energy of all. It was not quite as steep as the trail we had hiked down into the canyon two days before, but steep in places none the less.

About a third of the way up we stopped for a water and snack break. After fifteen or so minutes of sitting and preparing we put our packs back on and all came in close for a motivational group chant. Previously we had named ourselves Team Kangaroo Rat. We put our hands in and chanted "Team Kangaroo Rat Utah-ah Ascend!!!" With that motivation we were all ready to get going up and out of this canyon. We made our way up, step by step. Poor Kelsi was struggling with her pack on. We were all tired though and no one complained about stopping every couple hundred feet. Eventually Andy, the cross country runner, convinced Kelsi to give up her pack. He strapped hers on his chest and went double the final few hundred feet out of the canyon. I could feel the blister burning on the side of my big toe but I didn't want to stop, we were too close to the top. Kelsi had blisters all over her feet by the time we made it out. But we all made it and we had managed our water just right. We were all down to our last swig as we came out. Fortunately there was water waiting for us in my car when we got there. Cool, clean water! I downed two bottles right away. Team Kangaroo Rat had succeeded!

Making it out of the trail was a great feeling. Canyonlands was much much more than I was expecting. The experience as a whole was just great! Being out in the desert definitely gave me a greater appreciation for water. It also became apparent how easy it would be to get turned around and get lost out there. It could get really dangerous really fast. Thankfully we didn't have any big problems while we were out. I had a lot of fun and strengthened some friendships. This was something I would certainly want to do again some day. Our trip wasn't over though. I had to shuttle people and bags to the visitor center. Maranda, Kelsi and I were wanting to go over to Arches before heading back to Missoula. I felt a little guilty leaving those other guys there at the park waiting to be picked up. Their ride wasn't planning on showing up until 8 and it was only 1.

We on the other hand, drove into the town of Moab for some real food. We were much closer than I thought, only about thirty miles south from the park. We stopped at a restaurant whose name I can not recall. I just remember that they advertised wood fire oven pizzas and that sounded amazing to me. Once inside though, I ended up ordering a giant Southwest Cheeseburger. After ordering I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and face. I felt so guilty about letting so much water run down the sink while I was lathering up my hands, but it felt good to wash some of the dirt off my hands and face. I hadn't showered in 4 days. My burger arrived and I inhaled it in the time it took the two girls to get back from the bathroom. That and about four glasses of iced tea. It felt good to be back in civilization again! As we were finishing up our meal I happened to look out the window and saw the other four who we had left at the park walk by. Apparently they had hitchhiked into Moab. I think Maranda ran out to say hi before we left for Arches.

I remember visiting Arches when I was really young. Maybe four years old. The only part I remember is laying underneath one of the arches and my Dad coming up and saying that I better not lay there because the arch could fall and crush me. Yeah, real funny. But I believed him. We were so close that it would have been silly not to go. The two parks are literally right next to each other. The skies had become cloudy and that made the pictures not quite all I was hoping they would be. I am glad that we stopped there though. Arches is more of a driving park, so it was easy to kill two or three hours there. It was also encouraging, for me at least, to see so many families and foreign people there visiting. It is good to know that people still have an appreciation for nature and natural beauty.

After driving to the lookout for Delicate Arch, the most famous of the arches, we decided to get on the road toward Salt Lake City. I drove into the night and back to the I-15 at Provo. We got somewhere on the north side of Salt Lake before I decided that I was too tired to go any further. We stopped at a Comfort Inn just off the interstate. I was more tired than I thought because as the lady at the desk was explaining the paperwork, she told me where to sign, initial and sign again. I looked at her and said "Ok...what?" She laughed and walked me through it again.

Their pool and hot tub were open 24 hours. We walked in to indulge ourselves for a few minutes. I don't really know how to describe the feel of the hot water and jets other than to say it was amazing. Our muscles were tight and tired and the hot tub just loosened them up. It was so relaxing. After that I took a shower and felt clean for the first time in a while. The night got even better as I slept on the single most comfortable mattress I have ever laid on before. And it wasn't just because I had been sleeping on the ground for the previous three nights. That pillow top mattress really was the best. I wanted to take it home with me.

To top it off, there were waffles at the continental breakfast in the morning.

We made it back to Missoula that next day around six in afternoon. I didn't really feel like me again though until I took a shower with my own shampoo and my own soap. Collectively we have hundreds of pictures documenting our trip from different angles as well as almost two hundred of my own. But the fun we had and the memories that were made along with the fact that we accomplished our goal successfully are the most important things that I have taken away from this trip.

sea scenes

2008-03-21T22:20:00.002-05:00

Bright blue water and sand between my toes. My father walking me to the very edge of our country. The crashing sound of the waves on the shore to this day is almost therapeutic in nature for me. It is the subject of my earliest memory, and its illustration has somehow stuck with me like a series of slow frames ever since. Even though I was only two years old at the time, I can recount the scene as if something from a movie. San Diego in what must have been 1989; I was strapped in, sitting in the backseat of our car with my father driving and mother riding in the passenger seat. I remember my excitement when hearing mention of where we were going and that I would soon see for myself a new and different landscape. I kept looking out the window as cars passed and tall palm trees flew by. Finally, there it was. Sparkling the purest blue like I had never seen before. The palm trees outlined the road and I could just make it out. Or could I? I wasn’t sure. I asked for reassurance with awe and wonder in my voice.

“Dad, is that the ocean?”

This brought a simple response from my father, tired from the long drive and somehow missing the importance of this life forming event.

“Yup, that’s the ocean.”

I smiled, my gaze fixated out the window. The ocean. I was two years old and I had seen the ocean for the very first time. My world was growing larger by the day, and yet I already knew where I wanted to be. We were finally here.

I remember eating dinner that evening at a restaurant that had a black and white checkerboard patio stretching onto the beach. The ocean reared up and its waves crashed continually where the water met the land in a violent but steady rhythm that pulsed into my ears. I had discovered the ocean, its sandy beaches, salty water and endless expanse. I watched it gleaming in the distance as the eternal blue water swallowed the sun and set the clouds aflame in a blazing orange and red glow. The clouds sat satisfied, perched on the horizon, holding onto the light even after the sun sank out of sight.

----------

The crabs come out at night on St. George Island. Once the sun begins to set they emerge from their holes to scurry back and forth across the ground, into their tunnels and back out again, looking for something. Food maybe, or just something to run from. If chased, they scuttle into the waves with no fear of having their bodies inevitably tossed around. They disappear and another emerges from a hole to take its place on the beach. Eight legs move faster than one might expect a creature of that size and shape to move, up to 10 mph with the elusive ability to turn sharp on a grain of sand. They are ghost crabs and they are everywhere. The unofficial resident of the state park that encompasses the eastern half of this quiet little island.

James and I drove back to our campsite from the other half of the island where the second part of our group awaited us. We had forgotten matches for our campfire. As dusk set in and shadows lengthened, the sand crabs appeared, crisscrossing the forgotten two line highway that cut through the park. The park is there to protect the soft sand dunes, and to preserve the natural beauty that is a primitive beach. A rarity in Florida, it seems.

The campground was a little more secluded. It faced the bay side of the island, protected by a thick grove of trees. Our camp spot was simple enough. There was room for two tents, a picnic table, fire pit and my car. By no means were any of us outdoorsman, still, starting a fire should not have been something for us to struggle with like we did. The matches would not take, and no one felt like making another trip back to search for lighter fluid. Eventually we just gave up.

When we first arrived, Chris and Mike had intelligently grabbed the only two sleeping pads while unpacking. A comfortable area to place our tents was at a premium. The ground mostly consisted of crushed oyster shells, with a few fire ant mounds in the only grassy spot. While the ground was by no means soft, it was much more inviting than the air, which was blanketed by a constant swarm of bloodthirsty southern mosquitoes. They feasted on us, no matter how much Off we applied. The tent protected us from them, but the air was hot and inescapably thick. A dense, sultry soup that seemed to slowly soak us all. I couldn’t sleep. Fortunately neither could anyone else. James and I went through the contacts list on our phones calling ex-girlfriends and bragging about how much more exciting Florida is than Kansas. We passed the time, hoping that eventually the night would become a little cooler, and a little drier.

At 2:30am I sat up from another failed attempt at sleep.

“James, le’ts go to the beach.”

“Um, no,” was the response. James has never been an easy sell to do something out of the ordinary.

“Well, I’m going. Sleep is impossible.”

I got out of the tent and told the other two that I was going to the beach. I started walking down the road and out of the campground as my three friends followed. The four of us walked barefoot, except for Mike, swatting mosquitoes with each step. We followed the road up to the nearest beach access point. The air was finally breathable as we walked the wooden path over the dunes to the sound of the ocean. The air felt refreshingly cool on my face. I wondered why we didn’t just camp here on the beach in the first place.

We walked with out a care down the beach, just above the line where the waves came bubbling in. Then, James jumped.

“What the hell was that? Something just ran across my foot.” A panic in his voice that Chris, Mike and I found hilarious.

“Probably just a shark. Don’t worry about it.”

We kept walking, but then I felt it too. I looked more closely out across the sand ahead. The sand appeared to be moving. I think all four of us realized it at the same time. There was just enough light from the moon for us to see hundreds of little ghost crabs scurrying back and forth across the sand. They were ahead of us, behind us, all around us. We huddled close together using our cell phones as our only light source and carefully stepped back toward where we had come from. When a crab crossed to close in front of us, we all jumped, yelling and screaming like middle school girls.

Once we finally got over the initial fear of these ghost crabs, we decided to try to catch one. We would isolate one, and try to surround him, but they almost always escaped. The ones that didn’t got stepped on by Mike’s shoe. Left lying in the sand to be some lucky seagull’s breakfast in the morning.

We walked back to the campground around four. Sleep didn’t come any easier than it had before we left. I think I got about 3 hours that night. In the morning, the ghost crabs had disappeared back into their holes to wait out the day. I was still careful with each step.

----------

The waves were much larger and came at us with much more force than we were expecting. We were each about waist deep, standing precariously, when the wave in front of us began to break. I turned my back and braced myself as best I could, digging my toes into the sand. It crashed and knocked me back several steps but I remained upright. Diego and Kris weren’t so lucky; both had fallen into the water. Eventually we all got our heads wet and attempted to make our way out past the breakers. This also proved to be an extremely arduous task. The waves coming back off the steep slope of the beach into the water rushed back into the ocean at such a rate that it was difficult to go any direction other than the way the water was going. Diego and I tried to make our way into the water a little further before the next wave came. We were waist deep when our next step dropped us both down to our chins. This shock called for an immediate retreat back to safer ground. The waves rose up and crashed down like the bite of a king cobra racing toward us and a sound not that unfamiliar. It demanded respect. If we were going to make it very far into the water, we needed to rethink our strategy.

This was our second stop on our little tour of southern California’s Pacific Coast Highway 1. This little beach town looked particularly inviting to us for some reason. Maybe it was the quaintness of it. It looked like I could actually afford to walk down the sidewalk. This was no Newport or Laguna Beach. To me, this seemed like what a southern California beach town should actually look like, what they all may have looked like in the 60’s. Maybe we stopped because parking was actually free.

After sitting on the beach for a few minutes, I was determined not to surrender to the sea. I looked around and noticed that the water had carried us about fifty yards from our original entry point, marked by a colorful umbrella. We ran back toward it and then I attempted to wade into the ocean again. Once I met the drop off I gave up attempting to walk on the bottom. It was too hard to shuffle my way across and make any progress with the current pulling so hard. I lay down horizontal and began to free style through the water. I could see a change in the color up ahead of me and when I finally got to that spot I put my feet down and was surprised to stand up with water only around my midsection. I attempted to call out “it’s a sandbar!” but before I could make my discovery known I was pushed off by the current. I fought and fought to maintain solid footing on the sandbar but quickly became exhausted from the constant push and pull of the ocean toying with me. I looked back towards the beach where Kris and Diego were watching and thought they looked a little further away than I had expected them to be. I gave up my attempted sandbar stronghold and tried to swim back to shore, feeling the uneasiness of the ocean pulling me back and out at an angle. A sudden sense of alarm pulsed through my body but I didn’t panic; I remembered what my father had always told me about rip currents. Stay calm and swim through it at an angle, never try to fight it. And never panic. I put my lifeguard swimming skills to the test and swam the most difficult fifty yards of my life. I finally broke through and crawled up on the beach. I lay there on my hands and knees breathing in and out.

“Land!” I yelled, “Sweet land.”

----------

Virginia Beach – July. Mity and I walk east out of the parking lot toward the Atlantic Ocean. The beach front is dominated by giant hotels; Hilton, Marriot, Clarion. Even Best Western and Comfort Inn have gotten in on the gig. No one owns the ocean, but they own the view. At least at this locale. Tourists line the street in their out-of-town clothes and they make their slow touristy steps across Atlantic Avenue to face the giant hotels. The air smells like salt water and sunscreen. I am probably a tourist too, but Mity is a local and with her by my side I wouldn’t feel out of place anywhere.

As we walk through the corridor that opens up from the street to the beach, an ocean of people, towels and colorful umbrellas engulfs our eyes. Finding a place to lay our towels will present a formidable challenge. Mity gives me a look as if to say “I told you so.” We walk hand in hand down the beach in no particular hurry. The sand is warm between my toes and the sound of the waves is refreshing. This is where I wanted to be with the only person I wanted to be here with.

We finally find a spot and leave our things among the clutter that is Virginia Beach at peak tourist season. The water is always cold at first and much like the sandy beach, there is competition for swimming space in the sea as well. I follow Mity as she wades out deeper into the water, perhaps in search of her favorite spot. We wade past the first break where the small children play, past where the waves begin to crest, out into the open swells, past where she can touch. We float in calm and quiet, up and down with each wave, away from the cluttered shore line. The children yelling and screaming behind us are a distant memory, but one that will inevitably be revisited.

As we start to swim back to shore I decide to catch a wave, body surf style. I miss a few, but I am waiting for a good one. Finally one curls up behind me and I stretch out, swimming just ahead of it at first until the wave catches me. I lay down flat on my stomach, put my arms out straight and my head down between them while my feet kick behind me. The wave carries me with speed to the shore where I, after making it through the break, proceed to collide with a hefty middle aged lady who was only shin deep in the water at the time. Now she is down on her back, laughing. Seeing this, I am thankful she isn’t hurt. I laugh too and help her up.

“Wow, I am really sorry about that… It was too good of a ride to bail out of.”

“Oh no, no, you are just fine,” she says, laughter still carrying her voice. She seems to have actually enjoyed getting knocked over into the water.

Mity waits for me at the water’s edge. Her skin glows in the summer’s early afternoon sun.

“Smooth,” she says with a smile.

We build sandcastles just inches beyond where the waves come rushing up to shore. They don’t last long. It quickly turns into an attempt to see how long we can keep one from being washed away. Not long enough it seems. Motes and walls fail to protect what lies behind. The waves are constant and unforgiving to our shotty sandcastle attempts.

Walking back to where our towels lay, I am glad to see that no one has run off with our things while we were gone. We lay on our backs there for a while, soaking up the sun and drying off. We talk as she brushes sand off of my skin. Sand sticks to everything. It is something that I always forget about the beach. Sand is entangled within my curly hair, all over my skin, and inevitably in my shorts. But it is a worth while trade off in my opinion.

As late afternoon approaches we pack up our things and abandon our precious beach claim. Hand in hand again we walk at a slow pace. I enjoy the smell, the sounds, the sight and especially the company because I know it may be a long time before I see the ocean again. Especially this ocean, the way I have today.

“We’re finally here!” He yells out as relief and wonder overcome him. His pace slows and he collapses knee first into the sand. His whole body moves with the air inside his lungs – in and out. Sitting in the sand, his eyes close while his mouth opens slightly. I am sure his mind is beginning to grasp everything, as though this day would never come.

Witnessing this moment, I feel as though I have come full circle. I am connected to this young boy in a way he will likely never know, but we are the same. I hope it is a continuous circle, one with many more stories to come, be it through different eyes or my own. Waves rolling in, and back out again.

The ocean. Finally here.

burn out

2008-03-20T16:35:00.003-05:00

Spring break is only a day away. I am burnt out on school. Time for a break. I finished my second essay for my nature writing class late last night, I am pretty proud of it actually. Although the longer I looked at it, the more things I kept trying to change. It is not perfect, but I will post it soon. Be warned, it is about 2800 words long.

When I moved into my apartment last August, I plugged my computer in and the internet worked, so I didn’t ask any questions. Well yesterday I got back from class and it was no longer working. I asked my roommate Hiro if his was working and he said no. Turns out after 8 months of free internet, they finally shut it off. So now I have to pay for it and wait 48 hours before it comes back on. The whole ordeal is annoying. I think internet should be free anyway.

Tomorrow I am going back to Billings for a couple days. There is not much to do there. On Monday or Tuesday Kelsi and I are going to drive back to Missoula and early Wednesday morning Kelsi, Maranda, Sean and I are going to take off for Zion National Park in southern Utah. I really wanted to go somewhere over break and it sounds like this is really going to happen. Sean is still a question mark but hopefully he can make the trip too. We are going to meet another group of friends who will have left for Zion on Monday. We’re going to spend a few days camping and hiking around the park. I am excited.

The trip should be a nice change of pace, a change in scenery, and a nice long drive. I love driving. I finally have my camera back so I will be sure to take some photos. I am also bringing my writing notebook for my nature writing class. I hope that inspiration will strike while I am there. Maybe it will even be the subject for my third essay.

missoula

2008-03-12T18:22:00.003-05:00

This is my city.

This is my backyard.

clocks

2008-03-04T01:28:00.004-06:00

I don't know what happened to time. Clocks used to be so much simpler. Much slower. I feel like I used to have so much more time, now I watch the hours peel off of the clock. My time is continuously consumed, almost to the minute. Almost like clock work you could say...almost.

Still, wrestling with the idea of free time is not something that I am short on. It just all blurs into one, dissipating before I have any chance to maximize it. Despite class, work, papers and other miscellaneous busy work, I find enough time most nights to sit on my couch and watch tv with my roommate for a few hours. A mutual love for college athletics has brought us together. That, and a nightly news fix from the Daily Show and the Colbert Report.

But the days drag on, and the hours melt away. Each morning I arise, skillfully journey to class on my shiny blue bicycle across the sidewalks and street tops to campus where I sit, stare keenly at the professor while internally my mind somersaults through the boredom - the repetitiveness, only to take the same journey home on my shiny blue bicycle where I carry on through the evening in an unimportant fashion. Am I accomplishing anything? I am never behind on school work, I have a job, some friends... but I always feel awash. Forgotten somehow. Life is passing me over and though I sometimes try, I cant find anything that makes me feel alive anymore.

It is all the same. Hours melt like wax from a candle into days - into weeks and I carry on blindly as though trapped in some kind of life sized snow globe, unable to lift my invisible boundaries, incapable of escaping my freedom.

It was cloudy again today.

up

2008-02-17T03:48:00.000-06:00

Socks. I need socks if I am going to do this. Socks first, then shoes. Socks are in my room, shoes are by the door, each where they should be. I glance out the window surveying the half empty parking lot, puddles from the melting snow and cloudy night sky above it all. Left foot first, then the right, that’s just how I do it. I put on my coat and look twice at my hat and gloves. Might as well grab them too, it is a February night in Missoula. Now the pocket check paranoia. My hands feel my back and front pockets searching for the all important items. Wallet? Check! Cell Phone, keys? Check, check! I’m good to go.

Walking out the door and down the stairwell of my apartment, the air feels warmer than it is. My feet carry me around the corner and onto the dirt road that leads to the community gardens. There is snow on the road and it makes it hard to walk. Each step must be carefully placed or I risk potential injury. A slip here or there means my pleasant mind clearing midnight stroll up the mountain turns into a curse filled limp back to my apartment. The place I have been all day and only now have decided to flee. The city lights reflect off the bottom of the clouds replacing what should be dark with an aura of urban light. This somewhat helps in the foot placement issue but weighs in the back of my conscience.

I haven’t left Missoula in five weeks. I haven’t even been outside the city limits. Rarely am I somewhere that is not on campus or my apartment. I’m not sure why I picked this late hour to have an adventure but it is too late to turn back now. My brain is flooded. I need some time to clear my mind. I need to be outside.

I am outside. My hands are warm inside my cotton gloves and my shoes crush the icy snow beneath them. The sound is much louder than I think it needs to be. It echoes in rhythm through my ears – crunch crunch crunch. Although the urban light fixture helps my vision some, there are still objects in the distance that I can’t clearly make out. What is that white blob up ahead? Someone jogging perhaps? Someone out jogging this late doesn’t make very much sense though, and with this uneasy terrain, it is unlikely. Maybe it is nothing, or maybe it is a monster!

Crunch, crunch. I look behind me. Am I being followed? Oh, that was just me walking. There is no reason to be paranoid but for some reason, I think someone or something is after me. There is nothing though. Only me and the crunch crunch from my feet.

Halfway up the trail that leads to the old forestry road I notice a deer standing on the opposite side of the fence. She is watching me, ears up and alert. I walk on, now taking full notice of her. When we are parallel on the mountain side I stop. This seems to be unsettling for the doe. As her body tenses she brings her head up high and in my direction. I try not to move. I’m Watching straight ahead too, with my breath in the foreground. Our eyes are locked, each waiting for the other to make the next move. We are maybe fifteen feet apart. She steps back, uneasy with my presence. Slowly, gingerly backwards. I shift my weight from left to right and as I do the grass beneath my feet cracks, sending her into a split second of panic. She jumps up and into the shadows. Her white tail gives away her location.

Turning back to the trail I see another deer up ahead of me, also on the other side of the fence. I walk toward her with the snow and grass cracking below me. She isn’t taking any chance either though, after seven or eight steps she too jumps off away from me. I watch as five others that I hadn’t seen do the same. White tails glowing in the dark.

Back to the trail now, where the ice is slick. I would be playing a deadly game to walk where it covers the ground like a leach to the brown surface. I am much safer on the grass to the right or left. I don’t feel like I have climbed very high but looking back over my shoulder I am well above the city now. My breaths get heavier towards the top of the trail.

The view is worth the work though. Missoula twinkles beneath the clouds. She hums in the calm night air. Missoula is alive, breathing in and out. I am relieved to be at the old forestry road. This is where I wanted to get to. For some reason I had the urge to come here tonight. It was impulsive. I was just sitting on the couch, contemplating sleep yet I wasn’t tired. I felt crammed and slave to routine. Now I am in the open, above it all. There are no problems on the mountain side. Everything that goes on is down there and it stays there, among the twinkling lights. Up here it is only me and my thoughts. Damn my thoughts, they never leave me.

I find a spot in the grass up above the trail and take a seat. The city looks so small from up here. I can see all the different parts of town. Campus is on the left and downtown sleeps across the river. I can follow Higgins Avenue from there to my apartment complex. I see the mall and beyond that, the hoighty toighty side of town, where all the big stores are. That is where the lights shine the brightest tonight and every night. I went to the mall today and almost had a breakdown. There were too many people. I couldn’t handle it. The walkways were jam packed with people, and so many babies! They all walk so slowly too. I know I have a faster pace than some but I just can not handle the slow shuffle that is so prevalent in places like that. I felt like the walls were slowly coming toward each other and the floor was rising to the ceiling. I was going to be crushed if I didn’t flee. I was only in the mall for ten minutes or so. Once back in my care I breathed a deep sigh of relief, promising never to return again.

The moon is watching me as I lay upon the mountain tonight. I can see her every once and a while, peaking out from behind the clouds. Almost like she is spying on me, careful to avoid my glimpse and never staring to long before returning to the safety behind the clouds. Truth be told I wouldn’t mind seeing her shining face tonight, casting a soft light upon my face. I’m lonely. And there has been a constant cloud covering the sky since the day I returned. Each day I long for the sun to burn through, or at night to see a shining star. Such is winter in Missoula. Or so I am told – and consequently discovering for myself.

I lay down in the grass, listening to the ever present street noise rumbling from below. I wonder what sounds are emanating from the other side of this mountain. Or, better yet, what if everyone in Missoula just stopped for ten minutes? What could it hurt? It is almost one am. There is no real reason for people to be out driving around. I think that would be eerie in a way. A perfectly silent city, sound a sleep in the valley. Maybe then I could even hear the water from the river as it floated along. Does water float? It must float in something, somehow. Maybe water simply floats in itself.

The moon has retreated again. The clouds have covered her whole, even the glow from behind is barely visible. Suddenly, I hear little clicking noises on my coat. What is that sound, I wonder? Then, I realize, it is precipitating. Not rain, not snow, but little tiny ice pellets are falling from the clouds tonight. They are here for only a moment before they disappear and the moon peaks through the clouds again. I see her and she hides away.

It might be time to make my way back down. Though I appreciate the change in scenery from my bedroom walls, sleep is calling me. And I’m a little bit cold. It is impossible to clear my mind, but always nice to attempt. I think my thoughts just needed some organization; they get scrambled when I am down there. My directions and orientation gets all confused. But everything is down there. I have no choice but to return. Tonight I discovered a new direction; up.

the remake

2008-02-14T02:27:00.003-06:00

Today we are to turn in our first official essay. The recommendation was that they be about 1000 to 1500 words. I went a little over, 1782, but who is really counting? I expanded my last post about the woods. This is more of a detailed chronicle of the years and events going by in Georgia.

The Woods

Growing up on what was left of the rural side of Oconee County Georgia, I spent a lot of my time as a young boy outside exploring the creek and surrounding deciduous forest that loomed behind our house. I loved being outside, where I was free from society’s constraints. Free to do as I pleased. Our property totaled a rectangular area of about seven acres. Three big oak trees separated Clotfelter Road from our half manicured grassy front yard. They were our markers. Turn into the drive when you see the three big Oaks was how we directed visiting family and friends to our house. The McVay’s at Tres Oaks, my Dad would say and write on the annual Christmas letter.

Every day after school I would walk down our driveway, drop off my bag inside and head for the trees. Once past our brick house, through the backyard and the horse pasture, a whole different world opened up to me. The land transformed into what was simply known as “the woods.” I knew the lay of the woods like the back of my hand. They were my secret hideaway from school, parents, and sister, or whatever was bothering me at the time. I could always find solace in the woods. Usually I was alone, except of course for my two trusty dogs Sealy and Sammy. Together we ruled the woods.

Sometimes when my friends came over I would grant them entry into my secret world in the woods. My best friend Web was always over. One sunny Saturday morning we packed our bags for the day and headed down through the pasture, into the woods. We took water bottles, sandwiches, binoculars, matches, marshmallows and a hatchet. The hatchet was a new addition. Usually when I went exploring in the woods I didn’t bring anything. Web was a schemer, an amateur conspiracy theorist who spent his evenings watching the X-Files and looking up UFO’s on the internet. We were up all night scheming for our adventure the next morning. Today we were going to chop down a tree. Web convinced me it was a good idea.

With everything in hand, we made our way down into the woods. We followed the normal path as it meandered side by side with the creek. At the first low spot where the water started to form little pools, we left the trail and headed in our own direction. We walked up the slope and towards a part of the woods where the trees grew more closely together. We walked and walked until we were almost at the edge of our property. It was there that we set all of our supplies down onto the soft, leafy ground. Web picked up the hatchet and looked around, scoping out the tree that was to fall. The plan was underway. Quickly we were down to business, taking turns swinging the little hatchet into a healthy and perfectly unsuspecting oak. The tree was tall and narrow, but thick enough that it would take some work to chop through. Its branches leafed out above us and shook with each hatchet blow, sometimes raining down leaves onto us. Tear drops of red, orange, brown and yellow.

I began to feel overly guilty with each swing. The hole in the tree grew deeper and deeper until suddenly, I couldn’t do it anymore. I stopped. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to chop down the tree,” I told Web. We were no longer on the same page. Web was adamant that this tree was coming down. “We have been chopping this tree for an hour, we are not stopping now!” He was mad, steamed at my attempt to betray him and the plan, he took the hatchet from me. I didn’t want to put up a fight. I stood back and I watched. I had never felt so guilty before. These were the trees that I loved. The woods. My woods. And here I was, helping to destroy a one. I was no better than the people clearing the rainforest in South America that I had learned about in school.

Finally, with one quick blow, Web chopped through to the other side. The tree fell back, but only a few feet. It was caught at an angle, its upper branches entangled with a neighboring tree, catching a fallen companion. This was frustrating for Web. He kicked the tree and tried to push it over. The oak was not going to come down according to plan. In some small little way, this was relieving for me. I breathed a big sigh of relief that the deed was over.

I still felt guilty but at least the tree was mostly upright. Some small victory could be claimed there. I wanted to leave my woods though, before Web found his next target. “Let’s go back and play Sega,” I offered. A lure of technology and civilization cast. Web took the bait. We walked back up to the house eating our sandwiches. Ashamed of its purpose, I hid the hatchet in our garage safely out of sight. I don’t think I invited Web back into the woods with me again after that, but my woods were constantly under attack.

I cried the day my parents told me they were going to clear some of the trees and expand the horse pasture south. I didn’t understand what was wrong with the pasture the way it was. Yeah it was a little overgrazed from the horses eating all day everyday. But all those horses did was eat. Maybe they should stop eating so much and save everyone the headache. I was told we needed the money that selling some of the toppled trees could bring. “We could get more money if we sold one of those horses…” Blasphemy! Mom would never even consider the thought. “Imagine cutting down those three big oak trees in the front yard.” It was a last resort, meant mostly more for guilt than tact, but it failed too. My opinion was not given much consideration, despite my persistence.

I spent most of my days outside in the woods with my dogs during those sultry summer days leading up to the day circled on the calendar. The day the tractors, trucks and trailers made their inevitable appearance was gray and overcast. The ground was still a little wet from rain the night before but they didn’t care. I followed in the tracks the big machines made as they rumbled down the pasture toward the trees. Smoke billowing, engines roaring. Eyes closed, heart wrenching. With my parents by my side I watched along side them as they cut tree after tree. They cleared through piles of brush and stacked the broken limbs in the draw. It was there watching the trees fall and pile up that I thought back to the day I cut down one of these trees with Web. I doubted these guys now doing the cutting felt any of the remorse I felt that day. Looking up at my Mom I didn’t say a word. I think she felt bad for me then, but it was too late to stop.

Thankfully most of the clearing was done on the east half of the woods, where there was already more meadow and open area. Turning it into a pasture made sense, but was something I would never admit. The trees that surrounded the creek to the west remained mostly intact. The woods weren’t the same though. The walk from the house to the trees was forever littered with twigs and broken branches. The heavy trucks had left their tracks imprinted in the ground. A constant reminder.

Once my dad finished his PhD at the University of Georgia, it became apparent that a move was soon to follow. Where we were going I wasn’t sure, but I knew that my days at 1760 Clotfelter Road were likely limited. Though it seemed like we never stayed in one place for too long, we had lived in the same house for six years, a family record! I was attached to Oconee County, Athens, my school, my friends, our house, and the woods especially. I found out that dad had accepted a position at Kansas State University. Kansas…no trees and flat, or so I thought. A big change from what I was used to. One day during our last week of living at the house I walked down to the woods in search of something I had buried in the red Georgia soil several years ago. Before the mass cutting that altered the shape of the woods and before Web and I attempted to chop down a tree. During our first year of living at Tres Oaks I had taken a plastic container and drawn a map of the woods on a glossy piece of printer paper. The map was detailed, it showed the pasture, outlined the flow of the creek and the several little swimming holes that pooled along its journey to the much larger creek at the end of our property. Trees were drawn in good detail, showing their prominence over the area. I also remember putting lots of change, a picture of me and my dogs and some other things in the container, then burying it in a specific spot.

Apparently I should have made a second map marking where I had buried this treasure. Despite my search, I continually came up empty handed. I sometimes wonder if that plastic container is still buried underground in the woods. Maybe the family that moved in after us had a boy like me who enjoyed spending time in the woods. Maybe a big rain came and washed away enough of the soil to make the top of that box visible. I wonder if he found it and took out the map, comparing it to the way the trees he knew looked. I never found the map, but I will always remember my adventures in the woods.

My parents always joked that Oconee County was growing so fast that if we ever drove back by our old house the trees would be gone and whole place would have been turned into another cookie cutter suburb. That day may still be to come. Maybe the bulldozer will dig up the dirt and find that plastic container. The operator will get out, open it up and discover its contents. If he does, I hope he imagines how this place used to look and thinks twice about chopping down any more trees. At the very least, I hope they name their development The Villas at Tres Oaks.

the woods

2008-02-07T01:17:00.000-06:00

Every Thursday for my Nature Writing class, we are supposed to turn in some sort of typed story. It can be pretty much anything. Eventually we are going to start writing full essays. I turned this in for the week and I think it is something that I might turn into one of my essays...

Growing up on the somewhat rural side of Oconee County Georgia, I spent a lot of my time as a young boy outside exploring the creek and surrounding deciduous forest that loomed behind our house. I loved being outside. Our property totaled about seven acres in a rectangle and once through the backyard and the horse pasture, a whole different world opened up to me. The land transformed into what was simply know as “the woods.” I knew the lay of the woods like the back of my hand. They were like my secret hideaway from school, parents, and sister, or whatever was bothering me at the time. I could always find solace in the woods. Usually I was alone, except of course for my two trusty dogs Sealy and Sammy. Together we ruled the woods.

Sometimes when my friends came over I would grant them entry into my secret world in the woods. My best friend Web was always over. One sunny Saturday morning we packed our bags for the day and headed down through the pasture, into the woods. We took water bottles, sandwiches, binoculars, matches, marshmallows and a hatchet. The hatchet was a new addition. Usually when I went exploring in the woods I didn’t bring anything. We had been up all night scheming for our adventure the next morning. Today we were going to chop down a tree. Web convinced me it was a good idea.

With everything in hand, we made our way down into the woods. We followed the normal path as it meandered side by side with the creek. At the first low spot where the water started to form little pools, we left the trail and headed in our own direction. We walked up the slope and towards a part of the woods where the trees grew more closely together. We walked and walked until we were almost at the edge of our property. It was there that we set all of our supplies down onto the leafy ground. Web picked up the hatchet and looked around, scoping out the tree that was to fall. Quickly we were down to business, taking turns swinging the little hatchet into a healthy and perfectly unsuspecting oak. The tree was tall and narrow, but thick enough that it would take some work to chop through. Its branches leafed out above us and shook with each hatchet blow, sometimes raining down leaves onto us. Tear drops of red, yellow and brown.

I began to feel overly guilty with each swing. The whole in the tree grew deeper and deeper and I couldn’t do it anymore. I stopped. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to chop down the tree,” I told Web. We were no longer on the same page. Web was adamant that this tree was coming down. “We have been chopping this tree for an hour, we are not stopping now!” He was mad and he took the hatchet from me. I didn’t want to put up a fight. I stood back and I watched. I had never felt so guilty before. These were the trees that I loved. The woods. My woods. And here I was, helping to destroy a tree. I was no better than the people clearing the rainforest in South America that I had learned about in school.

Finally, with one quick blow, Web chopped through to the other side. The tree fell back, but only a few feet. It was caught at an angle, its upper branches entangled with a neighboring tree, catching a fallen companion. This was frustrating for Web. He kicked the tree and tried to push it over. The oak was not going to come down as we had planned. In some small little way, this was relieving for me. I breathed a big sigh of relief that the deed was over.

I still felt guilty but at least the tree was mostly upright. My woods were intact. I wanted to leave my woods though, before Web found his next target. “Let’s go back and play Sega,” I offered. The lure of technology and civilization. We walked back up to the house eating our sandwiches. Ashamed of its purpose, I hid the hatchet in our garage safely out of sight. I don’t think I invited Web back into the woods with me again after that.

setting back in

2008-02-02T01:01:00.000-06:00

Two weeks of classes have already passed. That didn't take long. I have been really busy getting back in the flow of things. I'm trying to improve my social life too, so I have been staying on campus later after I get off work. I like my classes for the most part. I tried to get out of one Environmental Research class but when I talked to the instructor, I used to wrong pitch, so I will be taking 16 hours this spring. Thats ok. They are all environmental or geography classes except for the Social Statistics I am required to take. My favorite class is called Nature Writing. We write three essays throughout the semester about whatever we want. It is nice because I am allowed a lot of freedom in my writing. The intended audience is supposed to be a general audience, instead of an academic one. The class is taught by my adviser, who I really like. My reading load is going to be significantly higher than ever before. I ordered all my books off of Amazon.com and they have been coming in over the past week. It's like Christmas all over again, except I actually paid for all of these 'presents.' It's a little scary. I'm a slow reader and I already have a tall stack of 11 books that I need to read, with a few more on the way.

Last week was ridiculously cold. The streak is alive though. I'm still on the bicycle in the mornings and at night. It's just over a mile and a half from my apartment to campus. The coldest temperature I saw last week was -12. But I bundled up and headed out the door. Cold. This is Montana though. This week the temperatures have been in the 20's and low 30's. Finally, some warm weather. The only problem with riding my bike in these temperatures though is the slush. I hate the slush. It's worse than the ice in my opinion, even though the ice took me down twice last week. Fortunately I don't think anyone actually saw me fall.

I shouldn't really complain at all because things would be so much harder if I was still riding the same old $60 WalMart bike. Our house finally sold in Kansas so my parents must have been feeling a little wealthy. They were here the week before classes started and on their way out of town we stopped at the bike shop. I thought we were just going to browse but instead Mom straight out told me she would buy me a new bike. I didn't ask too many questions. After a few test rides and consultations with my father, I picked out a blue aluminum frame 'Giant.' It actually fits me and changing gears is smooth and simple. The front tire has shocks and I finally ride in style, with my head high. The improvement is amazing. There is no comparison between the two. That old bike was good to me though, I rode it for a good two years and it got me back and forth in Lawrence for a year and the fall semester here in Missoula. I have already lined up a buyer for the fair price of $40, as soon as the weather improves.

A couple random exciting things...

The Monday before classes started my friend and I drove 176 miles to Post Falls, Idaho. Why? I had a craving for Sonic. That happened to be the closest one. And yes, it was worth it. We went on an adventure after lunch, in search of Spirit Lake, which we discovered was a town, as well as a small frozen lake. Since we were close, I decided to drive us into Washington, just to cross another state line. On our way back to Missoula we drove around scenic Couer D'Alene Lake. I took some pictures, but it was cold and only on my camera phone. We stopped at the same dock that my family and I stopped at five or so years ago when we came through from Spokane on our way to Yellowstone. It was a fun mini road trip and a good use of the day.

I signed up for a beginner cross country skiing trip on February 23. Fortunately I am not going alone. Two of the girls that live on Caitlin's dorm wing are going to do the trip to. Jordan and Maranda. I am excited about it. I have never cross country skied before.

I am also playing an an intermural coed basketball team this spring. We had our first game last Tuesday and as we walked over to the rec center we were feeling pretty good about ourselves, even though this would be the first time the group of us had ever been on a court together for the first time. Everything was going good until this 6'5'' black guy walks onto the quart. Turns out he was on the mens team last year but got kicked off. He wasn't even trying and was dominating. I was like ....Really?? Coed intermurals?? The games should be easier from now on though. And it was fun to be playing again.

I love my apartment. And my roommates. They are each very different but I enjoy living with them both equally. This is the best living situation I have had as an adult.

Hopefully things will settle down and I will fall back into a rhythm. Then the blogging will be more regular. That was a resolution, after all.

catching a ghost

2008-01-11T03:14:00.000-06:00

Do you remember dreams
I remember one
She always came back
As if the sky could forget the sun
And just before I could forget
She found me with my eyes closed
Like a ghost that I could touch
Where my secrets were already known
She would take care of me
Though I never needed much
I didn't need to say a word
Just look into her eyes
Perfect brown like yours
Holding on to something real
Though she never really was
She died that August day
When I got up and drove away
To find those eyes
To feel her touch
To be with the one
I loved so much
I knew she was out there somewhere
You were her
I know
I am sure
But much the same
You disappeared
A fleeting vision
My new worst fear
Gone in another way
Fresh words I used
And to my dismay
Still a touch
Same brown eyes
All my hopes
Undressed in lies
Now I am left just where I stand
To wonder if she will return again

questions

2008-01-10T03:04:00.001-06:00

When you last said "good bye"
I knew you meant for good
All the lies and broken promises
Remember how you said you never would?
You slipped out of my reach
Expecting me to let you go
Falling through this world
Empty handed and alone
Who am I to say what is right
You never listened if you could
Intent on your own direction
Now you are stuck there for good
But I can't help myself to wonder
What you really thought of me
Was this ever real at all
Or the greatest thing not to be
Do you still read my letters?
Quietly to yourself
Or have you hidden them out of sight?
No longer in need of my help
Can you make it through the night?
Or do you still wake up to kiss my shoulder?
One question that you did answer
In my heart I know its over

help

2008-01-04T21:02:00.000-06:00

I don't even know what to say. I am absolutely stunned. Still. You dropped that bomb on me. One stupid mistake on one stupid night may have very well changed the lives of four people. This was not supposed to happen. This can't happen. I got next to no sleep last night because visions of you kept going through my mind. I should be mad. I should be upset with you. I should not care at all anymore after this. This should be it, the end. And it would be. If I was any other guy. But I am not. I was trying to figure out how I can save you. If I can save you. And then it all hit. Everything that you have done to me. All the lies, cheating, and underestimating of me. Everything that I found out last night in the most revealing two hour phone conversation of my life. Everything that you have done to yourself and how you might have ruined your future and your life as you know it. And I still wanted you. I still wanted to help you, save you, protect you after all that. There is only one way and you have to believe me. You have to believe that I might be right about things. You have to know that looking back on this, I was right. No matter how much better off you thought you were going to be by trying to make it on your own. Your own way. You must accept that, or this is the end. You deserve a second chance. You really do. You deserve the opportunity to start fresh. To start over. You are too good, too special of a person. You mean too much to me to see you go down a path like this. One that you will never get everything you need, everything you always hoped for and dreamed of as a little girl. You made one huge mistake on a night when it never should have happened in the first place. Don't drown yourself with it. I have always been there for you. I have always trusted you and wanted to do whatever it took to make you feel good and happy. I have and I will. For better or worse. I do love you, unconditionally. I want to help you. But you have to listen. You have to trust me.

resolutions

2008-01-03T17:23:00.001-06:00

New Years Resolutions

1. Never spend another New Years Eve alone again. Every year has started the same, though the setting is always changing. I am tired of being alone on New Years Eve. I am tired of being alone period.

2. Move on. I guess I don't have much of a choice. If she doesn't want to be with me then there is nothing that I can do to change that. She's already moving on so what good is holding on now? I thought I finally found something real but I guess my expectations were too high. I'm not sure what I did wrong to screw this one up.

3. Meet someone new. I am going to find someone this semester. I don't know where and I don't know how but I will find someone. I am not going to be alone. I think I have a lot to offer. I shouldn't waste my time on people who can't see that.

4. Make some friends. I spent pretty much all of last semester not going out, not trying to meet new people. The only people that I really know are my sisters friends. I also realized that I have no real guy friends. There is no one that I would call up and say "hey, you want to come over and just hang out for a while?" I don't have that here. I need that.

5. Straight A's? Is it a possibility? I was close this semester with A's in 3/5 classes. I think that if I really put my mind to it I could get straight A's. My problem is that I don't really try. I never really put out more effort than I need to. Maybe I can find a way to do that this semester.

6. Learn to ski. I went skiing for the first time last week. It was a lot of fun. I made a lot of progress in one 90 minute lesson and actually felt comfortable on my skis by the time I had to take them off and leave. I think we are going to go again tomorrow. I want to go fast but when I get going fast I am too afraid that I am going to get out of control. I guess I want to get better control.

7. Secure a summer job or internship in something that I want to do. I could graduate in as soon as 3 semesters. I am that really close. It is both exciting, and scary at the same time. I need to talk to my adviser about Graduate School because I am pretty sure that is what I want to do after I finish my Bachelor degree here. In the meantime, I want to get an internship doing something that I might be doing permanently in a few years.

8. Swim laps. The Montana rec center has a nice pool on campus. I have been meaning to go check it out but I never got around to it last semester. This semester I would like to go start swimming laps once a week or something like that. It is great exercise and something that I am good at. So why not?

9. Blog more. Blogger has been on the back burner ever since I moved to Missoula in August. My posting frequency is way down. I should fix that. Keeping with that theme, I want to write more. Not just on here, but everywhere. Poetry. I have slowed way down on that too. I had a lot of good material the last couple weeks but I have been to bottled up to even get that down on paper. That could be a good thing though, because I don't especially like writing that kind of poetry.

10. Travel. I am in the beautiful West, I should make it a goal to see more of it. Yellowstone, Glacier, Flathead Lake, all the Wilderness Areas in Montana. They all need to be explored by me. I also want to go to Seattle. I have never been there before and now it is only seven hours away. I have a friend who lives in Olympia and I would really like to see the Olympic Peninsula. Portland too, and the Columbia River Gorge. Actually, the whole Pacific Coast highway through Oregon is an amazing drive. Now that I have some acquaintances on the West coast I should see how hospitable they might be.

I want to be an all around better person. I want to make more of my college experience, it is fading fast. I want to have a real relationship and have all of those experiences. I am excited about my future. I am on a good path and I know that I am going places. I want to have someone to share that with.

Life is going really fast, I can't believe it is already 2008. I want to make the most of my opportunities.

sky lights

2007-12-31T18:16:00.000-06:00

We are driving. Winter brings each day to a close earlier than I am used to in these parts and already, not a sign that the sun was ever out. It is six. I am in the front seat of the car. It's only an hour and a half back home but I wish this drive were already over. Odd because I am always one to drive. Not tonight. Not right now. I just want to be alone. I turn on my ipod. Relax, lean back into the seat and close my eyes. I still hear the hum of the car on the road. I take my hands and press them against my ears. This brings the music fuller, deeper, clearer. I fall into the music, let it take me whole. I am much more than I was expecting. I am alone. A bump in the road. I open my eyes for the first time and look out at the road ahead. The lines passing down the middle of the road, the lights from the other cars and the city around. We are almost back. I close my eyes again and lay my head against the back of the seat. Looking out the window now into the night sky and stars I see one falling. A brilliant light that burns through the black, falling towards earth. Surely it will make it. But it is here in one second and gone the next, a helpless illumination of its former self imprinted in my mind. I close my eyes again. I think about life. This is the only one I have. On my own, for the first time, I try to smile.

you were my best friend

2007-12-26T18:59:00.000-06:00

your not here
your not even there
now in question
a love once shared
battered and beaten
ripped and torn
just when I thought
we had weathered the storm
words and feelings
a hushed promise sworn
locked in the past
journey uncertain
I only wanted
one other person

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

where I am now
where I was before
if I had it my way
I would live those three days
over and over and over

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

I don't want to smile
I don't want to wake up
to see what the day brings
to see if the sun came up
I don't want to care
I don't want to hurt
the world still spins
when nothing else works
just take me now
regardless of how I feel
my eyes are glued open
with my heart on a reel

lost

2007-12-22T21:06:00.000-06:00

I am home. I have been home for a while. It feels like much longer than it has actually been. There isn't much to do. I am sort of ready to go back to Missoula but I know that there is nothing for me to do there either. I sit at home and watch tv or go into Billings for a little while with my family. I have no friends here. This isn't really home. Some of the people that Caitlin hangs out with really annoy me so I don't go anywhere with her. I sit and wait for my phone to ring. It never does and you would think I would start to know better. I don't. I'm dumb and I don't care right now. My head is a mess and I can't seem to find a way to clear it all up. I tried to go for a walk yesterday but it was cold and loud. Our house is sandwiched between two busy train tracks, a highway and the interstate not too far to the south. I wanted to go someplace where I wouldn't hear any transportation related noise but that turned out to be hopeless. Today was worse. She hasn't called me in a week and I don't understand. I don't understand how she can do this to me and be perfectly fine with it while I am such a wreck. I'm alone with no distractions and a brain that is constantly playing through scenarios. I don't even know what the reality is any more. I am lost.

Merry Christmas to me? What a wonderful gift...

holidays

2007-12-14T23:08:00.000-06:00

I finished finals on Wednesday. I didn't panic like many do that they were occurring and I didn't stay up into the late hours of the night studying. I think I put a grand total of 20 minutes into my studying, and that was all for my History of Montana final. I am glad that I have completed another semester, but a little scared at how fast it went by. I mean like really fast. Pretty soon the semester will be about three weeks long, or so it will seem.

I am driving home tomorrow to Billings. It is a long drive, about 5 hours with 3 mountain passes to get through. No Nebraska or Kansas for Christmas. No Mity visiting me for Christmas, which I really wanted but I have done pretty well at not getting my hopes up for it, since somehow I knew it wasn't really going to happen. No nothing.

'No nothing,' is of course, a double negative meaning 'something.' There are several somethings and those are what I should actually be thankful for I suppose. I have essentially 5 weeks off from school. I will be home with my family and dogs. There will be a big HDTV at the house where I will get to watch all of the bowl games, even though Nebraska isn't playing this year. There will be a nice Christmas dinner and presents for all. Homemade fudge. I might get to go skiing if Moon and Taylor decide to drive up from Lawrence for a few days.

It may sound stupid and naive but I would trade all that for a week alone with her.

I am afraid to think that everyone else might be right. I really thought this could work...

departure

2007-12-09T23:01:00.000-06:00

Sorry about the departure. I am kinda "typed-out" I guess you could say. Finals start tomorrow for most. I have three this semester; one on Tuesday and two on Wednesday. I am not really concerned with any of them and doubt I will do much studying. I have spent the last two weeks or so working on two papers. One was on the Anaconda Pintler Wilderness area for my 295 class. By the time I was finished it was 24 pages. The second was for my 367 class. It was a policy paper and I chose to talk about the Holcomb Kansas coal fire expansion rejection this past October and what that means for the state. That one netted 14 pages. But now I am done and after Wednesday at noon, I wont really have to think for 5 weeks until the next semester starts.

Not that I really do that much thinking now. I have gotten really good at being able to just coast through everything school related. I still get good grades, in fact this semester I should get an A in 3 out of 5 classes. I have never been able to really buckle down and study like crazy as some people do. I can't do it. I'm not focused enough and I don't really care. I figure if I haven't learned what I need to know from going to class, then hours of studying is not going to make much of a difference. So I don't. I can write for hours on end, but even that doesn't usually take me very long. I typically get my ideas in my head, all my papers first have to write themselves in my head before they can be written down on paper.

On Tuesday of last week my 295 instructor came up to me as I was turning in my big paper and asked if she could talk to me after class. "Don't worry" she said, "its good." "Umm sure," I said. So once class was over I walked up to her to see what she wanted. She asked me if I was in the honors college and when I said no she said, "Well, I think that you should be. You are really smart, intelligent and driven and your writing has been excellent all semester. I am really good friends with the dean and if you are interested I could talk to him and write you a letter of recommendation."

I wasn't really to sure what to say. My sister is in the honors college and I have always thought I was smarter than her, except on paper. Thursday my instructor gave me the application and the email she had sent to the dean, along with a note reminding me that she would be happy to write a letter if I decided to do this.

I don't know if I am going to fill it out or not. I talked to Caitlin's RA in the hall the other day and told her about this. She is the Honors Society President and just the conversation kind of turned me off to the idea of the Honors School. She is the type of person who is super concerned with grades and probably puts hours on end into studying. I am not really concerned with my grades. As long as I am above a 3.0 I am happy, and of course if it goes higher I will take it. I know I am going to graduate in good standing, I know what interests me and I have an idea of what I want to do once I am out of school. Is it really worth it for three more semesters? I think the only real impact that the Honors College could have on me is one that I would barely ever see. That is it would show up on my Diploma, and my transcript.

For me, its an honor just to be asked. I know I am smart, but it is nice to hear it from other people once in a while too.

snowball fights with strangers

2007-11-19T17:38:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving is nearly upon us. Amazing how fast time can go, depending on the day. I have been ready to go home for about two weeks now. Unfortunately it is not really "home" that I am going to, just the house in which my parents and dogs reside. Still, it will be nice to be around the people and doggies I love for a change. We are leaving tomorrow. Caitlin is now adament that we leave at 12:30, which means that I am going to miss the one class that I was supposed to have a quiz in. That is ok though, I don't really care at the moment.

Yesterday was rainy when I woke up. I drove to Quiznos around 2 to get some lunch and on my way back the rain drops started to get a little heavier. Once I was back inside I watched the snow flakes start to fly. Aside from that one trip out for food I hadn't really left the apartment for a while. Around 9 I decided to go out for a walk. By that time there was already a good 3 inches of snow or more on the ground. I needed to take a walk to clear my head. Thoughts were running wild at that time and I needed to cool off. I'm always hot lately, even if it is 65 degrees in my room. I wondered down the sidewalk to the gas station about two blocks down Higgins Ave. Inside I bought a milky way and a hot chocolate. Outside again, with snow flakes still flying in the light from the street lights, neon signs and cars I convinced myself to walk all the way down to the river. It is a long walk, but I had nothing better to do. Its probably a good mile or two all the way across the river to downtown. Once I made it to the bridge over the river I stopped along the railing and stared down. It was like looking into space. I couldn't see the bottom, the snow flakes just seemed to fall into nothing.

I wondered all the way across and down to the park on the other side. I was looking for something; inspiration, answers, something. I walked up and down the trail that runs along the river thinking about how much I love Missoula and how cool it is to see so much snow already. It never snows like this in the middle of November in Kansas. I stared into the snow falling from above, some landed on my face and I felt the cold melt on my face. Just then I noticed that on one of the benches next to me someone had written "LOVE ME". Funny, I thought.

That is all I really want. Love me. I don't know what is going on right now but I know that it is not working and something needs to change. For better or for worse, whatever that means. I went home and I stayed up late writing a four page hand written letter to Mity. She finally called this morning, first time in three days, and we talked... kind of. It is pretty obvious that things are not the way they used to be. I don't know why and I don't know what changed but something did. I don't like the way things are right now. I don't like the way I am right now. I don't know if I will send the letter but it felt good to get some of my frustrations written down. Everyone has been telling me the same thing about what to do but I don't want to do it. I just want to find some one who loves me.

not half right

2007-11-15T02:16:00.001-06:00

When I talk to you on the phone
Its just like being alone

its not half right

listening to thoughts

2007-11-13T18:00:00.000-06:00

Today is cold, windy and lonely. I am so tired today. I was barely able to drag myself out of my bed this morning and onto my bike to campus. After my first class I wondered over to the UC and fell asleep on a couch in the study lounge. I was trying to get comfortable and as I laid on my side facing the back of the couch I listened to these two lines echo through my mind.

The truth is but a fabric in a tangled web of lies
How long until it all comes crashing down right before my eyes

I woke up just in time for my last class but all day I have been thinking about those two lines. What do they mean? Why did I suddenly put those words together into a coherent poetic thought? Is my mind trying to tell me something? That sort of thing happens to me a lot. I will think of something obscure or out of context and then shortly later it will all come together but in real life. What truth? What lies?

I can not concentrate lately. I've just been floating through my days. My phone doesn't ring like it used to and I don't know what is going to happen. I am unsure of the one thing I thought I could be sure of. Now I don't know what to think. Is this part of it? Or is this my mind playing tricks on me again?

inteli-squirrel

2007-10-31T16:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was on my way to campus when I saw the most peculiar thing. There are bike lanes on most of the major streets in Missoula, but I choose to take residential street a block off of Arthur, the main street along campus. By doing so I have to cross Arthur when I get to University Street. Well, Arthur is usually kind of busy in the mornings so I always slow down at the stop sign and wait for an opening. Fortunately, there are also lots of students that walk from that direction as well so cars will stop as they use the crosswalk. This is what I almost always wait for. When the cars stop, they start to walk and I ride across. Well yesterday I was following my typical routine, thinking nothing out of the ordinary. THEN, I saw something out of the ordinary. As the pedestrians were crossing the street, a squirrel was also utilizing the cross walk as to avoid being smashed like so many of its friends surely have in the past. I was intrigued by this and I watched him scurry across the road and onto the side walk as I rolled along on my bike. This super intelligent squirrel captured all of my attention. Unfortunately there is a small cedar tree that lines the edge of the sidewalk and the entrance to the campus. When my attention returned from the squirrel back to riding my bike I realized it I was headed directly for the tree. I only had a second to think. I managed to squeeze the break handle but it wasn't enough. I closed my eyes and smashed right into the tree. Embarrassed, I got jumped off my bike and pulled it out of the tree. I looked around to see how many people had seen what had just happened. Surely someone had because there were several people around me at the time. I brushed the needles from tree that I had taken with me off my arms and I walked my bike forward for several steps, no one looked at me and I assumed that I was alright. My bike makes a funny sound now but it was worth it just to watch that squirrel.

easier

2007-10-27T01:44:00.000-05:00

You say that you ain't been happy
Say that you should but you don’t know why
Just tryin to get to somewhere
Just end up getting by
And I give you everything I can think of
Give you love but it ain’t enough
Just tell me not to worry about you
On a train and you wish me luck singin

Is it gonna get easier
Is it gonna get tough, baby
Are the waters gonna open wide
Or are they gonna get rough
Are we gonna have to sink right down
Are we gonna get to paint this town
Deep blue and green, the color of her eyes lookin at me
Early in the morning

Left the hotel early that morning
Took your hand and we walked all day
And we watched all the street performers
In the empty street parade
And we heard that piano playing
London bridge and it made you weep
And we caught on the train to Paris
You leaned against me and we fell asleep

Is it gonna get easier
Is it gonna get tough, baby
Are the waters gonna open wide
Or are they gonna get rough
Are we gonna have to sink right down
Are we gonna get to paint this town
Deep blue and green, the color of her eyes lookin at me
Early in the morning

I lost you in a storm in Georgia
Called you up on Christmas day
Babe I tried hard to get back to ya
But you were just too far away
And you told me you loved me dearly
But you thought that our love was wrong
I talked you off the ledge by morning
You caught the train and you headed home
Well I still remember the day that I met you
I still remember the day you left
Still remember the day you came back
Now I remember the things you said
And I remember the days and the good times
And I remember the nights without
I tell you baby when you get back home
We'll catch a train and we're headin South

Is it gonna get easier
Is it gonna get tough, baby
Are the waters gonna open wide
Or are they gonna get rough
Are we gonna have to sink right down
Are we gonna get to paint this town
Deep blue and green, the color of her eyes lookin at me
Early in the morning
Early in the morning
Early in the morning

Joe Purdy - Easier

Have you ever heard a song that expressed almost exactly how you feel so much that it sends shivers down your spine? I rediscovered this song last night and it almost brought tears to my eyes, especially the last verse. I've been in a fragile, emotional state this past week but at the same time trying not to let it show. I probably haven't been doing a very good job of that. This song just hit me. I flashed back through everything that happend at the end of July and what has happend since then. It's complicated. It's hard. But I know in my heart that I do love her, and I think she is the one for me. I just hope it gets easier.

a listening ear

2007-10-24T17:58:00.000-05:00

Im sorry if I seem distracted
Its only because I am
Can you hold on one moment
I have to make a call
To who?
Never mind, she isn’t answering
What were you saying
I can not seem to recall
That reminds me
Have I told you about our big plans for this fall
Turns out it might be past winter to spring
That is
If it happens at all
I think I need some fresh air
Would you like to join me for a walk
We could head downtown
Stand over the river and talk
I am glad that you are with me here
I really need someone right now
A listening ear
School is fine you say
And your friends, they are well
Listen
Can I confide in you something
If you promise not to tell
I am not so sure I can keep doing this
Sometimes I feel like our lips haven’t parted
Since our lonesome last kiss
But lately these miles
They seem to be stacking up against us
Weighing down
Like a million bricks
Yes
You are always right
Time will only tell
They say patience is a virtue
But waiting is hell

21 shots

2007-10-21T02:06:00.000-05:00

The older I get the less dramatic and meaningful my birthdays seem to become. I am 21. Which is weird, because I still wasn't even use to telling people that I was 20. Being 21 means that I won't have another meaningful birthday until I turn 65, and by that time all of the social security money is going to be used up anyways.

Is it sad that one of the things I was most excited about for my birthday was to see how many people would write something on my facebook wall? I think it is. 25 people did though, which was some what exciting for me. Really the one person that I wanted to talk to most didn’t even call me. I finally got ahold of her for the first time in two days and she was too tired to give me a few minutes of conversation. This really hurt and kind of ruined my day, even though I tried not to let it. And, she didn’t even know it was my birthday. She even tried to convince me that today was the 19th and that my birthday was actually tomorrow. She has been acting really strange lately...

Today was just another day. Although it was nice to be the center of attention for a whole day. The problem is, when people asked me what I wanted to do, I didn't have a good answer. And apparently watching the second half of the LSU-Auburn game wasn't what they were looking for. It is Saturday. On Saturdays I watch college football. It is really all that I have going for me right now. Nebraska wasn't on TV today, thank Bob Devany, because they lost again and are playing like a junior high team. Up until last week I had tried to remain optimistic, but after that blowout, followed by this blowout there is really nothing left. I will still listen or watch all of the games, and I will still hope for a win, because I am no fair weather fan. I just hope we win two or three ore games and get to go to a bowl game, I can't imagine the season ending in November. Nebraska couldn't even win on my birthday!

Caitlin came over around 4 with her roommate Rochelle, and friend Westen. With them they brought a Baskin Robbins mint chocolate chip ice cream cake. My first ice cream cake ever! It was very exciting. I knocked on my roommate Hiro's door and we all shared a slice to celebrate.

Later, a group of about seven of us went out to eat at the Iron Horse restaurant downtown. They have delicious sweet potato fries and a really good Caribbean chicken sandwich. I toyed with the idea of ordering a beer, just because I could. I had even talked to my parents before we had left about what kind I should order. When we got there though, I decided not to since I probably wouldn't have even been able to finish it.

I am old. I don't like it. There are really no more good excuses for me now. I am probably one of the only people in history who wasn't looking forward to turning 21.

Well... it is getting late, I’m not tired but I better get to work on those 21 shots before the sun rises.

ask and you shall receive, eventually...

2007-10-18T00:50:00.000-05:00

Yes I do need to write again.

I have been doing a lot of writing lately, just not here. A couple four page papers here, a six page here, oh and the eight pager I just finished up tonight. It's not like I don't think about blogging though. I check this blog everyday just to see if some on has updated for me. I'm always a little disappointed when I see that no one has though. And everyday I say to myself, I'm going to write when I get home. But I don't, obviously.

How I want to though. I need to. I need to condense my thoughts, be able to get them organized and out, so that I can make them out. Too much floats around in my head these days.

Every morning I get up too late and say "tonight I am going to bed earlier." Every day when I get off of work and come home the clock somehow slips away and before I even realize it, it is midnight and I still have things to do. "Tomorrow," I say, "I am going to bed earlier."

Tomorrow I will make a real post.

I miss my doggies

2007-10-07T01:47:00.001-05:00

where arrrrre you?

2007-10-04T01:40:00.000-05:00

You know how I get when we don't talk. Well, today was one of those days where I am trying to keep myself from going crazy. I need to hear your voice at least once a day. I called you late last night but I got an unusual message at the end.

"At the request of the subscriber, this phone is not receiving incoming calls." In other words... You didn't pay your cell phone bill yet.

Same thing this happened morning, this afternoon, and about ten other times between then and now. I was sad today. I didn't get a call to wake me up this morning and thus I didn't feel the need to get out of bed until 12:30, twenty minutes after my first class started. I showed up for my second class only to find that it was canceled. I was disappointed to know that I could have continued sleeping. No text messages saying "I love you" to make me smile today, no voice messages from you that you sometimes leave while I am in class and I can't wait to listen to once I get out. I have had better days. I must have been looking a little down because when I went to my sisters dorm room to eat my sandwich I kept getting asked what was wrong. I couldn't answer.

Often times I find it hard to describe the situation that we are in. It sounds a little silly to say "Well, my girlfriend didn't call me this morning and I haven't been able to get a hold of her all day, but I know why I'm not able to so it is ok... I am just kind of sad I suppose."

I am hoping that you are going to pay it as soon as you can tomorrow and that you will call me as you walk out of the door. It's kind of silly to keep worrying. I am just a little concerned since you are out in Washington DC with those "high quality" individuals you are staying with. This is the first day since we have been apart that we have not talked. That is just over two months.

I guess I am just saying that even though it has only been one day, I miss you. I love you. I need you. I feel empty today with out. I don't like it. I can't wait to be with you and I know that you are doing this so that we can be together. I want you know how happy that makes me. I promise not to let you down when you are here.

But of equal importance. Please pay your bill, borrow someone else's phone, send me an email with you hotels phone number and the number to your room, leave a comment on this, send messenger pigeons, smoke signals, telepathy...something so that I can tell you all of the above paragraph with my own voice.

perfect

2007-10-03T01:50:00.001-05:00

We are getting closer.

sunshine on a snowy day

2007-09-28T02:06:00.001-05:00

Love is a reason
What more do we need
You are the budding green of a summer leaf
Reappearing in spring

You are sunshine
On a snowy day
You are the feelings I have
And the words that I say

You are first light in the morning
Awakening the sky
The touch of my fingers
And the whites of my eyes

You are my reason for living
My first and last thought
Essential to function
A lesson taught

You are the calling for seasons
A planted seed
Love is a reason
Nothing more do we need

no easy way

2007-09-21T01:59:00.000-05:00

I am beginning to find out

That there is no easy way

To get a southern girl out of the South

She calls me in the morning

We talk into the night

We relive the perfect moments

Where we finally came alive

It was a long drive

Through the moving Midwest

But the love from a southern girl

Is well above the rest

We promised not to replace each other

She tells me she is on her way

I'm alone out here in the Rockies

Finding it harder to define each passing day

The morning rings to remind me

How I need her with me now

But it is not easy

To get a southern girl out of the South

Traveler's Rest

2007-09-18T19:25:00.000-05:00

Truth be told, this was a good escape. I realized that I have not been outside of the city limits of Missoula since I moved here in August. Sitting around this afternoon, a little frustrated, a little confused about certain things, I grabbed my bag, my keys and drove south out of town. Off of Highway 12 at Lolo I stopped at the famous Traveler’s Rest State Park and walked the small circle hike. After completing it, I broke a cardinal rule and ventured slightly off the beaten path and down to the small creek the footbridge had led me over earlier. I sat down on a big log near the bank. At first I could still hear the highway and the cars racing by in the distance, my mind was cluttered and I was trying to focus. After a few minutes though I was staring at the rocks around my feet all the way to the creek itself wondering what patterns could be found. It was so intricate and complete that I thought no person could ever lay these rocks and fallen leaves out in the same pattern again. I no longer heard the highway in the distance, instead I was treated to the babble of the creek not fifteen in front of me. I heard the wind come in waves through the trees. The tall aspens behind me would start to swish and sway in the breeze, then it would move to the trees across the bank and they would do the same. I was impressed by how flexible they were. It seems as though autumn is starting to creep, ever so slowly in. The trees all had hints of reds, browns and yellows, trying so hard to hold onto the summer greens. It wasn’t enough though. Each time a wave of wind came through their branches several leaves went falling like a failing kite toward their inevitable resting place among the rocks near the creek. The sky was gray and cloudy. A light drizzle started to fall. I could see it falling if I stared at the rusty red iron beams that formed the bottom of the foot bridge from which I had came. This didn’t stay long though, just a foreshadowing of what was soon to come.

Even with all of these observations, I realized I still had thoughts bubbling on the back burner of my mind. A song that I had been listening to in my car played on continuous repeat, assignments yet to be completed stuck out like sticky notes on my desk, a girl I can not stop thinking about also swirled in the mist of my mind. And here I was without an umbrella! I tried hard for a moment to completely empty my mind. This turned out to be nearly impossible. Perhaps I haven’t yet reached that level of Zen. Right when I thought that I had it, I realized that I had thought that I had it and thus didn’t have it at all. Then all I could think about was a scene from Ghost Buster’s where they all try to clear their minds but the one guy can’t help but think of the giant Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Man and he comes back to life and they are forced to fight him all over again. This is odd because I haven’t seen that movie in over a decade.

When I had first arrived and sat down on the log, I had displaced a small, unorganized swarm of gnats flying above me. All the while they had been gone as I sat silently on the log. The sky had grown darker and my uncovered feet were starting to get cold. I looked up and noticed that the gnats had returned. I thought that this was as sure of a sign as any that things had come full circle and it was time for me to leave. As I walked back to my car, the mist returned. Umbrella free, I made my way through the raindrops back to civilization.

letting it happen

2007-09-09T01:00:00.000-05:00

If my calendar is correct, I have already been attending classes for two weeks now. It doesn't really seem like I have been here that long. I'm still waiting to fit into a nice groove, that hasn't quite happened yet. I am getting along with my roommates though, which is a good thing and probably the first time that I have ever really been able to say that. I really like these apartments, they are nice, clean, close and relatively quiet for being students only.

It is only about a ten minute bike ride to campus from my apartment. As I ride my bike in the mornings or afternoon I often have to look around and remind myself of where I am. I wish I had a camera here. I never thought that I would actually live some place like this, the mountains are just stoically beautiful. I guess about two weeks ago my friend Moon from KU called and at one point asked "how close are you to the mountains?" "I'm in the mountains dude." "Tiiiight." Haha, thinking about that conversation still makes me laugh. I guess I never thought I would really say this but I actually miss those guys. The people here are really nice and friendly but I miss having a couple close friends. I think it would be much easier to make friends if I had been going here since my freshman year. The only people that I really know are the girls on Caitlin's wing, and some of the other people I've through her playing frisbee or soccer or something. I think I would be much happier if that special girl from Virginia was here with me. I'm working on that.

I am weird. I have a hard time initiating contact with a new person a lot of the time, it is much easier for me when there is some one with me who is outgoing and generally leads the conversation and I can add in every now and then. I think that people really like me once they get to know me but I for some reason have a hard time meeting new people. I just tend to keep to myself most of the time. I was like this at KU too. The only people I really got to know through classes I really had to make myself start talking to them. For some reason I am always waiting for people to come up to me instead of the other way around, and when it doesn't happen, I just move on.

I'm good enough
I'm smart enough
And doggonit, people like me!

My classes are going to be pretty simple this semester. They are all environment related for the most part. I hope I'm not setting myself up for trouble in the spring semester because my earliest class starts at 11:10 on Tuesday/Thursday, and 12:10 Monday/Wednesday/Friday. This is the first time I have ever not had a class at or before 9:30. Tuesday/Thursday isn't very much fun though because the classes are longer and I have three in a row until 3:30, which is right over lunch time. I haven't developed a good strategy for this yet.

Monday/Wednesday/Friday:

12:10. History of Montana

This class is really interesting, I am glad that I found it. When I was enrolling I was looking for another elective since a lot of the classes I wanted to take were full. I stumbled across this one in the history department. It's a big lecture of about 150 or so students. The instructor is a young guy but he is very enthusiastic and gives pretty good lectures. I thought it would be a good idea to brush up on the history of the new state that I now call home. That was pretty much my main motivation for taking this, plus I really enjoy history.

1:10. Nature of Montana

Yes, the majority of my week is very Montana heavy, but that is a good thing. This class is through the Forestry department and is taught by one of the assistant deans. He is probably my favorite instructor. He knows a lot, obviously, but his lectures are fascinating, funny and motivating, they practically fly by. I wish I had this as a Tuesday/Thursday so that it would last a little longer. On Wednesdays we do this thing at the end of class called affirmations. He has a decibel meter and he stands up on the table and leads us in yelling. I AM! SOMEBODY! I AM NOT AFRAID! It may sound a little cheesy but I like it, last Wednesday we registered 108.6 decibels.

Tuesday/Thursday:

11:10. Environmental Politics and Policy

Even though this class starts after 11, if has the feeling of an 8AM lecture. This will be my most difficult class, I can handle it though, I am confident enough in my writing and interpretation of things. Thus far it has been really dry though. The professor is pretty bland, and the content is hard to get excited about. It is borderline depressing to read about all the political maneuvers to get around environmental protection and the bureaucratic red tape that these policies entail. Maybe it will get better though, we do a big research paper project half way through it on a topic of our choice, so I am a little excited for that.

12:40 Intro to Ecology

I went into this class thinking "cool, this will be a fun and easy class" In truth I feel like I am in my high school biology or earth science class. It's only a 100 level class but the subject matter so far have been the most fundamental building block levels of ecology. Trophic levels and photosynthesis and such. I suppose I got exactly what the title of the class suggests though. So it is easy, but boring. It's really hard to sit through, and really hard to take notes in this lecture of about 50. It is just power point and lecture every day. This should be an easy A, I hope.

2:10 Wilderness Policy and History

The only good thing about my Tuesday/Thursday classes is this one. This class, despite the word 'policy' in the title has been really fun and interesting so far. And, the book required for this class "Wilderness & The American Mind" is one that I have already read for my Environmental History class at KU. The instructor is a younger girl who has done several classes for the Wild Rockies Field Institute. This is the only class that goes by at a decent pace, I'm glad that I have it last.

Overall I like the campus, the classes, the professors, the people, the scenery and the city much more than anything in Kansas. Next month Jimmy Eat World is even coming to town. Caitlin and I got the our tickets in the mail yesterday. I just knew that when I saw them at the end of July in Lawrence it would be the last time for a while unless I wanted to drive to Seattle or something, but when they released their tour dates last week I almost thought I was hallucinating when I saw "October 7th, Wilma Theater, Missoula, MT."

I like the fact that there is a central area to campus, the oval. There are always people out sitting in the grass reading, sleeping or playing frisbee or soccer between classes. Missoula is such a cool little mountain town. There always seems to be something going on downtown, festivals, bands, activities of one sort or another are abundant. There are lots of parks, theres the river that runs through the middle and not to mention the mountains surrounding the city. And it is nice being somewhere with bike lanes for a change!

Clark's Fork

2007-08-26T23:05:00.000-05:00

I went tubing today. It wasn't just me, in fact it was a group of about twelve or thirteen of us. My sister is living in the dorms and the girls on her wing are pretty much the only people that I know right now. Today my phone rang and on the other end was Jordan, one of the girls telling me that a group of them were going tubing and that I should come along. Yesterday Jordan and I rode our bikes across the river to play tennis so she is one of the girls that I have gotten to know a little bit better out of the group of them. When I got to the dorm there were several people standing in the lobby waiting on everyone else to show up. Eventually we all packed into three different vehicles and headed downtown in search of tubes. At the Army-Navy Surplus store we discovered that the only way to get a tube was to buy one, so most of us threw down the ten dollars for a nice big black rubber tube, a lifetime membership of tubing... at least as long as the tube lasts anyways.

Next came the task of getting everyone and the tubes in the vehicles at the same time. One guy had a truck and they took about half of the tubes and tied them down in the bed of the truck. The others we put into the back of Matt's suburban type vehicle. I don't know what kind it was exactly... Three went in the back, three more were tied on top and one more was put into the back seat along with me and three other girls. It was a tight ride but we made it work. The tubes survived the drive even though they snapped a bungee cord and blew out of the back of the truck about a half mile down the interstate. They were ok though. We found a pull-off spot and the group of us took off our shirts and shoes and made our way down the steep bank to the river's edge.

Not surprisingly, the water was very very cold. Hesitantly we all eventually dropped our tubes into the current and sat ever so gingerly down onto them. It didn't matter though, we all got pretty wet. The water was moving at a pretty quick pace where we got in but it quickly mellowed in pace. We intermittently formed lines and circles by joining hands as we floated along, occasionally breaking up and then reforming later on. The water didn't feel as cold once I was in but I remember trying with more difficulty than normal to make a fist with my hand and I realized that maybe I was just getting numbed from the cold. The wind picked up about half way through and really slowed us down. At times it even seemed like we where floating upstream. Slowly, we made progress and towards the end of our float we hit some rapids that were actually quite fun. By the time we got out at the first foot bridge in Missoula, I was shaking cold. We hurried up the bank and laid in the grass soaking up the sunshine trying to get warm again.

Today was a lot of fun, it was my last day of summer as classes start tomorrow. I'm looking forward to more outdoor adventures and making more friends as the semester gets going. I am wishing that I had been going to school here from the very beginning.

here in the mountains

2007-08-23T23:47:00.000-05:00

First off, I would just like to say that Missoula may be the most beautiful city in America. I am completely moved into my new apartment here called the Lewis & Clark Villages. It is really nice, much nicer than my precious apartment in Lawrence. It's newer, cleaner, better in pretty much every way. Also, this is a three bedroom but neither of the other two roommates have moved in yet, so I have had this all to myself for the past week.

My transfer orientation started on Wednesday but Tuesday I rode my bike onto campus and saw that the orientation table was already set up. At first I was a little worried that it actually had started that day and I had missed the first half. I walked up to pick up my folder for the next couple days only to find that they didn't already have a folder for me so they had to create one and they also didn't have my transcript so I had to run over and get that from another office. I'm glad I did that the day before and not the day of because then it would have been a scramble to get everything in order. After that I decided to ride my bike around downtown. I followed the river trail and eventually ventured across the bridge and rode up and down the sidewalks of the downtown area. It is similar to Mass Street in Lawrence except spread out among several blocks and not just concentrated on one street. I have to say though that early impressions lead me to like Missoula's downtown more than Lawrence's.

Wednesday there was a general meeting for transfer students in the Fine Arts building on campus. It started at 10 so I left my apartment on my bike around 9:30. I really didn't learn anything that I didn't already know, but it was nice to be up early and living with the living. I hung out on campus for a little while and discovered that the little mart in the first floor of the Student Center (equivalent to a Student Union) sells Snapple, and not just Snapple but Raspberry Iced Tea Snapple. I was and still am pretty excited about that simple pleasure. The one thing I did hear about in the meeting was a piece of advice from one of the speakers to check out the events that happen every Wednesday during the summer at Caras Park in downtown around lunch time. I rode my bike again over the bridge and searched for this park. I wasn't having much luck and as I rode my bike down the sidewalk I heard my phone make the "new text message" sound and slowed down to check it. I attempted to multi-task and text and ride at the same time. As I did so successfully this homeless guy asked me if I had any spare change for the bus as I slowly rolled his direction. I finished up the text and gave him a dollar, as I was feeling generous at the time. I asked him if he knew where this park was hoping to just get a pointed direction, instead he got excited and said "Yeah, well I will show you, follow me." So I walked my bike along side him down the street listening to him tell me these weird stories that I didn't always catch the entire point he was trying to make. In my defense they didn't make much sense and most ended in him swearing about something or somebody. We found the park and I went to lock up my bike. After I did I kind of drifted into the crowd to lose that guy. I didn't want to be rude but I also didn't want to spend any more of my time with him. Besides, he had a bus to catch... There was a big tent set up with lots of local restaurants selling food from underneath and next to that was a stage where a band was setting up to play. There were lots of people milling about and I bought a slice of pizza and found a spot on the grass to enjoy the scenery.

That night Caitlin and her roommate came along to eat dinner and go to Wal-Mart with me. After that we hung out in the dorm for a while and then walked out to the oval to toss a frisbee around with some of the other people in the dorm. Eventually we joined in on the ultimate frisbee games that were also going on at the time.

Today was the course major meetings and I again rode my bike into campus and made my way inside the Environmental building. There was about 15 of us, freshman and transfer students, and five professors that were there at the meeting. After a quick general talk about the major we split up to meet with an adviser. I have been emailing the professor who handles the Environmental Literature part so I was with him. He the same guy that I met with during my campus visit and pretty much made me decided that this was something that I should take a chance and do. The Environmental department is much smaller than KU's but it is also a lot more organized. Everyone seemed friendlier and much more down to earth. Together we went over my transcript from KU and decided what classes counted for what and then we started putting my schedule together for this semester. All of my gen-eds are taken care of except for one ethics class. The only other non environmental class that I will have to take is a Statistics class at some point in the future. I just finished enrolling and my schedule looks pretty good, to me at least. I have Evst 367 which is Politics and Policies, Evst 295 Environmental Political history, Forestry 195 The Nature of Montana, Bio 121 Intro to Ecology and Hist 269 History of Montana. That last class is just filler because the other Evst class I wanted was full, as was the Ethics class I wanted and the Stats class I need, it still sounds really interesting though. I am excited to start school!

I really like it here. I was a little worried that Missoula and Montana in general wouldn't be all that I had hoped for but so far it is everything I wanted and more. Everything is just so much better than KU, I don't even know where to start. I am excited to start meeting more people and get into the groove so to speak of being a University of Montana student.