Time!

Sometimes I dream about being a writer. I think I have enough material, from the extreme variety of experiences God has led me to and through in life. Emotionally there have been such highs and lows to make me think of myself as a modern-day Anne Blythe - minus the tragical orphan childhood of course :-)

And then other times I think about the reality of how long it takes to write well. Nowadays it's so easy to know what to do, but I am stopped short by the thought of what this guy says.

So for now, I will just try to be more devoted to writing a little, since that's where it all starts. Putting pen to paper sounds more poetical than finger to key, but I don't want to lie, finger to key is how these hands write!

Changes

I remember the days when I used to write.

I was so witty. Charming. A little full of myself (but humble, of course).

I loved the feel of crafting words into images, savoring the taste of a well-turned phrase.

Those were the days I was certain Sarah Matz was born in the wrong century. I could have been a contemporary of George Eliot, or Willa Cather, or Louisa May Alcott..

The problem with those thoughts, though, is that really I don't know that I can stand as much solitude as those women had to manage in order to get a great work of art published. And they had to endure so much more sexism. And they clearly did not have many in their lives who understood them. As for me, the publishing world is so saturated, now, with writers. They say a writer needs to write. Sometimes I don't think I do.

So I let myself get busy with other pursuits: building friendships, studying meaningful pursuits, tasting delightful travel, finding a career I might be happy doing for a long while, and even building a relationship which has turned into a marriage.

But still, I find myself longing to write. Pen to paper, fingers to keys. There is so little time in a day! I want to play, I want to sleep, I want to suck the marrow out of these precious moments.

But I also do not want to lose the memory of these days. How easily we forget that the intro to 'Days of Our Lives' is not just a cliche: "like sand through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives." Grains of sand can't be seen in the pile that it becomes, and instead of days we see weeks, months, seasons.

The other day my husband and I had a perfect moment. It was only a couple weeks ago, but I have already almost forgotten it. There was nothing really remarkable or spectacular about it since it was just another regular daily moment, but there was something exquisite about being where I was, sitting there on the couch savoring this place in time.

So I think that means I need to write after all. Maybe there won't be any money in it. And really, who ever said I need to make money doing this? I couldn't write 8 hours a day, 5 days a week..probably.

We'll see. In the meantime, I will just sneak moments here and there to record some, and to simply enjoy the crafting of a little moment.

Dedicated to dad

So, I sometimes post about my dad on his heavenly birthday...

post in 2010

post in 2009

With this day I reflect especially on how he might have affected my present circumstances. Instead of going to China for only 6 months, I may have stayed years. I may still be there, or somewhere else abroad, working with students on English. Ooh, maybe one of those English camps in Eastern Europe!

But instead I felt too far, and so alone without that protection of knowing daddy was a phone call away.  Even though I hadn't depended on that since leaving home for college, suddenly I was at a loss without it. I remember feeling so bereft those first couple years. It was my most common companion, I think, that and the sense of being alone.

I wonder what he would think of my sweetheart and how they would get along. They both have great senses of humor, and a love of barbecue, movies where things blow up on a grand scale (okay, pretty much on any scale,) and camping... I wonder what they would talk about theologically. I wish we could all go camping together and ride roller coasters at Cedar Point.

Another year has passed, and yet it's different this time. This time I have a man to hold me through the sense of loss, to depend on for car troubles, and who tells me everything is going to be alright. I had managed on my own and told myself these things, and it was alright. But I sure am glad that God has brought me another man to depend on after 7 years. He's no Conrad, but then again, his name is Zach  :)

Thanks to dad, I believe men like this are for real.

Post-talk

Well, the sharing hour didn't go as I'd really thought it would, and I can blame that on tiredness, not spending enough time on it, and many things, but really it was what it was, and it was fine. I was reconciled to that before speaking. I shared some poetry written when I was a teenager, and that went over pretty well. Oh, those angsty heartfelt years! I thought I was an old soul at 12; and in some ways I was, but I was also a 12-year-old.

What was surprising to me about that night of sharing (and probably not to those who read the last entry) is my focus on parents. Yes, their story is a part of my story, but my story was very much influenced by the two who raised me. Being an only child, I don't have siblings to blame :)

Anyway, tonight I have been watching some dear friends' children. Just when I thought I had attended to every possible delay mechanism, they of course came up with another. But I'm getting smarter! Kids are so very good at getting their way; these in particular are intelligently crafty. How 2 people can manage to raise children really is beyond me. As babies they require so much guidance, and are so dependent yet defiant. My favorite 2, almost-4, and 6-year-olds are at last sleeping in their beds, and I wish I were sleeping in mine as well!

The big news in life here these days is engagement pictures. At last they have arrived, and at last wedding invitations will be going out with links to view the pics.

One last, rather disconnected thought going back to the 'story'. Considering that there is a wedding imminently approaching, I have been pondering on the reality that my story is about to be drastically influenced in a way no other person besides my parents has touched me. Sometimes it scares me, and sometimes I am in awe of the fact that I am making a choice for the first time to have someone else so drastically involved in my every-day and long-term life.

That takes a lot of trust. It's baffling to me that so many people seem to trust so willy-nilly in marriage. Yet the result half the time doesn't surprise me, since people are jumping in so recklessly (at least it seems that way to me the onlooker at statistics and lives).

Whew. Trust.

Born at a young age..

Tomorrow, I am going to share with my home group about my life- for about an hour!

I see in my story a definite theme of death even while life flames in the foreground. The Life I live in Christ is a gift I am thankful for nearly every moment, and I have been blessed since being a young child to realize and accept this. God has always been with me in my memory. I was never alone. Severe skeptics would say that memory is of an imaginary friend that I never grew out of. That's so demeaning and belittling. I can't imagine saying that to someone, or even actually thinking it of someone without knowing them well. And yet I have acquaintances who throw these combative words and ideas around like they are nothing, and have the nerve to think I'm the one being insensitive before they've even given me a chance to!

Whew. Must be tired. My apologies. Not many read this anyway.

Back to the theme of death that is so prevalent, though. The death, beginning with my great grandmother, who died before I was born. She affected my life strongly in her absence, because of her place in life as my mother's mother. My mom lost her mom when she was 28, even younger than I am now. What pain it must have been. Then when my mother became a mom, her own mother had been buried for 2 years. She had to manage without the grandmotherly presence of her mom.

I never quite realized until now how young my mom was. I was acutely aware of how old I was when my father died. I was 22. The anniversary of the day he died is nearly upon me once again. How much things change in a few years. I live in the Northwestern US, am getting married in the summer, and have called this place home for nearly 2 years now. The friends made here are solidly among the dearest and closest I have ever had, even though I have worked hard to keep a few old friends rooted in my life; these people have known me since teen years if not childhood.

Well it's plenty late. But blog posts aren't supposed to be totally polished right? The point is to be writing, at this point, since I have been doing that so seldom. Just gotta get back in the swing of things!

Hope you're having a great day :)

Seasons...school's out for summer!

A couple weeks ago my first year of grad school wrapped up, and now I have no choice but to face the inevitable decisions that must be made: where to live, and what to do. In some ways, I really enjoy this time because it allows for evaluation and starting something new. In others, it just plain exhausts me. This brain just doesn't quiet down very obediently, but just keeps pondering all these new things.

It's so odd to think that this is my first summer in Portland, since feels more long-term 'home' to me than anyplace since finishing high school. The community is not transient except for the grad students who might or might not be around awhile longer. My friends are a delightful mix of people in many different stages of life: with children and not, single, married, younger, older, student, well-established, and new to the area. And the many opportunities of this city and region still enthrall me.

Right now I am fighting the identity of 'student' that has attached itself to me - understandable, since I after all did become a student again. 'Is it worth it?' is a question I still ask. Making the transition from student-ness to non-student-ness is so difficult for me. It's full of baggage from the last time 5 years ago, when everything outside of me was drastically changed by my father's sudden death. The lack of a fatherly advisor is part of my hesitation, I think; hadn't thought of that before now, but it does make sense. We are never beyond desiring wisdom in decision-making, and some of us, like myself, are quite cautious because of not wanting to make a bad step.

So I come back to where I always go, depending on my holy Father and Spirit to counsel these decisions. Trusting and listening is such work! Those are definitely areas I relish and step toward cautiously, since they are so important.

Surreal

Surreal: having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream;unreal; fantastic.

Sometimes, I wake up and it takes a moment to gauge whether or not the events of the previous day were part of a dream or they actually happened. And sometimes, the realization that the day before was real hits harder than the actual event, since some shock has worn off. One morning I awoke to a knock on my door at 5am; the next, just to the sunlight peeking through my window.

3 days ago one of my roommate's best friends went to the ER for a very bad migraine. That night she was admitted to ICU, put on life support, and then died just hours later. Turns out she had a cancerous brain tumor.

She had just celebrated her first anniversary with her husband, was 25, and was studying toward a master of arts in counseling.

It was so fast. It reminds me of my father's sudden death, which will be 6 years ago this month. I'm so glad that her family was able to gather around her in those last hours. I didn't have that gift.

Every time people around me are shaken with loss, it builds a stronger resolve in me to live more fully into whatever moment I find myself: living with delight, joy, sorrow, and gratitude with the time we have. I hope to be more sincere with my interactions with people, in particular by letting those close to me know how I value them, and accepting the truths they speak into my life as well. This way, when the difficult times come, we have built up a store of assurances of love. Love is the strongest force I know to carry us through.

And when the truly joyous events also happen, we share in the rejoicing, just as we rejoice that my classmate knows no more pain in the difficulties of this earth. She is praising God in the heavenlies with the saints who have gone before, knowing as she is fully known and knowing God's love more clearly than ever. It may be juxtaposed with the loss we feel in losing a wife, sister, daughter, and friend, but that helps the joy to be all the stronger.

Injustice

It does seem to be a buzzword these days; in terms of race particularly, Americans seem to be paying more attention to the way we treat one another. It's heartening to see that people are actually doing something about it, like those that were at the TED2012 conference last month and saw Bryan Stevenson talk about the justice system. Here's the talk below:

And here's an article written about the talk, which tells more of the story- after the longest standing ovation in TED history, $1 million was donated to the Equal Justice Initiative in order to help them combat racial bias against people of color and lifetime sentences for youth, in particular.

He's a very engaging speaker, and his stories of both his grandmother and talking with Rosa Parks and her friends really brings the story home.

May we continue to face injustice and build relationships with others, so that what happened to Trayvon Martin doesn't happen again. One of my professors blogged about this recently, encouraging us to be wary about making presumptions especially because in this case the situation seems to have been started by racial/economic status concern.

It's a dark history we come from, even though there are many points of brightness- innovation, the assembly line, a land full of dreams as high as the sky, a beautiful country; but it is mixed with land the United States of America never paid for and enslaved while stealing from those who lived here, a history of slavery for economy's sake, and an evangelical Christian majority that turned their backs in the face of the civil rights movement, among others.

Sometimes it's extremely disheartening.

But like Rosa Parks told Bryan when she said his work would make him "tired, tired, tired", we too have to be "brave, brave, brave" and keep our eyes on the prize, and hold on.

Hold on!

At least I don't look like this...

But I do feel rather crappy. Some big transitions - a new semester, roommate moving home to Uruguay, job search highs and lows, and now an achy body that's plumb wore out from the beating this introvert has put it through in the past week. So much lovely people time..but probably too much.

So now not only do I have to make myself rest, but to remember while living in community that acting like a b* is not very loving and is not how I really want to act. It's the whiney, tired, achy self that's thinking these things, that's all.

Here's to better.

The rocks cry out

Ain't no rock gonna cry out in my place, as long as I'm alive I'll glorify his holy name (camp song)

I wrote this finals week and forgot to press 'submit' so forgive the references to Christmas-past!

We have a responsibility to speak what we believe, no matter what it is. As people we have this innate need to communicate. I admire it when I see this in others, whether or not I agree with what they believe. They are being true and trying to live a pure life, not denying parts of themselves for the sake of someone or something else.

And I can't help but imagine what it would look like if their beliefs changed, sometimes. Maybe it's just an active imagination, I'm not sure. But I do think it is a little bit of how God sees us and the potential within.

Sometimes the joy inside me wells up and I just have to write and speak. Right now, I am in the middle of finishing a project for class, but I had to stop and write this; put aside the work and just write.

I love writing, using the written word to craft and communicate. So here goes, another attempt at communicating!

What has really been coming home to me this term is that we need to work harder at listening. Most of the way we communicate isn't actually in the words that we say, but the words we don't say: our body language, facial expressions, where we spend our time, what we do and talk about with one another. I see a lack of listening that makes me sad and angry. So much heartache happens because we are so busy trying to be heard and don't take the time or effort to really see one another.

This Christmas season, when so many people feel overwhelming loneliness, I hope we put forth some more effort in being present with one another and hearing what our loved ones are saying. I think it's "Do you really see me? Am I loved? Am I alone?"

I know that I'm guilty of this. Both sides. We all have the need to belong.

If we take a moment we'll see that we ourselves are not alone. And maybe by seeing each other we will really be able to communicate and understand truth and love.

What do you want?

In writing the last post, I was looking for an unusual link to give more information on Dorothy Day's book The Long Loneliness and when I found Burnside Writers, it seemed intriguing. Coincidentally, one of the people involved with them is Donald Miller, of Blue Like Jazz fame..

Well, he's got a conference coming up that explores seeing your life as a story and how to share it with others. There's a big push toward this these days..of course, it's not new since the Bible is mostly story and our lives are mainly stories interspersed with facts, desires, fears, etcetera.

My biggest difficulty is that I feel I know what I want, but it's not really a tangible goal. The business-educated side of me gets quickly annoyed with that thinking, because measurables are how one knows goals are being met. Oh well! Best not think about it too logically, then, right?

But I can't help myself. I must think of it. Because 'it' is what my life is all about. I want to share my life with others, being wise in who to trust how much. Being vulnerable and trusting, but not just giving my heart to others expecting they will treasure it as I do. I can't find my worth in that since I know it's a losing situation. Giving my heart may be painful but I am hid in Christ and act out of the trust in that love.

Maybe it's all a sham- lots of people tell me this. But lots of people say lots of things and we need to sift through and find truth. If I believed everything everyone told me I'd be believing everything and essentially nothing because there are contradictions everywhere.

So what do you want? Because I hope you're going for it. To be educated in it, to work toward that, and live into it. Maybe it will change. Maybe you'll decide that was a totally wrong path to take. But at least you'll know. It's like that adage, 'better to love and lost than not to have loved at all'. Those who have know what I mean. Live life to its fullest. I don't mean that you have to be happy all the time; there will be lots of scrapes along the way- but fight for it.

Finally..Dorothy Day

So - I read a biography about Dorothy Day yesterday, only about 3 years after it was recommended to me. I have a dear friend who lives in an intentional Christian community house in the South Bronx, and reading that book showed me some of what I can tell has shaped her vision for it. We spent some quality time dreaming of living in the city, what it should look like among the poor, really living WITH people and being an active member of the community you live in, wherever it may be. I'm proud to be her friend. She's really doing it. Not without lots of bumps along the way I'm sure, but that's part of the blessedness, sharing in the brokenness.

The Catholic Worker is such a beautiful movement (at least, the image painted in the book...it could be different now, I don't know). I'm sure in person many wouldn't call it beautiful, since there are many poor, dirty, foul people who are drawn to the houses of hospitality- but Dorothy's desire to not turn away any in need was beautiful to behold. And she really was quite firm in her convictions once she decided (in her 40s, I think) that seeking God through the Church was really the only way she should and wanted to live.

I'm inspired to read her book The Long Loneliness after that foray into discovering who she is and how she lived.

Ponderings

Gratitude... goes beyond the "mine" and "thine" and claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift. In the past I always thought of gratitude as a spontaneous response to the awareness of gifts received, but now I realize that gratitude can also be lived as a discipline. The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy. --Henri J. M. Nouwen

Why is it so important that you are with God and God alone on the mountain top? It's important because it's the place in which you can listen to the voice of the One who calls you the beloved. To pray is to listen to the One who calls you "my beloved daughter," "my beloved son," "my beloved child." To pray is to let that voice speak to the centre of your being, to your guts, and let that voice resound in your whole being. --Henri J. M. Nouwen

Gratitude and Guts..there you have it.

On my mind...

Who Am I? by Dietrich Bonhoeffer Who am I? They often tell me I stepped from my cell’s confinement Calmly, cheerfully, firmly, Like a squire from his country-house. Who am I? They often tell me I used to speak to my warders Freely and friendly and clearly, As though it were mine to command. Who am I? They also tell me I bore the days of misfortune Equally, smilingly, proudly, Like one accustomed to win. Am I then really all that which other men tell of? Or am I only what I myself know of myself? Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds, Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, Tossing in expectation of great events, Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all? Who am I? This or the other? Am I one person today and tomorrow another? Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others, And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling? Or is something within me still like a beaten army, Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved? Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine! --March 4,1946 No, I don't live in a prison cell, nor am I held captive by anyone who restricts my movements. But I do live a life where the same people see me every day, walking to classes, walking to the library, going about my daily life- even those on Facebook who see my pictures and posts; they see a person, the one trying to portray myself clearly but often in the best light possible, as we all do. Yes, I am usually joyful and easily delighted by coffee, cheese, and good bread and live music. But I am also a woman living in a body that doesn't quite look like I think it should; who isn't married like I sort of thought she might be; who feels orphaned because my dad has been gone 5 years; who hasn't committed to living in one location for more than a year since high school which tells the world I can't make up my mind. There are good and bad qualities existing in this person, sometimes an assured demeanor that is only covering up a girl scared that people will reject her. But through it all, I stand firm (and sometimes shakily) in the faith that there is someone out there so much bigger than I am; a Savior who loves me and has proven his love to me time and time again. Whoever this person is, she is loved.

On being an 'only'

Last night at a party, some new friends were talking about birth order and how it has affected their lives. When the question came around to me, one of my friends was shocked to hear that I'm an only child.

"How did you get to be like this??" was the gist of her response. She was flabbergasted, even though she only knew me through sitting next to me at an event a week earlier and asking me to come to this party. In studying counseling and having dated an 'only' for 3 years, she considers herself a little bit of an expert at reading 'onlies'.

It's true, I'm not the typical mold-fitter in this respect. Typical only children are more selfish, maladjusted and unable to make friends easily, like to be in control, dependent, and lonely. Now it's true that I sometimes don't empathize with people who are making stupid choices and this is a typical only child response of misunderstanding motive; but this is one of my few 'only' extremes.

It was a combination of growing up as an adult and having a sense of taking care of my parents in childhood (don't read too much into that, it's simply some of the ways I grew up and how little me saw the world) and after high school going to work at a camp. In camping, you don't have to wear the mask of 'fitting in' like you do in the non-camp world. You can, of course, but it's often seen and derided. Who really gets all dolled up every morning when they're camping with every hair in place and wearing spotless clothes? When you're living with people day in and day out, they see you in tons of different situations, moods, energy levels, and levels of intimacy. A moment of silence for the death of the acceptability of the scarf on one's head..

There are lots of aspects of this experienced as a week-long camper, but as a counselor it's zoom-focused. Being a person who loves the outdoors, camp brought out an aliveness in me. For the first time, I was with people who all had one goal: loving kids for Christ' sake and wanting to help them grow. That first summer on staff I was considered one of the young counselors (a new enterprise for little me, who always felt so grown up when with my peers) and was also one of the new counselors. I'd been a little leery of being 4 hours' drive away from my friends and family in Michigan, but being a camp counselor was something I'd always wanted to do. And this job providentially came into place through ccca.org.

So I took the leap. And in that huge cannonball splash I found out I was more extroverted than I realized. I was good with kids. I was invigorated by living outdoors. There were people like me out there and some of them were here; this is where my core friendships in early adulthood were solidified.

Anyway, how I got to be such a well-adjusted only child? God's grace and mercy is the short answer :)

Playing in the northwest...

It's pretty wonderful living in the Pacific Northwest. The greenery, the city-ness of Portland, the learning environment I live in, and the church community I'm a part of are all blending so well together. The tough parts are tying in all the reading necessary and being wary of budgeting for the next couple years while a student.

Even walking about the neighborhood is similar to being in the woods. There is greenery everywhere! There's a park connected to campus, and the lots around here have a plethora of plants and trees. Even a palm tree, believe it or not. Maybe I'll take a picture on my next walk.

Walking in Seattle was very similar to here- in terms of greenery, hills, and rain :o)

Now I'm starting to really get involved in some of the life of the area, joining in a dialogue community of Zen Buddhists and evangelical Christians. We do dinner once a month and discuss how we're similar and how we're different. The ZenBuddhists are going to read Mere Christianity, and I'm going to read Living Buddha, Living Christ as well as a bunch of articles we'll all be reading. Should be a very interesting engagement that will push as well as pull. Already I stood outside after our first dinner with a new friend who can't wrap his mind around the centrality of Christ's reality for Christians, why it's so important that this man truly was human and truly lived in history. He told me that it doesn't really matter so much if Buddha or the historical figures of Buddhism really existed. I'm looking forward to understanding that more, and seeing him understand why Christ is so important to me.

I can't help but think about the verse that says: "Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, ²³but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, ²⁴ but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God." (1 Corinthians 1:22-24) It really is foolishness without faith. You've got to have faith to believe in those crazy things the Bible says! But if it's not true, what's written in there, it's foolishness to believe it. And that's really what I think. If there hadn't been ways that God has wooed me to himself, and I hadn't received love from him (sometimes directly, sometimes through reading the Word, sometimes through others) I wouldn't be a student intent on knowing more about this God and trying to experientially know more.

Pants

I sort of miss my cargo fire pants from this summer. They were so...practical.

Now we're back to a rebirth of the business semi-casual in class.

This time seems to be going so very quickly. It's been almost a month since arrival in Portland, but I just got here.

The community (while I was a little concerned at first) is proving to be a good fit. There aren't as many new students on campus this year as there have been in the past, but there are 3 other singles brand new to this place, and together we make the 4 musketeers!

Today we studied the 12 communication tools. At the top are verbal, written, numeric, and 2D pictorial...whereas at the bottom are olfactory, temporal (time), spatial, and tactile. What's most interesting to me is that the lower one of these is on the list, the lower that means our awareness of it is - but coincidentally the higher it is in effectiveness. Obviously with food, I love the smell of food more than words- and it gives credence to the thought that the way to a man's heart (and mine, I'm told) is through the stomach (which really means nose, doesn't it?)

Morning Meditation

For a couple of my classes, there is a multiple-hour retreat required. So I have to spend time contemplating God, just him and me, FOR SCHOOL. Granted, it's a seminary - but still, pretty awesome.

This morning I was spending some time in worship while chronicling these first days in the realm of higher education again, and had a Paul-esque moment. He sometimes just goes off in praise and ecstasy when considering the riches of God's grace, glory, and mercy to him/us. It's a wonderful thing. When you're not in the same mindset while reading Paul's words, well, for me I get a little agitated that he's off-topic again. But what a great thing, just to be caught up in awe.

I've been meditating on the verses of the song How Deep the Father's Love and in particular these middle two verses:

Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that left Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

-of course, in case you don't know them, the last two just bring it all home, so they're here:

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

Amazing love, how can it be that he, my God, should die for me? Not that he needs me, but that he LOVES me.

Awe.

Portland, NE style

Oops. I didn't post all summer.

Moving on...

All moved in to the apartment at Multnomah, and as ready as you can be for classes when I still can't remember them. In college I had the irrational fear (and nightmares) about forgetting a class and going over half a semester before realizing it. This place is small enough, though, that the professor would notice pretty quickly. That's good.

It's been a delightful summer working in the Wilderness of the Carson Iceberg with Silvia, who wrote this sweet little post for me: She Walked in Wilderness with Shovel. The title comes from my loathe of the shovel we had to carry for campsite decomposition if needed. You're supposed to carry tools in the downslope hand in case you lose footing and have to toss it away from you, and you're supposed to carry it down in 1 hand, and with the sharp/blade side down. sometimes I managed to secure it to my pack, but it was bulky and heavy...Not as bad as a rock bar, it helps me to remember. Those are 20+ lbs and not strappable.

My friend Heather assisted in the move up here by way of Lake Tahoe, San Francisco, and Crescent City. Then when we got here, she had a good friend who showed us around. Most importantly on the trip, we shared a love of GOOD food. Oh, it's wonderful. Italian, Chinese, & Vegan in SanFran; local goodness in Crescent City; Spanish, Indian, Doughnut in Portland; and wonderful local brews everywhere.

In short, I think the Northwest and I are going to have a great time together.